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ie Huntingdon Journal,
J. A. NASH,
PUBLISHERS AND PROPRIETORS
. on the Corner of Bath and Washington streets.
lIE HUNTINGDON JOURNAL is published every
Tuesday, by J. It. DURBORROW and J. A. Nem,
er the firm name of J. It. DURDORROW lc Co., at
.0 per annum, IN ADVANCE, or $2,50 if not paid
in six months from date of subscription, and
f not paid within the year.
.3 paper discontinued, unless at the option of
publishers, until all arrearages are paid.
DVERTISEMENTS will be inserted at TEN
TS per line for each of the first four insertions,
rive CENTS per line for each subsequent inner
, less than three months.
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08 00'25 00130 00 1.1 38 00 80 00 80
• 6 00
posh.' notices will be inserted at TWELVE
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s at FIFTEEN CENTS per line.
11 Resolutions of Associations, Communications
suited or individual interest, and notices of Mar
es and Deaths, exceeding five lines, will be
rged vex CENTS per line.
egal and other notices will be charged to the
ty having them inserted.
dvertising ,'..gents must find their commission
side of these figures.
ll advertising accounts are doe and collectable
n the advertisement is once inserted.
OB PRINTING of every kind, in Plain and
cy Colors, done with neatness and dispatch.—
id-bills, Blanks, Cards, Pamphlets, Ste., of every
ety and style, printed at the shortest notice,
every thing in the Printing line will be execu
in the most artistic softener and at the lowest
DENGATE, Surveyor, Warriors
• mark, Pa. [ap12,71.
CALDWELL, Attorney -at -Law,
• •No. 111, Id street. Office formerly occupied
dessrs. Woods Is Williamson. [apl2,'7l.
tR. R. R. WIESTLING,
respectfully offers his professional services
citizens of Huntingdon and vicinity.
Mee removed to No. 6tS Hill street, (Sutra's
IR. J. C. FLEMMING respectfully
• offers his professional services to the citizens
funtingdon and vicinity. Office second floor of
ninghana's building, on corner of 4th and Hill
et. may 24.
IR. D. P. MILLER, Office on Hill
street, in the room formerly occupied by
John M'Cnlloch, Huntingdon, Pa., would res
fully offer his professional services to the citi
of Huntingdon and vicinity. [jan.4,'7l.
• R. A. B essional servi. BRUM
es BAUGH, offers his
profc to the community.
Moe on Washington street, one door east of the
sone Parsonage. [j..4,'71.
ig, Hill street
J. GREENE, Dentist.
I • moved to Leieter's new buildin;
I L. ROBE, Dentist, office in S. T.
r• Hmon'a DSW building, No. 520, Hill St.,
itingdon, Pa. [ap12,71.
r GLAZIER, Notary Public, corner
`• of Washington and Smith streets. Hun
don, Pa. Dan. 12.71.
U C. MADDEN, Attorney-at-Law
a..• Offi ce , No. —, 1011 stroet
SYLVANIIS BLAIR, Attorney-at
• Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Office, Hill street,
a doors west of Smith. Dan.47l.
It. PATTON, Druggist and Apoth
• scary, opposite the Exchange Hotel, Hun
don, Pa. Prescriptions accurately compounded.
o Liquors for Medicinal purposes. [n0r.23,'70.
HALL MUSSED,, Attorney-at-Law,
• Huntingdon, Pa. Office, second floor of
iter's new building, Hill street. [jan.4,7l.
R. DURBORROW, Attorney-at
• Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will practice in the
mil Courts of Huntingdon county. Particular
cation given to the settlement of estates of dece
Q. in he Jounusi. Building.
A. POLLOCK, Surveyor and Real
• Estate Agent, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend
.urveying in all its branches. Will also buy,
or rent Farms, Houses, and Real Estate of er
kind, in any part of the United States. Send
a circular. [jan.47l.
W. MATTERN, Attorney-at-Law
• and General Claim Agent, Huntingdon, Pa.,
Hers' claims against the Government for back
, bounty, widows' and invalid pensions attend
o with great care and promptness.
ffice on Hill street.
ALLEN LOVELL, Attorney-at-
L • Law, Huntingdon,Pa. Special attention
:n to CoLLectioNs of all kinds; to the settle
it of Estates ' &c.; and all other Legal Business
scented with Sdelity and dispatch.
gr Office in room - lately occ r upied by It. Milton
or, Esq. Dan. 4,71.
.LLISON MILLER. H.
TILLER & BUCHANAN,
o. 223 Hill Street,
TILES ZENTMYER, Attorney-at
-A- Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend promptly
11 legal business. Office in Cunningham's new
M. az M. S. LYTLE, Attorneys
• at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend to
hinds of legal business entrusted to their care.
Mee on the south side of 11111 street, fourth door
t of Smith. [jan.4,'7l.
) A. ORBISON, Attorney-at-Law,
Ils• Office, 321 Hill street, Huntingdon, Pa.
