VOL. 46
Lie Huntingdon Journal.
J. A. NASII,
t. DURBORROW
ae on Ma Corner of Bath and Washington streets.
'on lIENTINGDON JOURNAL is published every
tuesday, by J. R. DURBORROW and J. A. Nesu,
ler the firm name of J. It. DURBORROW dc Co., at
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;o paper discontinued, unless at the option of
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•
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A-bills, Blanks, Cards, Pamphlets, dm., of every
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Professional Cards
DENGATE, Surveyor, Warriors
• mark, Pa. [ap12,71.
CALDWELL, Attorney -at -Law,
• •No. 111, 3d street. Office formerly occupied
dessrs. Woods 16 Williamson. (ap12,11.
kR.• R. R. WIESTLING,
I ' respectfully offers his professional services
as citizens of Huntingdon and vicinity.
floe removed to No. 614 Hill street, (Slum's
[apr.s,7l-Iy.
bR. J. C. FLEMMING respectfully
offers his professional services to the citizens
runtingdon and vicinity. Office second floor of
ningham's building, on corner of 4th and Hill
ot. may 24.
kR. D. P. MILLER, Office on Hill
street, in the room formerly occupied by
John M'Culloch, Huntingdon, Pa., would res
fully offer his professional services to the citi
of Huntingdon and vicinity. [jan.4,'7l.
kR. A. B. BRUMBAUGH, offers his
professional services to the community.
Moe on Washington street, one door east of the
lona Parsonage. Den.4.,11.
J. GREEN E, Dentist. Office re
• mored to Leister's new building, 11 street
tingdon. [jan.4,'7l.
_ L. ROBB, Dentist, office in S. T.
• Br, wn's new building, No. 520, Hill St.
tingdon, Pa. [ap12,"71.
r GLAZIER, Notary Public, corner
• of Washington and Smith streets. Hun
don, Pa. [jan.l2'7l.
r C. MADDEN: Attorney-at-Law.
L. Hake, No. —, liii street, Huntingdon,
[ap.19,'71.
SYLVANIIS BLAIR, Attorney-at
• Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Office, Hill street,
3 doors west of Smith. [jan.4'7l.
It. PATTON, Druggist and Apoth
r ecary, opposite the Exchange Hotel, Hun
lon, Pa. Prescriptions accurately compounded.
Liquors for Medicinal purposes. [n0v.23,'70.
HALL MUSSER, Attorney-at-Law,
• Huntingdon, Pa. Office, second floor of
ter's new building, Hill street. Dan. 4,71.
R. DURBORROW, Attorneyat
• Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will practice in the
ral Courts of Huntingdon county. Particular
ttion given to the settlement of estates of dece-
Mee in he JOURNAL Building. [feb.l,7l
A. POLLOCK, Surveyor and Real
• Estate Agent, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend
arveying in all its branches. Will also buy,
or rent Farms, Houses, and Real Estate of ev
kind, in any part of the United States. Send
t circular. [jan.47l.
W. MATTERN, Attorney-at-Law
• and General Claim Agent, Huntingdon, Pa.,
iers' claims against the Government for back
bounty, widows' and invalid pensions attend
) with great care and promptness.
floe on Hill street. [jan.4,'7l.
ALLEN LOVELL, Attorney-at-
Law, Huntingdon, Pa. .Special attention
n to COLLECTIONS of all kinds ; to the settle
t of Estates, kn.; and all other Legal BUSilless
ecuted with fidelity nod dispatch.
gr Office in room lately occupied by 11. Milton
Esq. Dan. 4,71.
. M. &M. S. LYTLE, Attorneys
• at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend to
:inda of legal business entrusted to their care.
Mee on the south side of Hill street, fourth door
of Smith. [jan.4,'7l.
0 A. ORBISON, Attorney-at-Law,
U• Office, 321 Hill street, Huntingdon, Pa.
[tnay3l,'7l.
SCOTT. S. T. BROWN. J. M. BAILEY
COTT, BROWN & BAILEY, At-
torneys-at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Pensions,
all claims of soldiers and soldiers' heirs against
Government will be promptly prosecuted.
dice on Hill street.
I W. MYTON, Attorney-at-Law, Huts
• tingdon, Pa. Office with T. Sewell Stewo.nt,
7ILLIAM A. FLEMING, Attorney
at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Special attention
m to collections, and all other I,gal business
nded to with care and promptness. Office, No.
Hill street. [apl9,ll_
Miscellaneous
, XCHANGE HOTEL, Huntingdon,
Pa. JOHN S. MILLER, Proprietor.
tottery 4, 1371.
.LLISOX YILLCR. 11.
/ILLER & BUCHANAN,
DENTISTS,
223 Hill Street,
lIIINTINGDON, PA.
.pril 5, '7l-Iy.
