(hanged. Frem ths outskirts of lis tews, Whers of old ths mils-stem# stosd. Sow s stranger, lookiag down I behold ths shadowy srown Of ths dark and hauntad wood. Ia U changed, or am I change.! f Ah ! ths oaks are fresh and grssit. But ths friends with whoa I range.! Through their thickets are sstrangsd By ths rears that intervene Bright as ever (lows ths see. Bright as ever shine* the sun, But alas! they seem to me lot the sun that need to he, Nor ths tides that used to nui. • Aewgfhfcew "4/VrwaA," • N October. The month of September is gohlen. But ths month of the metis* red . Tbs elm tree is yellow and olden. Its leaves are half gone from its head. We ride iu the heart of the fere*t. The lichen* are grown on each trunk ; Bed lieech leavsgpr* hrtuaed to the sonvt. And uito wood hollow* arc sank. Ws eoent the mnek lirsatli of October. The fragrance of soft woodland smell* Kveeit of the moss** The rainbow Unts pale ui the dell* Ths spider* thin goe*atner weaving* Beem like cotton field* against the blue eky Their webe * re forever deceiving, And dies', our eyes as well as the file*. A FACE AT THE WINDOW. The great bell at the North-western Terminus was riugiug hi collect the passengers for the train that was about to start, and the platform was in the state of confusion usual at such times Douglas Obariteu, who had come to the train to say good-by to departiug friends, stood watching the train as it passed binm In one of the end carriages sat a young girl of about seventeen, and as she went by young Charlton she turned toward him, so that for an instant he saw her face dearly. It was only for an instant, for the train had quickened its speed by that time, but it was one of those instants that alter the whole of a man's life and feelings. The face was s very lovely one; it seemed to him like an angel's, and it threw a spell over him from which he felt, even in that brief space of time, that he would never again be free. It was a bright face, of which he had caught that momentary glimpse, with a fresh color and dark eyes, bnt there was a rather timid, half frightened look abont it, which, per haps, gave it sneh a strange interest for him. When the train had left the station Douglas still stood where he hail been all along, rooted to the spot, with his eyes fixed in the direction of the de parting carriage, and then he started and walked home. Forweeks that sweet face haunted him, bnt the stern duties of life called him, and except at occa sional intervals the vision faded away Years passed quickly by. Douglas Charlton was no longer the uuknown medical student. From the first he had shown great talent, and soon made way in his profession. One or two fortunate cures he had effected, soon after taking his degree, had giren him a good posi tion almost at starting, and Dr. Charl ton was now living in a nice house in one of the fashionable parts of Lon don, with a practice which many an older physician much envied. His name was down among the officers at several of the London hospitals, for though he was well enough known to have enabled him to dispense with most of them, he had no idea of giving np in his prosperity what had been a step ping-stone to" it. He had nearly con cluded his visits one day, and had only one patient left to see. When she came near him and he saw her clearly, he gave a great start, in spite of his habit ual self-control. There was the face that had been for years a part of his life. But how much altered ! Pale, sad, with all the bright, girlish look gone, be wondered that he recognized it, and yet he never for one moment doubted that it was the same. It had lost none of its beauty, to his mind, at least, but seemed, ii possible, more loYely now than it had in his dreams. It required seme mastery at himself to be able quietly and calmly to examine _ and prescribe* for the patient, but he did it As be drove away from the hospital he could *ot help thinking that this meeting was not chance, bat a prear ranged opportunity for him to be of use to this poor girl, who looked as if she bad had so much sorrow. He learned that her name was Rhoda Dun mo re. A few days after, when inquiring. Dr. Charlton found to his surprise that his patient had left the hospital, bat her address was given him. It was some days before Dr. Charlton could find time to pay the visit to which he looked forward with so much inter est and pleasure; but at last a alight hill in the pressure of his engagements enabled him to carry out his wish. He drove to the address given, and fond himself at the door of a respecta ble house in a quiet street in the mid dle of London. Having asked if Miss Dnnmore was at home, and having re ceived an answer in the affirmative, he gave his card to the servant, and was ushered by her into Rhoda's presence. She rose to meet him with an air of some surprise, but with great courtesy. "Miss Dun more," Dr. Carlton began, with the utmost deference, "I hope you will excuse the liberty I have taken in calling to see yon." Rhoda smiled very sweetly, as she bowed and pliced a chair for her visi tor. "You ftiay remember me," he oon tinued, sitting down. "I saw you one day in Dr. Blount's place." "I could hardly fail to remember any one whose manner to me had been so kind," said Rhoda, and her voice Bound ed to Douglas Charlton as the sweetest music he had ever heard. "I was much interested in your case," he resumed, "and upon hearing, a few days ago, much to my astonishment, that you bad left the hospital, I took the liberty of finding out where you were and calling to see you." "Please do not speak of it as a liber ty, Dr. Charlton. I can only feel deep ly the honor yon have done me by this kind visit." "I was glad to hear you were bene fited by your stay at Victoria Park. I hope you have not done nnwisely by coming away so soon." "Oh, I think not; I am wonderfully better; I could hardly fail to be ho after the care and attention I received there. I really was ashamed to stay longer and keep out ethers who had more need of it than L" "I hope you will Jbe very careful of yourself now; you look far from strong." "I am verv careful, I assnre you." Dr. Charlton stayed talking a few moments more, and then taking his hat, roseto go. "I shall hope to look in again some day and see how you are getting on, if you will allow me." "I can only thank yon again and again for your kindness in taking so much trouble about me; you may fully be lieve in my gratitude." Bhe held out her hand as she spoke, and Dr. Charlton took it in his as reverentially as if it had been the hand of an angel. He had no more patients to see that day, and was able to give himself np to happy dreams. He knew that he was in love ; he had at last met the being whose image had been with him through so many years of his life; and far from being disappointed, the reality had surpassed his imagination. Her sweet voice, her lovely faoe, her courte ous manners, her air of refinement and high breeding, all charmed both heart and mind. He wondered whether the (ime would oome when he oould ask her to share his home, when he oould raise her to the position for which she 0 was so well fitted. He started at last from this dream, and smiled to think l- IIKIA. 1\ I IJTX, I'Mitor and I "i-opriotor. VOL. VI. how much ruore like a romantic hoy hi* thought* had been than like the grave Pr. Charlton. As soou as ho reasonably could, ho rniil Khoda Puninoro another visit, which was fallowed by many other*. Ho was wore and wore rhuuol with her every time ho saw her. Ho had found out, just lately, that alio got her iiviug by teaching, and knowing well how uttorlv unlit she was for *ueh work, ho resolved to speak to her at once, and ask her to be hi* wife. With thi* ptiriHuio in hia wind, he went to her one day, about six months after hia first visit, and after his usual questions about her health, for ho al ways wade that the ostensible reason of hia viaits, and a few conventional re marks, he said, rather suddenly: '• Miss Punmore, I wish to tell yon a atorv." Ksi.hU smiled and bowv.l, and he re sumed: " A young man was once standing upon the platform of a railway station just as a train was leaving it. As it passed him, ho saw in one of the car riages the face of a young girl. It was •only a face at Ue window,' but it haunted him through his life, through his studies, through the beginning of hia career, through his prosperity. Af ter many years, chauce, as it is com monly called, threw him into the way of this young girl, then grown into a woman ; and he found her mind and heart as lovely to him as her face had been and still was. He took many op portunities of seeing her, and found that the more he saw her, the more he loved her." Ho paused an instant. " I was that vonng man. and vonrs was the face of which I caught that glimpse. Rhoda, with the whole force of my soul I love yon ; be my wife, make my home a heaven to me." He seized her hand as he finished speaking, and pressed it to his lips. Rhoda, who had listened all through with a face on whish pain and pleasure had been contending expressions, gent ly withdrew her hand, as soon as his grasp of it was a little loosened ; and, sighing, said sadly: "You have told me your story ; let me tell you mine." After'an instant's silence she resumed, in a low voice : " I was the only child of very rich parents. Their name was Graham. They idolized me, and let me have my own" way in everything. I grew up amid every possible luxury and com fort. Everybody called me very beau tiful ; everrbody called me very clever; everybody "knew that I should be very rich* Is it to be wondered at that my head was turned, that I expected when I entered society to have every one at my feet ? I was not disappointed. At seventeen I came out in London, ami was prononneed by everybody the belle of the season. Among my admirers there was one for whom I soon began to entertain a strouger feeling than friendship. He professed to be v. rv much in love with me ; I was madly in love with him. My father did not like tfce idea of my marrying this young man, for the Hon. Arthur Braeebridge's name had been heard in conjunction with some not very reputable proceed ings." " Arthur Bracebridge !" broke in Dr. Charlton ; *' lie must have been the son of whom Lord Bracebridge so often spoke during hia last illness." "No doubt; he had been a great trouble to his parents. If I had asked my lather earnestly to let me marry this yonug man, he would have con sented at last, for he alwavs gave in to me ; but I was willful and headstrong ; and as he had once refused I did not care to asked him again, but yielded to Arthur's entreaties, and ran away with him." " Was it then that I saw you ?" " Most likely; we went by the North-western." " That was the station. This then accounted for the half-frightened look your face wore that dav." "Yes; I wan half frightened and half ashamed of what I was doing, but it was too late then to give np. We went a few miles out of town, and were married next morning. Do not blame me too much ; I acted very badly, bat I was very young, and I have been punished enough." " I blame yon, Rhoda ? My life must have been a mnch more perfect one than it has been, to give me the right of jndging others." "My conduct broke my father's heart," oontinued Rhoda, her voice Snivering ; "he never forgave me, but ied soon after, without seeing me, and leaving all his property away from me. I had soon seen my mistake. My hus band was not unkind, but he was very giddy and wild ; anil I repented my folly' bitterly. When my father died and left me nothing, Arthur was very Angry with me, and from that time mv life became more and more wretched. When we hail been married a few years. Lord Bracebridge diedf and my hus band sncceeded him in the title. We were rich then for a time, but a very short one. Arthur took to racing, and in a very little while had gambled all his princely estate away, and involved himself deeply in debt. Then came what seemed to me the bitterest trial of my life. My husband left me suddenly, and weni I knew not where. I have never heard of him since. Being left entirely upon my own hands, I assumed the name of Dunmore, and under it got employment as a governess, snffi cient to keep me, until the illness came, which prevented me from doing any thing more. The father of some of mv pupils most kindly interested him self in getting me into the hospital, in which yon met me. Now you know why I cannot say yes to yon, and enter upon what would be great happiness for me." She ceased, and thov were both silent for some time. Dr. Charlton was the first to apeak. "O Rhoda," he said, "yon cannot tell what a dream of happiness yon have shattered. I have so hoped I might be able to make von my wife." " Have I done wrong, Dr. Charlton, in allowing yon to come and see me so often, knowing what 1 know? If so, believe me it has been done in perfect innocence. Your visits have been snch a pleasure to me, that I have never thonght to what they might lead ; in deed had the thonght crossed my mind, I should have dismissed it as out of the question." " I can't see why yon should have done that, Rhoda ; I can't imagine that any one could see you often without loving you. But don't fancy that I wish you to think you have done wrong; for, if I had known all that I know now, I should not have given up one of the opportunities that I have had of meet ing you." "Your visits have been the rays of sunshine in my dark life." " We may meet still as friends ? " "As friends who love and trust one another." She put ont her hand, and Douglas Charlton, taking it in both his, said : " i am going now, Rhoda, for I have a great disappointment to fight down ; but we shall soon meet again." They parted, and Dr. Charlton drove awav, his heart filled with sadness. Ho could net bear to go to see Rhoda for some days ; but after a time his visits began again. They were not merely those of friendship, for he had noticed many symptoms in her lately THE CENTRE REPORTER which showed that her old complaint was only checked, not cured ; his ex perience told him tlist it wss only a matter of lime with her uow, for though skill could do much to lrugthau her life, it could not save it His heart sank within him to think how soon he might loss this dear friend, this woman that he loved with his whole heart; but he sometimes hoped that his unremitting care and attention seeuied likely to lie rewarded, as she did not appenr to grow worse. • • • • One afternoon, on going to see Hlukls, Pr. t'harlu u was quite allocked to see a change had taken place in her during the few days that had intervened since his last visit. Hia practiced eye saw only too clearly how short a time of life there tagw remained to her, and a feeling of uuntterable anguish came over him. Khoda herself seemed quite unoou cious that there was any very particu lar change for the worse in her, and roae to meet him with a very bright air. She held a letter in her hand, aud directly he had sat down she gave it to him. It was fiom the lawysr of the Brace bridge family, and told her that the writer had received certain news of the death, more than a year ago, of Lord Bracebridge. Pr. Charlton's head swam as he read this. The thought of how much happi ness might have been his, if this news hml only been known eaVLier, seemed to take away for a moment all power f thought and speech. He recovered him self in an instant, and going to Hhoda, took both her hands in kia, and said; "Then you ate mine, lthoda." "Yours in the sight of heaven," she answered. "Oh, my darling," he burst out, if wo hail only known before, what happiness wight hare been ours!" "And why not now, Douglas? Do wo not love one another still ? "Yes, SIT Rhoda, dearly. I should like us to be married at ouee," he ad ded, rather hastily; "bnt you are not fit to go to church. Will yon let me marry you here to-morrow ? and then I can take you home with me. 1 think yon might manage the drive." "Oh, yes, Douglas. lam very well; how anxious you are about me!" "We are always anxious about those we love, Rhoda," he said sadly. "I must go now to get the wedding license, and wake arrangements for our wed ding. Good-by, my darling," he said, takiug her in his arms and kissing her fondlv ; "vou will see me early to-mor row."' When he returned next morning, he was horrided to find what havoc those few hoars had made in her. She was lying on a sofa when he entered the room, and hardly attempted to get np to receive him. "Are you feeling worse, Rhoda?" he asked anxiously. "I don't think so; bat I feel very tired." "The clergyman will Ins here soon, and your landlady and her daughter will he the only witnesses of onr mar riage." He sat dowu by her side, and they were both silent. He kuew that his married life could last only a few days, perhaps only a few hoars, and this knowledge made him too sad to talk. In a short time the clergyman came; the ceremony was completed, and Doug las Charlton and his wife were alone. He had told her how critical her state was, and she hail borne it quietly and well. After a time she broke the silence by saying, "I shall never see your home, Doug las; mine, too, it would be now." " Rhoda, don't talk so! ( can't bear it." " We shall keep our marriage feast in heaven, Douglaa, and it will be better there than on earth." He did not answer, and there was si lence again. This time he was the first to speak. "I)oyon still feel so tired, darling?" " Yes, dear, very tired; but very happy." " Happy, Rhoda, when yon are going away from me for ever ?" "Not for ever, my husband ; wo shall meet again in heaven, and there will be no parting there." * 9 • 9 * • Dr. Charlton saw no patients that day, and the next morning the passers by" his house saw tnat it was closely shut up. 9 9 • 9 9 • In a corner of the churchyard be longing to the parish in which Dr. Charlton's estate stands, under a weep ing ash, which shades it oliko from sun and rain, is a plain white marble tomb stone, and on it is inscribed: HACKED TO THE MEMOI;V OF nnfs.v, ■nrs BELOVED WIFE OF IK) CO LAS CHARLTON. The flowers ronnd that grave seem the brightest in the whole churchyard. Tinalry't Maytuinr. A Polaris Council. Morton speaks of a consultation be tween Hall and the officers of the Polaris, held about the beginning of September, 1871, with regard to their mode of procedure. Thejquestion was, Hhall we go north or seek harborage here, if the turn of the season is now taking place ? At this consultation there were present Buddington, Ches ter, Tyson, the Doctor and Morton. The ice was beginning to come down in our channel in dense packs, but there wero still two channels or lewis along cash of the shores. Hall asked the Doctor for his opinion first—asking him first, as Morton naively says, bc cansn he was probably the least capable of giving an opinion, being a landsman. The Doctor's opinion was to go to the west channel, where there was still some water, and to go north yet as far as possible. I was asked next, says Morton, and I concurred with the Doc tor, saying we had better push as far north as possible to prosecute the ob ject of our expedition ; bnt, in the meantime, to look oat for good winter quarters in case we shonld be beset. Not to go back on any aoconnt, because "up there " every mile is a mile. Ty son followed, and said, " Look oat for winter quarters—for a harlior immedi ately." Chester said, "Go ahead so long as you can make a mile." Bud dington said, " Get into winter quar ters," "and," adds Morton, " 1 think Bnddington showed the white feather here. We should have gone on." SHE GOT OFF. —Says the Perry coun ty (Pa.) Democrat of recent date : A ysung girl took passage on a train from Millcrstown to go to Newport. When approaching the latter place she was seen to leave tier seat, go out on the platform, and before she oould be pre vented leaped therefrom. The train was moving at about ten miles an hour, and of course those who saw her jump expected to find her a mangled corpse; but to the surprise of all, when the em ployes of the road ran bask to where, she was lying, they found her able to get up, having escaped with some severe bruises. : Bhealleged that she had never been in tha cars before and that a lady had told her that this was the plaoe to get off. Without waiting for the train to stop she had followed the direction of the lady passenger. CENTRE MALL. CENT A Bloody Insurrection. A t**|e from Hhmlsu UWIor) . On the 3d of Deownber, 1835, the couspirators made simultaneous and {ireooneerted attempts in several of the orge cities of the empire, to unfurl the standard of revolt ainoug such regi ments of the army as were kuown to be disaffected toward the new caar. At Ht. Petersburg!!, two regiments of the iiu|>erial ftKitguards, under the corn maud of Colonel) llraganoff and Jeae huriex, left their barrarka, and marched upon the principal government build ings. The State Chaucellerie fell all easy prev to them, but at the building of the W'ar Department, which resem bles a small fortress, they met with a determined resistance. Nicholas, the new czar, who was be lieved by the conspirators to be at Tsarskoe Zelo, hud returned during the night, sud, upon hearing of the revolt, collected five sqtiadrous of thedraeoous and Cossacks of the ' guard, auf two sections of the light artillery, with which he made a sudden sud furious onslaught upou the insurgents. The letter offered heroic resistance ; but, Iwiug mowed down with grupeehot, as they were, they fiuallr hail to stirreu der. Many of the aohlier* and officer* were slain by the dragoons after they had thrown down their arms. Several conspirator* had hurried through the streets, and in a loud Toice called upou the people to rise in aruis against the uew our. But the people paid uo at tention to them, and the Cossacks, who secured the city after the suppression of the insurrection, had no difficulty in resisting them. Of the military prisoners, all the commissioned officers were sent to the fortress of Schlussclburg, where they were thrust into the subterranean dun geons. The civilians were confined in irons in cells at the Krasmkoy jail. An investigation was at once set, aud, through torture, the names of the ring leader* amoug the two regiments ef the guard were easily ascertained. They gave as the most active among them, the two colonels, and beside, Majors Hikoff, Toalirog, Pokiss, Captains Za gar, Rrohany, (Vzof iroff, and Lieuten ants Tengen, Hchenck, Vlrgixy, and Buolot. The officers themselves reso lutely refused to give any information. On the 26th of December the High Commission, eotnpeeed of sixty high civil and military dignitaries, assem bled at the large nail of the ministry of justice in order to trv the conspirators. I'he czar and most ef his male relations were present at the opening of the court. The venerable General Oortachakoff presided. Tbe prisoners were led in, all of them heavily ironed. Colonel Rraganoff, upon seeing the oxar, shout ed to him in a sneering tone, " German dog ! German dog ! " But no uot ice was taken of this insnlt, and the trial commenced. The proceedings were so summary that the whole trial did not last more than five days Late in the evening of the 31st of December tbe court pronouueod the following terrible sentence : "All the commissioned officers caught with arms in Uieir hands shall snffer death by shooting, except Colonels Hragancff and Jeachariex, whoa* tongues shall be torn out of their months by the public executiouer, wherenpon they shall be hanged until they are dead ; the Second and Fourth regiment* of the Foot Guards shall be decimated ; the civilians shall receive one hundred stroke* of the knout." The next day wan New Year's, in the new calendar, and so the sentence was not axecnted until the 2d of January, 1826. St. Petersburgh, as may Ins imagined, was in a state of intense saltation from early dawn on that evennnl and mo mentous day. Immense crowds thronged the streets, and frequently were dispersed by the mounted police. At ten o'clock the sixtT-four doomed officers and nineteen civilians were led ont upon the Ncwski Prospect, where the execution was to take place. Colonels Braganoff and Jeaehnriez were dressed in suit* of coarse brown linen, snd the executioner placed them under the huge gallows which hail been erected for them. Both of them manifested remarkable forti tude, which did not disconcert the exe cutioner a little. With visible embar rassment he told the two brave conspir ators: "I must now tear ont your tongues!" Colouel Jeaehnriez allowed him to open his mouth and to seize hi* tongue with a large steel forceps. The vast concourse of spectators uttered cries of horror a* the executioner vio lently pulled it out. The tongue, bleed ing and horrible to look npou, came ont. Jeaehnriez, uttering a heavy groan, sank to the ground, while n steam of blood poured from his mouth. He was immediately picked up by the oa sis tan t of the executioner, who strangled him ou the gallows. Braganoff proved less tractable. The executioner had to force open his mouth, iu doing which, he broke the front teeth of the unfortu nate man. Five minutes afterward, BrnganofT, too, hod breathed his last. Next the officers, who were to be shot, wero led forward, with their backs turned toward the Neva river. Twelve of them were selected to die first. They mettheirfate bravely. Bhonting, "Long live Russia!" they received tho volley of bullets which twenty-four picked riflemen fired at them, f'ive 101 l dead. Tho other seven had been but slightly wounded. Three more volleys were re quired before all of them had boen put out of their misery. Four times more this terrible scene was re-enacted. At last all of the victims were dead. They lay in a largo heap. Tho immense crowd of spectators was shuddering. But now followed a still more thril ling scene, but fortunately it was not to end in a butchery like the ouo we have just described. Fourteen hundred soldiers, without arms, were marched out in order to be decimated ! Nothing could be more frightful than the spectacle whieh these poor victim in their intense anguish and uncertainty presented. For none of them knew which were to suffer death, and which were to be spared. They looked with horror and dismay upon the pile of corpses in front of them. An aid-de camp of the emperor appeared. He walked along the ranks, touching every tenth man with his sword, and order ing those thus designated to step for ward. The poor men did so, more dead than alive. When the whole of the victims had been selected, the adjutant said : " Yon have dencrvcd death ; but His Majesty, the Czar, in hi* clemency, will pardon you !" A deafening shout of relief; repeated again and again, went up from the dense throng of spec tators. The soldiers, who had already looked death in the face, were over come by their emotions. They embraced one another, and they cried and laugh ed by turns. Bnt they were rapidly marched back to their barracks, and the police dispersed the spectators. Thus was the reign of Nicholas the T'rst inaugurated! 'i le oolored operatives in two of the teb.iceo factories at Richmond, Va., no tified their employers that, appreci ating the difficulties of the present financial situation, they are willing to work for two or tkreo weeks without drawing their wages. IE CO.. PA.. THURSDAY. OCTOBER 30, 1873. Professor k lug's Ascension. tool tier i'rillou. I) >|< fi.ut Plf. .......n. V. II tkn. Mile* ii.... . to* WWII* SuimUlm I'ht I>|mi All l'*r rsttls Told Is loltrollng trruiml *1 Iki Trig. It will be remembered that Profeaaor King, the aeronaut, made an asueusion from the Pemigewaaset Trotting Park, the aaceuaiou Iwing the eloaiug event of the tlrafton County Fair. The bal loou left the ground at 3.17 r. it., and six minutes later waa lost to the sight of the assembled spectators, from the density of the clouds into whioli it passed. Nothing was heard of the bal loon until three days after, although a lauding waa made after a trip of two liuura aud a half. It was feared that the ballon bad followed the course taken last year, upon thd occasion of the as cension made from the same locality, when a lauding was made, after a series of dangerous experiences, in the woods of Canada. Mr. King reports that when he reach ed the regions above the clouds every vestige of the earth was hidden from his view except a loug dark mountain, which appeared to be ten or fifteen miles north or uertheast of him. This was, doubtless, Moosilauke. All the other mountains were oovered by clouds, the upper surfaces of which see filed to conform to the mountains and valleys. For a time he seemed to lie drawing toward the mountain whieh he first wv, but a* be ascended higher he probably took a different direction, for the mountain faded from view or was lost in the clouds. It had been Mr. King'* intention not to ascend above the clouds, but to avail himself of the surfsce current aud thus journey to ward the l'asaumpsic ltiver Railroad, over which he might be enabled to take the uigbt train, and reach Lowell early in the morning. Tins plan was frustra ted by a trifling circumstance. As the ballot'in was only partly filled with gas at starting, the lower section was drawn np on one side. Upon attempting to pull the valve-cord he found that it was retained by the cloth or by entangle ment with the collapsing cord, and ae a disturbance of the latter was uot par ticularly desirable, be deemed it the better course to let the gsa distend the balloon and thus free the cords. At 8} the barometer indicated only fifteen inches, or a height of 18,022 feet above Plymouth, which has itself sn elevation of 488 feet, making all altitude above the sea level of 18,510 feet Fifteen minutes later the barometer had sunk to 14.75, showing an altitude about 18,950 feet, or nearly three and three-fourth mile*. Mr. King was at this time sailing high above the clonds, aad not far south of the Pranounia Mountains, although he had nothing to indicate the latter fact at the time. He began to realise that he had reached s cold region. An overcoat became de sirable, and there were other indiAk tion* than a cold temperature of great altitude. For example, he found that the pulsations of Ida heart were very rapid anil very noticeable, aud there were disagreeable sensations in the head. The thermometer at S{ was st twenty-six degrees, and it fell suoees sively to twenty-three at 4 o'clock, and tw*uiy-one at 4J, the balloon having fallen* to abont 18,500 feet at the latter reading. The wet bulb was covered by a film of ice, and the mercury therein condensed slower, marking successively twenty-eight, twenty-four, and twenty, while tin- dry bulb marked tweuty-six, twenty-three and twenty-one respective ly. It afterward sank to nineteen, while the dry bulb indicated twenty four at 4.20* when the balloon bad descended to within 10,824 feet of the scs level. At 4.25 the balloon was st sn elevation of 13,747 feet, snd the tem perature was twenty-four, the wet bulb still indicating nineteen. While the balloon was at its greatest elevation, the gas had expanded aud distended the envelope to it* fullest capacity, al though it uad not been halt filled at starting. Mr. King gradually began to see through rifts in the clonds, but nawght bnt forest* met hi* view. He could also see beyond the cloud banks in a southerly direction. Not long after leaving Plvmoutb, but after he git above the clonds, he heard several dia charge* of cannon or roct blasting, but no other aonnd came tip to him in his lofty quietude, the music of the moun tain nils snl cascades, even, being hashed. As he descended toward the clonds, he heard a railioad train be neath him, and, a* he passed through the misty mantle, he was brought di rectly over it, though yet at a consider able altitnde. It was a train on the Grand Trunk Hail road, which wa* pass ing through West Bethel, Me., on its wnv from Portland to Montreal. As he sailed over the valley, Mr. aaw the dork reflection of the balloon in the water of the Androscoggin river. As the balloon approached tne ground the drag-rope did good service, as the bal loon itself was brought beyoud the cleared land and over the woods. He decided upon crossing the woods and landing in a valley he had previously seen to the cost and northeast, leading into the Androscoggin Valley, and ac cordingly did so, the jouraeV taking him a farther distance of aoont ten miles, and directly over the top of Black Mountain in Bethel. At 5.48 o'clock he landed the balloon in a little cleared space beyond the woods, and found himself on the land of Mr. Htillman Littlehale in Hiley Plantation. Mr. Littlehalc's place ia on the Bull Branch of Banday River, aud there ia no other clearing beyond this for a long distance. After leaving West Bethel, the balloon took the south easterly surface current again, and drift ed northwesterly toward the township of Buccess, a wooded section of country just across the New Hampshire border, which would prove anything bnt a suc cess as a landing place for a balloon traveler. A continuation of the north easterly course which the balloon had taken over the Franconia and White Mountains would have speedily brought Mr. King over the Maine wilderness, which he traversed in his memorable voyage from Plymouth last year, and a northwest course from Bethel was not much more desirable, since it would have led into the wilds of the Upper Coot. After the desoent the balloon was towed to a better protected spot near Mr. Luther Littlehalo's house, where it was pocked up for removal to Bethel, from wheuee >lr. King returned to Boston via Portland. At Sixty. A former Attorney-General of Mas sachnsetts, James Sullivan, was once an able lawyer, and a hearty, dignified gentleman of the old school. To a friend who wan complaining at the age of sixty that he felt one's days must be few, and the oapaoity for usefulness well-nigh exhausted, ktr. Sullivan felici tously replied: "You mistake there. At sixty a man in fair health may enter upou a series of years eqnAl in useful ness and happiness to those of any period, provided proper preeantions are taken and proper habits formed. Em ployment without labor, exercise with weariness, and temperance without ab stinence are the rules of life for a man of threescore years." The advice probably contains as sound sense as eould easily be oompacted in the same number of words. The Anthracite Region. The anthracite production of Utis year in, up to the present date, con siderably greater tban that of the oor responding period of last rear The increase is about sit hundred and sixty thousand too*, or between four and Ore per cent. All but a very small part of the an thracite produced in the United Htatea is mined in a district contained within the limits of eeveu counties of Penn sylvania— Luaernr, Carbon, Heliuylkill, Columbia, Montour, Northumberland, and Dauphin. The aggregate produc tion of these counties in 187 l! was about nineteen million tons. According to the census of 187U, their annual pro duction was 15,618,437 tons, the total amotiut in the Umled His ten l>eing stated at 15,6114,275 tons. In 1873, the amount in these auuntiea will probably be about twenty million tone—an in crease, since the taking of the oeitsus, of nearly twenty-eight per cent. It is not at all unlikely tliat by the time of our great National Exhibition, in 1876, the amount will be considerably over twenty-five million tons. There is a very common impression that the anthracite region of Pennsyl vania ia a barren district, with little natural wealth except that of its mines. In regard to some parts of it, thin idea ia, to a certain extent, correct. There is a great deal of poor land in the neigh borhood of the collieries, and besides this, much of the country is too moun tainous for cultivation. But still, the agricultural productions of the counties we have mentioned are far from being insignificant, and are capable of being tucreased. The aggregate sauna! value of their farm products was, according to the estimates of the census, $15,897,- 728. Their total area is about 4,500 square inilca. There is no richer land in any part of the Middle States than some'that is to be found in these coun ties, and a considerable quantity of it ia cultivated in a manner that dues no discredit to the general high character which Pennsylvania farming lias so long maintained. There are, as might naturally be supposed, some very marked contrasts between the characteristic* of the min ing and the agricultural population of these counties. But there are two things to be said here about the un favorable character in respect to orderly behavior often attributed to the miners. In the first place there is a great differ ence in the mining population of dif ferent district*. There are some parte of the anthracite region which have always been as orderly as the most peaceful agricultural districts of Weat era New York. In the second place, it only takes a few individuals in any community to make a great deal of dis turbance. Btill, with all the allowance that can be made on these grounds, it must be acknowledged that the general character of the mining populaLien for rigid sobric ty or scrupulous respect for the rights of property, and a strict avoidance of conduct detrimental to public and private peace and quietness, is by no means so high as would be de sirable. There has, however, been of Isle a marked improvement in these matters. But one great difficulty still remains, and there seems to be no practicable way of removing it. The laborers in mi'ue* have, as a general rale, little interest in the real estate of the neighltorhoud they inhabit. The local attachment* and associations which are capable of constituting so powerful and beneficial an influence, must necessarily, therefore, be in a great degree wanting. Among the most remarkable features of the region of which we are speaking is its railroads. The manner in which some of its most ragged and moun tainous parts have been penetrated by these higoways ia among the most grati fying, as it ocrtaiuly is one of the most beneficial, n-stilts of American en gineering. We hope, by the way, that at the Centennial Exhibition drawings, maps, and descriptions illustrating what has been accomplished in this re spect, and the difficulties that bare been overcome, will lie placed in a conspicu ous and accessible position. The net work of railroads with which the whole district is covered ia closer, we think, than that of any area of similar size in the United Htales, except, |ierhape, the vieinity of Boston. The style of work in which the roads have been constructed ia still more worthy of notice than their extent. There is probably no set of roads in the country where the tracks are Utter laid, the bridges more sub stantial, and the whole structure more permanent or better finished. Twenty years ago, the total amount of anthracite annually mined in the re gion of which we are speaking was only about six million tons, or considerably less than one-third of what it it now. According to the census of 1840, it was only abont eight hundred aud fifty thousand tons. The figure* which these facts suggest are startling, taken in connection with what we have in the former part of this article briefly shown to be the present progress of affairs ; but; without relying at all upon this as a basis of calculation for the future, the probable necessities of the oountry in dicate a degree of increase in anthracite production to which few industries of any description are, even in this age of progress and this land of enterprise, likely to find a parallel.— Xcw York Timc. Diamond Robbery In Paris. A diamond robbery of considerable •mount hue just been before the courts iu Paris, with results that will strike the American aenae of propriety rather cnrionaly. It appear* that M. Spinelli, the wealthy and well-known jeweler of the Palaia Royal, waa in the habit laet summer of going every evening to a country house at St. Manr, leaving hia ahop with its valuable content* in the care of hia aon, Hector Spinelli, a lad of sixteen, whose vigilance he thought the more assured because he lecked him in for the night. But Hector, not unnaturally, found it dull te be in a ahop all night by himself, and obtained the means to get double keys, of whieh, lor a long while, he made no more criminal use than to let himself out and amuse himself in cafes. But he ulti mately waa induced by a cousin, named Loisean, twenty years old, to rob the till. They laid hands upon money and jewels to the value of $25,000, and set ont with the plunder for Italy. Their youth provoked suapioion on tne part of a Commissary of Police on the frontier, and they were arrested. The Code in use iu France (Article 800) precludes the prosecution of a aon for robbing hia father. Consequently only the nephew Loisean was prosecuted ; and hia counael submitted to the juiy that it would be anomalous to convict the nephew, who was only an accomplice, whereas the son was the principal. The jnry adopted this view and acquitted Loisean. The Glass. Mr. Coville says a looking glass af fords a woman a marvelous amount of comfort and gratification. He says his wife thinks just as much of consulting her glass when she ties on her apron as when she tries on her bonnet. He says that when there is a knock at the door, he goes there at once, but his wife, on the contrary, ejaculates— "Mercy, Joseph, who's that?" and dashes for the looking glass the first thing. Terra*: *8*2.00 a Year, in A^dt The Greatest Crop of the World. A question widely discussed involves the relative value of the wheat, cotton, tea and hay crop# of the world. Which of tbeee products employs the greatest amount of tkh world's capital ? It is said that hay leads the rest, and the items that enter into the account ae stated are somewhat startling, and Will makes (Danger's hair stand on end. Cotton and tea are local crops, while hay ia produced everywhere the world over, and thus the hay crop greatly out weighs either of the other two. The aggregate reported value of all farm products for 1870 was $2,447,538,658; but as this includes additions to stocks, "betterments," Ac., it is probablj too bigh. Now th hay crop for Dial year ths! ia the grass dried and cured for use or eold—ia leported at over 27,000,- OOOtona. This at half the selling price in the large cities, would amount to $405,- OOOjDtM), and ia far greater than the ag gregate home-value of the cotton crop ar any other crop. But the cured ' is but a portion of the grass crop. The other portion is used on the ground, and it requires considerable calculation to get at the value so used, even in the roughest way. In the first place live stock, including horned cattle, horses, sheep, swine, Ac., to the value of $1,525,008,000, were fed from it tliat year. Averaging the lives of these at five years we have one-fifth of that sum as representing the grass fed to them in 1870, namely: $305,000,000; next we find the valne of the animals slaughtered for food in that year to be $309,000,000, and as this is an animal product, the whole of it will for the pres ent be credited to the grass crop; aext we find that the butter crop of 1870 was 514,000,000 pounds, which at the low average of 25 cents, amounts to $128,- 000,000, and this goes to the credit of grass; next we have 235,000,000 gallons of milk, which, sversged at the low es timate of 10 cents per gallon, adds $25,- 000,000 more to the credit of the grass cmp; then we have 100,000,000 pounds of wool at 25 cents a pound, adding $25,000,000 more; and, finally, 53,000,- 000 pounds of cheese at 10 cents, add ing over $5,000,000 to the total of these credits to the grass crop of 1870, which aggregates $8e7,000,000. Now let us add the value of the "hay" crop as given above—vix.: $405,000,000 —and we have a grand total for " hay " and the products of grass consumed on the ground amounting to $1,292,000,000! This is, of course, subject to the de duction, as the meet, butter, milk, cheese, and wool-producing animals consume other food besides grass and To make ample allowance for this, we deduct the entire value of the corn and ostcropsof 1870, estimated at $270,000,000 and this leaves s remain der of $1,082,000,000 to be credited to the hay and grass-crop of that year, when the reported aggregate of all farm prodnets was $2,447,538,658.. If our es timates make even the roughest ap proach to accuraev, the value of that crop was two-fifths of the aggregate value ef the farm products, and bene# we may infer that two-fifths of the oapi tal then invested in agricultural pur suits was devoted to the grass-crop, sad this in the United States equals (in round numbers) $4,575,000,000. From these figures the dedu> tion is palpable that King Cotton is uncrowned aud de throned, and we may tie forced to admit that all " flesh" and all else is her, if not "grass."— Memphis Appeal. The English-African War. It is evident that the British expedi tion to the Oold Coast has s very seri ous task before it Thus far it has met with one disaster after another. The Asbanteas are no contemptible antag onists, even for s well equipped Euro pean force. They have long ranked among the most powerful of all the African nations. They are oapable, it ia said, of bringing into the field an army of 100,000 men. Their troops have been drilled by Dutch adventurers and Yankee merchantmen, the latter having supplied them with arms and ammunition. Recent occurrences also hare made it plain that in a content with the Britieh they will hare the en tire or paaaire aaaiatenee of all the tribes along that part of the ooaat—at least until they hare been beaten in some signal engagement. The affair on the I'rah, in which every man sere one in Commodore CommereU's boat ex pedition was more or lees seriously hart, and the distinguished commander himself was iangeronsly wounded, has borne its natural fruit. The affray has become general, and a second disaster, similar in character to tha first, has ag gr*rated the dangers of the situation. "We are probably in for a serious war," says the Fait Mall Gazette, "and a war which we shall hare to carry on single handed, without any material assistance from native allies. This maans that we must substitute a much more formid able number for the handful of British troops with which the war was to baTe been carried on. We must hsre plenty of men, and, what is more, hsre plenty of Englishmen—on the Gold ffioast if we are to win this bout" The military force now on the way to Africa, under the command of Sir Gar net Wolaeler, will doubtless be strong enough for the serrioe likely to be re quired of it; but it will not hsre an easy march to the Ash an tee capital. The natires are adepts at bush fight ing ; the country girea them erery ad vantage ; and they can seriously embar rass the progress of an invading army, however formidable. Their object is evidently to detain the English near the coast until the rainy season sets in. For this purpose thcv hare been careful to carry hostilities lar and wide into the protected coast territories of the Fan tees, which the British General must leave in his rear when he move* towards Coomassie; and M the Fantees will join tha aids of which they are most in fear, it becomes a grave question how this difficulty of the campaign is to be mot. Daisys will be the Aahantee*' best defense. In s few months the swamps end jungles will reek with pes tilence, and fever, ague, and dysentery will do more execution in the European ranks than gunpowder. Are We Regenerating t A few years ago, at the Eglinton tournament in England, it appeared that the famous knights of three and four centuries ago must have been smaller even than the Englishmen of to-day, for it was impossible to put on their armor. And now oome vital sta tistics to prove that we are more hardy and longer-lived than onr fathers. The statistics kept at Geneva since 1560 show that the average term of life has been steadily lengthening. At that time the average was only 22 years ; it is now 40. in the 14th century the average mortality in Paris was ane in 16; tne rate has been reduced in onr day to one in 82. In England, less than two centuries ago, the mortality was one in S3; now one in 42. The laws of life are better understood; the oom foras of life more widely distributed, and habits of living improved. Even oonsvmption, the fatal malady of aur New England climate, is yielding slow ly to a wiser method of treatment, and the annual percentage of deaths is smaller than 50 years ago. If, by sound system of diet or exeroise the constitu tion of New England girls could take on a higher vitality and vigor, the out look for the future would be hopeful. NO The KIMDUM of the How TUoy it*r*lvr<4 Tlr IHHM—Com porfoma mm* U*mtUtmtw, That group of WTfgM, listening through a double interpretation to the comforting words of * clergymen, eeys the New York Herald, whom the* oan oulr apeak of an ft "spirit man, i a novel scene for the world to ponder over. They heard the sentences trans lated into Modoc jargon and then ren dered into pare Modoc, but their •perch<-s afterward betrayed how little the thoughts of the preacher had sunk into their savage souls. They spoke in turn, and the strange offer of Captain Jack, that Boar-fated Charley fthouhi suffer in uis stead, was made In neither his nor Bcbonehis'a speeches did the calm, impassive, unshaken stoicism ap- > pear which we have insensibly connect ed with the Indian when facing bi doom. From Captain Jack lacking wistfully round with his aearviiiug, giittermg eyes, and saying, "It is U-rnbla to think I hats to die, because whenever I loek at my heart I sea a de sire to live," we recall the famous figure of the Virginia Indian, "Logan,** when, aa a prisoner after a bloody war in which he was ever a towering spirit, be said, " Logan would not turn upon his heel to save his life." From Hcbonchin, K peaking aa smoothly and ingeniously as Hhsksjwsre's Mark Antony, saying: " Boston Charley haa told the truth when he oalled me a woman. I was' like a woman, and opposed to war," wa I •an go back to Osceola, the famous Chief of the Hemtoelas, end tiring bit imprisonment with the dignity of a Brutus, expressing no regret save that he had allowed himself to be betrayed into the hands of the pale faae enemies who ware seeking, with bloody hand, the destruction of his rune. The long intermixture with the whites had grafted the idea upon the mind of j Captain Jack and Schonchin that while { there's life there's hope—that the life which had been straggled for with tooth and nail was worth itruggUng for with the tongue. Different is thia, in deed, from Black Hawk, when made a prisoner, saying pithily and wi