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ATTORNEYS AT LAW." j
ATTORNEY" AT LAW.
All business intrusted to him wU! be attended to
with great care. Upon notice 3 111 appear for par
ties in suits before Justices of the Peace in JOJ
part of the county. Office with J. W. Dickerson,
Esq., on Julians St., next door north of Menge!
House. tmarly. j
ATTORN EY-AT LAW,
Jan. 28, 7FL-tf
I LEX. KING. JR.,
A A TTORXE 1.4 f-LA W.
BEDFORD, PA., !
All business entissted to his cave will receive
prompt and careful attention Office three doors '
South of the Court House, lately occupied by J. i
W. Dickerson. * ncv26
' ATTORNEYS AT LAW, aaoroßD, FA. J
Have formed a partnership in the practice of
'he Law, in new brick building near the Lutheran
Church. [April i, 1889-tf
ATTORNEY AT LAW, BEDFORD, PA.
Respeetfnlly tenders his professional services
to the public. Office in the I.vyci azßaild ing,
20- Collections promptly made. [April,L"69-tf.
J ATTORNEY AT LAW, BXDFORD, PA.,
Will faithfully and promptly attend to NIL busi- J
ness entrusted to his care in Bedford or. D SDJ.IB
c g counties. Military claims, Pensions, hack
PAY, Bounty, As. speedily collected. Office with
Mann A Spang, on Juliana street, 2 doors south
of the Mengel House. opl 1, 1869.— tf.
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
Will attend promptly to all business intrusted to
bis care. Collections mode on the shortest no
He •*, SU*o, a regularly lieenwed Claim Agent
and all give special attention to the prosecution
* lis t against the Government for Pensions,
Bock T sy, Bounty, Bounty Lands, Ac.
Office on Juliana street, one door South of the
inquirer office, and nearly opposite the 'Mengel
House" April I. 1869:tf
S. L. RESSBt I- - .J. B. LOSGK.NRCSSP.
ATTOR.VRTS A COCSSXLLORS AT LAW,
Will attend promptly and faithfully to all busi- J
cess entrusted to their care. Special attention
given to collecti >ns and the proseeution of claims
for Back Pay, Bounty, Pensions, Ac.
MSS-OFFICE on Juliana street, south of the Court
House. Apri hßSilyr. j
F M'D. SBASPZ R. F. XERR
SHARPE A KERR,
A TTORXE TS-A T-I.A R".
Will practice in the Courts of Bedford and ad
joining counties. All business entrusted to their
care will receive careful and prompt attention.
Pensions, Bounty, Back Pay, Ac., speedily col- ;
lected from the Government.
Office on Juliana street, opposite the banking
house of Reed A Schell. Bedford, Pa. Apr L,69:tf (
QR. B. F. HARRY,
Respectfully tenders his professional ser- :
vices to the eitisens of Bedford end vicinity, j
Office en 1 residence on Pitt Street, in the building
formerly occupied by Dr. J. H. Hofias. [Ap'L 1,89.
0 WOODBERRY, PA.,
SCRIVENER, CONVEYANCER, LICENSED
CLAIM AGENT, and Ex-OSeio JUSTICE
OF THE PEACE,
Wili attend to ail business entrusted into his hands
with promptness and despatch. WiU remit mon- !
ey by draft to any port IF the country. ITsely
DM ANIEL BORDER,
Prrr STREET TWO POORS WEST OF THE BED
FORD HOTEL, BxiroßT, PA.
WATCHMAKER AND DEALER IN JEWEL- !
RY. SPECTACLES. AC.
He keeps on h*md a stock of fine Gold and Sil
ver Watches, Spectacles of Brilliant Double Befin.
Ed Glasses, also Scotch Pebble Glasses. Gold
W atch Chains, Breast Pins, Finger Rings, best
quality of Gold Pens. He will supply to order
any thing in his line not on hand. [apr.2B,'6s.
W. C ROUSE,
• DEALER IS
CIGARS, TOBACCO, PIPES, &C. |
On Pitt strait one door east of Geo. &. Oster
A Co. 'a Store, Bedford, PA., is now prepared J
to sell by wholesale all kinds of CIGARS. AH ;
orders promptly filled. Persons desiring anything :
IN his line will do well to give aim A call.
Bedford April 1. •89.,
P N. HICKOK ,
. ~ DENTIST, i
Office at the old stand in
BAVR BCILDISO, Juliana St.. BEDFORD.
AH operations pertaining to
Sttrgieal and Mechanical DtntUtry
performed with care and I
AuattAttict administered, rcken dtoired. Ar• '
Hficial teetA interted at. per set, 98.00 and up.
As I am detsimined to do a CASH BUSINESS
or none, I hare reduced the prices for Artificial
Teeth of the various hinds. 28 per cent., and of j
Gold Killings S3 per cent This reduetiuo will he !
made only to strictly Cosh Patients, and ail SUCH '
will receive prompt attention. 7febSß
W M LLOYD
,T • BANKER.
Transact* s General Banking Business, and makes J
collections on all accessible points ia
the United States.
GOVERNMENT SECURITIES. GOLD, SIL
VER, STERLING and CONTINENTAL
EXCHANGE bought and sold.
1 . S. KEY ENUE STAMPS of ail descriptions
always on hand.
Accounts of Merchants, Mechanics, Farmers and
all othar solicited.