TILES ZENTMYER, Attorney-at-
Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend promptly
II legal business. Office in Cunningham's new
Iding. (jan.4,71.
r AR THE RAILROAD DEPOT,
COR. WAY NE and JUNIATA STREETT
UNITED STATES HOTEL,
I{OLLIDAYSBURO, PA
;LAIN CO., PROPRIETORS
)OBT. KING, Merchant Taylor, 412
lk , Washington street, Huntingdon, Pa., a lib-
I share of patronage respectfully solicited.
11)6112, 11171.
EWISTOWN BOILER WORKS.
SNYDER, WEIDNER dr CO.. Matilda,
ers of Locomotive and Stationary Boilers, Tanks,
ie.. Filling-Barrows for Furnaces, and Sheet
a Work of every description. Works on Logan
'et, Lewistown, Pa.
til orders pi—rntly attended to. Repairing
eat short notice. [Apr 5,'71,1y..
The untingl on I urnat
New Advertisements.
TO ADVERTISERS
THE HUNTINGDON JOURNAL.
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lic ,Aotutr.
Just after the death of the flowers,
And before they are buried in snow,
There cometh a festival season
When Nature is ail aglow—
Aglow with a mystic splendor
That rivals the brightness of spring—
Aglow with a beauty more tender
Than aught which summer could bring.
Some spirit akin to the rainbow
Then borrows its magical dyes,
And mantles the far-spreading landscape
In hues that bewilder the eyes ;
The sun from his cloud-shadowed chamber
Smiles soft on the vision so gay,
And dreams that his favorite children,
The flowers, have not yet passed away.
There's a luminous mist on the mountain,
A light, azure haze in the air,
As if angels, while heavenward soaring,
Ilad left their bright robes floating there;
The breeze is so soft, so caressing,
It seems a mute token of love,
And floats to the heart like a blessing
From some happy spirits above.
The days, so serene and so charming,
Awaken a dreamy delight—
A tremulous, tearful enjoyment,
Like soft strains of music at night;
We know they are fading and fleeting,
That quickly, too quickly, they'll end,
And we watch them with yearning affection,
As, at parting, we watch a dear friend.
Oh l beautiful Indian Summer I
Thou favorite child of the year,
Thou darling whom Nature enriches,
With gifts and adornments so dear !
How fain would we woo thee to linger
On mountains and meadows awhile,
For our hearts, like the sweet haunts of Nature,
Rejoice and grow young in thy smile.
Not alone to the fields of autumn
Dost thou a lost brightness restore,
But thou bringest a world-weary spirit
Sweet dreams of its childhood once more ;
Thy lovliness fills us with memories
'Of all that was brightest and best—
Thy peace and serenity offer
A foretaste of heavenly rest
iTh
Aorß-Zdirr,
SILENT BILL.
I had been for nearly a year roaming
over the West. In the course of my wan
derings I came upon an emigiant train
which was just starting out from "the
States," and joined it.
The novelty soon wore off and I found
the days fatiguing, the nights and sleep
only being desirable. 1 had been conscious
for days of a fever in my veins, but had
scorned to complain, and taking a sort of
savage delight in seeking to do an extra
amount of toil. It was my turn to prepare
supper for our mess, but once ready I went
off as far as I could crawl from the noise
of the camp and odor of the cooking. The
last I remember of that day was my drop
ping down by the side of some shrubs.
Two weeks afterward I opened my eyes
upon a different team from the one I start
ed with, and the driver was the largest,
most uncouth looking man I ever saw. I
was on a straw bed, made up on one side
of the wagon, and in answer to my call,
the strange man bent over me. I asked
all the questions I had strength for, and
then waited for the answers. He told me
in the fewest possible words that I was
missed from the train, and he had been
sent back to look for me. That I had "been
dead for two weeks, and had better keep
still and go to sleep if I could."
I obeyed, because I could net help it. I
received my food and medicine from the
hands of my strange looking friend, but it
seemed impossible to get any information
from him..
My recovery was rapid, and as soon as
I made my appearance in the camp I was
warmly greeted by our company and treat
ed to many an extra dish by the kind
hearted people. _ .
I learned that I had not been missed
until nearly noon of the day I was left, and
then they had halted, and "Silent Bill"
bad volunteered to look me up, had found
me, and had taken upon himself the whole
care during my sickness. I could find out
very little about the man who had thus
brought me back to life. He had joined
the company, like myself, at the last min
ute, had given only the one name, to which
the boys added another, until he was called
all over the camp "Silent Bill." His team
was good, and he was well sapplied with
provisions, which he handed out gener
ously to any one who had need.
With my returning strength I felt a
strong interest in everything, and would
gladly have been companionable and use
ful, but he never called on me to do any
thing, unless some one needed help, then
he would leave the care to me for a time.
He was always ready to walk that others
might ride; fatigue seemed unknown to
him. Foremost when danger threatened
us, was his gaunt form, and it was always
his rifle which brought in the earliest
game. It came about that he held the
gratitude of almost every one in the train,
but loud thanks seemed to offend him
greatly.
I never saw him hesitate but once; then
some children, two little girls, had been
running along with their mother and she
asked him to lift them up into his wagon
and give them a ride, as their own team was
far behind. He went up tolltem, laid his
hand upon the arm of one, started back,
rubbed his hands together, and finally
called to me.
