)L. 46 HuntiUgdon Journal, T. A. NASII, RBORROW, the Corner of Bath and Washington etree'ts. :t,rtsonom JOURNAL is published every by J. It. DIIRRORROW and J. A. NAse, firm name of J. IL Dunnonnow J 6 Co., at annum, IN ADVANCE, or $2,50 if not paid months from date of subscription, and paid within the year. ,er discontinued, unless at the option of shers. until all arrmtrages are paid. . . RTISEMENTS will be inserted at TEN ,r lino for each of the first four insertions, CENTS per ling for each subsequent inser than three months. ..r monthly and yearly advertisements will ed at the following rides : I I I miGm9inlly i 3m 6m Sully 49027'36 00 € 0010 00,12 01$ " 24 00 360 501 65 00 tO 004 00118 00 4 " 34 00 50 00 65 SO 00 14 00'20 00,24 00 50 18 00115 00130 00 , 1 col 36 00 60 00 I notices will be tbserted at TWELVE AND BENTS per line, and local and editorial no- IFT . EEN CENTS per line. . solutions of Associations, Communications 1 or individual interest, and notices of Mar .] Deaths, exceeding five lines, will be TEN CENTS per line. and other notices will be charged to the ring them inserted. rising Agents must finl their commission .f these figures. rertbring account , ' are due and collectable adrert;vement ix once inserted. 'RINTING of every kind, in Plain and Mors, done with neatness and dispatch.— Ils, Blanks, Cards, Pamphlets, loc., of every .nd style: printed at the shortest notice, y thing in the Printing. line will be cocott e most artistic manner and at the lowest Professional Cards )ENGATE, Surveyor, Warriors mark, Pa- [apl2,'7l. CALDWELL, Attorney -at -Law, To. 111, 3d street. Office formerly occupied rs. Woods d Williamson. [apl2;7l. IL R. WIESTLING, espectfully offers his professional services tisens of Huntingdon and vicinity. removed to No. 618 Rat street, (Smines o.) [apr.s,'7l-1 y. J. C. FLEMMING respectfully fors his professional services to the citizens ingdon and vicinity. Office second floor of ;ham's building, on corner of 4th and Hill may 24. D. P. MILLER, Office on Hill itreet, in the room formerly occupied by a M'Culloch, Huntingdon, Pa., would res ., offer his professional services to the citi- Huntingdon and vicinity. Dan:l,7l. . A. B. BRUMBAIMH, offers his professional services to the community. on Washington street, one door east of the Parsonage. [jan.4,'7l. . G. D. ARNOLD, Graduate of the University of Pennsylvania, offers his pro .l services to the people of Huntingdon and ansct::—Dr. B. P. Hook,of Loysvil.e, ,oin he formerly practiced; Drs. Stifle and of Philadelphia. on Washington street, West Huntingdon, [ap.19,'71. J. GREENE, Dentist. Office re moved to Leister's new building, fill street gdon. f10n.4,•77. L. ROBB, Dentist, office in S. T. Brt.wn's new building, No. 520, Hill St., gdon, Pa. [ap12,71. GLAZIER, Notary Public, corner of Washington anti Smith streets, Hun t, Pa. Lian.l2'7l. C. MADDEN, Attorney-at-Law. Office, No. —, Hill street, Huntingdon, [ap.19,71- SYLVANUS BLAIR, Attorney-at- Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Office, Hill street, oors west of Smith. Lian.47l. 'ATTON, Druggist and Apoth ,, opposite the Exchange Hotel, Hen- Prescriptions accurately compounded. s for Medicinal purposes. [n0v.23,'70. R. 1 ecary a, Pa. HALL MUSSER, Attorney-at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Office, second floor of .'s new building, 11111 street. [jan.4,7l. R. DURBORROW, Attorney-at- Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will practice in the I Courts of Huntingdon county. Particular on given to the settlement of estates of demi- ie in he JOURNAL Building. [feb.l,ll A. POLLOCK, Surveyor and Real Estate Agent, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend veying in all its branches. Will also buy, • rent Farms, Houses, and Real Estate of ev ad, in any part of the United States. Send lircular. Ljan.47l. W. MATTERN, Attorney-at-Law and General Claim Agent, Huntingdon, Pa., rs' claims against the Government for back aunty, widows' and invalid pensions attend with groat care and promptness. se on Hill street. [jan.4,'7l. ALLEN LOVELL, Attorney-at • Law, iluntingd3n, Pa. Special attention to COLLECTIONS of all kinds ; to the settle of Estates, de.; and all other Legal Business •uted with fidelity and dispatch.. . . P Office in room lately occupied by R. Milton , Esq. [jan.4,'7l. "ILES ZENTMYER, Attorney-at - Law. Huntingdon, Pa., will attend promptly legal business. Office in Cunninr,bauf s new lug. jan.4,'7l. M. & M. S. LYTLE, Attorneys at-Law, liuntingdon, Pa., will attend to nds of legal business entrusted to their care. ce on the south side of Hill street, fourth door A Smith. [jan.4,'7l. A. ORBISON, Attorney-at-Law, • Office, 321 11111 street, lluntingdon, Pa. [may3l,7l. SCOTT. S. T. BROWN. J. M. BAILEY lOTT, BROWN & BAILEY, At torneys-at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Pensions, .11 claims of soldiers and soldiers' heirs against ()comment will be promptly prosecuted. me on Hill street. Dan.4;7l. W. MYTON, Attorney-at-Law, Hun • tingdon, Pa. Office with J. Sewell Stewart, Dan. 4,71. T ILLIAM A. FLEMING, Attorney at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Special attention eto collections, and all other legal business ided to with care and promptness. Office, No. Hill street. [apl9,'7]. Miscellaneous XCHANGE HOTEL, Huntingdon, Po. JOHN S. MILLER, Proprietor. .nuary 4, 1571. LLMION MILLER. H. [ILLER & BUCHANAN, DENTISTS,. 3. 