INTEREST ALLOWED ON TIME DEPOSITS, I
Jan. 7, 78.
MARRIAGE CKRTIFCATKS.—On hand and
for sole at the Inquirer office, a fine assort
ment of Marriage Certificates. Clergymen and
J ustioes should have them.
LUTZ& JORDAN. Etlitoi-s and Proprietors.
THE BEDFORD INQUIRER.
EVERY FRIDAY MORNING,
LUTZ & JORDAN,
OFFICE ON JULIANA STREET,
THE BEST ADVERTISING MEDIUM
SOUTH WESTERN PENNBYL VAN IA.
CIRCULATION OVER 1500.
HOME AND FOREIGN ADVERTISE
MENTS INSERTED ON REA
A FIRST CLASS NEWSPAPER
TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION:
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JOB PRINTING :
ALL KINDS OF JOB WORK DONE
NEATNESS AND DISPATCH,
AND IN THE
LATEST & MOST APPROVED STYLE,
POSTERS OF ANY SIZE,
WEDDING AND VISITING CARDS.
ETC. ETC. ETC. ETC. ETC
Oar facilities for doing all kind; of Job Printing
are equalled by aery few establishment* in the
country. Order* by mail promptly Slled. All
letter* should be addreued t
LUTZ k JORDAN.
3 Horal anfc Snirral #rtospapcr, Dcboteb to politics, otiucation, ?litrraturr anb j-H orals.
WAITING FOR THE SPRING.
As breezes stir the morning,
A silence reigns in air ;
Steel blue the heavens above me,
Moveless the trees and bare ;
Yet unto me the stillness
This harden seems to bring—
"Patience ! the earth is waiting.
Waiting for ihe Spring."
Stroog a*h and sturdy chestnut,
Rough oak and poplar high,
Stretch oat their sapless branches
Against the wintry sky,
Even the guilty aspen
Halb ceased her quivering,
As though she too were waiting.
Waiting for the Spring.
i strain mine eyes to listen,
If happy, where I stand,
But one stray note of music
May sound in all the land,
"Why art thou mate, O blackbird 7
(O thrush, why dost not sing?
Ah ! surely they were waiting.
Waiting lor the Spring."
O heart' the days are darksome!
0 heart! thy nights are drear ;
But soon shall streams of sunshine.
Proclaim the turning year,
Soon shall the trees be ieafy,
Soon every bird shall sing.
Let them be silent waiting,
Waiting for the Spring.
A DOMESTIC TALE.
IF THE SHOE FITS THEE, W EAR IX.
Mrs. Thompson stood by the kitchen
table paring potatoes for dioner. Some
thing was evidently wrong with the little
lady, for there was an unmistakable air of
"spite" in the way she tossed the potatoes
into the pan of cool spring water, waiting 1
there to receive them. It was sultry weath
er: and through the open window came the
sound of mowers whetting their scythes,
blended with the call of the robin. But it j
only irritated Mrs. Thompson—indeed
everything irritated her that day. Looking
out from the back door, might be seen a
lovely landscape, with broad reaches of'
meadow-land, fringed with graceful bolts ot
birch; and softly-rounded mountains lifting
their velvety foreheads to the white, fleecy
clouds, that went slowly sailing across the
exquisite ether, like huge drifts of thistle
down. But this also irritated her; every
thiog could be beautiful save her life, and
that was cold, and rude, and barren. At
least, Mrs. Thompson, io the plentitude of
her present unsatisfactory mood, was telling
herself that it was.
To begin at the beginning. Jane Law-'
re nee had been au unusual!-. romantic girl,
and had gone for two years to a boarding
school. She had always fancied that she
I would marry some famous artist or scholar,
who would take her to Rome, and Venice,
where she might live in a perpetual dream
of beauty. She so loved beautiful things 1 I
Perhaps all women do; aud that may be the
reason so many are found ready to barter
1 love for gold.
But, contrary to all her pre conceived
notion-. be married Robert Thompson, a
I plain, practical farmer: aud instead of
touring it in Italy, she went to live at the
old homestead which had been the abode of
the Thompsons for generations. Dreams
and reality are so very different, you see.
Robert Thompson was a working farmer,
as well as a practical man. and all his people
worked. His mother had worked in her
dsy, his sisters had worked, he expected j
bis wife to work. She took to it gleefully.
She had not been brought up with high
notions by any means, and at first the work
did not seem so much. But every experi
enced lady knows how the labor terms to
! accumulate in a plain farmer's household as
the years after marriage go on. There were
plenty of men and boys about, but only one
woman servant was kept, and Mrs. Robert
Thompson grew to find she helped at nearly
everything, save perhaps the very roughest
of the labor. In place of lounging in elegant
foreign studios, or gliding down famed ca
nals or streams in picturesque gondolas, she
bad butter and cheese to make, and poultry
to raar and dinners to cook in the long,
low ceiled kitchen, and (he thousand and
one cares upon her shoulders that make up
a busy household. Quite a contrast, as must
With things a little different, she'd not
have minded the work so much, could she
have had nice carpets and tasteful furniture,
and books, and a pieture or two, and flow
ers. The home was so very hard and prac
tical, and its surrounding* were getting so
shabby. At first she had not noticed this,
or cared for it; but every year, as the years
went on, made matters look dingier. Old
Mrs. Thompson had not cared to be smart
and nice; Robert never thought about it
And what though he bad ?—it is ooly natu
ral for men to assume that what had dine
for a mother would do for a wife. In time
Mrs. Robert Thompson began to ask that
some renovation should take place, at which
Robert only stared; the house that bad done
without painting so long, could do yet, and
the old things in it were good enough for
them. She did not venture to urge the
point, but she did press for some flowers.
