TOL. 46. 3 Huntingdon Journal. J. A. NASH, DURBORROW, on tke Corner of Bath and Waehinyton street.. llusmanox Joun.N.IL is published every milay, by J. It. DURBORROW and J. A. Nem', the firm name of J. R. DURBORROW 16 Co., at per annum, IN ADVANCE, or $2,50 if not paid six months from date of subscription, and tot paid within the year. paper discontinued, unless at the option of Lbhailers, until all arrearages are paid. VERTISEMENTS will be inserted-at TEN per line for each of the first four insertions, vs CENTS per line for each subsequent inner nut than three months. ular monthly and yearly advertisements will erted at the following rates: 3ml6mi9ml 6ml 9 mlly 8 4 4° 00110 5 0 0 011 "° 2 00 $ 1 24 9 011 1 38 40 00 60 1 1 10 00 14 00 1 18 00 .34 00 6000 65 14 00. M 00,24 00 'lB 00i25 00130 00 lea 13, 00160 001 3ial notices will be inserted at TWELVE AND F CENTS per line. and local and editorial no t FIFTEEN CENTS per line. _ . Resolutions of Associations, Communications Lted or individual interest, and notices of Mar and Deaths, exceeding five lines, will be ul TEN ems per line. . . al and other notices will be charged to the having them inserted. ertising Agents must find their commission e of these figures. advertising accounts are doe and collectable he advertisement is once inserted. PRINTING' of every kind, in Plain and Colors, done with neatness and dispatch.— bills, Blanks, Cards, Pamphlets, &0., of every y and style, printed at the shortest notice, .ery thing in the Printing line will be exeeu the most artistic manner and at the lowest Professional Cards DENGATE, Suryeyor, Warriors mark, Pa. [apl2,'7l. CALDWELL, Attorney -at -Law, .No. 111, 3d street. Office formerly occupied sore. Woods & Williamson. [apl2,'7l. t. R. R. WIESTLING, respectfully offers his professional services citizens of Huntingdon and vicinity. e removed to. No. 6185 Hill street, (Sutra's mu.) [apr.s,'7l-1 y. 1. J. C. FLEMMING respectfully offers his professional services to the citizens itingdon and vicinity. Office second floor of sgham's building, on corner of 4th and Hill may 24. I. D. P. MILLER, Office on Hill street, in the room formerly occupied by hn M'Culloch, Huntingdon, Pa., would rea lly offer his professional services to the rill !' Huntingdon and vicinity. Dan. 4,11. I. A. B. BRUMBAUGH, offers his professional services to the community. e on Washington street, one door east of the ic Parsonage. [jan.4,ll. J. GREENE, Dentist. Office re moved to Leister's new building, Hill street igdon. • [jan.4,'7l. L. ROBB, Dentist, office in S. T. Brc wn's new building, No. 520, Hill St., agdon, Pa. [ap12,71. GLAZIER, Notary Public, corner of Washington and Smith streets. Hun n, Pa. [jun.l2ll. C. MADDEN, Attorney-at-Law. • Office, No. —, Hill street, Huntingdon, [ap.19,'71. SYLVANUS BLAIR, Attorney-at- Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Office, Hill street, boors west of Smith. Dan.4'7l. R. PATTON, Druggist and Apoth ecary, opposite the Exchange Hotel, Hun .n, Pa. Prescriptions accurately compounded. Jiguors for Medicinal purposes. [n0v.23,'70. HALL MUSSER, Attorney-at-Law, Huntingdon, Ps. Office, second floor of r's new building, Hill street. Dan. 4,11. IL DURBORROW, Attorney-at- Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will practice in the 1 Courts of Huntingdon county. Particular ion given to the settlement of estates of dece- cc in he JOURNAL Building. Veb.l,ll. A. POLLOCK, Surveyor and Real Estate Agent, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend •veying in all its branches. Will also buy, r rent Farms, Houses, and Real Estate of ev nd, in any part of the United States. Send ,ircular. [jan.4'7l. W. MATTERN, Attorney-at-Law and General Claim Agent, Huntingdon, Pa., re' claims against the Government for back county, widows' and invalid pensions attend with great care and promptness. 3e on Hill street. Dan.4,'7l. ALLEN LOVELL, Attorney-at • Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Special attention to COLLECTIONS of all kinds; to the settle of Estates, &c.; and all other Legal Business ,uted with fidelity and dispatch. r- Office in room lately occupied by It. Milton , Esq. Dan. 4,71. ILES ZENTMY E R, Attorney-at - Law, Huntingdon, P., will attend promptly legal business. Office in Cunningham's new lng. Dan.4,'7l. M. & M. S. LYTLE, Attotneys . at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend to ads 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, s Office, 321 Hill street, Huntingdon, P. [may3l,'7l. SCOTT. S. T. BROWN. J. IL BAILEY 'OTT, BROWN & BAILEY, At torneys-at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Pensions, II claims of soldiers and soldiers' heirs against overnment will be promptly prosecuted. as on Hill street. [jan.4,'7l. W. MYTON, Attorney-at-Law, Hun . tinzdon, Pa. Office with J. Sewell Stewart, [jan.4,'7l. rILLIAM A. FLEMING, Attorney at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Special attention to collections, and all other bgal business ded to with care and promptness. Office, No. Jill street. [ap 19,.7 . Miscellaneous. {CHANGE HOTEL, Huntingdon, Pa. JOHN S. MILLER, Proprietor. 2uary 4, 1811. LISON MILLER. R. 'HALER & BUCHANAN, DENTISTS, 22S Hill Street, lIUNTINGDON, PA, ril 5, '7l-Iy. EAR THE RAILROAD DEPOT, 'OR. WAYNE and JUNyATA STREETT UNITED STATES HOTEL, lIOLLIDAYSBURG, PA JAIN dc CO., PROPRIETORS OBT. BING, Merchant Taylor, 412 Washington street, Huntingdon, Ye., a lib ;hare of patronage respectfully solicited. •ril 12, 1871. EWISTOWN BOILER WORKS. ' SNYDER, WEIDNER & CO., lanufac of Locomotive and Stationary Boilers, Tanks, Filling-Barrows for Furnaces, and Sheet Work of every description. Works on Logan t, Lewistown, Pa. _ _ I orders prnreptly attended to. Repairing at short notice. [Apr 5,71,1 y.. • he Lultiil ;clop Journal • Poo' fflouttr. An Old Man's Dream. Oh for an hour of youthful joy Give back my twentieth spring ! I'd rather , laugh a bright haired boy Than reign a gray-haired king. Off with the wrinkled spoils of age; Away with learning's crown ; Tear out life's wisdom written page, And cast its trophies down. One moment let my life blood stream From boyhood's