"Put them in, will you ?" said he.
I lifted them up and gave each a kiss as
I seated them upon the straw.
He was still looking at his hands.
"What's the matter ?" I asked, "both of
them together wouldn't be as heavy as the
man you bore to camp that day, only a
few weeks past."
He said nothing, but held his hands
open before me. They were brown and
hard. "Are they dirty ?" I asked.
"Yes," said he emphatically, and shook
them out at arm's length. Then he start
ed up his team and did not speak again for
hours.
LEGAL BLANKS,
All hearts became lighter as we ascend
ed the Sierras, and began to think of find
ing an abiding place.
PAMPHLETS,
''When it . (laine to leave-taking "Bill"
was missing, the others started on with
their teams, and I staid by his until sun
down. Any number of good-by's and
kindly messages were left with me for him.
One woman gave me a little package say
ing : "He was so kind to Willie when he
was sick, and his hand made that precious
little grave on the mountains." I thought,
to know the full value of the gift, Bill
should have received it, as I did, wet with
the mother's tears.
When he came back, we were alone on
the hillside.
He asked, "why didn't you go on with
the others V
I answered, "Because I did not choose
to leave you alone, after all you have done
for me. I shall go with you, if you will
Indian Summer.
He wouldn't take it, but said: "The
kettle buik, we might as well eat our grub
as to waste time a talking."
I gave him the messages, which were
received in silence, and when I handed
the package he only said, "Lay it clown."
We made ready for an early start in the
morning, then I rolled up in my blanket,
and with my feet to the lire lay down to
sleep. When I waked up the blaze had
died down, but I could see Bill at a dis
tance bending over what proved t, be a
hole in the ground. After a while he
broke off some green boughs, threw them
in,
and then hastily threw in the earth.
He came . and sat down by the fire. I
watched him for an hour or so, but lie
never moved, and when I awoke in the
morning, he had not changed his position.
We started off, but I made an excuse to
return, and hurriedly opened the ground
where I had seen him working in the
night.. Ido not know what I expected to
see, but I certainly was surprised when I
found, under the earth and green boughs,
the little package, which had been tearful
ly entrusted to my care.
When we reached the first miners' camp
Bill waked up and was eager enough until
he had scanned the thee of every man.—
That day he looked weary, and it was the
first time he laid down when I did for the
night.
In the morning he sold his team, all
but two horses; those he packed with our
blankets and provisions, and we struck off
down the canon, stopping wherever any
one was at work, and going out of our way
if we heard of a solitary miner.
After a while he left off telling me to
leave him, and I think the companionship
niade him feel more human. Once - he
stopped a week when I seemed tired out,
but was restless and uneasy, and declared
"another day would kill him."
"Tell me," said I one day, "why you
will not rest; this life is wearing upon
you; you cannot endure half the fatigue
you could upon the plains Let's take up
a claim and settle down, or if you will go
on—let me help you; couldn't I r"
"No," he answered, "and I believe you
are holding me back. I have felt it ever
since I first looked upon your face when I
found you half dead by those bushes that
day. I wish I had left you to die."
He sprang up and confronted me. "I
will have no more of this; I_ Shall go on
alone, and dOn't you dare to get between
me and my work or I'll
His eyes fell before mine. "Do you
think I am afraid of you, who wouldn't
harm even an insect? Haven't I seen you
go out of your way rather than tread the
life out of a crawling worm ? Shall all
those months of unselfish care for nothing,
and your hasty words make me leave you ?
Besides," said I, "I have a work as well
as you." He looked inquiringly at me.—
"Shall I tell you what it is ?"
He sat down by the fire which he had
lighted.
"Keep still," said he, "for one month
more, then you may have your say."
In the morning when we started out
the air was heavy with smoke. When we
reached San Francisco, after a day or two,
we found there had been an extensive fire.
Bill was unwearied in helping build tents
for the homeless, and his money went free
ly to feed the starving hundreds, who were , 1
likely to find only a grave in the land
which had promised them so much. I felt
that I had never known half of his genu
ine goodness of heart until those days, and
I left off watching him as I had done.
We were stopping at one of the places
dignified by the name "Hotel," and in
those "early times" considered magnificent
in the way of accommodations, quite worth
the fabulous prices which were demanded
for them. But our parlor was the bar
room, and our "room" a bunk, one of a
dozen or so in the same apartment. ` We
had been staying there perhaps three
weeks, when one night I was awakened
from a sound sleep by the fall of some hea
vy body. I listened, but there was no re
petition, then I groped my way to Bill's
bunk. He was not there, though I had
seen him "turn in" when I did.
I took my hat and passed out through
the bar-room into the darkness ant night.
Drunken men of all nations and tribes
were to be met on the muddy sidewalks,
their horrid oaths and obscene jests, mut
tered or shouted in half-broken language,
reminded we of a terrible description I bad
listened to when a child, of the abode of
the lost.