Tb<-re was a strip of ground under the south
parlor windows where a shrub of sweet
brier grew, and pinks, sweet-williams, and
marigolds blossomed in their season. But
they were old-fashioned, common flowers,
and she pined for the rare and elegant plants
she had seen in conservatories and public
gardens. But Robert Thompson would as
soon have thought of buying the moon, as
such useless things as flowers. The garden,
like himself, was all practical, filled with
: cabbages, onions, potatoes, and sweet herbs.
And so went on her unlovely existence, in
; which dissatisfaction was becoming a night
mare. Now and again, on those somewhat
rare occasions whto she went out to visit
| ber neighbors, and saw how pretty many of
i them bad things she came home more than
ever out of heart. The worst was (or the
best) there was no real reason why a little
money should not be spent in making the
home prettier and happier, for Robert
j Thompson was doing well, and putting fair
ly by. But understanding had not come
into the man, and his wife was too meek,
perhaps too constitutionally timid, to made
trouble over it
The matter to-day—which bad put her so
very much out —was this. A sewing-club
j had recently been established io the ncigh-
BEDFOKD. PA., FRIDAY. APRIL, W. 1870.
borhood.' There was ranch distress amidst
the poor laborers' wires and families, and
some ladies with time on their hands set up
a sewiug club, to make a few clothes for the
nearly Daked children. The fanners' wives
had joined it, Mrs. Thompson among others;
i tbey met at stated intervals, taking the
different houses in rotation, dining at home
at twelve, assembling at ooe o'clock, and
working steadily for several hours. It was
surprising how much work got done, how
many little petticoats and frocks were made
in the long afternoons. In less than a month
it would be Mrs. Thompson's torn to re
ceive the company —for the first time —and
she naturally began to consider ways and
means. For they met for an entertainment
as well as for sewing— tea in the afternoon,
a grand meal later when the stitching was
"hut was Mrs. Thompson to do? Their
stock of plates and dishes consisted of a few
odds and ends of cracked delf, that had once
been a kind of mulberry color. She long
wanted some new white ware, she wanted it
more than ever now. Qrover, the keeper
of the village crockery-shop, had a lovely
set for sale, white, with a delicate sprig of.
couvolvuli and fuchsias, looking every bit as
good as real china. Mrs. Thompson had j
set her heart on the set, and that morning
had broached the subject to her husband.
"What's the matter with the old ones?"
"Look at them," she answered. "They
are frightfully old aad shabby."
"I daresay the food will taste as weil off
them as off Grovcr's set of white ware."
"But there's not half enough. We have !
as good as none left. "
"Mother baa some best china. Where is
"That's nearly all gone. We couldn't
put the two on the table together."
"Ob, Robert! Look at this. It is the
shabbiest old lot ever seen."
"Twas good enough for mother."
Mrs. Robert Thompson disdained com
"You'd not have thought of this but for
the sewing-circle haviog to come here. If
they can't come and eat from such dishes as
we ve got, they are welcome to stay away."
There were tears in Mrs. Thompson's
eyes. But she crowded tbem bravely back.
He took his hat to go out to his mowing.
"We really want the things, Robert.
Those at Grover's are very cheap. I can
get all I want for a mere trifle, do give me
"(trover II have to keep 'em for us. I've
got no money to waste on fine china," re j
turned the farmer. "By the way"—look
ing back from the do or—-"Jones and Lee are
coming to give me a helping hand. I want
to get the south meadow down to-day if I
can —it's a famous heavy crop; so I sfaaii |
bring them in to dinner, Oh, and the Hub
bards want six pounds of butter to-night;
don't forget to have it ready."
V\ ith these words, Mr. Robert Thompson j
bad marched off, leaving his wife to her :
long, weary day's work, darkened and made ■■
distasteful by her disappointment. 6be was
both grieved and angry. It was a little
thing perhaps, but it is the little things cf
life that delight or annoy.
Existence seemed very bare and homely to j
Jane Thompson that summer day. Witb
her love of case, and beauty, and symmetry, '
how rude, and coarse, and hard looked all i
her surroundings. It was only one long,
monotonous round of homely toil, uurelieved
by any of the little swetoesses and grae-s
that might make even toil pleasant. She
did not often think of it; but she remem
bered that day, with the faintest little air cf
regret, that she might have'been far diff<r.
ently situated, and as she looked up to the
pretty French cottage on the hill, embow
ered in a perfect forest of blossoming vines,
and caught the cool gleam of urn and foun
tain, something very like a sigh trembkd
on her lips. "Squire Burnham's wife de>
not hate to beg for a paltry bit of money to
set out her table decently." she thougit,
And then, in her spirit of aggrievement,
she mentally went over the other things she
needed, and that Robert knew tcert needed.
Why Was life to be ail toil and hare ugliness?