fount of fame ; Give me one giddy, reeling dream Of life, and love and fame. My listening angel heard the prayer, And calmly smiling said, "If I but touch thy silvered hair, Thy hasty wish had sped." But is there nothing in thy track To bid thee fondly stay, While the swift seasons hurry back To find the wished for day 2" Ah, truest soul of woman kind I Without thee what were life ? One bliss I cannot leave behind— I'll take my precious wife I The angle took a sapphire pen, And wrote in rainbow hue ; "The man would be a boy again, And be a husband too l" Is there nothing yet unsaid Before the change appears ? Remember all their gifts have fled With those dissolving years "Why, yes, I would one favor more— My fond paternal joys— I could not bear to lose them all ; I'll take my girls and boys." The smiling angel dropped his pen— Why this will never do; The man would be a boy again, And be a father too ! And so I laughed—my laughter woke The household with its noise, I wrote my dream when morning broke To please my fair-haired boys. ?Je cltory-Ztlicr. Robert 110811's Towtatioil. ROBERT MAXWELL let down the bars for the tired oxen, with which he had been ploughing all day, to go through them and seek on the cool hillside their night's pas turage. They turned their heads and looked at him with their great mournful eyes, as if expecting a word, for they were used to his voice, the slow, patient crea tures, and liked it, as such dumb brutes always do the voice of a kind master. But to-night he had no voice for any of them. He put up the bars again when they had gone through, and leaned heavily against them. A May sunset was flushing earth and sky; the new springing grass looked fresh and green; a light, feathery leafage was on all the trees, and a few of them, .car and tincLr, t. 4 ut,a, Lad ,hta. blossoms. The western sky was piled high with crimson clouds, with, close to the horizon, a bar of gold. A reflected bright. ness flushed the east with a soft roseate hue, which spread up to the zenith. All was still as the birth of a new world. A sense of wonderful beauty and mystery thrilled through Robert Maxwell's unedu cated perception. He had no words for such a scene, no clearly defined thoughts about it even ; but it moistened his eyes, and quickened his pulses, and seemed to flood his life with a rush of dreams and longings. How beatiful the world was. There were some men he heard who had painted such scenes as these—others who wrote poetry about them—others who set them to music, like the songs of birds, or the soft splash of the waves; what was his part of all this? ploughing to-day, planting to-morrow ! was that all life held for him There must be other use, some other meaning, if he could only grasp it. If he had no part or lot in all this beauty, why did it move him so ? Just then he heard the sound of horses' feet, and looked in the distance whence it came. Maud Du Pays was sweeping down the hill, with a gay gallant beside her. How like a part of the sunset beauty she looked, with its rose upon her check, its radiance in her eyes and hair, her long blue habit falling low, and swinging to the motion of her milk-white pony, her white plume streaming back on the wind, her little hands, with the dainty gauntlets on them —so much youth, and grace and beauty. And the "city chap," as Robert Maxwell called him, by her side, did not mar her picture. A handsome, cavalierish looking man, there was no denying that he showed well beside Maud ; but what was he here so much for They swept by; Maud's low silvery Laugh tinkling a response to something her companion was saying; and a little cloud, which the hoofs of the hor ses beat up behind them, filled Robert's eyes, and choked his throat, and added bitterness to his mood. He glanced down to his hard, horny hands, his coarse, toil stained clothes. How well he would look at Maud Du Pays' side ! And yet he had loved her in a vague sort of a way, whose meaning he had just begun to find out, ever since he could remember. Life would not have much savor, he thought, without her. And yet she would be unfitted for a farmer' s wife, and that was just what lie was—a farmer. Then the question came again which had haunted him before— could he be nothing else Did He doom him ? Did God ask him always to go in and out these old ways, plow and plant, and make hay, and reap grain, all summer, and go back and forth between the home stead and the wood lot, all winter ? Some one could be found to do as well for them and he—he believed he had enough in him to go away and make a career which Maud would not scorn to share. The crimson had died out of the west, the rose-hue out of the east. A low wind bad arisen, and blew mournfully and slow ly across the fields. Robert Maxwell's mood- changed with the face of the night. The exultation forsook him, and something hard, stern, sullen, alien it seemed to his generous, hearty nature, entered in and took possession of him. He went home slowly, with heavy footsteps. "Tired, Lobbie ?" his mother said cheer ily, as he came into the kitchen. Somehow the words vexed him ; she had said them often enough before, but they had never struck him in just that way till now. "Robbie !" If she would only re member that he was twenty-two years old. "Yes, I'm tired," he answered doggedly. "Well, draw right up to the table; I've got a nice cup of tea already for ye; that'll rest ye, and brighten ye up a little." Robert Maxwell flung down his hat im patiently. "Tea!" What notions of life women had. He looked at his mother as he bad never looked at her before. Mchls-tf "Mother," said he, with a bitterness he hated himself for years afterwards, "I won der if you ever had a trouble that a good cup of' tea wouldn't cure? Things don't go any deeper than that with some folks." His mother's eyes clouded, but she an swered him very gently. She felt that to-night, for some reason, he was not res ponsible for himself. "I have bad trouble that went deep enough, Robert; six children that have played round my knee, sleep yonder, be hind the old meeting-house, and to bear and nurse, and then to lose—there's none knows what that is