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',
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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.