There was no reason, he had plenty of
money. A new carpet for the best parlor,
paper for the walls, so stained with time,
whitewash, paint, some fresh chintz, she
remembered it all, as she toiled through the
long sultry forenoon with an aching head
and discouraged heart. It happened to be
washing day; and on those days she took all
the work, that Molly might not be disturbed
in her help at the tubs.
What business had she to marry Robert
Thompson ? she asked herself, her slender
wrists heating away at the butter for the
Hubbards. For in the green and gloomy
light that Mrs. Robert Thompson looked at
things to-day, she quite forgot the fact that
she had fallen in love with the honest,
steady, and good-looking young farmer,
choosing him in preference to Joe Burnham,
whom she might have had. Joe had a
patrimony of bis own; hundred a year
at least, and a good bit of land, which he
rented, and was called "Squire," as his
father bad been before him. He waoted to
marry Jane Lawrence, and she would not
Likes and dislikes cannot be controlled, and
she cared more for Robert Thompson's
1 little finger than for the whole of poor un
der-sized Joe. Squire Burnham found
another wife. And Mrs. Thompson, this
weary day was furiously envying her. Mrs.
Burnham would come amidst the rest of the
sewing club, too, and see the miserable
' shabbiness of the mulberry ware and the
home generally. The butter got beaten
j savagely at the thought.
Robert Thompson was not an unkind man,
only thoughtless. He was a type of a very
large class, more especially farmers, wbo do
not feel the need of life's rugged pathway
being softened with flowers. Absorbed in
his stock, his money getting, he did not re
alise how monotonous was his wife's life at
home. He had his recreations, the weekly
market, gossip witb his brother farmers,
politics; she had nothing but work and
care. He did not realize the truth that the
worn, shabby home told upon her, that she
! needed some brightening to come to it as a
yearning want of life. And so, as the years
had gone on. she grew dissatisfied at heart,
b&rdly understanding what she wished for
or what she did not wish, the intensely un
lovely, prosy, dull life somewhat soaring her
spirit. Now and again, Robert wondered,
she who used to be so sweet-tempered.
All throngh the long forenoon, Mrs.
Thompson nursed her wrath. Robert was
selfish sal unreasonable, ami she did not
t care aho knew it. She i could not have the
I sewing-elub at the farm, comc what might.
j The potatoes got boiled; the big piece of
> ; beef was simmering oo the fire. Before
i [ twelve o'clock bad well struck, she saw her
husband and his two friends coming through
> the orchard, with red and hungry faces.
' Mr. Thompson always wanted his dinner
I boiling hot, and she hastened to lay the
• cloth in the cool room of the kitchen. Frank
and charley, her two boys, came running in
■ from school, each striving to claim her at
i tention. She felt tired, heated, and cross.
"Wha! isn't dinner ready ?" demanded
I Mr. Thompson, not seeing it actually on
1 the table when he entered. "I told you
we had no time to waste to day," be added
angrily, in his hurry and hunger. If I
hado t anything to do all the forenoon but
to get dinner, I'd have it ready to time. I
■ | know."
A bitter retort was springing to her lips,
but ere it could be spoken, Charley clamor
i ously interposed pushing his new copybook
i before her eyes.
"Look, mother! lam going into seutences
I now, like Frank. It's my first copy. The
j master wrote it, aod he said I was to get it
by heart, too, and always remember it. I>o
read it, mother."
Mrs. Thomson, her arms full of the
cracked old mulberry plates, paused a mo
ment to let her eyes fall on the new copy.
| "A soft answer turncth away wrath," was
what she read. It was not that the proverb
was new—she had read it scores of limes—
but there was something in its appropriate
j ness to the present moment, that fell like a
cod sweet wind on her heated pulses.
••I will hare it ready in a moment, Rob
ert,*' she said, quietly.
Mr Robert Thompson looked up. Evi
dently be had not expected so pleasant a re
ply. If the truth must be told, he had
thought a good bit that morning of hit
wife's request about the white ware. Not
in the way of granting it, but that she would
probably be sulky over it when they got in
"'lt doesn t feel here as it does it that
biasing meadow," he remarked to his
friends, as they went into the cool north
: room to dinner. "Folks that can keep io
doors this weather have an easy time of it
They don't know what heat is." *
Mrs. Thompson wondered wheather this
was a slap at her. Her face looked scarlet
enough for any amount of heat. As to sit
ting down with them, she bad enough to do '
to wait on the party. It was washing day,
and Molly must not be called.
"This butter must have been kept in the
i kitchen. It's like oil," said Mr. Thomp
j "I took it out of the cellar since you came
i in; I will go down and get some more if you
! think I bad better," was the reply, given
"Never mind. Well declare ! —do yon
call this meat doue?" went on Mr. Thotnp
son as be began toearVe. "It's harder than
a rock. If meat has to be cooked pretty
fresh this weather, it needn't be like this."
"I tried to have it nice, Robert." she said,
striving to choke down a risiug sob—as well
as an angry word.
Mr. Thompson, aroused by a quiver iD
the tone, looked at bis wife. His friends
j glanced at one another. She sat down at
| length, but could not eat. Mr. Thompson
I finished his dinner iD silence.