but just them that's borne it, and God that made mothers with mothers' hearts. I've had troubles that creature comforts wouldn't help much; and yet I don't despise this world's good things. You haven't any graves when you feel as if your heart was shut in and smothered, and for bein' tired and mopin' I do think there's virtue in a good cup of tea." Her patience and gentleness touched him. He drew up his chair to the table, where his father was sitting, and answered her in a softer tone : 'spose you're right, mother, but I'm not just myself, to-night." • Then he ate his supper in silence, and after it was over, sat for a few moments, thinking silently. At last he took courage, and opened the subject of which his mind was full. "Father, Henry Robbins is wanting a place. Don't you think, with you to over see him, he could do the work on the farm this summer ?" Mrs. Maxwell did not speak, but the saucer she was wiping fell to the floor with a sharp crash. For a full minute it was the only sound which broke the stillness. At last the old man answered : "I don't know, Robert—maybe he could. I never liked to have strangers working on the old place in my time. I did it all my self till you were old enough to help me, and everything has prospered under your hand, Robert. Still, maybe Henry Rob bins could; maybe he could. Did you think of leaving Robert ?" I don't feel satisfied, father, to be a farmer in this small way. I want to do something more with my life. You could hire a man to do all I do for twenty dol lars a month, and I want to see what I am worth somewhere else." Then there was another long silence.— The mother finished washing up her dish es, and came and sat down between her son and husband; her face very white and her hands shaking a little. After a while the old man reached out and took one of the trembling hands in his own. "We musn't blame Robert, mother," he said trying to speak cheerfully. "What he feels isn't unnatural. Other young men say the same. Only it's come sudden. Don't think we blame you, Robbie. It's all fair and right—only sudden." Robert got up and went up stairs. His mother's pale silence, his father's attempts at cheerfulness, seemed more than he could .bear. He went away to his own room, and s.it down by the window. Over across the i: 3 1,4 knew it was the lamp in Maud Du Pays' parlor. Was she worth all this that he was making these two old people suffer ? Was he sure that she would ever love him as they did ? Was he sure that she would ever love him at all? And in this untried life, this great world where so many failed, how did he know that he should succeed ? What was he going to do ? • How vague all his purposes were—just a dream, born of a soft spring night, and Maud Du Pays' fair face. And for it he was going to over turn the whole fabric of his life. No, he would not be so mad. This summer, at least, should go on as before. He would take time to consider. By autumn he should know better what he could do, and whether he could bear to leave that old father and mother—so many of whose treasures the churchyard already held, and whose all he was—quite alone. He began to think that this very fact, that he was their all, laid on him an obligation not to be avoided ; that no success, purchased at such selfish expenditure, would be worth having. At any rate, he would wait. And so sleep came to him, and the morning brought him peace and calmness, and seem ed to give him back his old self again. "Will you see Henry Robbins to-day?" his father asked at breakfast, with an anx iety he strove to conceal. "Not to-day. not at present. My plan was sudden, as you said, too sudden to be wise. I have given it up for a time, at least; I will carry on the place awhile longer.".. The old man's face cleared, but he did not speak, only Robert Maxwell's mother got up and silently kissed him. No young lips could have been more fond—could any be more dear ? Two years after that news came to him of Maud Du Pays' betrothal to her cousin —the city-bred young man whom he had seen riding beside her in the May twilight. This was an unexpected blow, something which, knowing the man was her cousin, he had never feared. The news sank deep into his heart with a dull, dumb pain. She never would have cared for him, then— never had. It was well he bad not gone away and left those two, who did love him, to mourn. After all, perhaps the existence of plowing and planting was all he was good for. Fate had placed him rightly— gauged his capacities better than he could have done himself. So he settled back into his old grooves with a grins resigna tion which was not yet content. Still he felt himself at odds with the life which did not offer him what he wanted. When au tumn came, and it was time for him, if at all, to make the changes he had planned in the spring, he was surprised to feel that the inclination to make it was gone. Some healing ministry, call it of nature or of grace, God knows, had been at work in his soul; and unconsciously to himself through the long summer days, and swift, short summer nights, he had been learning the sweetness of duty, pure and simple—duty done for its own sake; he had begun to ask himself, not what he wished to do, but what he ought to do; and he felt that in the very fact of his being to those two who loved him as their all on earth. God had called him to certain duties on which he would never again feel tempted to turn his back. Reconciled at last to the appoint ment of Heaven, he was at peace also with his own soul; and a new light came into his eyes, a new vigor and manliness into his life. He could think of Maud Du Pays in these days without pain. There would always be in his heart for her the tender ness a good man feels for a woman once beloved, but whether she was his or an other's, he could reckon her loss or gain, among the "all things he was contented to leave with Heaven." He had heard in the summer that she was to be married on Christmas, but he heard no more about it afterwards. Her preparations were going on, he supposed, but he seldom saw her.