VOL. 46 The Huntingdon Journal. J. R. DURBORROW, 0 . flee on the Corner 1;1 Bath and Washington street TnE Ilrxruscrios JOURNAL is published every Wednesday, by J. It. Dunnoneow and J. A. NAAR, under the firm name of J. R. DURBORROW & CO., at $2,00 per annum, IN ADVANCE, or 52,50 if not paid for in six months from date of subscription, and $3 if not paid within the year. No paper discontinued, unless at the option of the publishers, until all arrearages are paid. ADVERTISEMENTS will be inserted at TEN CENTS per line for each of the first four insertions, and rive CENTS per line for each subsequent inser tion less than three months. Regular monthly and yearly advertisements will he inserted at the following rates : 3m Om 919 1 ,1 y 1 V4ol 900 18 00 27.8 36 " 24 00 38 40 001 65 " 34 00 50 00 65 80 , 1 col 36 00 60 00 80 1 100 3mloml9mlir 1 Inch 250' 400 SOC 2 " 400 80010 WI 3 " OW 10 00 14 00f 4 " 800 14 00 20 00, 5 9501189'2500L Special notices will be inserted at TWELVE AND A HALF cexrs per line, and local and editorial no tices at ri FTEEN moms per line. All Resolutions of Associations, Communications of limited or individual interest, and notices of Mar riages and Deaths, exceeding five lines, will be charged TEN CENTS per line. Legal and other notices will be charged to the party having them inserted. Advertising Agents must find their commission outside of these figures. All advertising accounts are due and collectable when the adrertisement is ONCE inserted. JOB PRINTING of every kind, in Plain and Fancy Colors, done with neatness and dispatch.— Hand-bills, Blanks, Cards, Pamphlets, &c., of every variety and style, printed at the shortest notice, and every thing in the Printing line will be execu ted in the most artistic manner and at the lowest rates. Travellers' Guide rIO3YLVANIA RAIL ROAD. IT= OF LEAVING Or MOM Winter 'ESTWAED g qi 10 O x :4 1 .-, STAT. or F. l z II ; I 11 431 !N.Hamilton 4 461...... 12 52 7 50 Mt. Union. 4 1111....- 12 01 5 02; l2 10 803 Mill Creek. 5 15'5 al 12 25 8 15 11,crompox ... .., . ~—. ...... 5 35, —, ,12 47i .. Petersburg— -4 15 5 45 , fl 2 53 Barre° . , 4 061 5 53 I 1 07 6 08 616,—. 132 9 06 Tyrone lO 30 339 6 27' l4s ' Tipton 6 34 6 39 ' 1 SS , ißell's Mills. 7 00 9 30 200 9 40' Altoona ....„ 10 00 300 ' P. 11. i A Kir X. A. 11.1 The Fnst Line Eastward, leases Altoona at 12 48 a. m., and arrives at Ilantingdon at 1 17 a. a. The Cincinnati Express Eastward, leaves Altoona at 5 55 P. 11(., and arrives at Huntingdon at 7 05 P. M. Pacific Express Eastward, team; Altoona at 6 25 A. a., and passes Huntingdon at 7 25 A. a. . . Cincinnati Express Westward, leaves Huntingdon at 3 35 A. x., and arrives at Altoona at 4 50 a. st. The Fast Line Westward, passes Huntingdon at 7 35 P. L., and arrives at Altoona at 8 45 e. a. HUNTINGDON AND BROAD TOP . _ _ Winter On and after Wednesday, Nov. 22d, 1870, Passenger Trains will arrive and depart as follows : Ur THAI Accom. MAIL STATIONS. A. M. Lu 9 00 Huntingdon. 9 00 Long Siding • 9 21 Nlet'onnellstottn 9 30 Pleasant Grove , 9 45 Marklesburg -10 00 Coffee Run 10 08j Rough and Ready _ 10 29 Cove 10 27 Fishers Summit 10 43 10 50 Saxton 11 08 Rlddlesburg 11 18 Ilopewell 11 36 Pipers Run 11 56 Tatesville 12 US Bloody Run mt 12 12151ount Dallas P. M. Lx 5 20 5 28 13 .12 6 401 6 03 6 18 625 ss 810 829' 8 13 8 85 648 AZ 7 00 ca 1 10 SIIOUP'S RUN BRANCI 10 50,8ftxton, tx 7 101 !az 0 4°l 11 10 Coa'moat ...... ..—..—. 11 15 Crawford. as 11 25 Dudley, Broad Top City—..—, 301iIi 22, 1610. 7 301 As 740 Is 6 10 a 2,1 :ILLIPS: Professional Cards MILES ZENTMYER, Attorney-at- Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend promptly to all legal business. Office in Cunningham's new building. DanA,ll. IPr ALLEN LOVELL, Attorney-at -Au-. Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Special attention given to COLLECTIONS of all kinds; to the settle ment of Estates, &c.; and all other Legal Business prosecuted with fidelity and dispatch. B- Office in room lately occupiedby U. Milton Speer, Esq. Dan.4,'7l. M W. MYTON, Attorney-at-Law, Han -A- • tingdon, Pa. Office with J. Sewell Stewart, Esq. Dan.4,l/. jr HILL MUSSER, Attorney-at-Law, • Huntingdon, Pa. Office, second floor of Leister's new building, Hill street. Dan. 4,71. P. W. JOHNSTON, Surveyor A. and Scrivener, Huntingdon, Pa. All kinds of writing, drafting, &c., done at short notice. Office on Smith street, over Woods & Williatason's Law Office. [mayl2,'6ll. PM. & M. S. LYTLE, Attorneys- A- • at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend to all kinds of legal business entrusted to their care. Office on the southside of Hill street, fourth door west of Smith. [jan.4,'7l. T SYLVANUS BLAIR, Attorney-at ei • Law, Iluntingdon, Pa. Office, 11111 street, three doors west of Smith. [jan.4'7l. JA. POLLOCK, Surveyor and Real • Estate Agent, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend to Surveying in all its branches. Will also buy, sell, or rent Farms, Houses, and Real Estate of ev ery kind, in any part of the United States. Send for a circular. Dan.47l. DR. J. A. DEAVER, having located at Franklinville, offers his professional ser vices to the community. DanA,'7l. W. MATTERN, Attorney-at-L^ . . w ci • and General Claim Agent, Huntingdor . Soldiers' claims against the Government f , b ac k pay, bounty, widows' and invalid pensio ,as auca d.. ed to with great care and promptness. Office on hill street, A ?t JOHN SCOTT. S. T. BROWN , DAT ., ICOTT, BROWN & BAILEY, At torneys-at-Law , finntinpdon, Pa. Pensions, and all claims of "'Alien and soldiers' heirs against the Government will be promptly prosecuted. Office on nil:, Amt. [jan.4,7l. DR. D. P. MILLER, Office on Hill _ street, in the room formerly occupied by Dr. Jahn 11PCulloet., Huntingdon, Pa., would re.- , ctfully offer hip professional service. to the eiti tens of Huntingdon and vicinity. pan.4,'7l. PATTON, Druggist and Apoth- T.., • scary, opposite the Exchange Hotel, Hun tingdon, Pu. Prescriptions accurately compounded. Pure Liquory for Medicinal purposes. [n0v.23,10. DR. A. B. BRUMBAUGH, offers his professional services to the community. Affice on Washington street, one door cast of the 'Catholic Parsonage. [jan.4,'7l. V . J. GREENE, Dentist. Office re • moved to Leister's new building, Hill street Huntingdon. Dan.4;7l. RALLISON MILLER, Dentist, has . removed to the Brick Row, opposite the Court trolley. LjanA,'7l. EXCHANGE HOTEL, Huntingdon, Pa. JOHN S. MILLER, Proprietor. Jauuary 4, 1871. F OR ALL KINDS OF JOB WOR Go to Tag JOURNAL BUILDING, corner of Wsebi ton:and Bath streets. Oar pressas and type an all new, and work is executed in the beet style.. The Huntingdon Journal. TO ADVERTISERS J. A. NASH, THE HUNTINGDON JOURNAL, PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY MORNING J. R. DITRBORROW & J. A. NASH. Office corner of Washington and Bath Sts., HUNTINGDON, PA. EASTWARD. ii THE BEST ADVERTISING MEDIUM 5 05 4 57 448 0.1112.4 Sid CENTRAL PENNSYLVANIA. :o: CIRCULATION 1500. :0: AC0331. HOME AND FOREIGN ADVERTISE- MENTS INSERTED ON REA- SONABLE TM4S. - -:0: iO6 0610 A FIRST CLASS NEWSPAPER. 2 00 Ix 100 TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION $2.00 per annum in advance. $2.50 within six months. $3.00 if not paid within the year. JOB PRINTING ALL KINDS OF JOB WORK DONE NEATNESS AND DISPATCH, AND IN THE LATEST AND MOST IMPROVED STYLE, POSTERS OF ANY SIZE, CIRCULARS, WEDDING AND VISITING CARDS, BALL TICKETS, PROGRAMMES, ORDER BOOKS, SEGAR LABELS, RECEIPTS, PHOTOGRAPHER'S CARDS, BILL HEADS, LETTER HEADS, PAPER BOORS, ETC., ETC., ETC., ETC., ETC., -3): Our facilities for doing ail kinds of Job Printing superior to any other establish ment in the county. Orders by mail =ly filled. All letters should be ad , J. R. DURBORROW k CO "You will meet Walter Sutton at the Roses. Enter into no rivalry with him." This was the postscript to my father's letter, and the one cloud in the bright horizon of my hopes. I was twenty-three years old, just re leased from college, a little pale and weary with study, and bound for that paradise of the earth, my widowed sister Margaret's home—the Rose,. I was to spend the summer with Mag, and the prospect had been one of intense delight. But now heard that Sutton was there. This Walter Sutton was a younger brother of May's deceased husband, a millionaire's son, and Parisian by educa tion. At twenty he bad been familiar with the Marbelle. At twenty-six he was pro nounced the handsomest and most dissipa ted man in London, and now, a year later, I was to have his companionship for the summer, at the house of my sister, Mrs. Margaret Sutton. The man always had a fascination for me, while I despised him. His Apolian beauty, his knowledge of the world, his coolness, daring, and fearlessness, I re garded with wonder. But I had sense enough to weigh these against his cynic ism, his blackened reputation, and his rakish manner, which told his tale of un happiness, and to keep quietly on my way, unenvious of his success. At the time I went to the Roses I was, moreover, less liable to impure influences, for I had just lost the noblest and dearest of mothers. It is true I did not relish meeting Wal ter Sutton, but I was not one to borrow trouble. It was June weather; "green and blue were glad together," and I was free. My horse arched his beautiful neck and trotted slowly and proudly along the road, while I looked across the sunny fields, watching for the first sign of my sisters mansion—trees rustling, flowers blooming, birds singing around me. Suddenly I saw a carriage whirling in advance of me. I recognized the man on the box, and spurred forward. I gained it. The stately lady within it looked up, threw aside her sable veil, and cried, "Lewis!" "Are you going home, Maggie ?" "Directly. ,, "I am with y0u." ... . . At that moment I became conscious of the earnest gaze of a pair of golden brown eyes. My sister was not alone in the car riage. A young girl, with her lap full of water-lilies, and a large straw hat shading the fairest and loveliest of faces, sat be side her. We looked inquiringly at each other; but for once, my admirable sister ,forgot the demands of society. In her pleasure at seeing me she omitted the in troduction, and leaning from her scat she questioned me eagerly regarding occur rences at home. She had not been there since mother's funeral had taken place in the winter. WITH Suddenly a light phaeton whirled by us, the driver of which lifted his hat as he passed, giving a piercing look into the carriage. I followed it, and I fancied I caw the young girl's hand quivering among the lilies in her lap. "You know Walter is with us, Lewis ?" remarked Margaret, a little cloud on her face. SUCH AS "Yes, he is looking well." "He always looks well, said Mag,signifi cantly." We were entering the avenue. Two splendid rose trees guarded the gate. The rustic trellises held an arch of blossoming vines above their heads. I questioned Mag as to the garden. "My gardeners say they have been very successful this year. I think I appreciate the roses more than usual this year, for Alice enjoys them so much." My sister turned as she spoke, with a fond smile for the girl at her side, and then remembered to say, "Alice, this is my brother Lewis. Mr. Verner, Miss Lee." So those golden brown eyes came up to mine again, and my look of admiration was rewarded with a smile, so sweet that I then and there fell in love with its owner. BUSINESS CARDS, CONCERT TICKETS, We drove through clouds of perfume to the door. There were ladies and gentle men upon the broad terrace. "I have other guests," said. Margaret aside. LEGAL BLANKS, I had met some of them before—all nice people. The summer promised to be gay. I knew that I was very happy that evening singing with Alice Lee. But there was an evil influence in the house. I soon felt it. Sutton's wealth and extravagance bred a spirit of envy atuoung the young men. His sneering smile blighted our pure and simple pleasures, and it exasper ated the masculine portion of the company to observe the influence this Mephisto pheles had over the beautiful, innocent, romantic girls whom they loved. There were those of the men whom he sediteed at the start. They copied his vices in less than three weeks. Then followed dissatisfaction and heart-ache among men and women. PAMPHLETS, But I, who for the first declined to play cards and drink wine in Sutton's room, felt uncontaminated, and free to seek that priceless treasure in life a pure woman's love. _ _ I tried to please Alice Lee, and succaded. In July we were engaged. And then • I just began to understand how good and sweet my darling was. I remember I came home from fishing one day, with a face nearly blistered by the sun. Alice, ?1h 4 0 tint ' gratr. The Thorns Came On The Bose. BY MARY BAYARD CLAREM. In a garden once there grew Thornless roses, not a few, Deepest red—pink and white ; Oh, it was a lovely sight I Sweet their smell, Who can tell How much sweeter than to-day, Fairer, too, To the view, Where the roses then, they say. Soon attracted by their scent, All to gather rose-buds went; Some by passing feet were trod, As they trailed upon the sod ; First in scorn Burst a thorn, From the tender bark so green, Then in pride, Side by side. Soon a hundred more were seen. Bristling now and wounding all Grew the rose-bush stout and tall, It could shield its flowers from harm, But alas! they'd lost a charm. Beauty waned As they gained Self-defence that did avail, With it went Half their scent; So tradition tells the tale. Vitt ffitarp-Vtlier. DARED AND DEFEATED• HUNTINGDON, PA., FEBRUARY 1, 1871. in her cool white dress, with violet ribbon at the throat, peeped out the door at me as I came up the garden where I had de livered the spoils of the day into the hands of Mag's cook, and held up her hands in mock horror. In truth, I was something of a spectacle, with my white snit illumin ated with the juice of strawberries—the pantaloons thrust into the legs of muddy boots—plentifully besprinkled with dust of eountry roads, and fiercely sunburnt. But I had been gone all day, and Alice made up a face to kiss me. "No," said I, "I will excuse you, since I have a blistered nose, and am covered with dust." I was quite in earnest, and tried to hold her off; fearing her delicate dress would get soiled if she couched me ; butshe won her way to my breast, rubbed a little place clean on my forehead with her embroider ed handkerchief, kissed the spot, and laughed in my eye , . "Dear Lewis," she said, "It is you, and I'm not afraid of dirt that will wash off." The merriment softened in her lovely face. "Lewis," she said softly, "don't think I love you for your clothes, or your com plexion, or whiskers, which all the girls admire, but because you are good and true, and I feel that I can trust you. Do you know what made me lov,you at first ?" I shook my head. "Because all Sutton's wiles to draw you over to his side failed. You admire hon esty and purity, and have maintained them so nobly that I honor and admire you. If you were a blacksmith, I'd marry you and live in a hovel." And with her beautiful eyes sparkling with tears, my darling hugged sue, and then pushed me off, and then ran away to hide how she was crying. Blissfully happy, I stumbled up stairs, plunged into a bath, and divested myself of all stains of earth. But when I went into my dressing room, I perceived the perfume of Sutton's cigars. They were of a peculiar brand, and no one smoked them but himself. He was sitting in the south portico, close to the door where I had met Alice. How long he had been there? My hand trembled as I brushed my hair. Should I have been ashamed of it ? I think not. Sutton had a reputation of taking horrible revenges and I had so much to lose. But after a moment, I braced myself mentally and physically, and sat down to read. I was too tired to go down stairs. But the fumes of that cigar seemed to have got into my head; the page was hazy and indistinct; I could see nothing so plainly as Sutton's Greek profile and hya cinthine hair; and suspecting I was ill I at length threw down the volume, and went to bed by starlight. I was ill for a fortnight, with a low ner vous fever. My valet took me in charge, but Alice came in every day with Mar garet, and did more good with ten minutes' petting, than Eugenes' most patient at tention accomplished the whole day. She kept flowers at my bedside, and stretched proprieties to the utmost to see me. At first her smiling eyes at my pillow were delicious ; but one day I saw she regarded me in a troubled, wistful way, and after wards I discovered that she was growing pale. "What is the matter, tell me, pct," I said. "Oh you get well so slowly," she said, a transient flush on her cheek. I did not dream what persecution she was undergoing while I lay there, bat she would not worry me with any complaints; brave, faithful, loving little heart. I was nearly well at last—sat up all flay in my room, and sent word to my friends below that I would be with them the fol lowing day. At midnight the radience of the moon light awoke me from a deep sleep. I could never sleep in a room flooded with the light of the moon. I arose, threw on my dressing gown, and was preparing to close the blinds, when I distinctly parceiv ed the pungent odor of chloroform. Now if I had been in the body of the house, I should have decided that some unfortunate person among its inmates had experienced a midnight attack of tooth ache, but there were no chambers in the south wing but Alice Lee's and mine. Every pearly tooth in her rosy mouth was perfectly sound, I knew—so I was puzzled. The next revelation was the proprinquity of a horse's neigh. The horses belonging to the house were or ought to have been at a distance from the house in a well-locked stable. This horse—nay, two of them, and an elegant phaeton, I could see at the front gate. At first I did not recognize the equipage. But I was impressed to believe there was something wrong. A lark of Sutton's set, I decided it to be, when I at length recog nized the carriage. I dressed and sat down at the window, watching the horses tossing their heads under the larches, their silver trappings glittering in the moonlight. Suddenly Sutton walked rapidly down the walk, bearing something in his arms, wrapped in a cloak. It might have been the figure of a corpse for any life or mo tion it appeared to have. He sprang into the carriage, placed himself so as to sup port his burthen, gathered up the reins, and whirled rapidly away. The instant he was gone, a horrible sus picion broke over. I sprang up and rush ed down stairs. The chamber in which Alice slept was full of the scent of chloro form, the window was open, a long glass door leading directly into the garden There was chloroform among the roses. Alice was not there. If an oath escaped my lips it did then. Never thinking to alarm the house I rush ed into the stable, expecting to find the hostler awake. But no—the man was sleeping soundly in his loft. Sutton's horses had not been stabled that night, and only violent beleaugement brought him down. Bridling the fleetest and fierc est horse in the stable, I sprang bareback upon him, and tore out upon the trail. The long road leading over the hill stretched white and empty before sue, but by that way he must have gone. My noble black flew after, snorting and striking fire from the stones. The birds were twittering all along the way I noticed that, and knew I meld not be far behind him. Suddenly I heard the click of a carriage wheel. The next mo ment I pulled up, for the road diverted; one path lay over a steep hill, the other entered the woods. I was close upon him; I was sure of that, but I could not decide whether he had gone over the hill, or entered the woods, which looked dark and murderous enough. If I made a mistake he would escape. Just then I heard a cry—a wo man's piercing shriek. My heart leaped up; I plunged into the woods. That was his way. It was narrow and difficult, and I knew he had taken it in hope to escape me. He must have heard the thunder of my horse's hoofs behind in the road. We bounded under the boughs. Soon I saw the car riage ahead. It rolled rapidly along, yet swayed heavily on its springs as if badly driven. I shouted, "stop!" The nest moment a pistol shot whizzed by me. I could make out the figure of Sutton standing in the carriage, for a mo ment. In my reckless speed the bough of a tree struck me in the face. But I heeded nothing until:l was at the phaeton. Sutton was not in yet, but my darling, all wild and white, stretched out her hans to me. My horse, in spite of sTeed, was manageable. I galloped close to their heads and contrived to stop the flying bays. "Where is Sutton ?" I asked. "He fell or sprang out, I do not know which. Oh, Lewis, save me from him !" "You have nothing to fear now," I ans wered. "My darling, be brave." Though momentarily expecting a ball through my head, I fastened my horse to the back of the carriage, got in, and turn ed the heads of the horses. They were all white with foam, but obeyed the rein withot excitement. I wrapped Alice more carefully in the cloak, and guided them swiftly toward home. Suddenly the bays swerved, and seemed to leap over some object in the road, and instantly the carriage passed over some ob struction. Alice's wild eyes flashed their terror into mine; a sickening thought pass ed over me. Reining in the horses I leap ed out of the vehicle, and retraced my way for a few steps. 'Something lay dark among the leaves. It was the corpse of a dead man—the dead body of Walter Sut ton. He had been flung from the carriage. It is not probable that he attempted to es cape, for he was heavily armed, and would have sooner taken my life than to have been defeated. Ile had probably driven over a stump or log, and I had ridden over him twice. There was a hoof mark on his forehead, and the wheels passed directly over his breast. But the fine scornful smile was on his lips, as I gazed at the dead face in the moonlight, as if, even in death he cher rished his revenge, and was yet confident of compassing it. But the abduction which he had dared, he had been defeated in, and, happy in our marriage, Alice and I had no fear of the dead. for 11It °`') MOM How a Boy Wakes Up• There he lies in his crib, a nut-brown stub of four years. He sleeps in sleep of healthy childhood. In the same position he lay when he dropped off into uncon sciousness, one arm under his head, one leg kicked out from under the coverlet. He is perfectly motionless. His round check pillo..s itself on the extended arm, and his leg seems to have been arrested in the middle of the last restless kick, as the curtin drops over his blue eyes, and he was asleep. He is in a deep sleep. You can scarcely perceive the regular respira tion. A train of cars thunders by with out notice—he might be carried across the street without awakening A healthy by sound asleep, is an inter esting object. Particularly if he is your boy. For the time, his tremendous ener gies are at ' rest, his noisy clatter, his ceaseless motion, his endless questions, bis boisterous play, his boundless wants, his fountains of laughter and tears, all are quiet now. One can take a good look at him. It is morning. Daylight streams into the windows, the sun shines on the hill top. The sounds of stirring life are be ginnino•' to be heard about the house. Watch the boy. Still as motionless as a figure of marble. As you look, the gates of sleep are suddenly unlocked. He is avigke in a twinklin.—awake all over. His blue eyes arc wide open and bright— his lips part with a shout—his legs fly out in different directions—his arms are in rapid motion—he flops over with a spring —in ten seconds he has turned a couple of somersaults, and presents before you a living illustration of perpetual motion. There is no deliberate yawning, no slow stretching of indolent limbs, no lazy rub bing of sleepy eyes, no gradually becom ing awake about it. With a snap like a pistol shot, be is thoroughly alive and kicking—wide awake to the tip end of each particular hair. The wonderful thing about it is its suddenness and complete ness. The World's Wonders. This world of ours is filled with wonders. The microscope reveals them not less than the telescope each at either extreme of creation, particularly there is so much to know that has never been dreamed of— wheels within wheels without computation of number. Let us take a rapid glance at the proofs of this statement. The polypus, it is said, like the , fabled hydra, receives new life from the knife which is lifted to destroy it. The spider-fly lays an egg as big as itself. There are 4,041 muscles in the caterpillar. Hooks discovered 14,000 mirrors in the eye of a drone; and to ef feet the respiration of a carp, 13,000 arte ries, vessels, veins, bones, &c., are neces sary. The body of every spider contains four little masses pierced with a multitude of imperceptible holes, each hole permit dug the passage of a single thread ; all the threads to the amount of a 1,900 to each mass, join together when they come out, and make the single thread when the spider spins its web ; so what we call a spider's thread consists of more than 4,000 united, LOPuWhe4aO4, trigaliti of micro scopes, observed spiders no bigger than the grain of sand, and it took 4,000 of them to equal in magnitude a single hair. A Puzzle. Here is a puzzle for a young arithme titican and others who like to crack an arithmetical nut now and then to try their wits upon : Two Arabs sat down to dinner and were accosted by a stranger who wish ed to join their party, saying that he could get no provisions in that part of the coun try; if they would admit him to eat only an equal share with themselves he would willingly pay them the whole. The fru gal meal consisted of eight small loaves of bread, five of which belonged to one of the Arabs and three to the other. The stran ger, having eaten a third part of the eight loaves, arose and laid before them eight pieces of money, saying: "My friends, there is what I promised you; divide among you according to your rights." A dispute arose respecting a division of the money, and reference was made to the cadi, who divided it justly. Query, how did he divide the pieces of money ? A Man with Twenty Wives. A MODERN ROMANCE. CHAPTER I-THE MORMON'S DEPARTURE. The morning on which Reginald Glov erson was to leave Great Salt Lake City with a mail train dawned beautifully. Reginald Gloverson was a young and thrifty Mormon, with an interesting family of twenty young and handsome wives. His unions had never been blessed with children. As often as once a year he used to go to Omaha, in Nebraska, with a mule train for goods ; but although he had per formed the rather perilous journey many times with entire safety, his heart was strangely sad on this particular morning. and filled with gloomy foreboding. The time for his departure had arrived —the high-spirited mules were at the door, impatiently champing their bits. The Mormon stood sadly among his weeping wives. "Dearest ones," he said, "I am singular ly sad at heart this morning ; but do not let this depress you. The journey is a peril ous one, but—pshaw ! I have always come back safely heretofore, and why should I fear. Besides, I know that every night, as I lay down on the starlit prairie your bright faces will come to me in my dreams and make my slumbers sweet and gentle. You, Emily, with your mild blue eyes; and you, Henrietta, with your splendid black hair; and you, Nelly, with your hair so brightly, beautifully golden ; and you, Mollie, with your cheeks so downy ; and you, Betsy, with your—with your—that is to say, Su san, with your—and the other thirteen of you, each so good and beautiful, will come to me in sweet dreams, will you not, dear ests ?" "Our own," they lovingly chimed, "wc will." "And so farewell !" cried Reginald.— "Come to my arms, my own !" he cried, "that is as many of you as can do it con veniently at once, for now I must away." He folded several of them to his throb bing breast, and drove sadly away. Jut he had not gone far when the trace of the off-hind mule became unhitched.— Dismounting. he essayed to adjust the trace; but ere he had fairly commenced the task the mule, a singular refractory animal, snorted wildly and kicked Reginald fright fully in the stomach. He arose with dif ficulty and tottered feebly towards his mother's house, which was near by, fall ing dead in her yard, with the remark, "Dear mother, I've come home to die." "So I see," she said ; "where's the mules ?" Alas ! Reginald Gloverson could give no answer. In vain the heart-stricken mother threw herself upon his inanimate form, crying, "Oh my son, my son! only tell me where the mules are and then you may die if you want to." In vain, in vain I Reginald had passed on. CHAPTER IL-FUNERAL TRAPPINGS, The mules were never found. Reginald's heart-broken mother took the body home to her unfortunate son's widows. But before the arrival, she in discreetly sent a boy to burst the news gently to the afflicted wives, which he did by informing them, in a hoarse whisper, that their 'old man had gone in." The wives felt very badly indeed. 'He was devoted to me,"sobbed Emily. "And jo me," said Maria. "Yes," said Emily, "he thought consid erably of you, but not so much as he did of me.? "I say he didn't!" "He did !" "Don't look at me, with your squint eyes!" _ _ _ "Don't shake your red head at we !" "Sisters," said the black-haired Hen rietta, "cease this unseemly wrangling. I, as his first wife, shall strew flowers on his gray..." "No you won't," said Susan. "I, as his last wife, shall strew flowers on his grave. It's my business to strew." "You shan't—so there !" said Henrietta. "You bet I will," said Susan, with a tear-suffused cheek. "Well, as for me," said the practical Betsy, "I ain't orr the strew much, but I shall ride at the head of the funer.l r ... cessitm." "Not if I've been introduced to myself, you won't," said the golden haired Nelly; "that's my pos ition. You bet your bon net strings it is." "Chitren," said Reginald's mother, "you must do some crying, you know, on the day of the funeral ; and how many pocket handkerchiefs will it take to go around? Betsy, you and Nelly ought to make one do between you." 'l'll tear her eyes out if she perpetuates a sob on my kandkerchief," said Nelly. "Dear daughter-in-law," said Reginald's mother, "how unseemly is this anger. Mules of five hundred dollars a span, and every identical mule my poor boy had has been gobbled up by the red man. I knew when my Reginald staggard into the door yard that he was on the die, but -if I'd only thunk to ask him about them mules ere his gentle spirit wok its flight, it would have been four thousand dollars in our pockets, and no mistake. Excuse these real tears, but you never felt a pa • rent's feelings.". "It's an oversight, sobbed Maria. "Do not blame us." CHAPTER 111.-DUST DUST. The funeral passed off in a very pleas ant manner, nothing occurring to mar the harmony of the occasion. By a happy thought of Reginald's mother, the wives walked to the grave twenty abreast, which rendered that part of the ceremony thoroughly impartial. That night the twenty wives, with hervy hearts, sought their twenty respective couches. In another house, not many leagues from the house of mourning, a gray-hair ed woman was weeping passionately. "He died," she cried, "he died without signifying, in any respect, where them mules went to I" CHAPTER IV.-MARRIED AGAIN. Two years elapse between the third and fourth chapters. A manly Mormon, one evening, as the sun was preparing to set among a select assortFuppt, of gold and crimson clouds in tho western borison—, although foe that matter the sun has a right to "set" where it wants to, and so, I may add, has a hen—a manly Mormon, I say, tapped gently at the door of the late Reginald Gloverson. "Is this the house of the widow Glover son ?" the_Mormon asked. "It is," said Susan. "And how many is there of she ?" in quired the Mormon. "There is about twenty of her, includ ing me," returned Susan. i'qui I see her ?" "Tail Caii, " "Madam," he softly saicl, atltlressinu the twenty disconsolte widows. "I have seen part of you before. And although I've already twenty-five wives, whom I respect and tender'ly care for, I can truly say I never felt love's holy thrill till I saw thee ! Be mine ! be mine . •he enthusiastically cried, and we will show the world a stri king illustration of the beauty and truth of the noble lines only a good deal more so— 'Twenty-one souls with a single thought. Twenty-one hearts that beat as one.' "They were united—they were."—Ar• (emits Ward. Useful Information. How to lay off a. square acre of ground measure off 209 feet on each side and you have a . spate acre within an inch. Contents of an acre—An acre contains 4840 square yards. A square mile contains 160 acres. Measures and distances—A mile is 5280 feet, or 1760 yards in length. A fathom is six feet. A league is three miles. Wheat, beans, and flaxseed, 56 pounds to the bushel. Corn, rye, and flaxseed, 56 pounds. Buckwheat, 53 pounds. Barley, 43 pounds. • Coarse salt, 85 pounds A. cubit is two feet. A hand (horse measure) is four inches. A palm is three inches. A pace is three feet. Barrel measure—A barrel of flour weighs 196 pounds. A barrel of pork 200 pounds. A barrel of rice 250 pounds. A keg of powder 25 pounds. A tub of butter 56 pounds. Bushel measure—the following are sold A liquid ton is 252 gallons. A box 16 by 16i and 8 inches deep contains a bushel. Under the head of useful facts for the grocer, the American Grocer gives the fol lowing: A box of lemons will average 330 in num ber, a box of oranges from 200 to 250. A ease of preserved ginger contains six jars. _ _ _ A,frail of dates weighs from 250 to 200 pounds. A drum of figs is 3,4, and 8 pounds. A cask of prunes 1300 to 180 4 0 pounds, averaging about 1500 pounds. Currants come in casks of from 175 to '3OO pounds. _ _ Citrons come in small boxes of about 10 pounds each. Tare, 2to 4 pounds. Peanuts arc generally sent to market in sacks containing about 3 bushels. Dried apples and peaches come in bar rels generally from 150 to 220 pounds. A quintal of fish is 112 pounds. Virginia peanuts weigh 22 pounds to the bushel; Wilmington peanuts 26 to 28 pounds; African peanuts 32 pounds. The Suburbs of Jerusalem. We leave the city, says a writer in All the Year Around, by the Damascus gate, which is close to our hotel. and skirting its walls, traverse the road overhanging the Valley of Hinnom, and so, past the modern burial ground and the Potter's Field, we are soon on the main road to Hebron. The sun gains power every minute And the Hazards and chameleons are darting - rapidly in and out of the stones exposed to its rays. On the bank raising from the opposite side of Hinn om stands a row of neat modern dwellings, which would not look out of place in the neighborhood of Battersea. They are the new almshouses erected by Sir Moses Mon teflore for indigent Jews, and all are occu pied.- But, as was one invariable exper ience in Jerusalem and its vicinity, the real and apocrypha traditions crcwd upon us so quickly, that we have difficulty in masterinc , the externals of each. On that lonely and blighted tree seen high up to the left yonder, Judas Iscariot is said to have banged himself. It is close to the ruins of the house of Caiaphas, the high priest, and on the naked crown of the Hill of Evil Counsel, which raises ab ruptly on the north side of the ravine, Hinnom below it and the house of Caia phas above. The photographs and pictures u 1 lh,2r;it _an pears in reality, by reason of their almost variably bringing its harsh rocks and an cient burial places into prominent relief. By these means that accursed and blighted look is given it which accords so well with its shocking traditions, but which is, as we decided, misleading. The Potter's Field is wore fertile than the rest of the ground near. The ()live flourishes on it, and the view over the Valley and towards Zion is comprehensive and picturesque. Learn a Trade. The Cleveland Leader gives the follow ing sound advice: No fact is truer than that the man who is possessed of a good trade, well learned, and who uses his re sources to their best advantage, is master of his destiny: The demand tor skilled workers is well nigh exhaustible, the field for their employment nearly illimitable, and the supply almost continually inade quate, at least in this country. And the growth of the demand is more rapid than that of the supply in most of the indus trial pursuits. • In this broad laud of ours, with its vast resources and its vigorous strides in devel opment, no man who can work at any use ful employment need be idle;. no man need feel dependent upon the favor, or the in dulgence, or the charity of any other man. Possessed of a trade, the young man in America has a capital for which he can find ample and ready investment at all times, which will pay him the highest in terest, and which will grow in value and availability with each day of its use. We know, therefore, no better or more profit able sermon to preach to the youth of the land than one that has for its text: Learn a trade, and learn it well. It is a talis man of power and independence, upon which you may always rely, and which will never fail you. Living Within Your Means, Bulwer says that poverty is only au idea, in nine eases out of ten. Some men with £lO,OOO a year suffer more for want of means than others with $3OO. The reason is, the richer man has artificial wants. His income is $lO,OOO a year, and he suf fers enough from being dunned for unpaid debts to kill a sensitive man. The man who earns a dollar a day and does not go in debt, is the happier of the two. Very few people who have never been rich will believe this, but it is true. There are thousands and thousands with princely in comes who never know a moments peace, because they live above their means. There is really more happiness in the world among the workingmen, than among those who are called rich, NO. 5 Übe Tout ariL Going Home, They are going—only going— Jesus called them long ago ; All the wintry time they're passing, Softly as the falling snow. When the violets in the spring-time Catch the azure of the sky, They are carried out to slumber Sweetly where the violets lie. They are going—only going— When with summer earth is dressed, In their cold hands holding roses Folded to each silent breast; When the autumn hangs red banners Out above the harvest sheaves, They are going—over going— Thick and fast, like falling leaves. All along the mighty ages, • All adown the solemn time, They have taken up their homewar4. March to that serener clime, Where the watching, waiting angels Lead them from the shadow dim To the brightness of His presence Who has called them unto Him. They are going—only going— Oat of pain and into bliss— Out of sad and sinful weakness Into perfect holiness. Snowy brows—no care shall shade them Bright eyes—tears shall never dim ; Rosy lips—uo time shall fade them— Jesus called them unto Him. Little hearts forever stainless, Little hands as pure as they, Little feet by angels guided Never a forbidden way I They are going, ever going, Leaving many a lonely spot; But 'tis Jesus who has called them— Suffer and forbid them not. Now. Novi ! A short word; a shorter thing. Soon uttered ; sooner gone. Now ! A grain of sand on a boundless plain. A tiny ripple on a measureless ocean . Over that ocean we are sailing ; but the only part of it we possess is that on which our vessel'at this moment floats. From the:.starn we look backward and watch the ship's wake in the waters; but how short a distance it reach es, and how soon every trace disappears ! We sec also sonic landmarks farther off, and then the horizon cies& the view ; but be yond; that ocean still rolls far, for away.— Memoiy contemplates the few yours of our individual life; history shows us a dim out line of mountains; science . tells us that still farther back, out of sight, stretches that vast sea; reason assures us that, like space, it has no boundary ; but all that we possess of it is represented by this small word— Now ! The past, for action, is ours no longer. The future may never become present, and is not ours until it does. - The only part of time we can use is this very moment—Naze ! O. listen to the voice of warning now ! "Awake thou that sleepest !" Awake now ! "Seek the Lord while he may be found !" Seek him now ! "Believe in the Lord Je sus Christ and thou shalt be saved ! Believe now•! Confesh to him your sins, aSk pardon through his blood, rely on his atonement, implore the help of his spirit, devote your self entirely to his service. PO'it now "Strive to enter in at the straight gate." now ! Offer the prayer. "God be merciful to me a sinner," now. Too much time has been wasted already. 4.se no more, :This may be your only opportunity ! Seize it now ! Now ! for time is short, and death is near, and judgment threatens ! Now ! for iu eternity it will be tow late, and your ve ry next step may land you there ! The only season of which you can be sure is now ! The only season in which you can work is now ! The purpose may not last till to-morrow; fulfill it now ! Fresh dif ficulties will flood the channel to-morrow— wade it now ! The chain of evil habit will bind you more tightly to-morrow ; snap it now ! Religion is a work for every day ; begin it now! Sin exposes to present mis eries ; escape them now ! Holiness confers present joys; seize them now! Your Cre ator commands; obey him now ! A (led of love entreat; be reconciled now ! The Father from his throne invites ; return now ! The Saviour from hiS cross beseech es ; trust him now!! The Holy Spirit is striving in your heart; yield now ! -"Be hold now is the accepted time, beheld now • Lay' _Sermon. "If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall, be done unto you."—John, :tr. 7. We want so many things we do not have, that we can scarcely believe it poss-ibtd that we can have all our wants satisfied; and yet there stands the premise of the Lord, and it cannot fail. We all want health, and riches and friends, and wally other things, the possession of which is gratify ing to the natural man; and when we fail to obtain them, and in their stead get sick ness, and poverty, and enemies, we are dis posed to repine, and even to doubt the goodness of the Lard. 13nt it' we abide i:: the Lord, and his words abide inns, we will cheerfully accept whatever the Lord, in His infinite wisdom, sees is best for our eternal welfare. Instead of asking for our own will to be fulfilled, we will, in all cir cumstances, say : "Thy will. 0, Laid, be done." When we come to have full faith in the Lord's goodness and wisdom, we Shall receive all that we ask for; bemuse we will ask only that He will give us such . things as He sees we need. Our prayer will be : "Thy kingdom' come : thy - will be done on earth as it is in heaven." We will ask for nothing but what the Lord sees. is belt for us; and that He will always gire us; and thus the promise, '-)7e shall aslF what ye will, and it shal be done unto you," will receive its fillfillment, and we will be saved. No other faith than this can save us. A Hundred Years to Come, To-day we are striving, pushing, grasp ing after wealth, honor, power and pleasure. The poor claim wealth that they may be above want, the rich seek to add to their countless thousands. So are we wishing forward, reckoning not the result of our probationary existence. No one ever ap pears to think how soon we may sink into oblivion—that we are one _generation of missoins. Yet such is the fact. Time and progress have, through countless ages, come marching hand in hand—the one destroy ing, the other building up. They seem to create little or no commotion, and the work of destruction is as easily and silently ac complished as a child will pull to pieces a rose. Yet such is the fact—the solemn truth. A hundred years hence, and much that we now see around us will too have passed away. It is but the repetition of life's story we are horn, we live, we die.— Think, then, of the souls that are above, imperishable. The souls of countless mil lions s ill exist in punishment or in bliss. We all within our graves shall sleep A hundred years to come.
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