He was watching his wife's face. There
was something in it be did not understand
—a kind of patient, hopeless look, as if she
no loDger cared to struggle onward. The
old mulberry ware did look dingy on the
snowy white table-cloth; almost too bad for
ibe9e chums of his to sit down to. He won
j dered he had never thought so before,
j Robert Thompson grew thoughtful,
j He passed into the kitchen when they
were going out again—how hot and stifling
it felt with that big fire —as bad as the south
meadow. His wife had been in it cooking;
j that must .Ave made her face scarlet. In
j doors was not so comfortable a place, after
| all, if you had hot work to do, was the idea
that flitted through his mind. And—per
, haps the work was over-much for his wife,
. who at be*t was but a delicate woman
j A fresh, cool breeze h*i sprung up'from
1 the south, as he went out. walking slowly,
r but the sun was burning hot still. Robert
Thompson waited to wipe his brows; and in
that moment the voioes of his comrades
came towards him from the other side of the
i hedge, where they stood in the little shade
"I never pitied a woman so much in my
j life," quoth one of them. "She works like
i a slave and does not get even 'thank ye' for
jit from Thompson. He's a good fellow, but
uncommon down upon the work. Strong
as a horse himself, he thinks, I suppose,
• women must be the same."
"Yes, Bob's a sterling good fellow, but
Jane Lawrence made a mistake when she
said 'Yes' to his asking," cried the other.
"Jones, she wasn't cut out for a farmer's
wife—especially one who keeps his folks to
it like Thompson does. She's over sensi
i tive—delicate; any lady but her would have
■ turned long ago and bid him give her prop
■ er help. He won't make his money out of
! her many years if he don't take better care
I of her. She'll run down fast. Awfully
| changed, she is. She looks as fadrd as the
I j old house rooms—and they haven't seen i
II coat o' paint since grandfather Thompson's
■ | day-"
"Ah, she'd better have took Joe Barn
hatn. The Lawrences used to have things
nice in their home, and she'd have got em
so still, if she'd married Joe. His wife's :
just gone out in her pony-chay. I say. \
Jones, I wonder whether Thompson s wife s
ever sorry T'
Was she? The unconscious comments of
j these, his warm friends, came crushing down
| on Robert Thompson s heart und brain like ■
a bolt of fire. That she rejected Barn ham for
bim, he knew, when she came home to the
: old homestead, aod took care of his invalid
I mother. Tenderly had she done it, too.
i And—could she be wearing out her life in
. hard work for him; she, the uiothpr of bis
boys; she whom he loved well, for all his
churlishness? Robert Thompson stole away
—he could bear his thoughts no longer -and
he felt that he could almost kill himself for
his blind heedlessness.
Tha afternoon wore on towards evening
Mrs. Thompson had finished ber in-door
work —the washiog up of the dinner dishes
and the putting of the rooms straight—and
Iwas going in with an armful of fiue things
that she had taken from the clothes lines,
when the sound of wheels made her look
"I've brought that white ware Mrs.
Thompson. - ' said the brisk voice of Grover.
springing from his cart, and lifting down j
; carefully a large hamper.
"But I did not orderit, Mr. (trover.** she 1
1 rejoined in rather a frightened voice.
"The master did. though. Mr. Thomp
son came down this afternoon, and said the 1
things were to come up to you at once.
I There's the dinner set you admired, and a
tea set as welL Where shall I put 'em?"
"Briog them in please," she answered
rather faintly. He did as he was bid, and
- then drove off.
Mrs. Thompson sat down by the hamper j
of crockery and cried as if her heart would
break. They were magieal tears, too. for
they washed all the weariness and despair I
from her face, and the shadow from her
eyes and heart. She forgot thai she was
tired, or that the day was hot. She only
thought how kind Robert was, and what a
wicked woman she had been for saying to
herself in her temper that she'd rather have i
had Squire Burnham. Then she unpacked
the treasures, pulling them out from amidst
the hay, and singing softly all the while.
Oh, it was beautiful, that ware!—with its'
clear opaque white, and here and there a
delicate tracing of fuchsia or convolvulus.
Mr. Thompson came in and found her in
the midst. "What is it, Jenny ?" he asked
—the old fond name he used to eail her.
"O, Robert! taking a step towards him.
He opened his arms and drew her close to
bis heart, kissing her as fondly and tenderly
as he ever had in the days of his courtship
' I have been a brute, little wife," he
whispered, huskily, "t an you ever forgive
"Forgive you? Ob, Robert! I never
was so happy in my life ! I have been to
nlamc, I have not been a- patient and kind
as I might."
"Yes, you have, You ve been an angel
compared to me. I have made a slave of
you ; but all that is over now. I did not
think, Jenny; I did not, indeed."
"You shall have more help iu the house,
another servant We'll get her in, Jenny,
long before the sewing-club night comes
"Oh, Kobert, how kiod you arc! I feel as
light as a bird."
"And you are almost. ' be answered,
smiling a little sadly a- lie looked into her
eager face. "We'llall turnover a new leaf,
Jane. Heaven knows I did not mean to be
"Robert, you were never that.
"Well —we'll let it be, bygones shall be
bygones if you will. Oh, and I forgot to say
that I saw Leeds, tbe carpenter, this after i
noon. It's a very dull time just now, tbe J
poor fellow says, without a job on hand, so
I thought I'd give him one They'll be j
here to begin to morrow morning."