— HUNTING-DON, PA. He had never spoken with her more than a passing good-day, since her engagement. One afternoon in November he brought home from the village post-office a bundle of papers, his New York Daily among them. Sitting by the fire and turning them over, his eyes were caught by the heading in large letters : "Another Great Forgery." He began to read the article with the kind of careless half interest peo ple in the country feel in the excitement of the city which cannot touch them per sonally ; but suddenly he started up, clutch ing the paper tight, and straining his eyes over it as if he doubted his own vision.— The name of the crime-stained bank clerk was Maud Du Pays' cousin and betrothed lover. Thank Heaven that no mean sel fishness stained his soul in that hour. He was honestly and heartily touched at the thought of Maud's sorrow. Poor girl ! If there were only something he could do to aid or comfort her. He took his hat and went out, with some vague purpose of offering his help, which the fall wind shat tered as it blew across his brow. Of course there was nothing he could do—he could not even speak to her on the subject. Her grief would be sacred—and, had he not been used this many a month to the idea that he was nothing to her any more. Still he went on, in a purposeless sort of way, toward her home ; went on, until he saw a slender figure coming as if to meet him, under the leafless maple boughs, over the dead and rustling leaves, which lay thick upon the wood path. He had meant to pass with just a "gaod evening," but when she put out her hand to him, and he looked into her fair, still face, the words came before he knew it to his lips : "I have seen it all in the paper, Maud, and I am sorry." "Yes," she said, gently : "It will ruin him, I am afraid." "And you ? I thought most of you. You were to have been married so soon." "Not to him," she said, hurriedly, "never to him. That was done with two months ago. I had never loved him. It was vanity which made me consent to marry him. He was handsome and gal lant, and he promised me all the things of this life. But I found after awhile, that none of them would pay me for myself, and I told him the truth." Something in her hurried, earnest tones, or the swift color that stained her cheek, or her shy, half-veiled eyes, or all together, gave Robert Maxwell courage, and be said, holding her hand still : "It was because I had none of the good things of this life to promise you, Maud, that I dared not tell you how dearly I loved you and always should. You seemed too bright and fair to settle down here, just as the wife of a Cannonsville farmer." "But what if I liked that best ?" said she softly, and her hand stayed in his. , And so Robert Maxwell won his heart's desire. There are some souls that I like to think dear children of the Heavenly Father, who learn easily the lesson He set them; who do not need over much chastising; ready to take the lowest seat at feast or syna _ opprov triir tenderness, in the voice which says, "Friends, come up Higher." _la x ~eU znt TuL Liars The world is full of liars. There are the business liars, the buying liar and the selling liar. The buyer unduly deprecia ting the goods, and the seller unduly ex tolling, are in this class. Solomon caught them at it in his day. "It is naught ! it is naught ! said the buyer; but when he is gone his way, then he boasteth." Even in this day, many a man boasts when he has lied another out of his property. The seller attempts to lie the buyer out of his money. Both regard it as very witty. Some parents rejoice when their boys display this kind of smart ness. Some employers encourage their salesmen in this "sharp practice." In such cases, the employed will some time be too sharp for his employer, and vice versa.— They are two dogs, hunting in couples, that tear each other when they cannot catch the prey. An employer ought to instruct his salesman that if he ever de tected him deceiving a customer, he will discharge him on the spot. Business may come in slowly, but confidence once secu red, fortune follows; but business built on lies falls down in a day, when the want of honesty in the tradesman is discovered.— Lying don't pay. There are polite liars, whom we smoothly call "diplomats." men whose paws are as soft as velvet, but armed with claws like steel. They gain nothing by direct force of truth. Their whole brains are given to the study of circumvention. As soon as a man who is smoother, and more patient, comes along, their time of ruin comes. There are liars of gossip, men and wo men, the only salt of whose discourse is falsehood, who "scatter firebrands, arrows and death," and say, "Are we not sport ?" There are begging liars, who live by their wits, such wits as they have, who are framing narratives of misfortunes, who are attempting to deceive the charitable, who are "dead beats." The worst of the class is the longfaced liar, the 'pious" deceiver who "asks a blessing" ou the lie he is about to tell, and then "returns thanks" at its success. Alas ! for the success ! It always comes back on the hypocrite in a curse God will avenge Himself if any man attempts to make Him a party to falsehood. Truth is clear. It is easy. It requires no study. It does not have to be watched. The falsehood has no real and permanent power in it. Truth triumphs at last. The simplest soul can conquer life to himself by truth, but it is not in the wit of man to bring beauty and good up out of the reek ing corruption of lies.