The gleaming lights from the drinking
saloons and gambling hells only added an
other touch to the picture.
I hurried on, peering into every place
where was light or sound, and I kept up
the search until the first rosy tints in the
east told of the coming day.
When I came round to our hotel, I
found I had been sent for three times, and
was to remain there until the messenger
came again. I waited two hours, and then
saw the bar-tender pointing me out to a
Spaniard. He beckoned to me, and I fol
lowed him without a word. We went
through lanes and by-paths, until I lost all
idea of locality. Finally we came to a
cabin, and when he motioned me to come
round by the side, then he pointed me - to
look through a slight aperture.
Two men lay on the floor, which was
covered with blood.
I saw at a glance that one was Bill, and
the other bore the same face I had often
seen in my dreams.
I thought at first that they were both
dead, but a low groan came from Bill, and
I rushed to the door. I knelt down by
him and spoke.
"I dil not do it," said he, "but I meant
to."
I asked him no questions, only if he was
able to be moved.
"Yes, but never mind."
We made a litter of a door, and by the
help of some men the Spaniard brought,
we carried him to our boarding place.
I summoned a physician who pronounced
the wound dangerous, but not necessarily
mortal.
I watched over him and saved him in
spite of his own d4sire. He chose to die,
but by my care he came slowly back and
took up his burden again.
One day as I sat by his bed, I took from
HUNTINGDON, PA., NOVEMBER 1, 1871
let me, it does not make much difference
to me where."
He looked at me keenly
"You had better not," said he slowly;
"you will wish you hadn't, some day."
We had started a fire, and I could see
his face by the light of the blaze.
I felt drawn to him, not from any sym
pathy of feeling, but because I was con
vinced there would come a time when I
could, in a measure, repay him for his
kindness to me.
I reached out my hand, "We'll stick to
gether awhile, old fellow."
I broke the string and found a small
copy of "Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress." .
"I will keep it," I said, "and when he
needs me most he will need this too."
my pocket the little book I had found
buried under the green boughs. I read
two or three chapters aloud, then put it up
without a word.. He became interested,
and I read on from day to day, as he could
bear it, until the book was finished.
Then he asked.; "Where did you get it?"
"I dug it from the ground," said I, la
conically. _ _
He held out his hand fur it, and so it
passed into his keeping.
When he became strollg enough we took
walks together,
which gradually increased
i 3 length until we would spend whole days
down by the bay.
I knew he would tell me his story when
he could bring himself to it. He was two
weeks going over it, sometimes giving me
a single picture, and at another time un
rolling whole years like a panorama be
fore me.
His first remembrance had been of a
hovel where rum had left nothing but ruin.
Had never heard a kind word, or had a
kiss left upon his childish face but he
hated the meanness and filth which sur
rounded him, and he ran away to sea,when
only fourteen years of age. When he came
back, grown to manhood, his old home had
been swept away by the tide of improve
ments, and his relations were all gone, save
one fair-haired sister, who light nave been
his idol, Gut she vanished out of his life
without a Word of farewell, and for years
he never heard of her or the man who had
lured her away.
The year that I met him, be bad been
through the West; he couldn't tell what
for, except that he had made money and
wanted to spend it. Vice and luxury were
strangers to him, se his wants were few
and simple.
He came to a cabin, one night, and as
it was late, asked to stay; the man con
sented,. and bade the woman provide some
supper for the traveler.
His host went out, and his voice could
be heard at some distance from the front
of the house. The woman eyed him
closely from a window, then motioning to
Bill, led him to a slide window at the rear
of the cabin, whispered to him that 'twos
only a mile to the next house, slipped a
piece of paper into his hand, and bade him
run for his life.
He said he could not tell how it hap
pened, but thr the first and only time he
ran from danger. He aroused the people
and was given a place on the floor to
sleep.
Saying nothiro , about his adventure, he
managed to read by the light of the coals
the paper which the woman had given
Imaginehim. his surprise when he found
that he d seen his long-lost sister, and
that she had to save his life by getting
him away from her husband, who mistrust
ed that he had money, and would not hesi
tate to murder him in order to obtain it.
She said she had witnessed dreadful things,
but begged him not to try to meet her, as
his life would be imperiled.
The next morning he determined to
return and have an interview with her,
aim if possible persuade her to accompany
him.
Tlie house w . as closed, boards nailed up
before the windows, and no sign of life
upon the premises.
He looked for his horse; that, of course,
was gone, and he was about leaving, when
he heard moans. Again he listened, and
traced the sound to the window out of
which he had escaped the previous night.
He wrenched off the boards and soon
found the sister he sought, but she was in
a dying condition. She had been terribly
beaten by the brutal husband; upon her
had come the full brunt of his disappoint
ment when he discovered his victim had
left.. She told of terrible sufferings and
crime, but death hastily closed her - recital,
and poor Bill held a lifeless form in his
arms. He called in the only neighbors,
within several miles, the people where he
stayed over night. Together they buried
the bruised and mangled body, and over
the grave the brother vowed to revenge
the life which had been sacrificed for him.
He heard of "his man" crossing the
plains, and so had followed, nursing all the
time tile deepest hatred in his heart, never
doubting that he should find him, and then
the end was plain.
He held up his hands. "I have seen
his blood upon them all the way," said he.
"That night," he continued, "I could
not sleep, and something whispered that
he was not far from me. So I went out
and continued my search. I heard his
voice on the street. I should have known
it anywhere. I followed him to his cabin
and entered close behind him. I had
somethinc , to say to him, and you know I
couldn't shoot him down without giving
him a chance; 'twant in me to do that.
"But he turned up. .a me quicker than
thought and gave me this shot through my
shoulder. My right arm dropped power
less, but I sprang upon him, and as we
closed he gave me a stab in my side, his
own pistol, pointed towards himself, went
off, either by accident or design I shall
never know which, and we fell together on
the floor.
"That Spaniard came in, attracted by
the firing. I had helped his family to
food and shelter, so I easily prevailed upon
him to go for you, not because I thought
you could do anything for me, but I did
not want you to spend your time hunting
me up.
4 •The wretch died; although I didn't
kill him, I meant to, so I am a murderer
to you. My work on earth is done, and
you had better leave now. lam afraid I
shall get to care for you if you stay, and
that would be foolish, as there hasn't been
any love in my life, I shan't trouble you
with any more talk. I guess I have lost
my right now to the title the boys gave
me."
As soon as he was able, we went back
into the country and pitched our tent
among the grand old trees. There came
days when the hushed stillness brought
thoughts of rest, peace and almost believ
ing.
_ . . .
lUnder the branches where the stray
sunbeams touched us with light and heal
ing, I told the story of Him whose blood
can wash the deepest stain front human
hearts and hands, and into nature's temple
came the great, trivisible, loving, presence
which stands human as ever, though un-.
seen—in our very midst, and whose coming
into any life will lift it from its mire and
defilement, into the lost Paradise which
lies about us everywhere.
As I dwelt upon the wondrous love and
compassion, lie askbd earnestly, "Why has
my life been so dark and loveless ?"
. _
Ah, how many achinghearts have asked
that, as they look back over dwarfed,
thwarted lives.
But there came a time when his ques
tionings ceased, and he changed his life ,
long burden for a cross.
And for years; "Silent Bill" was known
all through the mines and camps as "The
Big Elder."
for tin J lWin.
Best Parlors.
Almost every American house possesses
one of these dreadful altars, erected to
what unknown goddess it is impossible to
guess. It is a Bogy, before whom from
time to time people burn gas in chandeliers
of fearful design ;—to whom are dedicated
flagrant carpets, impossible oil paintings,
furniture too gorgeous far common days,
and shrouded therefrom by customary Hol
land. Musty smells belong to this Deity,
stiffness, angles, absence of sunlight. The
visitor, entering, sees written above the
portal : "Who enters here abandons—con
versation." What is there to talk about
in a room dark as the Domdaniel, except
where one crack iu a reluctant shutter re
veals a stand of wax flowers under glass,
and a dimly described hostess, who evi
dently waits only your departure to extin
guish that solitary ray. The voice instinct
ively hushes; the mind finds itself barren
of ideas. A few dreary common-placi re
marks are exchanged, then a rise, a rustle,
the door is gained and the light of the
blessed sun ; you glance up in passing—
flap goes the blind, inner darkness is again
resumed, Bogy has it all his own way, and
you thank your stars that you have done
your duty by the Browns for at least a
twelve-month !
And yet, upon this dismal apartment,
which she hates, and all her acquaintances
hate, poor Mrs. Brown has lavished time
and money enough to make two rooms
charming. For ugly things cost as much
as pretty ones—often more. And costly
ugliness is, as Mrs. Brown would tell you,
a "great responsibility to take care of.
What with the carpet which mustn't get
faded, the mirrors which mustn't get fly
specked, the gilding which mustn't be
tarnished, there is nothinr , for it but to
shut the room up to darkness and all dull
influences. And as families are like flies,
and will follow the sun, the domestic life
comes to be led anywhere rather than in
the best parlor, and the "taboo" which
Mrs. Brown proclaims is easily enforced.
And yet this Mrs. Brown is quick to
recognize the difference when in other
people's homes she is shown a cosy and
pleasant room. She sits on a chintz sofa
in her velvet and ermine,
and glances half
enviously at the tinted walls hung with
photographs, at the sparkling little fire in
the grate, the windows gay with sun and
green things, the book-cases and tables
loadened with volumes. "How I admire
an open fire," she says. "But doesn't it
make a great deal of dust ? And your
plants, too—l can't think how you make
them grow so well in a parlor."
• "A little water and plenty of sun is all
the secret," she is told.
"Oh, but how dreadfully faded your
carpet must get," she goes on. "Such
quantities of books, too. Well, I should
like to have such things !"