SCOTT. S. T. BROWN. J. N. BAILEY
COTT, BROWN & BAILEY, At
' torneys-at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Pensions,
all elaims of soldiers and soldiers' heirs against
Government will ho promptly prosecuted.
'Mee on Hill street. [jan.4,'7l.
I W. MYTON, Attorney-at-Law, Hun
- • tingdon, Pa. Office with J. Sewell Stewart,
PILLIAM A. FLEMING, Attorney
at-Law. Irluntingdon,Pa. Special attention
en to collections, and all other legal business
ended to with care and promptness. Office, No.
, 11111 street. [ap 19;11 .
IXCHANCIE HOTEL, Huntingdon,
A Pa. JOHN S. MILLER, Proprietor.
'estuary 4, 1871.
4 - EAR THE RAILROAD DEPOT,
COR. WAYNE and JUNIATA STREETT
UNITED STATES HOTEL,
CLAIN k CO., PROPRIBTORS
?OBT. KING,, Merchant Taylor, 412
Washington street, Huntingdon, Pa., a lib
-1 share of patronage respectfully solicited.
tpril 12, 1871.
EWISTOWN BOILER WORKS,
A SVYDR , WEIDNER fe -
era of Locomotireand Stationary Boilers, Tanks,
ses, Filling-Barrows for Furnaces, and Sheet
n Work of every description. Works on Logan
set, Lewistown, P.
111 orders p,—.)My attended to. Repairing
se at short ...As. [Apr 5,'71,1y.4
iii * %,;
f - f
un t in g_s on
THE HUNTINGDON JOURNAL.
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AND IN THE
"That is easily exp!ained," replied the
other with a smile, "I am the man whose
life you saved. The Maine captain is now
a Major in the regular army. I knew your
voice the moment you spoke. Give 1312
your hand, comrade."
POSTERS OF ANY SIZE, I The soldier hesitated.
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he DMA' Nowa.
Lay the plaided frock away,
And the yellow buttoned boots ;
Charlie does not need them now,
Cannot wear the pretty suit.
If you ask, "Why, where is Charlie ?'
Quivering lips will faintly say,
Little Charlie's gently resting,
He has been "so tired of play."
Pure and white the robe around him
Soft and white his narrow bed ;
Cool and soft that's o'er him,
Ah, you ask-- ,, is Charlie dead ?"
No, not dead, but sweetly resting—
When the sunset closed the day,
Little Charlie, prattling, murmured,
"0 ! I am so tired of play."
Tired of play the busy fingers,
Tired of play the restless feet,
Tired the voice, whose merry laughter
Filled the house with echoes sweet,
So we say our darling's resting,
In a slumber calm and deep;
Tho' the birds are singing o'er him—
Tho' the stars still vigils keep.
O'er his bed the storms may mutter,
They can wake him never more,
Yet we do not say we've lost him,
Only that lie's gone before.
For we know he rests securely,
In the Heavenly Father's care,
'llong the lambs the Saviour's keeping,
For his pastures green and fair.
Tlio hither !num
"HERE, Red Cap!" cried a tall, well
built gentleman, standing on the steps of
the Metropolitan Hotel, one fine May even
ing in the year 1869.
The man addressed as "Red Cap," was
sauntering slowly by the hotel. His garb
of faded blue—his red cap, and the empty
right sleeve of his coat told that he was a
disabled soldier. One who had fought for
Uncle Sam and had left his trusty right
arm on some southern battle-field. And
now, the soldier who had marched to the
quickstepi of the Union and sealed his loy
alty with his blood, was reduced to earning
a scanty substance as a "Soldier Messen
ger"—a carrier of letters and parcels, ea
ger to do any errand to gain him bread.
They say that Republics are ungrateful.
That the Soldier Messenger Corps exist,
proves the truth of the saying.
The soldier turned at the call, and ad
vanced to the man on the steps.
In person, the soldier was a good-look
ing fellow of, perhaps, five and twenty;
with a frank, honest face. The short,
black hair—mustache of the same hue,
and a certain independent carriage of the
head—hard to describe, but once semi, not
easily forgotten—told plainly that he was
a New York boy-__
you carry tiTe - Cter fur mu to ruin
-avenue - re — asked the gentleman on the
steps, as the soldier came up to him.
"Yes, sir," replied the messenger, in a
full, lnanly voice.
The stranger on the steps started as the
tones of the soldier's voice fell upon his
ear. Eagerly he looked into the other's
"Haven't I met you before?" he asked,
A moment the soldier looked at the face
of the gentleman - before replying; then he
shook his head.
"I think not, sir," he said, "although
your face does seem familiar to me."
"I am Major Whitton, of the Twenty
The soldier touched his cap, respectfully,
at the announcement of the other's rank.
"I don't remember the name, sir," the
Red Cap said.
"What regiment were you in ?"
"The Fifty-first New York."
"Do you remember, at Fredericksburg,
a captain of the Sixth Maine, shot through
the shoulder and lying helpless on the
field, when the signal for retreat was giv
"Yes, sir," replied the soldier.
"You took the helpless man in your
arms and carried him to the rear—placed
him in an ambulance and thus saved his
"Yes, I remember - it," said the soldier,
rather astonished at the knowledge of the
other. "I only did what was right—noth
ing more. But I don't understand how it
is that you know the circumstances of the
"Why, major, I'm only a poor worthless
"The badge of your worth is there, my
friend," and the major laid his finger,
gently, upon the soldier's empty sleeve,
"and it is a black spot upon our honor as
a nation, that we let our disabled soldiers
almost starve in the streets, while we waste
millions on ice-bergs and earthquakes, in
the shape of new territory."
"Ours is a big country, major. Uncle
Sam has probably forgotten us poor fel
lows, though we didn't forget him in the
hour of danger," said the soldier, cheer
"My name is Whitton; what may I call
yours ?" asked the major.
"Ames—Robert Ames," replied the sol
dier. "I am a shipwright by trade. I
worked at a yard near Grcenpuint, before
A shrill scream ringing out on the still
evening air attracted dm attention of the
The scream came from a woman's lips.
In crossing Broadway the woman had
been knocked down by an omnibus, and
had fallen right in front of the horses.
Quickly the soldier and Whitton sprung
to her assistance.
The omnibus driver had luckily pulled
his horses up upon perceiving the woman
in front of him, so that beyond the bruises
caused by her fall, she had escaped injury.
The two men assisted the woman—who,
though clad in wretched garments, was
both young and pretty—to the sidewalk.
"Are you hurt, ma'am ?" asked the sol
"No, thank you; only a slight bruise,"
replied the woman, in a low, sweet voice,
"I was more frightened than hurt."
Ames started with surprise as the woman
spoke, and anxiously he looked into her
"AGNEs RAPLYE !" he cried, in aston
"What ?" exclaimed the woman, amaz
ed, "do you know me ?"
BY AGILE PE NE.
HUNTINGDON, PA., NOVEMBER 8, 1871.
"Have you forgotten Robert Ames ?"
the soldier asked, a slight huskiness per
ceptible in his voice.
"You Robert Ames ?" the woman ex
claimed, as if unable to believe her hearing.
"Yes; I am the Robert Ames that you
once knew," the soldier said. "I have
changed a geat deal since '6l, but you
have changed more than I." Sad was the
tone of the speaker.
"Oh ! I have had so muck trouble," the
woman cried, despairingly. "My husband
now is lying on his death-bed, I fear; I
was seeking some friends for assistance.—
Robert!" exclaimed the woman, looking
into his face with her soft blue eyes, "can
you forget the past and aid me now in my
hour of trouble ?"
"Willingly !" cried the soldier, impul
sively. "What do you wish me to do ?"
"Come with me to my wretched home,
and see if any thing can be done to aid my
husband," the woman replied.
"Yes, I'll go at once."
"I'll go with you !" exclaimed the ma
jor, perceiving clearly that there was some
.mystery connected with the woman and
the soldier messenger's relations in the
The woman whom the Red Cap had
called Agnes Raplye led the way, while
the one-armed soldier and the major fol
"The woman—or girl rather, for she
seems to be quite young—is an old acquain
tance of yours," the major said.
"Yes," replied Ames, "in '62 she al
most broke my heart; and in '65 her hus
band cost me my right arm. Through her
and him my whole life has been ruined."
The major stared in astonishment as
these strange words fell upon his ear.
The woman led the way to a tenement
house in Mulberry street.
The house was - situaLd in the rear and
was one of the worst of its class. The stairs
and entry-ways were reeking with filth.—
Contagion lurked in the air.
The woman led the two to a room at the
very top of the house.
On a dirty mattress, extended upon the
bare floor, lay a man evidently nigh unto
death. The bloated and swollen features
told that the demon, Rum, had had much
to do with the advent of the Dark
who even now was flapping his wings over
the head of the death-stricken man.
The major, though used to scenes of
carnage, shuddered at this sight.
"Is there any hope ?" asked the woman,
The major shook his head.
"I will not attempt to deceive you," he
said slowly. "I do not think he will live
"Oh, if he would but speak before he
dies," the wife moaned, sadly. "He has
some secret upon his mind—something
that concerns my happiness, so be said.—
He was about to tell me just before this
"Then he has not spoken since ?"
"Possibly some brandy might revive
him so that be can speak. Will you go for
- , 14m ,rorjm. Wet.," n gronnbnotr,
quickly she departed.
The Red Cap gazed long and earnestly
at the face of the helpless man.
"You know him ?" asked the major.