—Our Society. Col. Pickett, a Georgia planter, has planted, this season, in the south-western part of that State, 6,500 acres in cotton and 3,500 acres in corn; and it is estima ted that he will clear $lBO,OOO upon his cotton alone. This is said to be the larg est cotton crop planted in the South. He employs nearly 400 hands, all of them ne groes. A PROFANE coachman, pointing to one of his horses, said to a pious traveler— " That horse, sir, knows when I swear at him." "Yes," replied the traveler, "and so does your Maker." The coachman felt the rebuke, and immediately became si lot. Rebuke sin on all occasions with a gentle air, and fear not. Tim suggestions of conscience ought in every case to be regarded, not only because they are true, but because they are import ant. , SEPTEMBER 13, 1871 An Item for Every Man to Read. We have all of us, probably, met with instances in which a word heedlessly spo ken against the reputation of a woman, has been magnified by malicious minds, until the cloud has been dark enough to overshadow her whole existence. To those who are accustomed—not necessarily from bad motives, but from mere thoughtless ness—to speak lightly of ladies, we com mend these "hints" as worthy of your con sideration : Never use a lady's name in an improper time, or in mixed company. Never make assertions about her that you think untrue, or allusions that you feel she herself would blush to hear. When you meet with men who do not scruple to make use of a wo man's name, in a reckless and unprincipled manner, shun them, for they are the worst members of the community—men lost to every feeling of humanity. Many a good and worthy woman's character has been forever ruined, and her heart broken by a lie manufactured by some villain, and re peated where it should not have been, and in the presence of those whose little judg ment could not deter them from circula ting the foul and bragging report. A slander is soon propagated, and the small est thing derogatory of a woman's charac ter will fly on the wings of the wind, and magnify as it circulates until its monstrous weight crushes the poor unconsious vic tim. Respect the name of a woman, and as you would have their fair names unem bittered by the slanderer's bitter tongue, heed the ill that your own words may bring upon the mother, sister, or wife of your fellow creature. "Too Good Company for Me." One evening last summer a lady who belongs to the editorial staff of one of the leading dailies of New York, had been de tained by office duties until rather a late hour. Living on the bights of Fulton Ferry it was not much of a venture to go home without an escort, and so she started. On the boat standing outside enjoying the refreshing breeze after a day's toil she perceived a gentleman (?) leaning over the guards but said nothing. "Are you alone ?" said he, as the boat neared the slip. "No, sir," said the lady, and without further interruption when the boat touch ed she stepped off. "I thought you were not alone," said the fellow stepping to her side again. "I am not," replied the lady. "Why, I don't see any one; who is with you ?" "God Almighty and the angels, sir. I am never alone !" "You keep too good company for me, madam; good night," and he shot for a Fulton Avenue car, then nearly a block away. Tit-Bits, Taken on the Fly. Ripe tomatoes cure bee stings. ,The ties of business—Advertise. - A bad omen—to owe men money. Paper table-cloths will be the next nov elty. An Atlanta man is the father offifty-six children. Good name for a conductor on a street railway—Oscar. A night errand—Beauing the girls home from singing school. The most suitable window for ladies when on the look-out—A bow. If a man doesn't take care of No. 1, he will soon have 0 to take care of There have been more fashionable ladies died young this year than ever. New York consumes fifteen and a half millions of gallons of beer annually. The Illinois farmers are said to be dis couraged, their corn crop is so great. A New Orleans policeman arrested a man for •looking scornfully at him." A barber is always ready to scrape an acquaintance, and often cuts him, too. Japan is very nearly civilized—defaul ters are the latest evidence of progress. A matron says there is more love in a flour barrel than in all the roses and woodbine that ever grew. It is said that one of the best lawyers in Columbus, Ga., could not read when he was nineteen years old. One of the toasts drank at a recent cel ebration was, "Woman; she requires no eulogy—she speaks for herself." A Syracuse paper states that over one hundred and twenty-five trains arrive and depart from that city every day. A guest fell sick at a Lexington hotel, and after being a burden for some weeks, got well and ran off with the landlord's wife. A New York politician in writing a let ter of condolence to the widow of a "coun try member" when he had been his friend, says : "I am pained to hear that - has gone to Heaven We were bosomfriends, but now we shall never meet again." Mark Twain (Samuel L. Clemens) has purchased a house, and gone to live per manently in Hartford, Conn. That pleas ant capital has long been a favorite place of residence for persons who have retired from active business. Mrs. H., a young mother, was exhibit ing with considerable pride to a number of admiring friends her first baby. Final ly approaching little Dan, a boy of five years, the happy parent said, "Dan, is not this a dear little baby?" Dan hesitated a moment, turned up his eyes, and answered, "Yes, but it's bald-headed." ffolitial. The Democratic Party as a Retrench• ment Pirty. The Republican .Legislature of 1868 passed an act, still on the statute books, fixing the number and compensation of the officers of each branch of the Legisla ture. The number of officers of the Senate was fixed at 1 chief clerk, 2 assistants, 4 transcribing clerks, 1 librarian, 1 sergeant at-arms and 2 assistants, 1 door-keeper and 2 assistants, 1 messenger and two assist ants, 1 superintendent of the folding room and 6 pastors and folders, 1 doorkeeper of the rotunda, 1 postmaster, 1 fireman and 5 pages-32 in all. _ _ The Republican Senate of 1869 was or ganized in - strict compliance with this law, the Republican members presenting a res olution for the election of candidates for the places above named, no more and no less. But, before their election took place, the Democratic members, to show their conviction that this was providing more offices than the Senate really needed, put forward Mr. Burnett and Mr. McCand less to offer an amendment to the resolu tion, for the election of a smaller number of officers, to wit : by leaving out one of the assistant messengers, the postmaster, and all the pastors and folders. For this amendment all the Democratic Senators voted, the vote standing 15 to 18. The Democratic Senators, when in the minority, thus placed themselves