223 Rill Streit, HUNTINGDON, PA. 5, '7l-Iy, 'TAR THE RAILROAD DEPOT, COM WAYNE and JUNIATA STREETT UNITED STATES HOTEL, HOLLIDAYSBURG, PA LALN k CO., PROPRIETORS , OB T. KING, Merchant Taylor, 412 Washington street, Huntingdon, Pa., a lib share of patronage respectfully solicited. pril 12, 1571. The Huntingdon Journal. Zile Inoue Puier. Humble Life , Tell me not that he's a poor man, That his dress is coarse and bare Tell me not his daily pittance Is a workman's scanty fare ; Tell me not his birth is humble, That his parentage is low; Is be honest in his station I This is all I want to know. Is his word to be relied on? Has his character no stain? Then I care not if he's low born— Then I care not whence his name. Would he from an unjust action Turn away with scornful eye? Would lie than defraud another Sooner on the scaffold die? Would he spend his hard-gained earnings On a brother in distress? Would he succor the afflicted, And the weak one's wrong redress ? Then he is a man deserving Of my love and my esteem, And I care not what hie birth-place In the eye of man may seem. 801 100 Let it be a low, thatched hovel ; Let it be a clay-built cot ; Let it be the parish work-house— In my eye it matters not. And if others would disown him As inferior to their caste, Let them do so—l'll befriend him As a brother to the last. A Beautiful Um. "There's many an empty cradle, There's many a vacant bed, There's many a lonely bosom, Whose joy and light have fled For thick in every graveyard The little hillocks lie, And every hillock represents An angel in the sky." ,ftr2-Zella. THE PEASANT HERO: BOGORODSKOE is a pleasant place in summer, to those, at least, who are not above plain living, for neither hotel nor refreshment room has ever been heard of there. The whole place is - simply one of those quaint little clusters of rough-hewn log huts, clinging like limpets to either side of the high road, which are nowhere seen to such perfection as in Sweden or Russia. Some few of the houses are of a grander sort, actually two-stories high, with brightly-painted, roofs and white washed balconies iu front, that makes them look as if they had white ties on. These are the "swell" mansions of the place, and look down upon the poor little shanties around them as a footman looks at a beg gar ; but for the most part, our village is made up of little cabins of the regular Russian type, built with no tool but ashort axe—one-storied, thatched with straw, con taining two, or, at most, three rooms, and topped by the cocked-hat-shaped "Tcker dak" or garret, in which the Russian peas ant stows his hay, piles his wood, stores his provisions, dries his clean linen. (when he has auy,) and, iu a word, bestows eve rything that he cannot cram into the little kennel below stairs, where he, his wife, his children, and very often likewise his ox and his ass, his pig and his poultry, and everything that is his. The beams of Mr. Ivan's house fit into each other at the ends like the corners of a slate-frame, his door is fastened by strong wooden pegs, beside his big stove hangs the rudely daubed pic ture of some Russian saint with a candle burning in front of it, and in the corner of the room stands a huge "soon-dook" or wooden chest,. painted red, and clamped with iron bands. This chest is the peas ant's greatest pride ; he keeps his Sunday clothes in it—and his friends sit upon it like a sofa, and whenever he changes from place to place, he always drags this great heavy sentry-box of a thing along with him. But I doubt whether any of you wodd like to live in a Russian cottage. The roof is just a mixture of sapling and spiders; the walls a mish-mash of wood, earth and earwigs; the floor a paste of straw and clay, dotted with black beetles, like the plums in a Christmas pudding. The hut I lived in had only just been Wilt, so that I had nothing worse to dis turb me than a regiment of black ants marohing every now and then out of the cracks in my window-sill, or a swarm of mosquitoes comino• ' "ping-pinging" thro' my open window. And, what's more, I had a little table fixed in the ground in front of my cottage, and a low bench put beside it, and there I used to have my breakfast and tea in the open air; and I can tell you that when I was sitting there about seven o'clock on a glorious summer morning, fresh from my early walk, with my cosy little tea-urn steamitfg in front of me, a fresh roll on one side, and a couple of newly laid eggs on the other, and the soft, dreamy, sunny uplands stretching be fore me for miles, edged here and there with dark patches of forest, like fur trim ming upon a velvet robe—l was as happy as could be. One may be comfortable in Russia as well as anywhere else; and when you come to travel there, you soon find out that it is not the cold dark prison, full of spies, wolves and frost-bites, that we used to imagine it; that there are other things to eat there beside soap and candles, and other things to do beside sitting all day close to a stove with a woolen comforter round your neck. While the beat of the day lasts you don't see much of our villagers. Here and there you may fall in with a stray one creeping along the highway, or straggling about the fields; but as a rule, the bulk of the popu lation don't show up till towards evening. Then, as if by magic, the whole place sud denly becomes alive with all kinds of queer figures; bearded laborers in greasy red shirts, with baggy trousers stuffed into their boots; shouting children, shaggy as bears and brown as hazel-nuts, with noth ing on but a pancake-colored night-gown well lined with dirt; short-skirted women, with scarlet handkerchiefs round their beads, and round, flat, wide-mouthed faces that look like a penny with a hole through it; sallow students with straggling Mack hair, and an earthy unwashed look about them, ogling the brown-cheeked, barefoot ed lasses who come tripping by with their pails of spring water ; and spruce village policemen dotted with brass buttons, and looking on with fatherly superiority. But it is beside the rickety pump in front of the village "shop of all sorts" that the great assembly is held. There fathers dis cuss things in general, with their mouths full of black bread and salted cucumber; there mothers compare notes on family matters, or drive bargains among them selves; and there children of every age amuse themselves with-the national sports of rolling in the gutter and throwing dirt in each other's eyes, varied by an occasion al bout at knuckle-bones, by way of variety. Muhls-tf But in winter a sad change comes over Merry Bogorodskoe. Instead of the charm ing little village, full of life and enjoy ment, you see nothing but a cluster of si lent huts, half buried in snow, peering above the great white desert that extends on every side. All around the bare, deso late fields stretch their ghostly wastes to the horizon, while here and there a solitary raven, disturbed by your approach, flaps heavily away with a dismal scream, like. some belated spectre returning to its