Two Side* of a Sentiment. When two-yaar-old May-Bloiwom COBMI down in clean white dree* And run* to find "dear Auntie," And claim her #weet cares# Then Auntie take# up Blossom, And her even-they glow and shine, "Oh, pretty Baliy Blossom -if you were <> lv mine r When Blossom. in the pantry, Ruth mounted on a chair, Rae nil'hied at the icing Until half the cake M bare. Then Auntie put* down Rloeeom, And her eyee thew glow and ehine, " Oh. naughty Baby Rloeeom-if you wereonly mine —,'lerihaer'e >x. Poems by Two Little American Girl*. 1 | *ST. .YicVWit* Wil^rtwsc.l Elaine and t\ been passed, i* on a large and iso lated farm, lying upon the broad slopa# cf the beautiful Berkshire hill# of western Massa chusetts, and i< quaintly called " Sky Farm. 11 re. in a si nple con try lit \ divided lw tww* adjoining Sky Farm. Peeping into mossy delis, where wild flower* love to hide, hunting the early arhutu*, the queen hare-bell, or the blue geuuaii, they la.ru the eecret* of natine, aed these they pour for h in soag as . mply and as uaturally aa the htrds *tngd The Grumbler. Hi* Yowl A. Hi* e >st **# tixv thick ar.J hi# c*r was too thin. He couldn't W quiet, he hsted s din ; lie hated to write, and he hat-U to read. He nas certainly v ry much lujured ind ed : He must study and work ovvr Uxiks he de tested. His parent* were strict, and he never era* rerted ; He knew he was wretch, d as wretchd could te. There wss ix'one so wretch, dly wretched as he. Hit Maturity. Hi* farm wa# too small and h # taxes too big. He was seiflah aud lasy. and enxn as a pig ; His wife was too ally, hi# children too rude ; And just because he wa* unoorn monly good. He never had money enough or to spare. He had rorhnig at all flt to eat or to wear: He knew he was wretched as wretched could be. There ws* no one so wretchedly wre:ched ss he Hit cUi Aft. He find* he has sorrows more deep than his fear*. He grumbles to think he has grumbled for year* : He grumble* to think he ha* grumbled away His home aud lis fortune, his life's little day. But. alas ! 'tis too late—it is no ue to say That his eyes are too dim, and his hair is too gvy- He know# he is wretched a* wretched can be. There is no one more wretchedly wretched than he. —Dora doodah (ten years old}. June. For stately trees in rich array. For sunlight all the happy day. For blossoms radiant and rare. For skies when daylight closes. For joyous, clear, outpouring sing From birds that all the green wood throng. For all things young, and bright, and fair. We praise tbee. Month of Kesee! For bine, blue skies of summer calm, For fragrant odor# breathing balm. For quiet, cooling shades w here oft The weary head reposes. For brooklets babhlmg thro' the fields Where Earth hr choicest treasure* yield*, For all things tend-r. sweet aud soft. We love thee. Mouth of Rose# 1 —jc.'tiine (rotsifllr years old). Ashes vf Roses. [Grown people often write in eympathy with children, bnt here is a little poem by a child written in v mpathy w th grown folks :} Soft on the sunset sky Bright daylight cloaca. Leaving, when light doth die, Pale hues that miughng lie— Ashes of roses. When love's warm mn is set. Lore's brightness closes ; Eyes with hot tears are wet. In hearts there linger yet Ashes of roses. —Kiaint Goodale (thirteen years old). An Impudent Puppy. Pretty, saucy Kitty went swinging up and down, np and down, her light muslin dress waving and fluttering in the bre.se. " Glorious Rupert, isn't it ?" she cried, calliug t> her pet and companion, a huge, shaggy dog. " Bnt where are jou? Why don't yon answer, sir?" And swmgiftg more slowly, she looked every where around her. Kitty was down at the bottom of the old-fashioned garden at the tisck of her father's farm-house, where a swing had been pnt np for her in a little grove of trees. Suddenly a merry voice cried nut, " Here!" "and a handsome roung man leaped the low fenoe, and advanced towards her, laughing merrily, and doffing hia hat. Kitty was out of the swing and on her feet in"an instant, her eyes flashing, her figure drawn up to its full height. She looked prettier than ever in her indig nation. "I beg vonr pardon,"• said the in truder, bowing haif-mockingly ; "but I was taking a short cut across the field when I heard you call me. "Gall you!" Kitty looked as if she would annihi late him. "Certainly," with the utmost cool ness. "You called 'Rupert,' didn't yon?" "I was calling my dog, air," said Kittv, with infinite hauteur. " Well, I'm Dot exactly a dog," was the laughing answer ; " but I've often been called 'an impudent puppy—al your service; miss." He bowed again, profoundly. " I should think so," snapped Kitty, stamping her little foot. And she mattered to herself, not expecting to be heard: "Impudeace!" The stranger heard the word, never theless. His manner changed. He became as serious and deferential as the most chivalous knight of old in the presence of his mistress. " I beg pardon ; I'm afraid I'm tres passing. But the path through the field was trodden as if one had the right of way there,and I heard you call—well, I made a mistake." Again the mirthful look danced in his eyes, " Good morn ing." He swept the very ground with his hat, as he executed another profound bow, and then turned and, patting his hand on the top of the fence, vaulted over, and the next moment was out of night. Kitty did not swing any more that day, but went back to the house, mnt eriug: "Impudent fellow!"while the < al Rupert, who had started off chasing rabbit, reappeared at this juncture, and accompanied her. Bnt this was not the Rupert she meant, when she said " the impudent fellow." A week passed. Kitty saw no more of the stranger, though she often won dered whom he could be, and if he were staying in the neighborhood. At the end of t'iat time she attended an eve ning | arjy at Squire Stacey's. Almost the firs t person she saw on entering the room was the handsome stranger. "I wish to introduce vou to my nephew," said the squire, leading that p rsonags up to Kitty. " His name, by FRED. KURTZ, Editor mid Vropriotor. VOLUME XI. baptism, te Rupert Mortimer ; but he i# ouch * nicy fellow thnt he in best known among hie frteud# a ' that impu dent puppr.'" The evee of the To ting people met. Young Mr. M.irtiuier'e wore dancing with tun. For the life of her Kitty could not help laughing. So they laughed in concert, and he mud, bowing low, and rejKMtUug the mttue words he had need in the garden : " Yea, ' thnt impudent puppy—at your service, uns*.' " "He is making sport of tnc," said Kitty to herself, and drew herself up haughtily ; aud for the rest of the inter view she waa ixild and reserved, tifin ing herself to monosyllabic replies. Very soon, at the *|qx'ar*iice of one of her many aihuirers, slie excused herself, and went off to dance. " A bit of a Tartar, I'm afraid," solilo qitizeil Rupert Mortimer. " But boa pretty site is. She looks, too, aa though slie hail a nohle character ; aud she cau take her own part, aa I have found to my cost But I'm afraid ahe haa been i poilt by admiration. To get tuto her food graces oue must go ou his very nees to her ; aud, faith ! it ia almost worth while to do it. But no, Rupert Mortimer, my bov, keep vottr self-re speot." Tties, with a laugh, " ' Is thy servant a dog, that he should do thi* thing?"" Yet often that evening Rupert fouml himself, a* if bv some magnetic attrao tion, Jntwu to Kitty'* side. Kitty, tix>, could not help ixxwßtoually glancing admiringly at In* handsome face and graceful figure. Halls, pte-nicw an I croquet partie* followed each other in rapid succession, for the snnitner wa* a gay out\. Kitty and young Mr. Mortimer were t.vgether almost constantly. Somehow, Kitty fell into the habit of expecting Rupert always as her special txxxrt; and he IxHtan to feel that uo one but he had a right to Kitty, aud to be very jealou* when others attempted to pay her atten tions. As yet, however, no word* of love passed between tlieui; for Ru;x>rt, now Uioroughly enamored, feartxl t. ruin all by a too premature svt.wal; es jiecially aa, once or twice, when he had ventured to approach the subject, Kitty had suddenly grown haughty and cold A final pie-nic had planned to chiae the season. It proved a great suc ceea. The day passed merrily on until Inncheon time. Rupert had made up his mind to have a quite ramble with Kitty after this meal, aud if things went well," to speak of hi* love. But he had counted without his host, for when. Inncheon was over, and he hail got rid of his aunt, Mrs. Stacy, who had called him to her *nle to wait on her, lo ' Kitty hail disappeared. Full of jealou fears, and determined to find out wh> wa* his rival, he Beth l< rth through th woods to discover Kitty. He hail not gone far before her favor ite dog came bounding toward him, jumping and harking, and manifesting the greatest delight at seeing him. But when Rupert stooj>ed to pat his name sake, the dog darted ahead; then stopjied and looked wistfully at Rupert, and then rushed on again. " What can he mean ?" said Rupert A sudden fear seized him tlist some thing wa* wrong, and he hurried on, the dog rapidly 1 railing the way. At last, m an opening of the wtxxl*. on a moss-covered rock, he saw Kitty, pale, breathless, and apparently in pain In a moment he was at her side. All hit jealousy wa* gone. Love was upper most now. "Oh! darling," he cried, "what i it? Thank Heaven I have found yon.' "Oh! Mr. Mortimer," she cried, wit' 1 a little sob, " how glad I am to see you I began te think I should have to stay all night alone. I've sprained mv ankh and I can't walk. What shall 1 do ?' And *he burst into tears. Our hero took both the little hands and held them tightly in his own, whil he questioned her anxiously a* to th accident, relating meantime how hecam< to find her. " But how, "exclaimed Kitty, ruefully, when he had done—" how am I ever h get l>ack ? I don't believe I can walk a step." "Of coarse you can't. Who said yon oonld r cried itnpert. " But you'll get back right, ail the same, for I intend to carry you." " Carry me!" Kitty gave a littl. scream, and shrank back, and covered her face with b >th her bauds, for sh felt the hot blood in her cheeks. " Oh, no ; that will never do and she bluu d* red out unthiukingly, " what will peo ple say ?" But Rupert did not stop to reply to this question. Very little cared he what people said. Without a word he put his arms around Kitty, and, I'fting her bodily from her feet, walked off with her as if she had been a feather-weight. At first, Kitty struggled a little ; bnt the strong, manful arms held her closely, and soon she began rather to like it, and to think it all very delightful. "At any rate," she said to herself, " I pin t help it; he is too masterful to resist." With this comforting conclusion, her fair head sank on his shoulder, and for the first time in her short life Kitty knew what it was to lie supremely happy. Rupert carried his lovely burden to his own carriage, which stood apart from the crowd, nnd carefully placed Kitty in it. "There, now," he said, " I shall take you home immediately, and stop for a doctor on the way. Nobo ly can drive you with so littfe pain as I can." he added, seeing she was about to object. " Besides, you must to obey me, so as to get your hand in, for sometime you are going to be my wife, you know." "Your wife?" cried Kitty. She gave a pout and a haw of her head, but she blushed, and not with angtr either. Yes ; blushed to the tips of her dainty ears. "Of course." retorted Rupert, as he stepped softly into the carriage, and took his seat beside her, looking half fondly into her eyes which fell before him. " I have meant it all along. Didn't yon, deareßt?" " Really, yon are the most ' impudent puppy' I ever saw," retorted Kitty, nnrsting into laughter in spite of her self. But, for all that, she did not repulse the kiss with which. l>efore starting, Rupert thought it necessary to fortify himself for the journey. What more i there to tell ? Very little. For Kitty and Rnpert were mar ried early in the antnmn, and were su perlatively happy. "Do" you know," said Rnpert, one day, "that it was by the merest acci dent we ever knew each other f I had come down to my uncle's for a single night only, when I saw yon in the swing, and my whole life was changed. I fell in love at first sight, and resolved to stay and make your acquaintance, even if it took all the summer." " So I owe my fyappiness," answered Kitty, archly, " to my faithful dog—dear old fellow—being off guard that after noon." "And to an 'impendent pnppy ' com ing along," retorted Rupert with a kiss, "]ust in the nick jof time, and taking his place." I We hare more pdwer thap will, and it ia often byway 01 r , > ooneWee thit we fancy tlung|L* lmpoeeible. THE CENTRE REPORTER TIIF WIFE'S AWE-11.. It.member Js.r, l*l !>' *HIe, John " Tie •' llumaa • *••- llea. .1 "sir.war Nrrse. " lhm't strike nio, John." said * prw trutc wife iti tuie* of iijiuttcnihle tender ness ; " remenilxT June, 1859,' anil the upraised arm ami clenched list fell limp ami powerless by the snlc of u strong man, and the wrinkle* and scowl# of auger aofteued, kins 1 * trembled, thefortu swayed, the human triumphed, the fountain of affection wa* reached, and the mauiy cheat heaved with emotion ; eyea, long atnuigora to tears, were moisteued agaiu, and with wild grief, mingled with remorae, *hx>k the stalwart form which bent beneath the blast like a read swaying in a tornado, thvls ! what a scene' 1 Children looked on in idank amazement. There was silence, disturlwxl only by moan* and sobs and prayers. There were remorse, shame ami poverty. There were huuger, cold and uahetlueaa, aud there was, Iwvsidea, peuiteuoe. lletter still, there waa forgivencas, uttervxl iu touea aa sweet aa augel's whispers. A strong man prone on his face, sobbing like the ram and moaning like the night winds. A wife lienditig over him aud in gentle words repeating her forgiveness. Little ones still ataudiug absif, but hesitating ly, approaching their parent*, every look and gesture an iuquirv. 0, the magic of thi>ae wonls, " Remember June, 1859!" What memories they called up 1 The home ; the riowers ; the aged parents ; the altar ; the plighted vows ; the minister ; the wedding ; life's morning ; the bright hopes ; the glowing prospects ; the fneuds of youth; graves of loved ones 1 How thev came rushing through the tuiud of that txsir penitent man -Uxik possession of his brain ; occupied every ehamlier of his memory; overwhelmed his soul sn.l bore him to tlie earth. The rase we recite was one of peculiar misfortune, of sorrow, of wretchedness. The man, a mechanic from New England, out of ,rork—tlays and mouths destitute of the means to provide fod —disappoint- ments following each other iu steady succeaaiou, until at last all i* gone—uo fixxl for two days—-iusane—the cap uts Itieas, strife and tnuidemonium—at last, attacking the mother of his child ren, and ready to deal a blow that might have resulted in death, hut saved bv the wonls : " Remember June, 1859." In the midst of this terri ble sceue a neighbor calls. The agony, the grief, the remorse, the penitence, hail clothed the man iu his right mind ; but he hail a realization of what he hail done, and he at once unburdened hia soul to his neighbor. The wife would have shielded him with her love ; but no, he would confess hia sin, auy where, every where, before man, OIKI, angels. It * the language of sob*, of unutterable oontriti. in. The gentle wife would apologize. " No, Jane, let me tell it all," and he went on. He told of the ■lil home, uestling among tb* far away New Engtand lulls; of church and school ; bow he wooed and won his loving wife; of happy years; of the first sorrow when Bobby died aud they laid him awav among the liaises on the sunny hillside; how others hat! lime to brighten their home ; and how he had struggled and at last fallen, aud then the Hoods of grief were renewed The neighlxir WHS a man with a great heart and generous impulses. He had little house, presided over by a wife, his neer in all things; good and kind, faking in the surround in gn, he said ; "John, come; pickup and go over to my house to-nigut, amlmaylie to-morrow something will tnrn up to your ad vantage." The invitaiioo was aoewpted, -ind in a little while the family was tieneath a hospitable roof. The good wife prepared supper, and the surround ings were so pleasant that woe seemed to be forgotten. The next day, most unexpeotedlv, employment was obtain xL Some advanca of wages wna secured, tnd the desolate home put on a new and brighter aspect. TndianajxAiA Sen tinel. An Old-Time Hanging. Samuel Hnlett, whose deatli at an ad vanced age was reported a few days ago, was one of the passengers in the mail ooaoh between Philadelphia and Head ing in 1830. when the horses were stop oed and tha passenger* plundered by Wilson, Porter and Potete, who*.' arrest and trial, and execution of Porter were •*HU*es of mnrh public feeling at the time. The mail coach was on its way to Keeling, and had reached Turner's lane, a mile or two above the hnilt tip portion >f the city, when the lead horse* were suddenly brought to a stand and a pistol put at the head of the driver and one or •nor of the passengers, to intimidste them and prevent resistance. The money and jewels were surrendered upon de mand, and no violence was used. It was supposed that the bank messenger, William Miller, who held for manv years the situation of bailiff in the United States district oonrt, would be in the coach, bnt he had been unable to reach the White Bwau Hotel in time to take passage that morning. Psrter and Wil son were captured in Philadelphia, but Potete was arrested in Baltimore, and, upon being brought on here, consented to take the witness stand against his confederates. Samuel Hulett was a ma terial witness, and Porter and Wilson were convicted and sentenced to be hanged. The robliery of the mail was then a capital offense, when the lives of passengers or any one was put in jeopardy, as was done. Wilson was saved through the intercession of influ ential friends, but Porter expiated his •rime upon the gallows, having on the .lav of the execution ridden upon his coffin fropi the Arcb street prison to the hanging ground, not far from the East cm penitentiary. Potete, who had onm mitted a crime in Baltimore, was taken back there and served out a term of imprisonment. Wilaon became an ex emplary citigen, and was living when last hear.l of a few years ago—Philadel phia Ijcdyer. Military Margery In Turkey. The following details will seem in credible to those who are not acquainted with the peculiar ways of the Turkish administration. An artillerist had his knee shattered at Histova by the explo sion of a shell, and after his wound had been temporarily dressed he was trans ported from the field of battle to Con stantinople. In spite of his intense sufferings, ha listened with the greatest interest to all the news from the seat of war. On his arrival in Constantinople, amputation was found to l>e necessary, hut before the operation oonld he per formed permission had to be obtained from the ministry of war. This permis sion must always be obtained before an amputation can be performed in a Turkish hospital, and it not infrequently dies belore the civil functionaries have ceased deliberat ing on the demand of the surgeons. | Fortunately for our artillerist his case was pushed through with exceptional rapidity, and the desired permit was given after a delay of only eight or ten days. The brave soldier, who had awaited the pleasure of the administra tion with the most exemplary patience, bore the operation with heroic courage; there is still hope that his life will be saved. Great souls hsvs wills; others onlj feeble wishes, CENTRE HALL, CENTRE CO., FA., THURSDAY, JANUARY 17, 1878. Japanese Firemen. Bav* an English ueriodioal in a iuMtUt i>( Japanese fireuicll unci the methods employed by tbnu in extinguishing Area It *a a lug Are - there Htwl Uil iloultt alsiut it. fu ( ou sUutmople and No- York, fairly big event* of tin* sort m-oalnoually occur. And are made much of, but to ee King Kire 1U all bi* awful power and glory, Japan should lw visited. Although we had been pretty prompt m olteyiug the alarm lell t we found that the tire had already made considerable progreaa, and at Brat, unprotected a* we were by helmets or hooils, we found it difflcult even to look at the raging aeeue |>efore u*. All we could make out wa* a vast expanse of dancing Bnuie, intersected by iet of smoke, snd the black outline* of t>iirued or burning buildiuga. ItV de gree* we became accustomed, and we saw our brigade double up inU> action, place the eugiue in poaitiou, squirt at the dames, which aecmed to have the most undisputed mastery everywhere, and scud forward the hook and ladder men recklro* fellows, who seemed to have the utmost contempt for flames and falling timl>er, and who went into the danger as if they were gotug to a welding. To us, accustomed to the stem, silent, business-like manner of the Loudon Are wen, there was something savoring of burlesque in the efforts of these Yeddo brigades to ivimlait the flames. The general effect wa* that of what is kuowu as a pautoiuiue " rally —every oue howluig, shouting, running to and fro, ami upsetting one another, amnl a shower of Beam*, tiles, and arti cles of ftiruiture, without any apparent order or method. There was a great deal of movement and a groat deal of uproar, and, during the whale perform ance, the flame* seemed to wander just where they pleased, singeing here, blistering there, but, as a rule, com pletely guttiug what they came m con tact with. Meanwhile, our engiue lias! rorne to utter grief. Hut this, to our eves, wa* of very little consequence, as it had served simply to dampeu the jackets of the firemen ; so it was re moved, and all the energies of the bri gade were devoted to the object of pre venting the spread of the Are by the whole demolition of houses. With tins object in view the htsik and ladder men were sent forward into the house* which were more immediately threatened with destruction, while the Wtteriug rams— huge piles of wood with tremendous iron fork* at the ends were run up under the charge of the most stalwart coolies of the brigade. The captain, armed with a huge standard, wa- sitting straddle-legged on the roof of a h