"i'ou—are —not goiog to have the house >
done up?" she exclaimed in wild surprise. ;
"Every square inch of it. And, once the j
painting and that's finished, we'll see what '
else we can do to make it look a bit bright- j
She hardly believed it ; she burst into
tears. "And I have been so wicked!" she
cried. Only to-day I had quite wicked ]
'houghts, Robert. I was envying Mrs.
i Burnham: I was feeling angry with every-
I body. It was the discouragement Robert." '
"Yes it was the discouragement," he said
| quite humbly. "We will do better for the j
future, Jane; I'll try another plan."
She cried silently for a minute longer;
-oft. bappy tears, feeling that light bad su- ;
: perseded tbe darkness.
"And it has ah risen from mi' trying to
carry out for a bit that blessed proverb—"A
; -oft answer turnetb away wrath !'" she
murmured. "Robert, did you ever before j
j see such lovely white ware?"
TUE ONEIDA DISASTEK.
The Navy l>epariment Las received full
particulars cf the collision and sinking of
tbe United States Steamer Oaeidi, off Y'o
kohama, Japan, on the evening of January !
24, from Surgeon Suddards and others who ,
were saved. The following is the report of
UNITED STATES SHIP IDAHO, YOKO
HAMA, Jan 2fi, 1 -70. —Sir: I respectfully
submit to you the following statement of
the circamsta&ces attending the loss of (he
United States steamer Oneida, third rate,
| on the evening of the 24th iust., as they
| came under my personal observation:
Tbe ship left her anchorage at Y'okohama
about ,"> P. M., and on steaming out was
; cheered by all the men-ofwar iu port. Af
ter getting past the buoy, aDd heading for
the light on the Kauinsaki, all bauds were :
called to make sail, the wind being at about :
N. E., face 4 to 5. Soon afterwards the
ward room dinner was announced, at which ;
time the ship was running, about seven
knots, having the head sails set, with the
foresail, top sails, topgallant sails, maintop
sail, spanker and gaff topsail. We were al
most through dinner when a messenger boy i
came down and told Mr. Muldauer, the
navigator, that Mr. Y'ates. the officer of tbe
deck, wished to see him. He went on deck,
and when he returned a few minutes later,
told us that there was a light ahead, proba
bly a steamer bound in. Shortly afterwards
I beard some one on deck forward call out
"Hard a-port." and a moment afterwards
anotber voice, but whether on our own ship
or the other I cannot say, cri?d out "Hard
Almost immediately came a fearful cr jsh,
apparently at the after end of tbe ward
rcom on the starboard side, as if the whole
side of the ship was being crushed in. Ev
erybody at once rushed on deck. As I
stepped over the hatch combing I saw a
large steamer slowly going past us and ID
contact with our own ship.
Before she cleared us the executive effi
• cer, Mr. Stewart, called out to her, "Stay
i by us —we are cut down," or words to that
1 effect. N'o answer was made from the
strange vessel. He repeated the same words
again. There was still no reply, and being
by this time clear of us she apparently pro
ceeded on her course. I then walked aft
and saw that the wheel was gone, the span
kers, boom aod gaff carried away, and the
whole poop cut off.
1 looked over the starboard quarter, and
as welt as I could make out iu the darkness
thought the whole of that side of the stem
was crushed off. She was fast settling by
the stern, and I judged that she would not
float more than two or three minutes. On
looking up I observed the third cutter hang
ing at the davits oa the port quarter.
I climbed on the hammock rail and a.-ked
the men, of whom there were twelve or
fourteen iu the boat, if there was an officer
there. They said no. When I got into tbe
i boat and gave orders to cut away all the
VOL. 43: NO 14.
j fastenings, and for a tuan to stand by each
j fall, ready to lower away when the order was
; given. Dttriug this time the steam whittle
was blowing continually. I kept my eve
: on the strange vessel, and she seemed to be
rapidly leaving us.
The Oneida meanwhile hid come up to
the wind, and was htading towards the
shoals on the left shore, and I was in ho|<es
that she might get into sboa) water, as the
j propeller was still revolving and the vessel
moving rapidly. A little while afterwards
Robert Dyer, coal-heaver, got into the boat.
He told me that he had been sent by Mr.
•Senter, engineer of the watcb, to report to
the officer of the deck that the fires were
He added that when he left the engine
room the water was within a foot of the
platform, and pouring forward in a perfect
flood. Almost immediately afterwards
j George W. Kauffman, landsman, jumped
into the boat. He informed me that they
were trying to get the first cutter off, that
there were forty or fifty men in her, and be
' did not think that they would succeed.
Agon was now fired. At this time the
ship commenced to roll from side to side, as
ifsettling, causing the boat to be thrown
violently against the side of the ship, and
: threatening to break in her side. 1 looked
on board and saw thai there was not an offi
1 cer or man abaft the mainmast, the deck
forming an angle of about 35 degrees. I
waited a moment to see if any one would
eome, and seeing no one, I gave orders to
lower away and hang on by the falls. As
the boat touched the water I noticed that
the stern of the ship was almost on a level
with the surface. At this moment the men
in the boat called out that there was a junk
sailing close by, and demanded to chase her
and bring her alongside.
The after-fall, by which we were hanging
got jammed, and the coxswain cut it with
his knife, leaving the boat free. We put
after the junk, but sailing free she soon left
us out of sight. We then turned towards
the ship and found she had disappeared. ;
Not more than three or four minutes had j
1 elapsed since we left.