grave. The few peasants who still linger about, muffled in their thick sheepskin frocks, survey you with an air of disdainful aston ishment, as if wondering what business you have here at all ; the lafless trees stand up gaunt and grim against the cold, grey sky, like an army of skeletons, and over all broods a dead, dreary, ghostly silence, broken only by the distant barking of a dog, or the moan of the wind through the distant forest. And worse still, if you hap pen to stroll beyond the village after dark, you will see pale spots of light like the flame of a half-quenched coal flitting among the trees—and hear a long, melancholy howl, like the wail of the wind on a gusty winter night, going drearily up through the still frosty air—and suddenly find yourself face to face with a huge, gaunt, grey wolf, as savage and bloodthirsty as hunger can make him. Well, it was on a January evening, the winter before last, that six men were as sembled in one of the huts which I have described. It was a room of the common sort, a big bed, with a patchwork coverlet, filling up one side, the usual huge chest in one corner, a picture of the emperor on one wall, a picture of the bombardment of Sebastopol on the other, and a portrait of a saint, as usual. beside the stove, several clumsy wooden chairs, and a low table, on which stood a "samovar," or Russian tea urn, with a tea-pot perched on top of it, while around it stood half a dozen tum blers, full or empty ; for in Russia you know its the way to drink tea out of tum blers instead of cupd, a fashion which burns one's fingers shockingly, Wit does nothing else. Beside the tea-urn stood a small lamp (gurgling and sputtering as if it had a bad cold,) which threw a pale circle of light upon the heavy cross beams of the roof and the dark, sallow, bearded faces of the com pany. They made a very - striking group under the dim lamplight, these six men, and all the more so from the strange man ner in which they were behaving. In an ordinary party of Russian peasants you would have heard ceaseless talking and laughing, boisterous jokes, stories of Neigh bor This and Neighbor That, snatches of old song, sung in this very place, by the same kind of men, in the days of Peter the Great, and possibly if' the story-teller of the village happened to be of the party, an old legend or two, handed down from gen eration to generation since Russia first be came a people; how Ilia Murometz fought with the Nightingale Brigand, and how Alexcy Popaviteh slew the Flying Tartar. But these men were silent and thoughtful; no jokes, no stories, no laughter, every face clouded ..444. ..knrry oyo flet.rl moodily on the ground. And what was it, then, that made them so gloomy? Let us listen to their talk, and perhaps we can find out. "lt's a sore judgment on us I" said one who seemed to be the host—a big, burly man, with a tangled, yellow beard. "The like has not been seen since the year '6l, when the wolves came right into The vil lage, and killed nine of our dogs in one aught. But then there were many wolves, while now it is only one that does all the mischief, and yet we, as many as we are, can do nothing against him." And how the mischief can we do any thing," cried a second, "against a brute that scurries about as if he had wings ? Pounce he comes into the village, gobbles up the first thing that comes to hand, and off again, and you may try to recollect his name !" (This is the popular phrase for utter disappearance.) "Well, we must do somethingto stop it," said the third, a grim old fellow, who had had his nose taken off by a frost-bite.— "Mother Avdotia's only cow killed last week, poor Ivan Masleg torn to bits on Friday, Feodore Nikeetin's dog snapped up last night, and our watchman's shoulder bitten through—brothers, we are wrong before God if we allow this to go on !" "Ah, it is all very well to say we must do something—but who's to do it ?" re turned the second speaker emphatically. "When we turn out, three or four togeth er, the cunning rascal marks it, and keeps on, and there's not a man in the village, I take it, that would venture upon him sin gle handed. Who'll try it think ye ?" "I will !" It was a very low quiet voice that spoke the last words ; but there was a firmness in it which no one could ntistake. The sixth of the party, seated in the &Mier corner near the door, had hitherto been so quiet that they had almost forgotten his presence, but now every eye was turned upon him. He was a young man, but lit tle over twenty, though his heavy mus tache and square, thick-set, muscular frame made him appear considerably older. His face was course and commonplace enough —the sallow, low-browed, weather beaten countenance of the genuine Russian peas ant; but there was a nameless something about the broad, square jaw and small deep set gray eye, that would have made you pick out that man among all the six for any work requiring courage and he had performed more than one feat which the village gossips still remembered with ad miration in their winter evening chat round the tea-urn. "Ah, Valdimir Mikhailovitch !" (Wal ter son of Michael), cried the host, "what's this you're thinking of ? You that have only been married two months, to go ma king wolf's meat of yourself ? Nonsense, lad, stay at home, and take care of your wife, and leave wolf hunting to them that's got nothing better to do." Valdimir answered never a word; but his features hardened like a mask of iron, as he slowly rose to his feet. All present knew well that when his face wore the look that was upon it now they might as well try to move a mountain as to persuade him; and they sat silent, waiting to hear what he would say. "You say that Nikeetin the butcher lost a dog last night; did the wolf eat the whole carcass ?" asked Valdimir of the noiseless man, in the quick commanding tone of one who knows that he must be obeyed. "No; he hardly got a bit of it, the ras cal—that's one comfort!" answered the old fellow with a grim chuckle. "Feodore Stepanovitch heard the dog yelp, and out rushed he and his men with lights and hatchets, and scared the brute away. As for the dog, it's lying there in his yard now." one of yon, and bring it; and if HUNTINGDON, PA., AUGUST 30, 