"Yes ; he was once my rival for the love
of the woman who has just left us—Ag
nes," the soldier said. "His name is Wil
liam Raplye. He and I were boys together
—lived in the same street—went to the
same school, and then, when we became
men, entered the same ship-yard and work
ed side by side. He was a handsome fel
low—you wouldn't think it to look at him
now—but he was alwAys fond of drink and
devilment, and I see it has proved the ruin
of him; not only his ruin, but hers, too—
the girl, major, that I once loved bettor
than I did anything else in the world. I'll
tell you the whole story—that is, if you'd
like to hear it."
"Certainly; I feel quite a curiosity.
"While Bill Rap lye and I were working
together side by side in the same yard, we
both got acquainted with Agnes. She was
an orphan, without a relative in the world,
and worked in a millinery store on Divis
ion street. She boarded just two doors
from my house. Well, Agnes then—this
was in '6O, just before the was—was as
pretty a girl as a man would want to look
at, and she was as good, too, as she was
pretty. Both Bill Raplye and myself fell
in love with and courted her at the same
time. She liked me the best, although Bill
was a much better looking fellow than I.
Well, at last Agnes gave me her promise
to be my wife. Raplye took the matter in
a good-natured way. He said, 'lt's been a
fair field—no favor, and the best man has
won ; and if she does like you better than
she does me, that's no reason why we
should be enemies.' And so affairs were
when the war broke out. I don't know
exactly bow it was, but it seemed to me
that 1 ought to shoulder a musket and fight
for my government, and so I enlisted.
"After I . got to Virginia, I received let
ters regularly from Agnes; and if ever a
woman's letters were a comfort to a man,
then her letters were a comfort to me.
They seemed to come right from her heart.
Then, all of a sudden, and without any
reason, her letters stopped. I wrote three
times, but no answer came. Then .we ad
vanced, and in a skirmish I was wounded,
and was confined to the hospital for about
six weeks. After I recovered and came
out, I meta friend from New York, and
from him I learned that my Agnes had
married Bill Raplye. Major, when I
heard that news I sat down and cried like
a child. I didn't want to live—l wanted
to .die. The next fight I went into I
fought like a devil; but it wasn't any
use; the bullet wasn't cast that was to kill me.
"So things went on till '65. I had re
enlisted and was a veteran. In the strug
gle at Petersburg, after we had made that
attack at night, and been repulsed—just
as we were falling back, with the Confeds
right on the top of us, I stumbled across a
wounded man. I picked him up, and, to
my astonishment, it was Bill Raplye; just
as I recognized him, a squad of the enemy
charged upon us ; I saw a sabre uplifted to
cut Raplye down ; I threw up my arm, re
ceived the sabre-cut upon my wrist—saved
the life of Bill Raplye—the man who had
married the girl I loved—at the cost of
my right arm. In the skirmish that fol
lowea—for a party of our boys rallied to
my rescue—l lost sight of Raplye, and I
have never seen him from that time till my
eyes fell upon him to-night."
"Ames, many a man has been called a
hero for doing less than you have done.
History has written the deeds of our great
men, but the unwritten deeds of our pri
vates shame many on whose shoulders bla
zon the General's stars. But have you no
idea why this girl betrayed you ?"
"None in the least," answered the Red
Cap, slowly. "Oh, major I feel that I
rove her now, though years have passed,
as well as I ever did."
A moan from the sick man attracted the
attention of the two. They hastened to his
The glazed eyes of the dying man stared
fixedly at the face of the soldier messen
"Bob Ames !" murmured the sick man
in a husky, broken voice, "I'm glad you're
here. I want you to forgive me before I
die. I stole the letters you wrote to Ag
nes—forged one in your hand, saying that
you were tired of her and that she had
better look for another lover. Her pride
hurt, she accepted me. I stole your wife,
and you saved my life. My life,
time, has been a hell. Say you forgive me
—pray for me—l'm a miserable drunken
beast. Oh ! mercy—mer—cy !"
And with this last despairing cry upon
his lips, the guilty soul of Raplye fled to
answer to its Judge.
Agnes returning, found that her husband
was far beyond earthly aid. She could not
weep, for his death was freedom to her.
She had been the patient, uncomplain
ing slave of a drunken husband. But now
the fetters were broken—she was free once
The major drew Agnes to one side.
"Here are two fiftydcllar bills," he said,
putting the greenbacks into the soldier
messenger's hand. "See to the burial of
this man, and that this poor girl has a de
cent home. Ames, I'm going to lend you
five hundred dollars to start you in business.
When you get rich, you can repay me;
but, don't be in a hurry—take your time
about it. For six years I've been looking
for the man that saved my life, and now
that I've found him, I'm going to show my
gratitude if I can."
The open-hearted major would not take
"no" for an answer, and at last Ames ac
cepted the kind offer.
Within six months, Agnes became the
wife of the one-armed soldier; the old love
was still strong within her heart.
In a snug little shop on Sixth avenue,
Ames does a thriving business, and few
would recognize in the happy-looking cou
ple the woman who was dragged from be
neath the horse's hoofs, or lied Cap, the
Soldier Messenger.—Saturday Journal.
Puffing br at & Mom
A Boy's Advice to Old Men
I cannot pick up a newspaper without
"Sdvice to Boys" stares me in the face.—
Old men write it, I s'pose. Nobody else
is capable of giving advice to boys, of
course not ! They know all about us, they
do, 'cause they have been there. Advice
is a good thing to have, no doubt, and no
family should be without it, but a feller
don't want to be crammed with it all the
time to the exclusion of all other diet.
Now old men need advice occasionally,
but in looking through the papers, I don't
see that they get it, so I just thought I
would write a little "Advice to Old Men"
myself, if I am not presuming too much—
as Aunt Chloe says—and I presume I am.
-the first place yen old chaps nnwht
to get over telling how much smarter boys
were when you were boys, than boys are
now. You believe it yourself, of course,
'cause you've told it so many tithes, but
we boys can't see it. We have a notion
that boys are boys, pretty much—except
that some are girls—the world over, and
one generation of them don't lay over an
other generation to any alarming extent.
Only let you tell it, and you could out
run, out-jump, out-wrestle, sod out any
thing else the rising generation of to-day,
when you were boys. Grand-father, who
has got the gout and five or six different
kinds of rheumatism, is always saying that
"I would I were a boy again." I would
he were too. It' I couldn't beat him run
ning, and flop him or the back, side-holt,
I don't want a cent,
I wouldn't go so far Ls to say, "Parents
obey your children," but I would suggest
to fathers that they give us a hearing oc
casionally on matters in which we are the
most interested. Do not make us slide
down hill when we want to .skate, and
don't try to make preachers of us when we
much prefer to run a taw-mill. This is
figurative, but I guese you know what I
After giving us boys sage advice about
our conduct, and how to behave, you old
men ought to be careful how you get to
relating your boyish scrapes to each other
and laughing about them before we are
out of earshot. The other day grandfather
read me a long lecture about the rights of
property, temperance and Sunday break
That night an old crony of his'n came
to visit him and they had a glass of punch
together. They thonAht 1 was asleep on
the sofa, and the way they went on about
the fun they had when they were boys to
gether. They told all about robbing Capt.
Lyman's melon patch, and it turned out it
was on Sunday night too! When I went
to bed they were taking their third glass
of punch, and I don't know how many
more they had after that. I know grand
father's rheumatism was a great deal worse
the next day, and he complained about his
liver. Old men ought to be careful about
taking too much punch. I know old men
hate to give in that they can't stand as
much as they used to, or as much as young
men can. They get mad if a fellow hints
that they can't. But what is the use of
fooling yourselves We have all got to
give out some day, and when a man feels
that he is losing grip, why not come down
and acknowledge the corn ?
Now, in the above remarks I do not
mean any disrespect. I like old men in
their place, but I don't want much of their
advice. Give the boys a chance.
How to Keep a Situation
Lay it down as a foundation rule, that
you will "be found faithful in that which
is least." Pick up the loose nails, bits of
twine, clean wrapping paper, and put them
in their places. Be ready to throw in an
odd half hour or hour's time when it will
be an accommodation, and don't seem to
make a merit of it. Do it heartily. Though
not a word be said, be sure your employer
will make a note of it. Make yourself in
dispensable to him, and he will lose many
of the opposite kind before he will part
These young men who watch the time
to see the very second their working hour
is up—who leave, no matter what state the
work may be in, at precisely the instant—
who are lavish with their employer's goods,
will always be first to receive notice that
times are dull, and their services are no
longer required.— Workingman.
"TEA PENen" is said to be a favorite
with the Bostonians. The ingredients are
one bottle of champagne, one of whiskey,
one of rum, two of claret, a lemon, and a
table spoonful of black tea.
The Cause of Temperance
Many a good causehas been injured and
retarded by bad men who intruded among
its adherents for the purpose of securing
selfish objects. In this manner the cause
offreedom in this country was fbr years in
jured. The old abolition party had among
its leaders scores of selfish and impracti
cable men, who clung to that organization
to satisfy a desire for personal prominence
which they could not have otherwise se
cured. Just as soon as the Rebublican
party took slaveri , by the throat, the origi
nal abolitionists faded out of sight or ac
tually attempted to embarrass Republicans
in their sincere efforts to arrest the spread
of slavery. The same impracticable spir
it now leads what is called the political
temperance party. They are neither fit
to lead or willing to follow. They agitate
where they have not the ability to sustain
themselves, and antagonize men who are
disposed to be friends of the principle of
temperance, while they despise the deina
gow.ery which its heedless and brainless
self constituted custodians throw around
it. Hence the insignificant vote received
by the politico-temperance party, and the
the demonstration that no party in this
country can live and achieve success on
the force of a single idea. At the proper
time and in the proper manner, the Re
publican party will take hold of the Demon
Rum, and do with it what it did with the
traitor slavery, wipe it out? That time is
steadily approaching. The liquor interest
which entails crime of all characteristics
and furies on the land must not imagine
that because the politico-temperance party
failed, the moral force of the disapproval
of drunkenness and the traffic in rum has
lost any of its power. If they do they are
mistaken, and they will realize the fact
by beholding at no distant day, the
Republican party arrayed against the traf
fic in liquor just as it arrayed itself against
the barter in human flesh, because the
time had come to save the people from
pollution and the Government from des
truction thereby. It is the mission of the
Republican party to correct all wrongs
and sustain every right. No third party
can live by adopting a specialty in politics.
The interests of the country are too varied
and complex, to be cared for in detail by
seperate political organizations. One de
pends upon the other—all must be recip
rocal as bound up in the power of right,
and but one powerful organization is fitted
to stand forth their champions and uphold
ers. All this belongs - to the Republican
party—and as its judgment for the right
dictates so will it dispose of the cause of
A Question of Time,
It is said that patience, persevering la
bor and indomitable resolve will, in the
end, conquer all disadvantages, even though
open opposition and secret policy be armed
against them. Many maxims sound well,
and are generally received without being
infallible in application, and this is un
doubtedly one of them. We have seen
man's most valuable commodity—all em
ployed in the production of a work which,
owing to various adverse circumstances,was
doomed to oblivion. The position of an
author, and its feelings in such a ease, can
not be appreciated by those who have not
trod the wilderness of life devoid of hope.
Policy and usurpation, envy and jeal
ousy, strike down authors—and other men
—even as they do rulers and governments.
Nevertheless, there are noble examples of
meu sometimes seen, who, conscious of
their own strength, fear no rivalry and rise
above it. They stoop to no intrigue and
dare to be generous. Others—and they are
a large majority of mankind—failing in
laudable undertakings, keenly feel a sense
of injustice, and, wounded and despairing,
are almost ready to give up life as a losing
game, and, folding their hands, charge on
destiny their evil mishap.
This is all wrong. None should accept
as a final decree the awards of passing time.
If the present fail to realize the just frui
tion of hopes, however hrmble, and of
merit, however high, yet none may look
into the hidden secrets of the future. How
many inventors whose names stand high as
great benefactors of their race struggled
against adverse circumstances, and lived
and died in poverty and obscurity. Little
did Tasso in his dreamy cell think how,
after long ages had joined the • march of
ages gone before, his luminous genius would
flash before the nations of the earth ; how
his persecuted name would win the lasting
love and admiration of posterity, and how
fame would wreath the pallid brow of Italy's
greatest Christian poet.
The reward of high effort and genius
may not always come as we would have it.
Incompetent and presuming criticism may
smite them with its harpy sting. Yet they
will struggle on, grappling with poverty,
and writhing under reckless and unde
served inflictions, till in the end they tri
Immensity of Creation.
Some astronomers have computed that
there are no less than 75,000,000 suns in
in the universe. The fixed stars are all
suns, and have, like all suns, numerous
planets revolving around them. The solar
system, or that to which we belong, has
about thirty planets, primary and second
ary, belonging to it. The circular field of
space which it occupies is in the diameter
3,600,000,000 of miles, and that which it
controls is much greater. That sun which
is nearest neighbor to ours is called Sirius,
distant from our sun 22,000,000,000 of
miles. Now if all the fixed stars are as
distant from each other as Sirius is from
our sun, and if the solar system be the av
erage magnitude of all the systems of the
75,000,000 of suns, what imagination can
grasp the immensity of creation ?
Every sun of the 75,000,000 controls a
field of space of about 10,000,000 of miles
in diameter. Who can survey a plantation
containing 75,000,000 circular fields, each
of them 10,000,000 miles in _diameter?
Such, however, is one of the plantations of
Him who has measured the water in the
hollow of his hand, and meet our heaven
with a span, and comprehended the dust
of_the earth in a measure, weighed the
mountains in scales, and the hills in a bal
ance; Him who, sitting upan the orbit of
the earth, stretches out the heavens as a
curtain, and spreadeth them out as a tent
to dwell in !
A BOSTON lady thinks she is going to
get to heaven on the strength of her well
known charity to the poor. She has fre
quently been known, without any ostenta
tion, to boil a large number of eggs, and
when the poor people came to her door
distribute to the hungry callers the soup
that was left after boiling the eggs. Such
acts of charity are unusual in Boston; but
that's a little too thin to get to heaven on
without stirring in a little thickening.
Tit-Bits, Taken on the Fly
Fox hunting is now the sport at Toronto.
New Yorkers are all expectations about
Cashmere continues a favorite wool fab
ric for costumes.
The farms in Ohio are valued at over a
billion of dollars.
Mrs. Wharton's trial has been postponed
There is talk of establishing a match
manufactory in Reading.
A bear was seen within a mile of the
town of Clarion a few days ago.
There was a very slight fall of snow in
Paducah Ky., on Saturday last.
Fashion denotes that gold bracelets here
after must. be three inches wide.
Lace will be largely used for trimming
silk and cashmere suits for the winter.
Shark bones are exhumed in Minneso
ta, a hundred miles away from any water.
An Indiana man has laid in $2O worth
of quinine for family use. Shaky family.
The Khedive has nothing but his salary
to live on, a mere pittance of $30,000,000.
Grant is suffering in New England from
an enlargement of the lips and fever blis
Some Georgia ladies propose to play the
piano'for the championship at the State
The offices of eighty-nine literary pe
riodicals were burned out by the fire in
They have "delicious strawberries" and
"nice grapes" of the second crop, in Dan
The Mammoth Cave is for sale. Price
$500,000. A pretty large price to pay for
a big hole.
In Minnesota the prairie fire has burnqd
through the earth in some places to the
depth of five feet.
More insurance was effected in Boston
the other day, after 2 o'clock. than on any
While a woman with a sick child in her
arms was being tried in an English police
court, the child died.
The Washington backtnen on Wednes
day contributed their entire receipts of that
day to the Chicago fund.
The Hartford fire insurance companies
lost between seven and eight millions of
dollars by the Chicago fire.
There is an enormous apple crop in the
Northeastern States, and a very small one
in the Northwestern States.
In Boston the papers are beginning to
talk of wealthy men who have not con
tributed to the Chicago fund.
The best mutton is said to come from
Rhode Island. The same State raises the
.-iwtsit.tHrkevs. %v..... "Oa d"oh-
We learn from Georgia exchanLes that
good seasons arc prevailing in middle
Georgia, and that cotton is opening finely.
Let prudence always attend your pleas
' ures; it is the way to enjoy the sweets of
them, and not to be afraid of the conso
Among the furniture necessary in the
church in Baltimore, where the Episcopal
Convention is in session, is said to be 295
A grand type-setting tournament, for
the championship of Canada, will take
place in Montreal on the twenty-first of
Memphis is the only lower river town
which has plenty of coal. 1,250,000 bush
els are in store thereabouts, and the people
It is a curious but incontrovertible fact
that when a hisute young gentleman pays
his addresses to a lady, he invariably be
The Connecticut temperance men have
resolved to hold a State Convention and
form an independent political organization
for the spring campaign.
The Richmond, Va.. papers are mourn
ing over the deterioration of circuses and
animal shows since the adoption of the con
A Protestant church is to be erre,ed in
Rome. An American company has bought
the ground, and intend to build an edi
fice of great magnificence.
"Flannel Receptions" are in vogue. It
is another name for those parties where
the young ladies sew an hour for the poor.
and then dance three for joy.
The Providence Journal says the Chi
cago fire has overthrown five of the most
respectable insurance companies of Prov
idence, including the two oldest.
An order has been issued to the firemen
of New York, by their chief engineer, pro
hibiting them from acting as officers of the
election, to take place next month.
A Boy of five summers, in New England,
recently, while at his devotions, surprised
the handy by praying that he might have
sixty brothers and one hundred sisters.
A "city" out in Nevada, called Bob-
Tailed Gulch," has seven dwelling houses
and thirty seven saloons. There is talk
of tearing down some of the houses to
make more room.
A correspondent, writing of the celebra
tion at Bangor in honor of the opening of
the railway at St. John, says that Presi
dent Grant, during his reception, kissed
six hundred pretty girls.
A gold watch chain and pin have peen
presented to Miss Mary Nichols, of Plais
tow, Mass, the watch bearing an inscrption
declaring them to be presented because
she is a "model Christian woman."
An editor ofa Chicago paper has received
several poetical effusions suggested by the
late disaster, but he declines them all on
the ground that it is wasteful to print any
thing which requires every line with a cap
ital, when capital is as scarce as it is now
Ida Lewis is married, and her legal
name is now Wilson, but she still uses her
maiden name. She is still living at Lime
Rock, where she made her reputation.
with her mother, who is in ill health and
of whom she is very fond. The total num
ber of lives saved by Ida Lewis is eleven.
The Kennebec ice harvest of last winter
was the largest ever gathered, the total
product being not less than 300,000 tons.
But very little of the "cold comfort" has
been disposed of during the present season
and the greater portion of the stock will
be held over until another year.
To Be a Christian ,
To be a honey bee means more than to
be crowded into some well filled hive, and
live from the hard toils of others. It
means to take an empty hive and fill it
full, and then fill all the extra boxes which
may be given. It means toil in the morn
ing dew, the hot sun at noon, and the
damps of evening—when the wind blows
and the dust fitez. Toil while there is
honey to be gathered and cells to be made
or fitted. To be a Christian does not mean
a well-chosen church relation, with rer
quisites of wealth to keep us there.
Not simply to restrain our hands from
wicked deeds, and occasionally the ex
changes of evil thoughts from our hearts.
However much negative good there may
be in the absence of evil, this is not a
Christian life. To be a farmer means more
than to sit at a wellndled board and eat
and drink in the bosom of his family.
There are seeds to be sown and weeds -to
be pulled. There are vines to be trained
and fruit to be gathered. There is toil,
and dust, and sweat, between the table of
the farmer and the garner of his grain. It
is more to be a merchant than to receive
bills of lading and compliments for the
stocks. There are sales to be made and
bills to be paid. There are hours of anx
ious toil between the purchase and the
Christian life has its table of plenty,
but it has its field of briars too. Seeds
must be sown, and weeds pulled in this
field; and Christian men, women and
children, and not angels, must do it. It
would be just as reasonable to expect an
gels to do our field or kitchen work, as to
do our Christian work. We might as well
contract our breathing to another, and ex
pect to live by their' effort as to expect
another to do our Christian work.
There are rich bills of lading coming in
for the Christian with every incoming toil
of thought, and he is happy, and rich, and
full. But there are taxes to be paid, ex
changes to be made, and statements of
stewardship to be rendered. A Christian
life is one steady effort to do, and dare,
and die, if need be for the Master. Un
finishedwork lies at his door with every
sitting down. The burden is always on
his heart. "I have a baptism to be bap
tised with, and how am 1 strengthened till
it be accomplished." Yet this burden is
not painful to him who bears. He lives
with a sweet approral of a life of useful
To be a Christian does not mean the
furthest emigration from earth and its so
ciety. But a busy, pure life just where
you arc. It does not imply any change in
you which should demand an immediate
translation; but simply a change in hu
man quality from bad to good, and does
not contemplate your removal until the
work is done where you arc. To be a
Christian does not imply that some one
great act must redeem the past, and then
pension us forever. We may nut have
many great deeds before
we were Christians, but a multitudinous host
of little oncs. These little, wicked ones made
up our lives then, and may have limited
our capabilities for greater deeds.
To be a Christian s to be Christ-like.
There are busy scenes to be visited, where
Christian life must not be bartered. There
are hungry ones to feed, who won't have
the broken bread friim our hands. There are
mourning ones waiting for the tear drop
from our eye, and waiting for words of
comfort from our lips. There are publi
cans to be mingled with, and instructed in
the way of life. Wicked, but not heart
less, great deep souls have they, but oh,
how empty of the water of life. Thirsty
ones by the well curbs, who must be taught
that Samaria be saved. Fallen ones, con
demned by others, standing by us, waiting
words of kindness—and to have their
faults written in•the sands of memory, and
not in glaring lines upon the rocks. There
may be a cross at the foot of some object
somewhere for us, but if there be, there is
a resurrection morning three days beyond
—and there is a home and a mansion in
that "sweet by-and-by." No weary toil,
"for they rest from their labors" "over
there." No grief or sorrow, for
"Earth haw no POrrOVie heaven cannot heal, -
It pays to be a Christian.—Adrance.
On the Down-Grade
An old California stage-driver was on
his death-bed. His eyes were closed. his
hands were cold. He was rapidly reach
ing the "station" at the end of his "run"
of life. A friend standing by observed
that the dying man was moving his right
foot with a sort of convulsive jerk, and
said to him : "What's the matter?" The
dying stage-driver replied : "I'm on the
down grade, and I can't reach the brake."
1. Death comes to all. No will-power
of man can resist it. After the most faith
ful effort to reach the heights of middle
life; after the steadiest pressure on the
"brakes" to ease the descent to death,
there comes a moment when the foot re
fuses to obey the will, when the "brake"
slips from our cold, and we glide down to
our doom of death. This is invarible and
2. Tho tendency of sin is downward.
It sweeps the soul on a swift current. Sin
runs on a down grade all the way. The
descent may be slow, and at first impercep
tible, but it is sure, and at every step the
downward inclination increases and the
movement becomes more rapid. It is very
deceptive, often delightful, but unarrested
it is camning. How terrible to find one's
self on the "downward grade" at the end
3. The hold upon the "brake" lost !
How terrible ! The frantic steeds press on.
The unlightened load pushes upon them.
The deep chasm now yawns on this side,
and now on that. The stage reels. The
passengers shriek out in agony of fear and
then of despair. Convulsively the driver
reaches after the lost brake. It is in vain.
Too late! The speed of this chariot of
death cannot ba checked. The ruin is ir
retrievable. Habit is master now. Pas
sion is master now. The will is demoral
ized. Hope is gone. Strength is gone.
Time wasted, returns no more. Down.
down, down ! A cry ! A leap ! Darkness!
Silence !—Sunday School Journal.
MILD persuasion is the only means of
reaching a man's inner self. "Round came
the north wind and swept down upon the
rosebud, saying: 'Give me a kiss.' But
the rosebud answered 'No !' Round came
the east wind and swept down upon the
rosebud, saying: 'Give me a kiss.' But
the rosebud answered •No !' Then the
south wind, blowing mildly and lovingly,
and the rosebud kissed it."—Beeclmer.
CIVILIZATION is man's stru»ale upward ;
in which millions are trampled to death
that thousands may mount on their bodies.