on the record as believing that this was all the Senate needed, in the way of officers— that the act of 1868 was, in fact, too lib eral. In 1871 the Democrats had, accidental ly, a majority in the Senate. Did they carry out, then, their programme of 1869 ? Let us see. They put themselves on record, then, as thinking that the Senate needed no pasters and folders, and that that tinily eould get. along with officers than the law allow ed. But the moment they came into pow er, they proceeded to elect not only all the officers authorized by the law of 1868, but more than the legal number, although that act positively prohibits the election of any greater number of officers by either branch. As for instance : The law of 1868 allows two assistant clerks; the Democratic Senate had three; the law allows only four transcribing clerks; they had five ; the law authorizes two assistant doorkeepers; they had three; the law provides for six pasters and fold ers ; they had eight ; they had also three firemen, wh , :re the law allows but one. And one watchman, one janitor, one laborer and one assistant librarian, for none of which was there any provision of law, to say nothing of nine pages, where they could legally employ but five. . We thin find i 5 Democratic Senators voting in 1869 that the Senate needed no pastern and folders, and 17 Democratic Senators in 1871 voting to employ and pay nine (including the superintendent) of these useless officers. The same 15 Sena tors declared in 1869 that the law of 1868 was too liberal, and allowed more officers than the Senate needed ; whilst the 17 Senators voted the number altogether too small, and proceeded to multiply new offi cers without stint. The difference is, the 15 were in the minority; the 17 were in the mojority. It is a very retrenching and economical party when it is out of power, but a very expensive one when it gets in. The law of 1868 authorizes the Senate to elect or employ 32 officers, including every subordinate; the Democratic Senate of 1871 elected or employed 49 officers -17 more than the law allowed, and 26 more than the Senate really needed, themselves being judges, as is evidenced by their vote for Burnett's resolution in 1869. But this is not all. The act of 1868 fixed the compensation of all these of f icers, and enacted that under no circumstances should they be permitted to draw more pay or receive any extra allowance. This wholesome provision of law was totally dis regarded by these Democratic retrenehers. Inc pay us nearly aii the othcers is tired by that law at $6OO each ; but the 49 offi cers employed by the Democratic Senate have already been paid $47,904 50—or an average of nearly a thousand dollars each. Look, people of Pennsylvania, at these figures. The pay of the officers of the Republican Senate of 1870 was $26,466 65, and the total cost of the session was $92,- 260 35, The pay of the officers of te Democratic Senate of 1871 was $47,904 50, nearly double that of the previous session, and the total expenses of the session thus far paid are $140,757 68, As there are probably over $lO,OOO of claims under this head yet unpaid, it is perfectly safe to put down the total cost of the late Democratic Senate at $150,757 68—an increase over the expenses of the previous Republican Senate of $58,497 33. _ _ This is a fair illustration of Democratic precept and practice. That party is pro fuse in economical professions, when out of power ; but invariably, when in power, plunges into extravagance. Witness New York and the Democratic Senate of 1871 Governor Geary and his Defamers, For several weeks the public has been treated to discussions of the Evans case, and every possible attempt has been made to implicate Governor Geary. It was not to be expected that Democratic journals would be just in their criticisms of the af fair. To have been so, they would have naturally regarded as bad policy on the eve of an important election. But it was reasonably to be expected that no journal professing to be Republican, and claiming to be regarded as a respectable organ of public opinion, would join in the false and shameful clamor. It may be surpris ing to some that in all this there has been no reply. The attitude the Governor assues toward the matter is that it would be unworthy of himself, and of his position as Chief Magistrate of the State, to make or per mit his friends to make, any specific an swer whatever to inuendoes and insinua tions made by parties mainly in ignorance of the real facts. The case has now been transferred for settlement to the courts of Dauphin county. All the facts, involving in any way the action of any officer of the State administration, will be elicited du ring the trial. The people will thus be enabled to judge and determine for them- selves. Besides this it is the Governor's intention to lay the whole case before the General Assembly at its next session, and demand an investigation. He thinks that by passing it through this double ordeal the whole truth may the more surely be made known. The Governor painfully feels himself to be entitled to better treatment. He has, at different periods, been called by his countrymen to positions of great public responsibility, in which millions were committed to his keeping, and not one cent that did not legally and morally belong to him was ever found in his hands. He has been twice elected Governor by the people of his native State; and he regards it as due to them—to the record of his own private and public life—tohis family—and to the honorable poverty in which advancing years now find him—that it shall be known beyond the possibility of doubt that he is an honest man.