1871. any one has a sharp wood-knife, let him give it to me." It was curious to see how absolutely this man, the youngest and least important of the whole party, issued his orders; and how unhesitatingly the rest obeyed them. Here, as everywhere, the stronger mind took the lead, and the weaker instinctively followed. The host produced a huge, broad-bladed knife, which Valdiinir slung around his neck without a word ; and, a few minutes later, the carcass of Nikeetin's dcg was lying beside the door. He then drained his glass and said : "You tell me this brute generally comes about midnight ; so between eleven and twelve I shall take this carcass to the cross-roads, and throw it there as a bait for him, hiding myself behind the fence hard by. When he comes up, I shall attack him; and then let it be as God wills. But you, brothers, mind and don't say a word of this to ,any one, lest my Masha (Marh) should hear of it. If I get off, there's no need for her to know the matter at all ; and, if I am killed, she'll hear of it soon enough—God help her ! And now, Alexcy Nikolaievitch, if you can spare me your bed for awhile, I'll take a nap to freshen me for my work." And a few moments later, this hero (himself all unconscious of doing anything heroic) was sleeping as calmly as if a dead ly conflict, from which he had little or no chance of escaping, were not awaiting him four hours later on. Midnight—cold, dreary, ghostly. A dead grim silence over the lifeless village and lonely high road. A faint glimmer of moonlight, giving a weird, spectral look to the half-seen outlines of the dark, silent log-huts and making the gloomy depths of the encircling forest aeem all the blacker. A shapeless mass lying out upon the hard snow of the cross-roads, and a dark figure crouched behind a fence hard by, with something in its hand which glitters as the moon falls upon it. Weary, weary work, crouching there in the cold and darkness, with the stiffening fingers clutching the heavy hatchet, and the strained ears watchful to catch the slightest sound. Hark ! was not that low howl from the far distance ? No, it was but the wind moaning through the skele ton branches of the forest. Patience yet ! Hark, again ! and this time there is no mistaking the sound; not the long melan- choly howl wherewith a supperless wolf may be heard bemoaning himself, on the outskirts of Moscow, almost every night in the week, but a quick, snarling cry, as of one who sees his food near at hand, and wishes to hasten its arrival. And there, gliding ghost-like over the great waste of snow, comes a long gaunt shadow, straight, swift, unswerving, towards yonder shape less lump of carrion on the highway, upon which he pounced with a fierce worrying snarl that snakes even the brave heart of the listener stand still for a moment with in voluntary horror. Now is Valdimir's time ! To rush out at once might scare the beast away ; he must try to cripple it. The axe flies at the monster's head with a force of a catapult; but the dim light deceives his aim, and it hits the fore shoulder instead, tearing it open with a fearfulgash, from wh:Th the blood gushes freely over the snow. With a sharp howl of pain, the wolf turns and flies; but the swiftest foot in Bogorodskoe is hard at his heels. After his long, weary vigil, this breakneck chase is like the breath of lite to Valdimir, and over this hard smooth snow, his speed is a match for any wolf wounded like this one. Already he had almost come up with the game, and is raising his knife for a sure stroke, when the flying grey shadow in front of him suddenly wheels round, shoots up from the earth like a rocket, and falls right upon the breast of its pursuer. Down goes man and wolf amid the whirl Of flying snow, while ashrill yell rings out on the silent air, for even in the sudden shock of that death-grapple, Valdimir's knife has found time to come home, and the hot blood pears over his face and breast from the wounded side of his adversary. I And so, far out on the lonely plain, with the cold soon looking piteously down upon it, begins the tug for life and death. Over and over they roll in the bloody snow, the wolf clutching at the throat of the man, the man burying his knife in the side of the wolf. Crushed to the earth beneath the stifling weight spent with his long watch and headlong run—with certain death glaring at him from the yellow, mur derous eyes of the savage brute, the stub born Russian still fights doggedly on. In the hot fury of that mortal struggle, the fierce hunter-nature awakes, sweeping away all memory of his comrades, his wife, his devotion, he feels only the longing to tear and kill tingling to his very finger ends, only the grim enjoyment of plunging his knife again and again into that gaunt mus cular side where the life seems to lie so deep. See ! those merciless stabs are at length beginning to tell ; the fierce yellow eyes are growing dim, the huge jaws quiv er convulsively, and from their edges the froth and blood drip in hot flakes upon Valdimir's thee. But now, with a mighty effort, the wolf' wrenches his head from the iron grasp of Valdimir's left arm, and with one fierce crunch of his strong teeth breaks the bone below the elbow. The limb drops powerless at his side. One more desperate stab into the quivering flesh of his enemy, and then he feels the savage teeth, fasten ing upon his throat; everything swims around him, there is a rushing as of water in his ears, a thousand sparks dance before his eyes, and then all is blank. "God be praised, brother, that you are still alive !" said a gruff voice in Valdi mir's ear, as he recovered consciousness; while, at the same moment, a soft arm was thrown round his neck, and a fervent "thank God !" murmured by a sweet voice that he knew well. "Where am I?" asked Kovroff, looking vacantly around, and recognizing first his wife, and then his host of the evening be fore. "Where are you ?" repeated Alexcy ; "why in my hut to be sure, where you've been ever since we brought you in last night. You know, when you went out,we followed at a distance ; and as soon as we saw you start in chase of the wolf, we set out after you; but it is not every body that can run like you, so we didn't catch you up till 'Uncle CI reycoat' was first trying to get the best of it," And finally he recovered, sure enough ; at least, when I met him at Bogorodskoe last summer, he was well enough to run a mile shoulder to shoulder with me, and break a thick sapling like a stick of sealing wax. And after the race I wont home to tea with him, and saw the wolf's head (its skin he had sold to a Russian officer) nailed up above the door of his hut. And the old man who had lent him the knife told me the whole story, just as I give it to you ; and he told me too, that from that day forward the whole village called Val dimir nothing but 'Mujeek Bogatler,' or the Peasant Hero. ire goktrot gudo. A Lawyer Among Cows, Squire Wick, a lawyer who fancies what he don't know ain't w)rth "pum kins," and whose home ain't a thousand miles from the Pine Tree State, was a great favorite with the late Judge Cranch. Once visiting the Judge, the latter invited him to walk over his premises. Among other places they visited the barn-yard, and the squire was struck with admira tion as he gazed upon the noble herd of cows which had just been driven up for milking. He talked as elaborately of their good points as would a first-rate good stock breeder, when the fact was he knew next to nothing about stock, and some of the good points which he spoke of caused the Judge a hearty laugh—in his sleeve. "Well," said the Judge, "which of the cows will you take ?" "Which will I take your honor ?" said the Squire, not knowing the Judge's meaning. . _ "Yes — , which will you take ? I am going to make you a present of one of them— which shall it be ?" "Really, your honor, this is unexpected ; I will nut object to the present, but had rather your honor would make the selec tion, as receivers should not be choosers." "If you accept this present you must make the selection. Being a good judge of stock, you will not be likely to cheat yourself." And the eccentric judge smi led to himself. The Squire rubbed his gold-bowed spec tacles, and began to view the cows with a critic's precision. After much scrutiniz ing. he said : "I apprehend your honor, you would not like to part with that very fat, short-horn• ed, thick-necked cow ?" "I have no choice; make your selec tion," said the judge, his risibles hardly controllable. "I don't want to rob you of your favor ite cow, but if you have no choice, I should prefer the very fat one; she has many goo4yoints.". . . "N - o favorite—no robbery at all—the fat cow is yours. My man will drive her to your house before milking." The delighted Squire hastened home to inform his wife. In about an hour he saw the "fattest and the best cow in the vil lage," as he styled her, driven into his yard, and despatched a sable daughter of Africa to milk her. In a few minutes in came ebony, giggling and laughing. Squire Wick knew something was to pay, and what he could nor conjure. There stood Dinah, "round up" with laughter, the empty pail dangling by her side. "What on earth is to pay, Dinah !" in quired the Squire. "0 masse, for coffin, only—ki-ki-ki, ho-he-he-e-a-e !" The Squire looked at his wife—she at him—then both at Dinah, who had "con niptioned" with laughter, and settled down by the door, her face covered with her apron, and her laughing machinery shak iuoJier sides at a tremendous rate. The Squire's mad riz. "Dinah," sates no, at, the wp or nib voice, "tell me what's to pay, or I'll throw you out of the house." Dinah rose and mastered herself long enough to say, "0 for masse, noffin, only dat cow of yourn's--a genzmen cow !" and then fell into another fit of laughter. Ifyou know how a chop-fallen man looks, a portrait of Squire Wick's countenance would be superfluous. The way that "very fat, short-horned. cow!' walked back to the yard of .Judge Cranch wasn't slow, and the way the Judge shook his sides was a caution to critics. Morrow B. Lowry and the Rocky Mountain Cat. Jim Stewart. sometimes called "The Commodore," is the most noted darkey in Erie. Jim is a good natured, shrewd sort of a fellow, somewhat addicted to doing business now and then on the Jeremy Did dler style, as the following incident will testify. Living near the residence of the lion. Morrow B. Lowry, he was frequent, ly employed by the latter to do odd jobs around the house and in the garden. One day Mrs. Lowry concluded that the pecca dillos of a worthless and venerable tom cat, long an attache of the family, were sush as demanded the infliction of capital punishment, and Jim was called upon to play the part of executioner. After a long chase, the victim was captured and put in a basket over which an old shawl was securely fastened. The next question was, how to dispose of the prisoner. Mrs. L., sugg6sted drowning, but Jim, with tears in his eyes, protested that he could no more drown •'that ere cat" than he could "drownd hisself;" that were he to do so, his conscience, acting on a naturally tender heart, would trouble him so much 'at nights that he was sure he could never sleep a wink thereafter. Not wishing to ruin Jim's peace 'of mind, Mrs. L., com promised the matter by giving him a dol lar and directing him to take the cat and dispose of it in any way he pleased, so that she could never see it again. Putting the dollar in his pocket and the basket ou his arm, Jim started down town. He had not got out of sight of the house, when he met Morrow walking leisurely toward his home, and the following colloquy ensued : Moaaow—Hello, Jim, what have you got there ? Jim—One ob de celebrated Rocky Mountain cats, sah. Morthow—A Rocky Mountain cat ! Why Jim, where did you get him, and what are you going to do with him ? JIM—I golly, sah ! Didn't you heah ob de big bunch ob dem cats dat kum to town yesterday from Kaliforny, sah ? Bes mous ers in de wurl, sah, and dis is de biggest and bee one ob de lot, salt Dey arc gwine to gib me foah dollars fur him at the Reed House, sah. Monhow—(Recollecting the "general cussedness" of the family cat.) Jim, we want a good cat up home, and I guess I'll take this fellow, but—but--don't you think four dollars is mighty steep for a cat ? Jim—All de re? sold for five &nabs sah This decided Morrow, so he paid Jinr the price asked, and told him to carry the "Rocky Mountain cat" up to Mrs. Lowry. Jim, however, had very important business elsewhere, and begged Morrow to take the basket himself, which the latter good na turedly consented to do. Arriving at home •he took his prize into the sitting room, carefully closed the doors, slightly lifted the basket and covering, and smiling be nevolently at Mrs. L.'s apparent astonish ment, remarked : "My dear, I've brought you a Rocky Mountain cat—the best mous er"—at this moment the cat jumped out of the basket and commenced rubbing him self against his master's legs. Morrow stopped short, while his wife broke in im patiently : "La me, Morrow ! Why that's the same old cat I gave Jim Stewart a dollar to drown, not more than ten minutes ago." What followed we know not, but a few minutes later the Hon. Morrow B. Lowry might have been noticed on he streets of Erie, armed with a very heavy walking stick, and wondering "why a man can nev er find that d—d nigger, when he wants to see him badly."—Beaver Radical. -41;' iozvlbiutous. United States Expenditures. The expenditures of the United States from 1791 to June 30th, 1870, inclusive, for all purposes, may be seen by the fol lowing table : War 83,925,833,822 61 Navy Indians.. Pensions 816,220,310 1& 122,616,573 33 221,153,156 32 858,154;938 33 Miscellaneous Premiums. Interest... 43,006,739 Oa 1,046,827,786 17 4,457,930,869 86 Public debt. Gross expenditures 11,492,889,196 41 The gradual progress of these ,expendi tures may be seen by the following exhib it : Years. Total Expenditures. 1791 12,273,376 94 1801 13,594604 89 1811 19,090,572 69 1821 30,038,446 12 1831 31;797;530 03 1841 48,479;104 31 1851 85,387,313 08 1861 70007;842 88 1870. The expenditures fur the decade from 1860 to 1870 inclusive were as follows : Total Expenditures Years 677,05,125 65 1860, 85,387,313 08 1861 565,667,503 74 899,815,911 25 1862, 1893. 1864. _. 1,296,541,114 86 1865 1,906,432,331 37 1866 1;139;344,081 95 1,093,079,655 27 1,069,889,970 74 1867 1898 584;177,996 11 702,907,842 88 1869 1870. These figures, referring to the financial history of the United States, cover the po litical lifetime of this nation. Taken in connection with the increase of population, the acquisition of territory, and the addi tion of new States to the Union, they fur nish an example of national development without parallel in the history of any oth er country. Such a growth of govern ment expenditures implies a correspon ding growth of resources, in order to sus tain them. In the course of the next thirty years the greater part of our national debt will probably be paid, and by that time the United States, with the exception of China, and possibly Russia, will in popula tion be the largest nation in the world. It is well worth all the cost of treasure and blood incident to the late war to save such a nation from disintegration and political rnin.—N. Y. Sunday Press. Tit-Bits, Taken on the Fly, The next State election to be held this year.- is that of California, on Tuesday, Sept. 5, when a Governor and other State officers will be chosen. The Legislature of the Territory of Wyoming is chosen on the same day. Tuesday, August 15th, One Hundred years ago, Sir Walter Scott was born. Who so dull that cannot think to himself a ser mon on what the world has done in this hundred years since the birth of Walter Scott. The event has been largely cele brated throughout all Scotland. What William Tell did as a matter of fiction, Capt. Travis performed as a matter of fact in Cleveland the other evening, where he shot an apple from the head of a boy 12 paces distant, sending a bullet, clean through the center of the apple, which remained undisturbed on the boy's head. Secretary Boutwell, in answer to a let ter from Hon. John Scott, has furnished a statement of the unadjusted balances Against ex-collectors of internal revenue i❑ this State. It is a complete refutation of a favorite charge of the Democratic press, and deserves to be read and ponder ed by every thinking man. The Cumberland Daily News says : "Within a few days, proposals will be in vited for grading the new railroad from the selected point of juncture on the Cum land and Pennsylvania railroad to the Maryland line, a distance of some three miles." The, seven miles from the Bridge. port end will be under way soon. Mr. Edward Richardson, a Vermonter, after residing 18 years on the Island of Hawaii, owns an estate of 400,'.00 acres of land, plentifully interspersed with lava from the volcano of Mauna Loa. He went to the Sandwhich Islands a poor man to earn a livelihood as a carpenter. Among his other possessions are 500 head of cat tle. Returns from the back counties of Ken tucky show Democratic gains on the ma jorities of last year. We are constrained to concede Leslie, the repudiator of the New Departure, a majority of at least 30, 000, if the counties heard from fairly mark the current, as we have no reason to doubt. Henry Clay Dean having disgusted half of the Democracy by his position in the new departure, a Kentucky paper hopes to get him in disgust with the rest f that party by urging him to wash his ace and put on a clean shirt. The scheme will fail, however, for Dean never follows such advice. No never. He is the dirti est dog we ever saw. One of our Republi can exchanges fits to the new departure policy of the Democ racy the old anecdote of the boy and the woodchuck. The boy was observed watching for a woodchuck to come out of his hole. Do you suppose you can catch him ? said a passer by. Catch him ? said the boy contemptuously; "I've got to catch him stranger, we're out of meat." Honors Greatan, an old, withered, rag ged crone, who, for the past fifteen years, has traversed the streets of New York harnessed to a hand-cart, and collecting rags and bones from the gutters and swill tubs, died suddenly in a tumble-down shanty near the foot of West One Hund red and Twenty-fourth street. Investiga tion proves that although she died from starvation and exposure, she had nearly five thousand dollars eposited in the North River Savings Bank. This money she bequeathed by will to a little girl eight years of age, who lived with her. The will provides that the girl shall be educa ted at some Catholic boarding school. Petty Expenses The value of capital is fairly measured by its ability to produce an income. The value of a hundred dollars is indicated by the fact that the possessor may, without any more trouble than putting it in the saving bank, or in government bonds, re ceive six dollars a year for its use, or by employing it in his business, together with his own exertions, he may receive very much more. In this community the money itself earns only about six per cent. When a man secures more than that, it is, either because lie takes a risk and might have lost, or because his special intelli gence, skill or industry was combined with his capital, and the increased income was the earning of both. The share which the money alone earns is usually understood to be about six per cent. Whoever therefore spends six dollars nullifies one hundred dollars of capital for a year. Or, in other words, to save six cletin.:, from. - ortrowassikl6.l inn past, is As good as to have a hundred dollars of capi tal at work during that time. A young man who has a salary of eigh teen hundred dollars, considers, perhaps, that squandering five or six dollars is only losing a day's wages; but lie might with accuracy consider that it is abandoning a hundred dollars for the year. An invest ment of fire thousand dollars would be nullified by wasting six dollars every week in useless expenditure. The petty ex penses nullified just the amount of capital that it takes to produce the sum spent. If for instance a young man spends on Monday three dollars on a bunch.of cigars and Tuesday five on a ball, Weinesday three at the opera, and Thursday two on billiards, Friday three on a big dinner, and Saturday evening two in doing noth ing, his eighteen dollars have eaten up all that fifteen thousand dollars could have earned for him in the same time. With fifteen thousand dollars of capital invest ed, such a free spender is not so well off as a young man without these expensive hab its who has not a cent of capital A questionable expenditure may often be wisely tested in this way : I can get a certain article I have a fancy for, for twenty-five dollars. It is worth three or four years' interest on a hundred dollars ? Is it worth while to nnllifiy four hundred dollars for a year, in order to gratify this want? Knitting "I was just thinking, mother," said Ra chel. "Thinking about what ?" asked Mrs. Harland, seeing that her daughter did not complete the sentence she had begun. "It was something about knitting. Mrs. Barclay said this morning, as she passed the window and saw me at work, 'This is soft and beautiful yarn, but not half so soft and beautiful, I trust, as the.yarn you are knitting into your life.' I've been think ing ever since what she could mean, and it has just come to me." "Has it ? I'm glad you've thought it out for yourself. What is merely told us, often goes no deeper than the memory, but rt - we ctrinr out anyaiiii B Iva vutaclrwj 1L becomes more real to us and more our own. We understand it better." "Yes, I am sure of that," replied Ra chel. "And what do you think Mrs. Barclay meant ?" asked Mrs. Harland. "I suppose she meant that Our thoughts and feelings were like yarn, and that every day we were knitting them into our lives." "I think that was her meaning," replied the mother. "If day by day we knit pure thoughts and kind and gentle feelings into our lives, we shall not only form to our selves beautiful characters, that will make our presence a charm and a blessing to others, but acquire a heavenly quality that will draw near to us, as like draws like, the angels of God with their protecting power, though we may not perceive their presence." A tender thoughtfulness was in the eyes of Rachel. She did not answer, but looked down at her knitting, and as the soft thread passed through her fingers, she pon dered this new lesson in the book of life.— Children's hour. The Boy of the Period Every body has seen the Boy of the Period. His face hangs on the show board in front of the photographer's. He is on exhibition for while every fair even ing on the corners of conspicuous streets. He is carefully and exquisitely dressed, wears delicate kids ; twirls a light stick ; puffs a fragrant cigar; eyes every young lady that may chance to pass, and gives his opinion of her at once and while her ears are in reach. Having finished his street performance, he lounges into a billiard sa loon, flourishes his cue, drinks his drinks, pays for them with ostentatious parade of his indifference to money, and then sallies out in search of home or of some other place. The Boy of the Period is a great reader. He is familiar with 'Our Best Society," "The Day's Doings," and all the pictorial literature which draws its embellishments from a lewd imagination. He detests reading of a solid kind as being unworthy the attention of a modern young gentleman. His taste is too fine and fanciful to be re galed with the vulgar food of useful knowledge. He glances his eye now and then over the leading daily prits, but if he fails to find in them some rousing sensa tional record of crime, he tosses them away in disdain. He has heard of the Library, but deems it of no use to him—it may serve plodding blockheads very well. The Boy of the Period is a genius. He is above work, and has a clerkship; buthe has no intention of passing his years in the dull routine of a profession, trade or craft. He is too smart fur all that. He needs money, for lie has the habits of a spend thrift. Chance is Protean. Honesty is straight forward, and has a single eye. The Boy of the Period worships chance, and waits daily at her shrine. At length he sails in ; makes a venture, in some form, and luck, the deceiver, at first is on his side. Sud denly luck has turned- against him. He fights against his luck desperately : floun ders into a crime; is detected, arrested, im prisoned, and punished. The Boy of the Period gets his face into the rogues' galle ry. Such is a brief outline of the biography which very nearly describes the line of life along which a good many young men are traveling. A little reflection on their part, might induce them to choose a better and safer path. Wirt is an elephant the mort prudent of travelers ? Because he never takes his eyes off his trunk. GOOD country butter—an old ram. NO. 34. ght gime eirdt. Is This All. BY HOHATIIIS RONAL Sometimes I catch sweet glimpses of His face, But that is all. Sometimes He looks on me, and seems to smile. But that is all. Sometimes He speaks a passing word of peace, But that is all. Sometimes I think I hear His loving voice, Upon me call. And is this all He meant when thus He spoke "Come unto me ?" Is thrze no deeper, mere enduring rest • In Him for thee? Is there no steadier light for thee in Him? .0, come and see ! 