We pulled towards where we thought she
had beeu, but could make little headway ■
against the head sea. After remaining some
tim in the vicinity, and seeing and hearing
nothing, we turned towards the shore, and
after an hour's pull lauded near a Japanese
village. We immediately proceeded to a
house, and after a few minutes' conversa
tion procured three guides, and with them
. started immediately for Yokahama, which
place we reached after a most fatiguing
walk over the mountains of eight hours, at
! 4 A. M. of the 25tb inst.
On arriving at Yokohama I called at Mr.
1 Carroll's who kindly put his house boat at
mv disposal and accompanied me on board
j of the Idaho, where I reported the loss of
j the Oneida to Lieutenant Commander Mul
! len, at five A. M. The collision occurred at
!ten minutes to seven, and about twelve
minutes elapsed between the collision and
the sinking of the Oneida.
It is my opinion that if the Bombay, the
vessel which sank us, had come to our res
. cue when the steam whistle was blown, or
even when the fiist gun was fired, all or
1 oearly all hands on board of the Oneida
might have bctn saved.
ON OOINt; SI'KETV.
Ought a man ever to go surty lor another?
Why not. It is a most friendly act. If
prudently done, it may be the most eminent
benefit to a neighbor. It gives hiui the
benefit of your good reputation when be is
not known. It lends him your credit where
bis own is not sufficient. It puts him in
j funds which otherwi.se he could not com
mand. Such surface to a friend is generous
and sometimes even noble. No better use
can be made of one's money than to help a
true friend. We are commanded to "re
member those in bonds as bound with them.'
' To be sure, this was originally applied to
bonds of a different kind, but with not a
whit more propriety than to pecuniary
I bonds. A man who by a few thousand dol
lars, can save his friend and perhaps his
family, from bankruptcy and want, could
hardly spend his money in a manner which,
all his life long, be would remember with
But, there are certain moral and pruden
tial considerations which should always be
borne in mind in going surety for a friend.
You should make up your mind how much
property you have, and how much you arc
williog to give away, absolutely, for that j
friend for whom you endorse. For no bluu
; der can be worse than to endorse on the sup i
position that you will not have to pay.
; Never endorse without saying to yourself,
"This may come round upon me. I may
have to pay it; and it it comes to that, I
am able and willing." Nine out often of
the fatal mistakes made by bondsmen arise
from taking the opposite course from this.
They consider the act of endorsing a friend's
paper as a mere commercial form. ' There
is no risk. I shall not have it to pay. He
is abundantly able to take care of his paper.
I I shall help him without barmiDg myself.
and he is a stingy man who will not do that."
! This is the calculation on which a man
binds himself to pay a friend's debts in case
the Irieud cannot pay tbem himself.
Bat how do these things turn out? Odc
Dt- J not go far to aseertrin. Kvcry village
Las an illustration. The borrower was mere
involved than you supposed. or' perhaps,
than he himself knew, and his creditors j
closed on him and wound him up, and were j
overjoyed to find such a good name on his
paper. Or, the sanguine scheme on which !
he has ventured, which seemed sure of sue- j
cess, almost without possibility of failure, ;
suddenly, like a loaded wagon, slipped off a ;
wheel and upset into the dirt.' Or, just as
everything was at the peint of success, your
friend sickened and could not look after his
affairs some critical matter was neglected or
some dishonest person stepped in and croo
ked matters: your friend died, the estate
went into the execuctor's hands for settle- j
mcnt, was bady tuacag-d, warped and croo
ked, and finally turned oat insolveot.
And what became of you? Why. you were
surety for the full amount of what you are j
worth ! In sa hour you find yourself confron- '
ted with debt that sweeps away your bouse, j
your farm, your little sum in the bank, and
'caves yon just where yon began twenty five j
I years ago, with this difierence, that then
you had only yourself to provide for, and
now you have a wife and eight children.
Then you were twenty-five years old, and
life was all before you, and now you are fifty
years, and life pretty much behind you!
You have given a tray your children's bread.
I You have not y.t saved your friend, but
SUBSCRIPTION TERMS, AC
The I>VKIUII U fieUiiMntrj Bern AT morn
iag be following relei :
On v. TEAS, (ia advance,) 12.00
" " (i! oot paid within lil 814.J... SZ.SO
" " (if Bot paid within the year,)... 13.0P
All papert outside of tbe comity dincootinned
without notice, M the expire!ion of the time for
which the subscription bu been paid.
Single copiee of the paper fat niehed, in wrappers
et fire cents each.
r.'</tnaieaictk>D en subjects of local or general
ntereet, are reapectfully solicited. To ensure at
tention favors of this kind mast invariably be
accompanied by the name of tbe author, not for
pnbiicatisn, bet as a guaranty against imposition.
Ali letters pertaining to business of the oficc
should be addrawed to
I.ITZ i JORIMJJ, Benronc. Ift.
litrs ruined yourself. Perhaps your friend
had settled on hia wife a small property.
So much the letter for her if be had. Of
coarse she will divide with you, since it was
to save her husband, that yoa ware ruined
But, if the will not (and human nature is
made up of shaky stuff;) and her children
go to school while yours stay at home; and
if they live in a comfortable house, pleas
antly furnished, while you are hiring a few
rooms in the cheapest quarter of the towo
then I suspect that yon will chew the ends
of a great many bitter reflections.
When it is too late you will t very wise.
You will -ay to yourself, it may bo, "A
man is a fool who signs for any larger sum
than he can conveniently pay." Amen,
say we 1
Before a man puts his name down on
another man's paper, be should ask himself.
"Am I willing to give this person as much
money as I sign for." Amen, say we !
"To sign a bond on supposition that it is
a mere form, and that you will have noth
ing to pay is to put ouo's bead into a fool's
noose." Atuen. again, say we!
There is no harm ID signing for a neighbor
if you have got the property, if you are able
to pay tbe amount without harmiug your
own household; and if you love the man for
whom you sign enough to be"*willing to
GIVE biui outright the cum covered by
your endor-uir-nt. Otherwise to go surety
for a neighbor is a folly, a sin and a shame
ATTEMPT TO BLOW UP A DINNER PARTY
—The Belgian Conui at San F."*nci*co has
secret and inveterate enemies in that city,
who last week attempted to take his life
Several gent'eaien were dining with him,
and after dinner they passed out in a body
to a rear house, and as they went out they
beard a terrific explosion. They waited,
startled and even terrified, hut all was still
after the report. They finally ventured
hack into the house, and found that in the
dining room the table had been hurled from
the position it occupied, while everything
on it and around it was utterly destroyed
In the parlor all the furniture was demol
ished utturly, the floor torn in pieces, all
the glass in the windows, as well as in the
windows of the adjoining bouses, broken
An iron powder canister was found imbed
ded in the floor of the parlor. The canister
would hold about ten pouods. It had been
split and torn by the explosion. Beneath
the floor marks of hands and feet were ob
served. bite of fuse and a quantity of half
buriied paper. It has evidently been inteud
ed to blow up the whole house white the
Consul and his dinner party were at the ta
How THEY BRIBE IN ENGLAND.— The
Pall Mall Gazette contains a report of an in
vestigation in the esse of an election fraud
in Beverlev, and the Commission report,
that according to the statement of witnesses,
out of a constituency of 11(J about 800 were
open to bribery, and about three hundred
who were koown as " rolling stoek" with
out political principles or likiDg of any kind.
They expected to be paid, and would not
j vote unless they were paid. This is the
! way in which the bribery was managed: An
aperture was made in the folding-doors of
the library at the Mechanics' Hall, just large
enough to permit a man's hand to be thrust
through it; behind this door stood or sat the
briber, witb a bag of gold before him; the
voters were directed to pass through the
room; the uumber was called out, a sovere
ign or two, as the case might be, was pushed
through the apeture, nothing being visible
but tnc man's hand and the voters then
passed out at another door.
"MY BUT DRUNK."— "Drank! my boy
drunk !" and tears started to the mother's
eyes, and she bent her head in unutterable
sorrow. In that moment the vision of a
useful and honorable career were destroyed,
and one of worthlessness if not absolute dis
honor, presented itself. Well did she know
that intemperance walks hand in hand with
poverty, shame, and death, and his moth
er's heart was pierced as with a sharp point
ed steel. Ah! young man if the holy feel
ing of love for her who bore you is not dead
within yog. shun that which gives her pain
—adhere to that which gives her joy. If
she is with her Father in heaveo, shun that
course of life which shuts the gates of heav
agaiust you. and debars you from her socie
ty forever. The drunkard can never inherit
the kingdom of God.
TRUE OF NEW YORK.— -A young Bos
toman, who proposed starting business iu
Now York city, made a preliminary visit
there armed with letters of introduction to
business men. These presented and the
usual compliments passed, the New York
merchant inquired of the youngi Bostonian
what he intended to do.
"I have not exactly decided," replied the
Puritan, "but expect to settle in some good
business and make a living honestly."
"A living honestly?"
| "An honest li.iog," repeated the Boston
"Young man, said the New Yorker, "I
i congratulate yon. There i? not a city in the
United States where JOB will meet with so
little com|tition in your method of doing
STYLE. —A eotit that has the mark of use
upon it is a recommendation to peoide of
>ra-e and a hat with too much tap and too
| high a luster, a derogative circumstance.
The best in cur cities and towns, are on the
, back of penniless fops broken down nur
! chants, clerks with pitiful salaries, and men
: that do not pay up. The heaviest gold
chain dangles from the fobs of gamblers of
very limited means;* costly ornaments on
ladies indicate to (he eyes that are open,
the fact of a silly love or husband cramped
for funds. Aad when a pretty.woman goes
by in plaio and neat apparel it is the pre
sumption that she has fair expectations and
a husband that can show a balance in his
favor. For, like books, too much gildiog
makes men suspicious that the bindding is
| the most impotaut part.
How THE THISTLE .SAVED SCOTLAND
The following is related as the origin of the
thistle as the national emblem of Scotland
When the Danes invaded Scotland they
availed themselves of the pitch darkness of
I night to attack the Scottish forces unawares,
j In approaching the Scottish camp unobser
ved, marching barefooted to prevent their
tramp being one of the Danes trod
upon a large pricklv thistle, and the sharp
cry of pain which he instantly uttered, sud
denly apprised the Scots of their danger,
' who immediately ran to their aruis,
and defeated the foe with great slaugh
ter. The thistle was thenceforward adop
I ted *- foe national insignia of Scotland.