It does not occur to the good lady - that
for the price of one of those useless mirrors
..which cost her such anxiety sl4l€l-Fillibintr-
with chamois-skin, a choice company of
poets, philosophers and sages could be won
to sit forever at her side, informing her
with their wisdom. Or that for a tithe of
the same her fireless grate would sparkle
with cannel coal fbr a winter long. Her
furniture, her carpets, the dullness of her
home, are encumbrances truly, but encum
brances which she bears willingly and
would not be without.
And people having the right to live
pretty much as they please, so long as they
violate no law of the land, it would matter
little, except that there are so many Browns
and so many best parlors, that society is
seriously affected thereby. For a system
which necessitates great and troublesome
changes in family arrangement whenever
a guest comes, tends to narrowness and
inhospitality. If the covers must be taken
off the furniture, the plated spoons go up
stairs and the silver ones come down, the
best china be lifted from a top shelf, upon
the arrival of each friend, be sure that
friend will seldom arrive. Only when
what Mrs. Stowe calls "a good liberal
average" is established as a rule over all
houses, will hearty interchange of social
courtesies begin, and the communion of
friends, face to face, beregarded as a pleas
ure rather than a toil.
To those of us who have been tasting
the summer in the sweet breadth and
freedom of the country. our homes will
seem dull and straitened enough as we re
enter them. Now is the time, before old
habitual scales blind our eyes, to look
about with aunointed vision, and see how
these homes can be brightened and broad
ened—made more like that lovely out-door
home to which nature welcomes each new
comer. Above all, let us cast out the
"Best Parlor." To the sacred enclosure
once called by that name, let us bring our
daintier tasks of letter-writing, needle-work ;
study. Let the walls be .beautified with
every simple ornament within our reach—
the windows opened to receive the sun,
and vines and roses set to catch its sun
ning. And over the door once sacred to
"Bogy" let us write "Welcome." And so
the last shadow of the Bogy will depart,
and our homes be homes indeed,
"From turret to foundation stone.
—Serihnrr's Monthly fcr October.
Finger Marks
A gentleman employed a mason to do
some work for him, and among other
things, tcy"thin whiten" the wall of one
of his chambers. This thin whitening is
almost colorless until dried. The gentle
man was much surprised on the morning
after the chamber was finished to find on
the drawers of his'bureau standing in the
room, white fingers. Opening the drawer,
he found the same on the articles in it,
and also on .a pocket-book. An examina
tion revealed the same marks on the con
t ;tits of a bag. This proved clearly that
the mason, with his wet hands, had opened
the drawer and searched the bag, which
contained no money, and had then closed
the drawer without once thinking that any
one would .ever know it.
The "thin whitening," which happened
to be on his hands, did not show at first,
and he probably had no idea that twelve
hours' drying would reveal his wickedness.
Children, beware of evil thoughts and
deeds; they all leave their finger marks,
which will one day be revealed. If you
disobey your parents, or tell a falsehood,
or take what is not your own, you make.
bad stains on your character. And so it
is with ail sin. It defiles the soul. It
betrays those who engage in it, by the
marks it makes on them. These marks
may be almost if-not quite invisible at first.
But even if they should not be seen during
any of your days on earth, (which is not
at all likely), yet there is a day coming in
which every sin will be manifest.—Home
Journal.
The Diplomatic Scandal.
Madame Catacazy a Persecuted Woman—
Welcomed in the White House, and then
"Cut Dead"—Love, Romance, Fidelity.
So much has been said at Washington,
and so much will be said at St. Petersburg,
before the Fish-Catacazy, or more properly,
Mrs. Fish-Madame Catacazy muddle will
be straightened out that a correspondent
gives the following to the public as the
inside facts of the great diplomatic itubrog
lio. Mrs. Fish, the wife of our Wash
ington Premier, threw down the gauntlet
to Madame Catacazy one year ago in Wash
ington. At this time Madame Catacazy
received a social stab which threw the
Russian Minister on the defensive, and
made too wide the breach in the diplomatic
corps to be ever closed or even friendly
relations to again return.
Last November Mrs. Fish gave her
grand diplomatic dinner. Every foreign
Ambassador and minister, with their la
dies, was invited for the dinner was given
to the honor of the Joint High Commis
sion. Mrs. Catacazy alone was uninvited.
The omission fell like a bombshell in the
Republican court at Washington. "Why
didn't you ask Madame Catacazy ?" every
one asked of Mrs. Fish. "What is the
matter ? " Mrs. Fish looked ominous, the
old secession families of the West End,
those parasital relics of an ancient regular
army aristocracy, were ready to hurl their
darts of calumny at Madame Catacazy; but
the dreadful secret was kept close shut up
in the bosoms of a few of the diplomatic
and old family aristocracy. Sometimes
some gossiping woman wouldabout whisper
Bladensburg—an Italian Count, but the for
eign legations generally maintained their
friendly relations with the beautiful wife
of the Russian minister.
A SAD STORY.
Madame Catacazy is a French lady—her
name was Berwick. Eighteen years ago
while she was in her teens, she was the
most beautiful child-woman in all France.
Her father and mother were titled people,
and the Berwick blood is the best in Eu
rope. At this tender age she was thrown
into the company of an Italian Count—
Count F—. He was a handsome, dash
ing man of the world, knew all its wiles
and snares, P , nd could assume the face and
tone of an angel.
Count F- won the love of this beauti
ful, innocent child, Mlle. Berwick, mar
ried her and took her to Rome to live.
They lived happily for awhile, when he
became dissipated, gambled and became a
bad man generally, treated his wife, first
with indifferance, then neglect, then with
positive cruelty. Colonel Baria, the Italian
Charge d'Affaires, a year or so ago, knew
the character of this bad Italian and fre
quently said, "lie was a countryman of
mine, but he was a very bad man, and I
do not blame "Madame Catacazy when she
did run away from him."
SHE MEETS MR. CATACAZY
In Rome, eighteen years ago, Mr. Cata
easy saw the Ansel wife---then cuie _ a f
most beautiful women of the Italian capi
tal. He felt a sympathy for her. After
wards they niet in Paris, when she, tired
and sick of the bad Count, her husband,
had abandoned him and sought shelter un
der her father's roof. Mr. Catacazy was
appointed by the Russian 'government as
Secretary of Legation to Washington un
der Minister Bodisco. Before he came to
this country a strong attachment sprang
up between him and the unhappy countess.
Their fondness ripened into love—warm,
confiding and pure. From the French and
especially the Russian stand point, where
almost every Minister, and even the Czar
himself supports plurality of households,
the action of the young Secretary and the
countess would never be questioned.
THEY CAME TO AMERICA.
When the time came for Mr. Catacazy to
join Bodices, her poor lover was desolate.
What was to be done ? She could not
live with her husband, and she had no
divorce. To stay was living death. She
could not break the intermittent visits and
abuse of her husband, whom she despised.
The western sky looked full of happiness,
for there she could fly from every rumor
and be happy with one whom she loved
more than her life. So they were married
and came to America. This marriage was
not strictly legal, for she was not divorced
from her first husband; but it was a moral
marriage, and never has a doubtful rumor
ever clouded the moral sky of that sacred
covenant with Mr. Catacazy.
They arrived in this country as Mr. and
Mrs. Catacazy. After staying awhile in
New York, Mr. Catacazy went on to Wash
ington, taking with him Mrs. Catacazy.
The young Secretary rented for his beau
tiful companion a pretty cottaga in Bla
densburg, eight miles from Washington,
where he spent most of his time—be with
wild, loose notions of a profligate Russian
count, and she simply confiding in the
only man she ever loved—and the only
man, she thought, who could dare to call
her his wife.
RETURN TO RUSSIA
Eight years age Mr. Catacazy returned
to Russia. They were both received at the
Russian Court; feted by the nobility, and
the little spot which had caused them so
much uneasiness was forgotten in their
mutual happiness and prosperity. The
Czarina of Russia is a tall, graceful woman,
like the Queen of Denmark, terribly de
voted to the Greek Church, and very little
attention to society. But, it is true that
she, with all her orthodox scruples, re
ceived Madame Catacazy.
BACK TO WASHINGTON AS MINISTER.
In 1868 Mr. Constantine de Catacazy
was appointed by Czar Alexander as Envy
Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentia
ry to the United States. Accompained by
his wife, he arrived on the Vile de Paris,
and proceeded at once to Washington, re
lieving Baron Stoekl. He was received
everywhere in official circles with great
friendship, his. beautiful wife sharing in
all the honors of her husband. I myself
have seen them together at President
Johnson's and also at Secretary Seward's.
DECEIVED IN NEW YORK.
Mrs. James Brooks threw New York so
ciety into a excitement by giving Madame
Catacazy a reception - at her -beantifttl resi
dence- ork,Fifth avenue, near Thirty-fourth
street, last autumn. Here she was greeted
by the best blood of tbe metropolis. Mrs.
Judge Roosevelt, who had been presented
to the Court of St. James, with Lady Ous
ley, were there, and they vied with Mrs..
Roberts, Mrs. Rlodgett, Mrs. Stevens, Mrs.
Whitney, Mrs. Vanderbilt, and Mrs. Stew
art, in polite welcoming and benedictions
to the fair representative of the nation
which stood by the Government during a
terrible war, and carried our beloved Far
sagut in her arms from St. Petersburg to
Moscow—drinking the health of our saved
Republic in every town in Russia. Mrs.
Goulager, the gifted singer of St. Thomas'
NO. 43
Church, sang a song of welcome to her, and
the fair face of the Embassador's wife was
too happy for utterance.
Madame Catacazy's beauty was the theme
of newspaper writers, and the gossip of the
West End. Her parlors on Franklin
Square were thronged on reception days
with West aristocratic residents and so
journers of the Capital. They had been in
Washington but a few days, when they
rode over to Bladensburg to see the beauti
ful vine-clad cottage, where years before
she had spent so many happy hours
Every nook was examined, and as the
enthusiastic wife recollected the hours of
love and confidence she had spent there,
she said she would be happy indeed to live
there again. Plucking a boquet from the
little yard, as beautiful to her as Claud's
Alpine home, she rode back to Washing
ton; but not before old Bladensburg Mrs.
Grundy had recognized the old sweetheart
love of the Russian Secretary. She re
ported the fact to the quid-ounce of Wash
ington.
SOCIAL DESTRUCTION MEDITATED,
The hereditary Washington gossips now
set to work—those ancient female military
and naval barnacles who live in West End
boarding houses, wear long black dresses,
and subsist on gossip about what Miss Lane
and Mr. Buchanan used to do. They talk
about Captain McCellan and Colonel Lee,
and only aspire to marry daughters to
higher titles than Lieutenants and Cap
tains in the army. They don't know that
Captains and Lieutenants ever get above
Bleeker street in the exclusive society of
the metropolis. Well, this set, who flutter
around the Carrolls, and. Riggses and Cor
corans, begin to breathe milde* upon the
fair fame of the beautiful wife of the Rus
sian Minister.
Mrs. Grant and Mrs. Fish, who had re
ceived more than once, and who had more
than once been the recipient of her warm
Russian courtesy, were taken in tow. "It
is dreadful !!" said one. "Perfectly horri
ble !" exclaimed another, with her bands
out lide a great V. "You ought not to re
ceive her," said all these female West End
Lucifers at once. "It's an insult to send
her here." As if she who had been hon
ored at the Russian Court—she who had
been kissed in the Imperial white room of
St. George by the Czarina and Dagmar
and Gand Duke Constantine, could soil the
characters of a few gossiping Washington
West Enders, who become self-appointed
boarding-house guardians of the national
honor. Yes, women were at the bottom of
it, just as they have been at the bottom of
more than one White House squabble from
Mrs. Eaton down to Kate Sprague and
Mrs. Lincoln.
THE WEST END ANGELS ACCOMPLISH
THEIR WORK
The gossip carried the clay, and at the
dinner given to the "High Joint Cosmnis
sion," Mrs. Fish opened the barrel of
powder which may yet blow up a war be
tween Russia and America. Mr. Cataca
zy is an excitable man, and when his wife
was "cut" thus publicly , what wonderthat
old sardine, and swore by the big bell in
Kremlin that Fish and Mrs. Fish, and
everybody in Washington, could be bought
up like a load of cucumbers in the Moscow
superaboskney ? Madame Catacazy has
simply played the role of Mrs. A. D. Rich
ardson. She comes from a profligate
court. ,She comes from where both the
Russian and French traditions are loose on
the subject of divorce and marriage, and
from where many women think they are
saints if they are true to oue man, married
or not. In Russia I have often been in
vited to dine with, perhaps, a member of
the nobility, when I would have to ask
the question at which house, for the man
kept two houses.
Now that we have got into the diplo
matic muddle, it will be bard to get out.
But, whatever transpires, remember Ma
dame Catacazy is a beautiful woman ; no
body questions her parity, and nobody
doubts the mutual devotion, the absolute
worship of love which exists between the
Russian Minister and his wife.
GRACE GREENWOOD, writing from Den
ver, says : "Nature did antelopes an ill
turn originally, in affixing to them a mark
by which they can be seen and 'a bead
drawn on them' at a great distance. It
renders them especially liable to attacks in
the rear, which reminds me of a little story.
A small Colorado boy, who had been out
playing, ran into the house in a state of
great excitement, saying that he had seen
some antelopes in the gulch near by. At
his entreaty his mother went out to look
at them. but nothing of the kind was to
be found. She became incredulous, and
said at last, don't believe you saw any
antelopes; it must have been your imagi
nation, my child !' To this the little moun
taineer indignantly responded : 'Humph !
I guess my imagination isn't white be
hind.'
Miscellaneous News Items.
Memphis, Tenn., is to have a skating
rink.
The Savannah, (Ga.) Republican is for
sale.
Macon, Ga., has sixteen railroad trains a
day.
Jackson, Miss., has five thousand inhab
itants.
Kenosah claims to be the wickedest
town.
Gen. Wattic, the Cherokee chief, is
dead.
King Amadeus is suppressing news-pa
pers.
The population of Texas is increasing
rapidly.
The Milwaukee papers are served by
pretty girls.
Archbishop Spaulding is in very bad
health.
The tobacco in North Carolina has been
injured by frost.
The cotton caterpillar has done . much
damage in Alabama.
Rain wanted in the neighborhood of.
Kansas City, Mo.
A Wisconsin blacksmith is a last heir to
that million dollars.
The mosquito crop in the South has
been immense.
The small-pox ig raging violently at Chil
licothe, Ohio.
The Texas cattle disease has appeared at
Wooster. Ohio.
The Virginia State fair begins at Rich
mond on the 31st inst.
A Frencjunan has made a ]:snip wick
that will burn five years.
A Missouri farmer struck a ten foot vein
of coal while digging a well.