0, come and see I 0, look, and look again ! All shall be Sight; 0, taste Ills love, and see that it is good, Thou child of night! 0, trust thou, trust thou in His grace and power! Then all is bright. Nay, do not wrong Him by thy heavy thoughts, But love His love. Do thou full justice to His tenderness, His mercy prove ; Take Him for what He is ; 0, take Him all, And look above! Then shall thy tossing soul find anchorage And steadfast peace ; Thy love shall rest on His ; thy weary doubts Forever cease. Thy heart shall find in Him and His grace, Its rest and bliss. Christ and His love shall be thy blessed all Forevermore ! Christ and His light shall shine on all thy ways Forevermore I Christ and His peace shall keep thy trouble Forevermore. The World Our Battlefield, A mind of wandering and melancholy thought, impatient of the grievous realities of our state, may at some moments, almost breathe the wish that we had been a differ ent order of beings, in another dwelling place than this, and appointed on a differ- _lpointeu ent service to the Almighty, In vain ! Hero still we are, to pass the first of our existence in a world where it is impossible to be at peace, because there has come into it a mortal enemy to all that live in it. Amidst the darkness, that veils from us the state of the universe, we would wil lingly be persuaded that this, our world, may be the only region (except that of penal justice) where the cause of evil is permitted to maintain a contest. Here, perhaps, may be almost its last encamp ment, where its prolimged power of hos tility may be suffered in order to give a protracted display of the manner of its appointed destruction. Hew our lot is cast, on a ground so awfully preoccupied; a calamitous distinction ! and yet a sub lime one, if thus we may render to the Eternal King a service of a more arduous kind than it is impossible to the inhabi tants of any other world than this to ren der Him; and if thus we may be trained, through devotion and conformity to the Celestial Chief in this warfare, to the final attainment of what He be has prom ised in so many illustrious forms, to him that_oiercometh. We shall soon leave the region where so much - is in rebellion against our God. But we shall go where all that pass from our world must present themselves as from battle, or be denied to mingle in the eternal joys and triumphs of the conquerors.—John Foster. Getting What is Sought. When a man can say, "I am going to the house of God this morning, and, 0. may God meet me there!" he will not long go there in vain. When a hearer can de clare, "As soon as I take my seat in the congregation my one thought is, Lord, bless my soul this day !" he cannot for long be disappointed., Usually, in going up to God's house, we get what we go for. Some come because it is the custom, some to meet a friend, some they scarcely know why; but when you know what you come for, the Lord, who gave you the desire, will gratify it. I was pleased with the word of a dear sister this morning when I came in at the back gate; sh 4 said to me, "my dear sir, my soul is very hungry this morning. M3y, , t1.0 Lard giro you brefol for me." I believe that food convenient will be given. When a sinner is very hungry after Christ, Christ is very near to him. The worst of it is, many of yon do not come to find Jesus; it is not He you are seeking for; if you were seeking Him, He wpuld soon appear to you. A young woman was asked during a revival, "How is it you have not found Christ ?" "Sir," said she, "I think it is because I have not sought him." It is so. None shall be able to say, at the last, "I sought Him, but I found Him not." In all cases at the last, if Jesus Christ be not found, it must be because he has not been devoutly, earnestly, importunately sought, for His promise is, "Seek, and ye shall find."— Spurgeon Seoret Sins, The Ichneumon fly lays its eggs in the body of the caterpiller. When the egg is hatched, the larva begins to feed at once on the body of the poor worm. It avoids, by a remarkable instinct, the vital parts, and the caterpiller creeps on its way, feed ing as unconsciously as if he- were in no danger. So many a soul is lost by some secret sin. The friends of a young man were shocked by finding him suddenly transformed into a drunkard. Before they suspected him he was lost to all shame or self-respect. He had been for years drink ing in secret, before his exposure, and the last stages were very rapid. There is a little weed which sometimes creeps into our canals and rivers which seems very insignificant at first, and its rope like stems become so matted that it seriously hinders navigation. Just such a multiplying evil is one little secret sin, suffered to take root in the heart. Let ns offer every day the prayer. "Cleanse thou me from secret sin.--nmerican Messenger. Saying Grace. How soon wid a child notice the relig ions practice of a family ! The sayidg of grace, the asking of a blessing at the table, will set the young thought astir as to the meaning of the thing. Then, gradually, the idea of some Power that. provides the daily bread of the family will become dis tinct in the child's mind. The ever re curring acknowledgement of God's being and goodness, and gratitude due to Him as the giver of every good and perfect gift, leaves a distinct impression on the young soul that is beginning to ask itself the meaning of whatever strikes the senses. That there should ever be a meal in a Christian house without a blessing aske , l decently and recently, is a crying sin sco: omission—sin against a, souls of little children of the family in particular.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers