TER i BIS OF THE GLOBE Per anuem in advance Ix month. rbrea TERMS OF ADVERTISING. • I insertion, 2 do. 3 do. anesqaaro, (10 linesjor 1.214 75 ¢125 ¢l5O Two squares 1 50 2 00 3 00 Three squares, 2 25 3 00 4 50 3 months. 6 months. 12 months. .S 4 00 ¢6 00 010 00 6 00 9 00 15 00 Joe goare, or lets roe squAres • 8 00 12 00 20 00 .10 OD 15 00 25 OC , .15 00 2D 00..........3000 .20 OD 45 00.... .... ..60 00 Three warm,. Four !pium,. Half a column, One c01umn,.... . • Professional and llnsinei,s Cards not exceeding six lines, One year, 45 00 Administrators' and Executors' Notices, $2 50 Auditors' Notices, 2 00 Estray. or other short Notices 1 50 itZ-Ten iinei of nonpareil malre n square, About skit wo rd s e„., minim a line. no that any person can ea sily calculate sammre in manuscript. Advertisements not marked with the number of Moor alit, desired, Will be coutinned till forbid and charged ac -cording to these terms. Our prires for the printing or Blanks, handbilis, etc. •are also increased. Pit.OFESSIONAL 4:: BUSINESS CAILDS 1:1=1 MIX= 'mho name of this firm has been ebang «.,) from seo & tutnWN. to • SCOTT, BROWN •& BAILEY, under which name they will hereafter cunduct their practice as • ATTORNEYS A7' LAW .1167.17LVCD0-V, PA. PP: \:. 4 IONS. amt all doling of soldiers and soldiers' ltelrs against the Government, wall be promptly prosecuted, May 17, 1866-11. K. A. LOVELL, ATTORNEY AT LAW, lIUNTING DON, PA *3,. Prompt and careful attention will he given to the collection of all claims akainat tho Government &r Back .Ray, Bounty, Pensions, .le. •OFFICE—WitIi .1. W. Molten), Esq., In the brick row, newly uppotite the Court House. nes-6m. IV. A STEPIIENS, ATTORNEY AT LAT, ItIINTINGDON, PA. OFFICE.—In Treasurer's room in Court House- - --up stairs. Huntingdon, Dec. 16, 1863. tAW ASSOCIATION. he nndetsbrued have associated themselves together in the practice of the law in llnntingoon, Pa. Office in the on« now. and forme, ly occupied by J. Sowell Stew .art, adjoining the Court /louse. A. W. BENEDICT. J. SEWELL STEWART. July 20, 1804 j D. CAMPBELL, ATTORNEY AT LAW. HUNTINGDON, PA. Woe in the Brick Row; pearly opposite the Court :Venn. (April 15, ISO ;GEO. W. SWARTZ, Clod► - A.4. Watch Maker, At the old stand of Swartz A McCabe, 3317,11 STREET, HUNTINGDON, PA r0y10,1865-em HUNTINGDON, PA. WM. C. MeNULTY, PROPRIETOR, Formerly orthe Franklin llotel, Chamberikurg. • TERMS LIBERAL. may 3, 1865-Iy. THE JACKSON HOTEL, HUNTINGDON, PA. • HENRY SMITH, Proprietol Tinntingdon, Aug. 23, 1865. Ai:mottic:iaio or. O,IIN MEGAIIAN infernos the prdilic that he has taken out a license to cry sales at any place In the lith Congressional district. Addre,s hint at Itichliesburg.l3.oford county, or Pitt master at Jaunts Creek, Huntingdon county. se2i3.3m RI ALLISON MILLER, DE YTIST, Mks removed to the Brick Italy opposite tho Court Meuse. . April IT, 1539, E. GREENE, e../ • DENTIST. " Office removed to opposite the store of D. P. Chiral, in the aquae, 'liill atteet, ituutingilon, Ps.. April 13.1304. "DR. D. P: MILLER, Office opposite Jackson 'louse, offele hie service to citirAns of Ilunting.Nn and vicinity. nol-6055 DR. JOHN . 3IeCU LLO C , offers his professional services to the citizens of Huntingdon and vicinity. °Sic, on Hilt street, one door east of Itecti's Drag Store. • Aug.. 23, '55. „, S. SMITH, Dealer in Drugs' Medi [ince, Perfumery, Dye Stuffs: oils, Lc. Also—Oro neries, , confeetioneriee, Qc., Huntingdon, Pa. TAMES A. BROWN, 1, Dealer to Durdwure, Cutlery, Mists, Oils, to, Hunt tugdan, ?a. , • ROMAN, ~ , , , , A t a , l l ., in Made Clothing, Hats and Cap,, 1,00, 1 7- 1 P. GIVIN, Defiler in Dry Goods, Groceries, Hardware, Quetta waro. fiats and Cape, loots and Shoes, Lc. 'SE. HENRY & CO ., Wholesale and 'Wail Dealer. in Pry Goods. Groceries, Ilartlvrare, Queensware, and Prori,inns oral! kinds, Huntingdon. Ar 1 LONG & CO., Dealers i❑ Candies, Nuts. Family Groceries. TTENRY STR()USE & CO.,.Markles. ji_burg; Pa ,Dealere in Dry Goode, Groceries, etc. WM. AFRICA, Dealer in Boots" and Stints,in ths Diarnotid, Huntingdon, Pa. J'EOPOLD BLOOM, Ifuntingdon, Pa, Dealer In Ready Mario Clothing. flats, Caps, &o. SHAEFFErf, Boot and VI :hoe Merchant, tlnntingdon, Pa. TWIN IL , WESTBROOK, Dealer in e v , DOOll, Shoes, Hosiery. Coo ketiottery, lluatindon. ZYENTER, Dealer in Groceries and • Provisions or oil kinds, Huotingdon,•Po. QIAION COHN, Coffee Run, Dealer in Dress Goods; Groceri es, Wood and Willow W air T B. SHONTZ & BRO., illaticlesburg, tit .Deallere in Beady Made Clothing, Jewelry, ike. I,ZIMPSON, AR3IITAGE.& )oDealers in Ltoolcq and Stationery, Huntingdon, Pa -r\ONNELL & KLINE, niitiroPit a PII ITS. Il an tin gdoa, PT D R. «'M. BREWSTER, Huntingdon (Cures ty Eliotropattly.l 7 1 1:4 - GuTAIAN & CO.; O.; Dealers inheady IL a made Clothing, Iluntingdon, Pa. UNIT• M'AIANIGALL, Proprietor of Liccry etal:e, Wo,hiogton etreot, lluutiogdon. 13 .111. (1-11E - EiE, Dealer is Musia,mu " : b sical lastrnmente, bey. ing 31acIlines, liuu liagtl,a , STIOVIIIAKER, Agent for the Ma Stat. Liniment, iluntingrlon, Pa. A- -P MBA (4 11, Agent for fro: jh_ .Victo Cane Atilt, &c., Jamee Creek, Hunt. co., pa WM. ITILLIAMS, v Plain anti Itrotimenta) Ml:utile Manufacturer. N. LEl\7B, • r Dealer to Rooks, Stationery and 3fustcal Intru manta, iluntingdon, Pa. BILL POSTER. undekabped otters his serlices to business men and others dewing circulars distriboted or roared. Ile owl be Seen at the ()tuns Mike. • • Huntingdon, Aug. 16, 1811. JOON KOI'LIN. lIIN ESS NEN, TAKE NOTICE! II If yoii wan t your card ;tautly printed og envoi -15;,e4 roll Ht . - LEWIS• BOOK AND STA TIOKERYSTEOR BLANK BOOKS, YAMOCB SUM for sale et. ABWIS'BOOki dND STALIONERY grORE .$2 (0 .100 WILLIAM LEWIS, Editor and Proprietor. VOL. XXI, 6labt. =I HUNTINGDON, PA. By request, (( There's a Beautiful Land on High," There's a beautiful land on high, To its ghiries I fain would By, When . by sorrows pressed down, I long for nny'cro7n, In that beautiful land on high. Cuoncs— In that beautiful land I'll be, From earth and its cares set free; My Jesus is there, he's gone to prepare A place in that land fur me. There's a beautiful land on high, I shall enter it by and by; There, with friends, hand in hand, I shall walk on the strand, In that beautiful land on high.—Cnoans. There's a beautiful land on high, • Then why should I fear to die, When death is the way to the realms of day, In that beautiful laud on high ?—Cuonus, ' There's a beautiful hinder' high, And my kindred its bliss enjoy; [me, Methinks I now see how they're waiting for In that beautiful land on high.—Cuottus. There's a beautiful land on high, And though here I oft weep and sigh, My Jesus bath said that no tears shall be shed In that beautiful land on high,—Cfloaus. There's a beautiful land on high, Where we never shall say, 'good-bye I" When over the river we're happy forever, In that beautiful land on high,—Cnonoe rillae. lic>..t 40111.1.1c1. In the heat of the last French war, some forty years ago, we were under the necessity of removing to London. We took our passage in one of the old Scotch smacks from Leith, and wish. ing to settle down immediately on our arrival in the great metropolis, we took our servants and our furniture along with us. Contrary windsdo• tained us long upon our passage. Al though a mere child at the time, I well.reme.nber ono eventful morning. when,to our horror and alarm a-French man of war was seen looming on the distant horizon, and evidently bearing down on us. A calm had settled On the sea, and we Made but little way, and at last we saw boats loWered from the -French men's deck, and speedily nearing us. This occurred shortly after the famous and heroic resistance made successfully by the crew of ono of the vessels in the same trade to a French privateer. With this glorious antecedent before our eves, both 'passengers and crew were disposed to make no tame resis tance. Our guns , were loaded to the muzzle, and every sailor was bared for action. Old cutlasses and rusty guns were handed round about, and piled upon the deck. Truly, we were a mot ley crew,more like a_Savage armament of' lawless buccaneers than bloodless denizens of peace. But happily these warlike preparations were needless,for a byeeze sprung up, and, though we were pretty smartly chased, the favor able gale soon bore us far from danger, and eventually wafted us in safety to our destined port. .. My mother was somewhat- struck, during the period of our short alarm, by the fearless and heroic bearing of our servant Jane. A deeper feeling seemed to , pervade her mind than com mon antipathy to a common foe, In fact, various times during the previous service, when, any events connected with the French war formed, as they ever did, the all engrossing subject of discourse, Jane evinced an interest in the theme, equalled only by the intense hatred toward the nation which she now displayed. On the present occa sion the appearance of the foe awaken ed in her bosom a thousand slumber ing but bitter recollections of a deep domestic tragedy connected with her self, and so tar from showing the nat ural' timidity of her sex, she even en deavored to assist in the arrangement Of our murderous - preparations. Even a shade of regret appeared I upon her face as•wo bound over the sparkling wares, when our tardy foe , seemed as a speck upon the distant sea. I ffuring the. remainder of our voyage she shrank into a dreamy melancholy. With her head almost, continually res • ing on the bulwarks of the ship, she gazed upon the clear blue depths be -1 low ; and, had we watched her closely, we might, perhaps, have seen some Of the robed tour drops which gathered on her eyelid, and fell silently, to min gle with the waters. But we heeded not. - She was a singular girl, and seemed evidently superior to her present sta tion ; yet she toiled on with the drud gery of the houae, listless and indiffer— hut always usefully engaged. My mother was not altogether satisfied with her work, and still found a dial : - pithy in blaming her. She seemed to dream through ber whole duty, as if li. ~.„,.... .:1:1. \ta,.... ;.....,„.1-1/Pc. 4:7, , . . . s , t,.. ...,.. . . r:,-- 1 4 1 , eir i , 1 e... : :,. 4.1 , , ,t *\,.. e . 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HUNTINGDON, PA„ WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 3, 1866, her mind was wrapt in some strange fancies, while her hands mechanically did her task. At last, after long solic itation, she explained the mystery by telling us her history. We must throw our story back some twenty years. per family at that time occupied a respectable, if not a wealthy position in our northern metropolis. Her father waeonga,ged in a lucrative business, had been married about six years, and was flier of four children. His youngest daughter had been born about three months previous to this period of our tale. She was a singu larly lovely child. A sister of his wife's who had made a wealthy marriage with an officer in the French army, was at this time on a short visit to the land of her birth. Madame de Bour blane was childless, and her heart was yearningfor those blessings of maternal love which Providence denied her. She was unhappy; no wonder, for her home in sunny France was desolate. A little while soon passed away. Mrs. Wilson and her sister were seat ed at the parlor fire one cold Novem ber night—the ono contemplating the blessings she possessed, the other brooding on her far differen,i lot. The children prattled merrily beside them, and waited only for their father's eve ning kiss, before they wont to child hood's innocent sleep. But their fath er came not. 'His usual time had long since passed, and his wife betrayed some symptoms of uneasiness at the unwonted delay. At last they heard a hurried knock, and Mr. Wilson en tered the apartment. There were tra ces of anxiety and grief cponh is coun tenance, but as be spoke- not of the causes, his wife forbore inquiries in the presence of her sister. But Mr. Wilson was extremely unsocial, nay, even harsh; and when his wife held out her babe, and the unconscious infant seem ed to put its little lips for its evening kiss, he pushed the child aside, and muttered something audibly about the curses of a married life and the incon venience and expense of bringing up a large, increasing family. The babe was sent te bed, and the nyAher spoke not, though a bitter tear might he seen rolling down her cheek. She was deeply hurt, and justly so. But Mr. Wilson had met with some heavy losses during the course of. the day. These had soured his heart and embittered his words. Perhaps he meant not what ho said; it might have been but the passing bitterness of a disappointed man. However the case might be, the words he uttered re mained in the bosom of his wife, rooted and festering there; and many a bitter pang had she in after life, and the des olations and the sorrows which disper sed her family, some to their graves, others far asuudor—that all could be ascribed to these few bitter words. A week had sgarcely elapsed since the occurrences of that unhappy even. ing, when an event took place which wrought a fearful revolution in that happy family. Surely the "evil eye" bad looked upon that house. Wilson and her sister went to make a call upon a friend. As they expected to return almost immediate.. ly, they left the babe slumbering in its cradle, and sent the servant on some trifling errand. Circumstances retar ded their return. The anxious moth er hastened to the nursery to tend up on her babe. She looked into the room, but all was still. Surely the child was slumbering. She must rouse it from its peaceful dreams. But all continued still. • There was a death like silence in the room. She could not even hear her infanobreathe. She sat awhile by the flickering light of the expiring fire, for the shades of evening had gathered over the darkening horizon. At length she roso ; she went, to look upon her child, she lifted up the coverlid. No child was there. An indescribable dread took possession of her soul ; she rushed like a maniac from roan to room. At last she heard a noise; she flew to the spot. Yes, three of her children were there, but the other, ,her babe, her newest born, the flower of het: heart, was gone. "My child 1 my child V* she screamed, and fell upon the floor. Her sister heayd the fall and flow up stairs. She knelt beside the stricken woman, bathed her temples with cold water, and, with a start, •Irs. Wilson awoke from her swoon. - "My child, my child r ell() sobbed "Whitt of the child?" her sister cried "Gone—lot—stolon from its moth erl" screamed the wretched woman. "oh, 'impossible calm ; the child NVIII soon be found," said her els. ter. "Some of the neighbors, perhaps "Perhaps, perhaps !" hurriedly repli ed the mother, and she rushed from bootie to hoase. The people thOught her mad. 'No obild 'was there. He: -PERSEVERE.- sister led her home. She followed her calmly, unhesitatingly. • Was her - spirit broken ? She was placed npon a chair; she sat as ono bereft of reason ; her face was pale, and perspiration, the deep dews of agony, gathered upon her brow. Not even a feather would have stirred before her breath. It looked like death. At last she started from her seat. Her brow was knit, and her whole face convulsed with the fearful Work ings of her spill. • "John ! John I" she cried, "where is my husband? Send him to me." And they went to seek him, but ho was not to be found. They told her so, and she was silent. There were evidently some frightful thoughts la• boring within her breast—some terri• hie suspicions, which her spirit scarce ly dared to entertain. For about an hour she sat, but never opened her lips. It was a fearful silence. At last his knock was heard ; the stairs creak ed beneath his well tnown tread ; lie entered. The mother sprang upon her feet. "John !" sho.scroamed, "give me my child! Where have you put her? Where is my ehild ?" The husband started. "Woman, are you mad ?" he cried. "Give me the child I" • "Wife, be calm." "I will not be calm ! My child You spoke coarsely to me the other night for nothing, John. She was a burden on you, was she? But why did you take her from me ? I would have worked for her—drudged—slaved to win•her bread ! Oh, why did you kill my child ?" The man looked stupidly upon his wife, and sank into a chair. The room was filled with neighbors; they looked at him, and then to ono another, and w hispered. "Give me my child !" the mother screamed. He sat buried in thought, .and ccvercd his face with his hands. "Tako him away!" she cried, and the people laid their hands upon him. Ito started to his feet and dashed the foremost to the ground. There was a look upon the man that terrified, and they quailed before him. He strode before his wife. "Woman," said he . , "your lips accuse me. Bitterly, aye; bitterly, shall you rue this night's work ! Come, neigh bor's, 1 am ready." And they took him to a magistrate. "My child!" the wretched woman shrieked, a‘;id swooned away. Before it few hours had passed she was writh ing in the agonies of a burning fever. And where was her husband then ? t 4 niking to and fro upon the cold flag stone of a felon's. cell upon a charge of murdering his child, his own child— doomed thither by his own wife. A close, investigation of every matter connected with this mysterious affair was set on foot. No proof of Mr. Wil son's guilt could be obtained. Ile was arraigned halbris his country's laws, and, after patient trial, vas discharged, as his Judge emphatically pronounced, without stain upon his character. Dis charged, forsooth ! To what ? To meet the frowns and suspicions of a too credulous world; to sec the people turn and stare behind him as ho passed along the streets; to see the chil— dren shrink from him, at d flee as from some monster; and to dwell in a deco late home, his own offspring trembling if he touched thorn, and his wife—that wife who had accused bim—looking with cold, suspicious, unhappy eye upon the being she had sworn to love and cherish with her life. Such was his fate. Who had wrought it? His wife recovered from her illness, and her sister went her way Lek to her home in France. Seldom did the poor man over speak —there was gloom about that desolate house, His trade fell off and his cred it decliiied---and why.? Because his heart was broken. Day after day he sat in his lone counting house; there was no bustle there. His books were covered with a thick coat of dust; and, as one by one of hiscustomers stepped off, so poverty stepped in, until at last he found himself almost a beggar. He stint his office doors—shut them for for the last time, then wiped away n tear, the first he had shed for many a day. Ile went home, but not to the home he use to have.. His furniture had been sold to sup ply the common necessaries of life ; and poor indeed was their now hum ble abode. There was silence in that little bouse,seareely a whisper. in the secret fountains of his wil'e's heart, there was still a depth of love for him; but always when she would have breathed it forth the strange, horrid suspicion would flit across her brain— her child was not. lie often looked at her, it long, earnest gaze, but he seldom spoke. g, One evening, he was more than usu ally sad. fie kissed his'iiildren fond ly. lie took his wife's cold hand, and pressed it in his own. "Jesio," said he, '.Lie ye have sown, so shall ye reap ; but f forgive yeu. God bless yon, wife!" Re lay down upon his hard pallet, and when they would have roused him in the 111:iing, he was dead. Time rolled on with rapid fiweep, aloe I bringing death and its attendant evils in hiS train. Two, of the widow's children died; and J'ano . was now about eighteen years Of age. Sorrow, iath. er "than ago, had already blanched the widow's hair. They were in groat po verty ; clod out a scanty livelihood with their needle. Indeed, their only certain dependence' lay in the small assistance which Madame do iionr nine sent from Franco, Perhaps, had that sistor known the straits of their poer relatives, her paltry pittance might have been increased. They were perhaps too proud to make it known ; as it was, she knew not, or if e did, she heeded not. this time a letter reached the widow from her sister. Besides con• taiuing the usual remittance, the let ter was unusually long. She rogues. ted Jane to read it to her while she sat and sewed. What ailed the girl, her mother thought, as Jane gazed upon the page with some indescribable emotions de , pitted on her face. "Mother," she cried, "my sister lives! your child is found! The widow tore the letter from her daughter's hand, and read it eagerly while her face grew paler every moment. She gasped for utter ance; and the mystery was solved at last. Yes, reader, at last was the mystery unraveled, and the criminal.was'her sister—she who had stood calmly by, and seen the agony of the bereaved mother—she who had beheld the in jured father dragged as a felon to pris on, when a word from her would have cleared it all—she was that wretch. Madame de Bona)lane was childless and her heart yearned for someone she could love. She saw the little cherub of her sister, and she envied it. Sho knew that if she had asked for the child, the mother's heart would have spurned the offer, so she laid her plans to steal the intact. She employ ed a woman from France, who as she prowled about the house, had seized the firvorable moment, and snatched the infant from its cradle, and the child was safely housed in France be fore the tardy law began its investiga tion. Madame de Bourblanc remain ed beside her sister for a tiMe ; then hurried off to France, to lavish all her love upon the stolen child. It is true she loved the child; but was it not a selfish love to see the bereaved mother mourn its loss, yet never soothe her troubled heart ? and was it not a cruel love, too; a household broken up, affe.e. tioris desolated, and all to gratilly selfish' whim of hers r It.was worse than cruel—it was deeply criminal She brought tip the infant as her own ; she named it Amelia, and pretty she was. Did a pang over strike into the heart of that cruel woman, as the child would lift its little eycc to hers, and lisp, "my mother ?" She must have thought of the true mother, broken hearted in another land. 'Yes, a pang did piece her heart; but alas !it came too late; the misery was already wrought. She wrote to her injured sister, begging her forgiveness, and at the same time offering a considerable sum, if she would permit the child to remain with her, still ignorant of her parentage. But she was mistaken in tier hope ; for not only did the mother indignantly demand the restoration of her child, but she did more; she published the sister's letter,and trium phantly removed the stains that ling ered on her dead husband's memory. A few weeks after this, she went to pay a visit to the green brave of her broken hearted husband b ; she knelt upon the verdant 111(3and, and watered it with her tears. All her unjust Flls pieions crowded on her mind; con science reproached her bitterly. She knelt and supplicated her forgiveness, seeming to commune with his spirit on the spot where his poor frail body re posed in its narrow bed. She felt a gentle touch 'upon her shoulder; it was her daughter 'Jane. One moment after, and she was clasped in the embrace of a stranger. Nature whispered to the mother's heart her child was there, her long lost child. Sho too had, come to look upon that lowly grave—the grave of her father. After the first transports of meeting *ere over, the widow found ldisure to observe her child. But what a poor young delicate flower was she, to bravo the re blasts of.poverty. She was a lovely girl; like a lily, fragile and pale, the storms of life would wither her. Her mother took her home, but the contrast was too great from affluence to poverty—Amelia wept. Poor Jane strove to comfort her; but she might only use the language of the eyes, far her foreign sister scarcely undetstood two words of English Amelia strug gled hard to love her now mother, and to reconcile her young heart to this sudden. change) but the effort was too great, and she gradually sank. Early and into her mother and sister toiled to obtain her some of those luxuries to which she had been accustomed; but their etforte wore vain—she ,was not long for earth. The widow had indig nantly refused all offers of assistance from her cruel sister, though she felt that unless' Providence should inter pose, her strength must soon fail under its additional exactions. A letter arrived from France; it, was sealed with black. They opened hast ily and fearfully; and they bhd abuse. Madame de Bourblanc was dead; she was suddenly oat off to render an ac count before her Creator. The shock was too severe for poor ..tmclia, Pay by day she lane ' mished, pining in 'her heart for sunnyFranee. Three months after she had reabhed England, Amelia died. Her last words were, "My mother !" Soon after, her own,fflother followed her. Oh, that the krili t ed spirits of th6rn all may meet in Heaven. Jane is the sole survivor of this domestic tragOdy. Even she may have depa-t• ed to the haven of eternal rest, for she left my mother shortlY after wo were settled in London. We bay& never seen her since. A NATIONAL cemetery is to be es tablished, 10 the Shenandoah Valley, so often passed over by our armies and the field ofi so many battles. The graves of Union soldiers are scattered through from llarper's Perry to Staly_ ton, bat wherever found the bodies will be exhumed and removed to a commoh resting•plece, which is likely to be, located In the vicinity of Win chester. TERMS, $2,00 a year in advance Boring for oil is a great bore at best, and under unfavorable circumstances is barely endurable. Although every body has heard about boring for oil, yet but few have a correct idea of the modes operandi. In order to give our readers some idea of the trouble en. countered in sinking for oil . we make the following statement, which we clip from an exchange: Ist. Preparing. Land must be leas ed or bought. Roads must be made through forests. Bridges must be built. A spot must be selected with reference to room for tanks, engine, &c. A sloping hillside where one tank can be placed below another without the trouble of excavation is best. 3d. The Derrick. A derrick must .be cOnstruetod l This is a skeleton of timbers from sixteen to twenty feet wide at the base, and tapering upward to a diaMeter of four feet square at the top, about fifty feet high and four square, well braced and supported. 3d. Engine and Rouse. • There must be a stout shed built to protect the en gine and bgilers from rain and snow, In this shed are generally. planed blacksmith's bellows, anvils and other tools for sharpening the boring imple. ments. This costs something, especi. ally in a rough wooden country. But the great trouble is in getting the hea vy engine and boilers into plane: 4th. The Entering Pipe. Before bo ring commences a strong iror, pipe sit inches in diameter, is forced into the earth, to the depth of from ten to sixty feet, as the case may be. This is done by a pile driver, operated by steam.— The pipe is mist in joints and fitted together. When this pipe is sunk, the earth is bored out of it and it is then pumped out clean. This pipe must be sunk as plumb as a line, because if it is not perpendicular the boring will not succeed well. sth. Boring. A hemp cable• is at tacked to a chisel three feet long, with an edge three and one half inches wide and of considerable weight, Which can be made heavier By attaching other rods to it. The cable is carried up to the top of the derrick over a roller, and down again where it is temporarily fastened to a revolving wheel called the bull wheel, which is operated by steam. This chisel is lifted up to a certain height when it suddenly loos ens and falls to the bottom of the hole. As this is repeated the chisel is turned so as to cut in every direction. After sinking the hole a certain depth, say a foot or two, the chisel is taken off the rope and a reamer put on. The rea mer is something large. than the cut Ling drill, and, perfectly round, smooth, ing and rounding the bolo, to a diam- eter of foie• inches, less or more. The reamer is then taken out and the sand pump inserted. oth. The Sand Pump, This pump is a hollow tube, made of hollow joints fitted together, with a valve at The lower end. This is dropped and raised by hand, sucking into the tube all the debris or fine cuttings which are thus taken out. Water can ,also be taken out by the sand pump. The sand pump, reamer,cbiscls, aic., are different sizes in different wells,but usually four inches in diameter. 7th. Looking for Oil. After continu ing to bore in this way for a month or two, till several chisels, reamers, cables and pumps are worn out, the owners begin to smell for oil. The bits ai•e closely examined, and if no smell of oil is discovered, the hearts of the owners sink, like quicksilver in a thermometer of a cold day. Bth. Seeing tht. l Elephant. After a while oil begins to appear. It may be seen in . the pumpings, smelled on the drills, and felt with the hands. Some. times it comes up so strong as to send ,drills; derrick and driller to the other side of Jordan. 9th. Preparing Tanks. Large square bo:tces, made of plank, are hastily pre pared with faucet leading from tank to tank, whieli are placed eo that one can be drained into another, and the lowermost ono can bo drained into barrels. Everything is now arranged for it flow of oil. For if the well is sunk tear another oil producing well, and deep enough to go through the lower sandstone, the probability .is strong that oil can be pumped out in large quantities. 10th. Pumping Oil. The pump is nosy inserted end the engine started, and the oil either does or does not comp, either result in all iiicelihdod causing a fit of oil on the brain, and a botintiful application of oil cordial, tanglefoot, and rya grease. Large wont cure the oil fever. At least something stTonger is usually called for It oil comes up ; buying and Selling constitutes the afici•piceo in this drama of oil E'etOking. NO. 27, Boring for OiL r- 21-11 - L10330E5 . JOB PRINTING OFFICE. T""GLOBE JOB OFFICE" is the most complete of any in the count=y,and pox , sesses the most ample facilities for promptly executing In the best style, esery variety of Epb ?riuting, epeh HAND .BILLS, • PROGRAMMES, BLANKS, BILL HEADS, CARDS, CIRCULARS, BALL TICKETS, LABELS, le.C, &C., CALL ANTI EXAMINESPIIMMB or woßt, AT LBWIS' BOOK, STATIONERY k 51U519 .STOBJ/, Regularity iii Feediag. Every good farmer knows that.any domAtic animal is a good clook---that it klows, almost to a minute, when the' regular feeding time has arrived, Hit. - has been accustomed to be fed with accuracy at the appointed period, it will not fret till that period arrives) after which it hecotites very restless. and uneasy till its food comes. If it has been fed regularly, it will begin. to fret when the earliest period arrives.. Hence, this fretting may be entirely avoided, by strict punctuality; but it cannot be otherwise. The very mo ment the animal begins to worry, that moment it begins to lose flesh; but the rate of this loss has never been aseer— tained—it is certainly worthy an in vestigation— and can be only deter7r. mined by trying the twomedes, punc tuality and irregularity side by side,uri der similar. circufnstanees, :and with the same amount of food, for some weeks or months together. There is one precaution to be obser ved in connection with regular feeding, where some judgment is needed. Animals eat more in sharp Or frbsty, than warm and damp weather.: Hence, if the same amount by weightis:giveu at every feeding, they will not have enough when the weather is cold, and will be surfeited when it is warin,anci damp. Both of these eVils ..must be avoided, .while a little attention and observation, will enable the farmer2o a do it.—Tueker's Rural Affairs YOUNG STOCK.—Calves and 17111 1bs, well treated, will make better •cOws and sheep than if neglected and allow ed to shift for themaelves. We knoW that sheep iMprove a good deal both in wool and mutton on good keePing. The same is especially the case with calves. What you want is not to flit ten, but to keep up a strong healthy growth. At this season, good tender grass and a little milk, no Matter if it is not all sweet, and a little oat Meal mixed in, will pay foritself in the tlirif, ty growth which it will induce. A lit.: tle extra care at this period of grewth is sure to be rewarded at a litterfige. The treatment of calves whieh we have often seen, such as turning them out to grass before they , are old enough, and requiring them to eat what they know little about or die, is cruel and wasteful in the extreme. They may live through it, but nature will demand her reckoning. The same may be said of colt* Sweet, pure pasture grass is the lsest, but if this is short, a little oat meal is excellent for them. Oats intike . mus— cle rapidly; and this gives strength and power and growth, and this is What all youiig stock needs to thriVe . upon, It is a. great. -mistake to keep any stock short of feed, but especially young growing stock.—Ploughman. WINTER, SLIELTER. FOR SHOE:P.—Have otw friends provided winter shelter for their sheep ? Or are they—Many of them—neglecting it as usual—and, as usual, not having the best luck,with their sheep. Depend upon it that cold, in addition to wet, is hurtful. You will see it more especially in the spring. Shelter is feed saved ;. strength kept, which would otherwise be last; and wool improved by the good condition of the sheep, to say nothing about one of the most important points of all— the lambs which are to follow. : A suf fering sheep will produce a weak lamb, Among weak lambS there is always mortality ; and a stunt growth in the future body of the sheep. A weak, sickly lamb will not make a first-clisaa sheep, even under good treatment. good f, r eat g imit of sheep is profitable all round and shelter is one of the important points to be attended to. Build it and invite the sheep in it; feed them ,there; let their salt be there, and the little titbits they need. Now is a good time to see to this thing —.-to prepare for it. Enos ; says a farmer's wife, can bd, kept for two year's; by dipping *them a solution made of one Pound of quick lime and ono pound- of salt to eno•gal• lon of water:. Take an .old pail and put in your limo and ivater, and tilen stir until it is all disolved, then add salt as above (keep it in the cellar); .when cool enough, it is ready for use. pip in the eggs, and see that they are all covered with the solution, which Must bo stirred from the bottom oc— casionally. Pack them, small end downward, in bran or salt,.er without anything. When wanted for use. er market, a little warm water will wash them clean. Some dip eggs in boiling water, some grease them• and .pack them in bran.. I packed Eileen dozen (as I could gather them) in August in salt, and kept them spring just us' good as fresh. They 'Tut all be. kept in a. cool cellar a NO Rojet rad:, et , than dry, ' . U POST .S,
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