—State Journal. During Senator Morton's speech at the groat soldiers' reunion at Winchester, Mass., last Friday, says a correspondent, he had occasion to call upon those of the vast assembly who had lost a near relative or friend in the late war to manifest it by raising a hand. Instantly a thousand arose, and with his own uplifted also, he eloquently abjured them to cherish the government in memory of the lost loved ones. ght Wotan *no. Lay Sermon to Youug Ladies. BY DR. DIO LEWIS. Now, ladies, I will preach to you just a little sermon. I don't often preach, but in this case nothing but a sermon will do. Firstly. You are perfect idiots to go on in this way. Your bodies are the most beautiful of God's creations. In the Con tinental galleries I always saw groups of people gathered about the pictures of women. It was not passion ; the gazers were just as likely to be women as men; it was because of the wondrous beauty of a woman. Now stand with me at my office win dow and see a lady pass. There goes one! Now isn't that a pretty' ooking object ! A big hump; three big lumps, a wilderness of crimps and frills, a hauling up of the dress here and there, an enormous, hide ous mass of hair or bark piled on the top of her head, surmounted by a little flat, ornamented with bits of lace, birds' tails, etc. The shop windows tell us, all day long, of the paddings, whalebones, and steel springs which occupy most of the space within that out side rig. In the name of the simple, sweet senti ments which cluster about home I would ask, How is a man to fall in love with such a piece of compound, double and twisted, touch-me-not artificially as you see in that wriggling curiosity ? Secondly. With that wasp waist, squeez ing your lungs, stomach, liver, and vital organs into one half their natural size, and with that long tail sweeping on the ground how can any man of sense, who knows that life is made up of use, of service, of work, how can he take such a partner He must be desperate, indeed, to unite him self for life with such a fettered, half breathing ornament. Thirdly. Your bad dress and lack of exercise lead to bad health, and men wise ly fear that instead of a helpmate they would get an invalid to take care of. This bad health in you, just as in men, makes the mind as well as the body fuddled and effeminate. You have no power, no mag netism. I know you giggle freely, and use big adjectives, such as "splendid," "awiul," but then this does not deceive ns ' • we see through it all. You are superficial, affected, silly; you have none of that wo manly strength and warmth which are so assuring and attractive to man. Why, you have beco me so childish and weak-mind ed that you refuse to wear decent names even, and insist upon baby names. In stead of Helen, Margaret, and Elizabeth, you affect Nellie, Maggie, and Lizzie. When your brothers were babies you called them Bobby, Dicky, and Johnny, but when they grow up to manhood no more of that silly trash if you please. I know a woman of twenty-five years, and she is big as both of my grandmothers put together, and her real camels Catharine, and though her brain is big enough to conduct affairs of State. she does nr#Meiq L.* . - .. er up her face with her fan, and exclaim once in four minutes, "don't now, you are real mean." How can a man propose a life partner ship to such a silly goose? My dear girls, you must, if you would get husbands, and decent ones dress in plain, neat, and be coming garments, and talk like sensible, earnest sisters. You say that most sensible men are crazy after those butterflies of fashion. I beg your pardon, it is not so. Occasionally a man of brilliant success may marry a silly, weak woman; but to say, as I have heard women say a hundred times, that the most sensible men choose women without sense, is simply absurd. Nineteen times in twen ty sensible men choose sensible women. I grant you that in company they are very likely to chat and toy with those over dressed and forward creatures, but they don't ask them to go to the altar with them. Fourthly. Among the young men in the matrimonial market only a very small number are independently rich, and in America such very rarely make good hus bands. But the number of those who are just beginning in life, who are filled with a noble ambition, who have a future, is very large. These are worth having. But such will not, they dare not, ask you to join them, while they see you so idle, silly, and gorgeously attired. Let them see that you are industrious, economical, with hab its that secure health and strength, that your life is earnest and real, that you would be willing to begin at the beginning in life with the man you would consent to marry; then marriage becomes the rule, and not, as now, the exception. Gail Hamilton on Woman Suffrage. The third ground on which the ballet is demanded for woman is that she needs it for her own protection against man. Men, left to themselves, make laws for woman which are unjust and oppressive. Women must have the law-making power in their own hands, in order to secure fair play. I deny this wholly. I deny it in full view of the fact that men have made laws unjust to women; that the Pnly fear of personal injury felt by women is of bad men, and that a very large part of the suf fering and sorrow of women comes from the selfishness or ignorance of the good men with whom they are connected. In the face of all this, I affirm that American women, as a class, do not need protection against American men, as a class; that, if they do not need it, they will never get it, either from the ballot or from any other source; and that, on the whole, the laws as it stands is more favorable to women than it would have been if women had made the law for themselves. If we have come to the point that women must defend themselves against men, we may as well give up the battle at once. One man is stronger than one woman, aid ten men are stronger than ten women, and the nineteen millions of men in this coun try will subdue, capture, and execute or expel the nineteen million women, just as soon as they set about it. It is not even, like the suppression of the late Rebellion, a question of time. What is the use, then, of women's talking about protecting them selves against men ? The slaves of the South received the suffrage for their pro tection. but protection against whom ? Against the power that gave them the suf frage ? That is absurd, It is as if a wo man should say to a man : "I believe you are a burglar and mean to rob me. Give me a gun, that I may defend myself against you." If he means to rob her, it is idle to expect him to give her a gun. If he gives her a gun, it is proof that he is no burglar, and she does not need to defend herself against hint. BONNETS for next season have all the trimming on the back, instead of the front as formerly. NO. 36. Übe &hero' §utiott. Sut Lovegood at a Candy-Pullin I had a heap of trouble last Christmas, and I'll tell you how it happened. Deacon Jones gave a candy-pullin, and I got a stool, as they say in North Caro lina, and over I goes. Sister Poll and I went over together. and when we got to the old man Jones', the house was chuck full. Dog rui cats if there was room enough to turn around. Thar was Suze Harkin—she's as big as a skinned horse—and six other Harkins and Simonses, and Pedigrews, and the school master and his gal, besides the old dekin and the dekiness, and enough little de kinesses to set up half a dozen young folks in the family biziness. "Well, biineby the pot beginto bile, and the fun commenced. We all got our plates ready, and put flour on our bands to keep the candy from stlckhf, cud Chen we pitched into the puffin. Wasn't it fun?" I never saw such laffin' and cuttin' up in all my born daze. I made a candy bird for Em Simmons. Her and me expects to trot in double har ness one of these daze. She made me a candy goose. Then we got to thrown' candy balls into one another's hair, and a rennin' from one side of the house to the tuther, and out into the kitchen, till everything upon the place was all goomed over with candy. I got a pine bench and Em Simmons sot close to me. Suze Harkin—confound her picture; throw'd a candy ball sock into one of my I made a bulge to run after her, and heard something rip. "My stars alive! Wasn't I pickled. I looked around, and there was the gableend of my bran new britches a stickin' to the pine bench. I backed up agin the wall sorter craw fish like, and grinned. "Sut," says Poll, "What's the matter." "Shut np !" sez I. "Sut," says Em, come away from that wall, you'll get all over greasy." "Let her grease," said I, and sot down on a washboard that was lyin' across a tab, feelin' worse than an old maid at a weddin.' Party soon I felt something hurt and party soon it hurt again. I jumped ten feet high, kicked over the tub, out flew old Jones' Christmas turkeys, and you ought see me git. I cut for tall timber now, jumped staked and ridered fences, an- 1 mashed down brush like a runaway herikan till I got home, and went to bed and staid thar for two daze. If old Jones' barn burns down next winter, and lam arrested for it, and if anybody peers as a witness agin me, I'll bust his doggon'd hed, for what business has a man to furnish pitchy boards to sit on and keep a turkey in a tub under him ?" tr.,..... DS%,. anti trio uutenman. In his book, "Fifty Years in the Magic Circle," Signor Blitz tells the following amusing story : In gOing through Sixth street Market one morning, I observed a middle-aged Dutchman leaning against a lamp-post, with a basket of clean looking eggs before him. He seemed anxious to sell out, and constantly kept up the cry,— '•Bure eggs, shentleman and vomans. Sheep, sheap, sheep !" "How do you sell your eggs ?" I inquired. "Fourteen cents a dozen." 'Fourteen gents, eh ? Well, now, that is not dear, if they are all good." "Goot !" remarked the Dutchman, rather indignantly, "I sells nothing but fresh, goot eggs. Der isn't a pad egg in all dem vat's in de basket." "Not a had egg ?" said I. "Now, my good sir, if I was convinced of that I would instantly purchase the entire lot at your own price. Good eggs are what I want, and I will not stop at a cent or two a dozen." "Shoost look at that, mine frieu," said the egg dealer, as, with a sort of pride, he picked one of the eggs - , and, — snattmg tt with his hand, held it between his eyes and the sun; 'clear as vatter mit a well bucket, eh?' " I took the egg, and holding it iu the same position, declared it was not fresh. The Dutchman examined it again and then reiterated his former assertion, when, to settle the dispute it was agreed to break the egg. I broke open one end of the shell with my knife, when lo ! a feathered head came peeping through' the aperture. The Dutchman started back with affright, while much merriment arose from the mixed crowd which had gathered around. thought that chap's eggs wasn't good," muttered one. "Arrah ! an' its chickens he's selling, and not eggs," chimed in an Irishman, with a smile. "La, me ! I was goin' to buy some of 'em," exclaimed an old lady as she put on her specs and looked at the bird. "And the darling thing is alive," said a sounglarly—sa.—ln.-ailikel"4ll.4llkketieheir chicken and . drew it carefully out. The Dutchman was too lunch struck with wonderment to heed the numerous jeers that came from the crowd, and, with his hands crammed in his breeches pockets and his eyes fixed on me, he seemed trans fixed as a statue. "Now, my friend, you see you cannot deceive me with your eggs. If they were really as you represented them, I would have taken the lot; but, as it is, I can only have the one I broke open. The chicken is worth something—what do you charge me?" "Two cents," replied the Dutchman with a heavy sigh. "Cheap, I will pay you," running my hand into my pocket. "But stop—may be I can get the money out of another egg.".. Picking a sound one out of the basket, I broke ii'open, and to the amusement of the now very large crowd around me, and to the stupefaction of the owner of the eggs, I pulled out from it a ten dollar bill. "Ah !" said I, "that's better than chick en, I will try auother," I reached down, and was about to select a third egg, when the Dutchman seized his basket, and covering it with his body, shouted : "Go way mit you! you spile all my good eggs mit your tam fool tings !" Laughingly, I tossed him a half dime to pay for the two eggs I had used, and, pushing my way through the crowd, made off. The eyes of all followed me, for more than one thought I had some connection with the evil spirit; but learning who I was, Mynheer said I might come again if I would only pat ten dollar bills, instead of hatched chickens, into his eggs.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers