The Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1871-1904, November 29, 1871, Image 1

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    .. 46,
luntingdon Journal,
Cdrner of Bathand Wanhington street:.
(TINGDON JOURNAL is published every
, by J. It. Dull!wallow and J. A. NASH,
rm name of J. R. Drunonnow Co., at
mum, IN ADVANCE, or $2,50 if not paid
nonths from date of subscription, and
.id within the year.
• discontinued, unless at the option of
ere, until all arrearages are paid.
CISEMENTS will be inserted at Tax
line for each of the first four insertions,
ears per line for each subsequent inner
an three months.
monthly and yearly advertisements will
at the following rates:
3miGml 9ml
T.TO TOCI - 11 - 147/0 rT !Ira
E .Xl l lO 00 1201$ " 24 00 86.0 201 65
10 00,14 00,18 00 4 34 00 110 00 65 80
14 00:20 00,21 00
18 00 1 25 00130 00 1 col 36 00 60 00 80 100
notices will be inserted at TWELVE AND
;Ts per line, and local and editorial no-
TEEN curs per line.
. . • .•
lotions of As'sociations, Communications
m individual interest, and notices of Mar-
Deaths, exceeding five lines, will be
N CENTS per line.
d other notices will be charged to the
ng them inserted.
ing Agents must find their commission
these figures.
rasing accounts are doe and collectable
irertisement is once inserted.
.INTING of every kind, in Plain and
trs, done with neatness and dispatch.—
, Wanks, Cards, Pamphlets, so., of every
d style, printed at the shortest notice,
thing in the Printing line will he execu
most artistic manner and at tho lowest
Professional Cards.
iNGATE, Surveyor, Warriors
ark, Pa. [apl2,'7l.
jALDIVELL, Attorney -at -Law,
. 111, 31 greet. Office formerly occupied
. Woods I Williamson. [apl2,'7l.
Tactfully offers his professional servicts
zoos of Huntingdon and vicinity.
moved to No. 61St Hill street, (Sutra's
I. C. FLEMMING respectfully
re his professional services to the citizens
gdon and vicinity. Office second floor of
am's building, on corner of 4th and Ilill
may 24.
D. P. MILLER, Office on Hill
sect, in the room formerly occupied by
M'Culloch, Huntingdon, Pa., would roe
offer hie profeeeional services to the citi
untingdon and vicinity. Dan.4,"11.
A. B. BRUMBAUGH, offers his
ofeaeional eerrioca to the community.
No. 52:3 Washington street, one door cast
tholio Parsonage. pan. 4,71.
Office re
ig, street
. GREENE, Dentist.
toved to Leieter's new buildil
4. ROBB, Dentist, office in S. T.
Brown's new building, No. 520, Hill St.,
lon, Pa. [spl2,7l.
}LAZIER, Notary Public, corner
of Washington and Smith streets, Hun-
Pa. Dan.l2ll.
C. MADDEN, Attorney-at-Law.
Office, No. —, Hill street, Huntingdon,
YLVANUS BLAIR, Attorney-at
mw, Huntingdon, Ps. Office, Hill street,
,rs west of Smith. Dan.4'7l.
PATTON, Druggist and Apoth
esry, opposite the Exchange Hotel, Hun
. Pa. Prescriptions accurately compounded.
Lama for Medicinal purposes. [n0v.23,'70.
[ALL MUSSER, Attorney-at-Law,
fo. 319 Hill greet. [jan.4,7l.
t. DURBORROW, Attorney-at
•w, Huntingdon, Pa., will practice in the
!lends of Huntingdon county. Particular
a given to the settlement of estates of dece-
in he Jounnst Building. [feb.l,ll
L. POLI:OCK, Surveyor and Real
Estate Agent, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend
eying in all its branches. Will also buy,
rent Farms, Houses, and Real Estate of er
in any part of the United States. Send
ranker. fian.47l.
W. MATTERN, Attorney-at-Law
and General Claim Agent, Huntingdon, Pa.,
claims against the Government for back
nnty, widows' and invalid pensions attend
ith great care and promptness.
on Hill street.
ALLEN LOVELL, Attorney-at-
Law, Huntingdon Pa. Special attention
o COLLECTIONS of a ll kinds ; to the settle
r Estates ' &c.; and all other Legal Business
.ted with fidelity and dispatch.
Office in room lately occupied by R. Milton
Meg. [jnn.4,'7l.
228 MS Street,
5, '7l-Iy.
[LES ZENTMYER, Attorney-at-
Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend promptly
egal businexa. Office in Canningham'e new
3g. rian.4,'7l.
DJ. & M. S. LYTLE, Attorneys
at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend to
ds of legal business entrusted to their care.
m on the south side of Hill street. fourth door
f Smith. [jan.4,'7t.
A. ORBISON, Attorney-at-Law,
Office, 321 Hill street, Huntingdon, Pa.
torneys-at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Pensions,
11 claims of soldiers and soldiers' heirs against
oyornment will be promptly prosecuted.
co on Hill street. Dan. 4,71.
W. MYTON, Attorney-at-Law, Hun
. tingdon, Pa. Offioo with J. Sowell Stewart,
Dan. 4,11.
at-Law Huntingdon, Pa. Special attention
. to collections, and all other lagal business
ded to with care and promptness. Office, No.
Hill street. [ap 19,71.
CHANGE HOTEL, Huntingdon,
Pa. JOHN S. MILLER, Proprietor.
unary 4, 1871.
LAIN A CO., PRonuerons.
lOBT. KING, Merchant Taylor, 412
V Washington street, Huntingdon, Pa., a lib
share of patronage respectfully solioited.
pril 12, 1871.
r• of Locomotive and Stationary Boilers, Tanks,
es, Filling-Barrows for Furnaces, and Sheet
I Work of every description. Wor ksl on Logan
et, Lewistown, Pa.
11 orders pr-elptly attended to. Repairing
e at short flows. [Apr 6,'71,1y.•
r -
• 2-
I' 3
T he
1 _
I Lon
New Advertisements.
Office corner ol Washington and Bath Sta.,
____ :o: _
$2.00 per annum in advance. $2 50
within six months. $3.00 if not
paid within the year.
-:o:- -
Our facilities for doing all kinds of Job
Printing superior to any other establish
ment in the county. Orders by mail
promptly filled. All letters should be ad
A tiny, slender, silken thread
Is friendship, and we make it
Bind hearts and lives to hearts and lives ;
But e'en a breath may shake it,
And oft it takes but one wee word—
But one wee word—to break it!
It draws the lips iu smlling shape,
It draws the look of pleasure
From eye to eye when hands touch hands.
When two hearts hea - s one measure;
And draws a meaning from a word
Which makes that word a treasure.
Like string of a tuneful harp or lute
Between glad souls 'tis holden,
Acd love's fond fingers on the thread
Makes music rare and golden—
Make music such as tender hearts
Could live, and nc'er grow old, in.
But if a breath may shake it, lct
That breath come near it never;
And never spoken be that word
Which friendship's tie might sere
But let the chord grow stronger till
The dawning of Forever.
g , lolß-17:tiler.
• -:o:-
Settlers along the banks of the Warlopa
River, in Texas, had been 'v sled to a
pitch bordering on frenzy. For a long
time the Comanche Indians had been com
mitting depredations of a fearful character,
and it was evident that an open warfare
must ensue. The savages must be exter
minated, or nearly so; else the white luau
would be driven trout his home, or butch
ered upon its threshold.
A settlement of some thirty cabins bad
been formed upon' the Warlopa ; and fbr
its protection, and the sakty of its inhab
itants iu case of an attack, a blockhouse
had been erected on the bank of the river.
It was a strong building, surrounded by a
high stockade, and front within, a handful
of men could defend themselves against
hundreds of their savage foes. It was well
supplied with provisions and ammunition,
several large hogshead containing water
were placed within reach, in case an at
tacking party would resort to fire.
The settlers were anticipating an attack
that very night, and were new- busily en
gaged in moving the women and children
and such articles of household goods that
could be carried without the use of teams.
Scarcely had the settlers with. their fami
lies secured themselves within their strong
hold, when a wild cry was raised, and the
white men gathered around the remains of
one of their neighbors who had just, been
brought in front a distant field. The body
had been so horribly multilated that it was
scarcely , recognizable; bat' it was discov
ered to be that of George Maloy, a gentle
man highly esteemed by all. He had left
home but a few hours before to look after
his cattle, and this was all that remained
to tell the story of his butchery.
Revenge was pictured upon every face, and
each hand clasped tighter the rifle it held.
Then the shout burst forth, "death to the
red devils—death to Comanches !"
"Death and extermination to the ac
cursed Comanches!" repeated Colonel John
Pool. "But we must act with prudence,
boys. They are strong; at present we are
weak. We must all remain in the block
house to-night, but I expect the boys who
are coming to join us from the Valley will
be here by daylight, if not before. We
can count thew at least, three hundred
with brave hearts and steady nerves. We
will march into the very heart of the ene
my's country, and with rifle, knife and fire
teach those red devils a lesson they wilt
never forget."
A mild cheer followed this bri. f addreE.s,
but the sound W 29 given back by the wild
shrieks of women and children. Every
eye was turned in the direction whence the
voices came. Out of the block house came
women and children in the wildest confu
sion and fright, running in all directions
to escape a fury that the settlers had not
y 4 seen ; but it was understood at once
that the savages were at their hellish work.
"Look well to your weapons, boys, and
be ready for any emergency," said Colonel
Pool, as ho cocked his rifle. "We may
have hot work soon, follow me."
The flying women were met and ques
tioned. They stated that the savages had
got within, the stockade unobservca, while
the settlers were viewing the remains of
Maley, and were preparing to burn the
stock: . house. That this was true became
apparent, for the flames were now seen to
leap up, encircling the main building with
in the stockade.
"forward, men!" cried the Colonel.
And in a few moments the settlers had
reached the burning mass. It was found
impossible to save it, so completely was the
stronghold enveloped in the devouring ele
But now a new horror presented itself.
Upon the very top of the middle building
a female form was seen clinging to the
flagstaff. The flames leaping around her.
She glanced down on a seething furnace
beneath her, and made a movement as if
to make a fearful leap to the earth; but
she paused; that would be certain death.
The distance was some forty feet, and all
within the stockade was a glowing mass,
where brushwood had been heaped by the
savages to facilitate the burning. Almost
every one of those hardy men held their
breath in agony of suspense; but a few
voices exclaimed : "My God, it is Jennie
Moore !"
We must speak in detail of Jennie. She
was the daughter of one of the settlers;
she was a little wild and romantic, but
high-toned and generous. Indeed, sonic
of her acts of kindness had won the regard
of a number of Lapan Indians, who joined
the pale faces in consequence, becoming
their that friends. Several of them were
now present, and they almost worshipped
the maiden. Their admiration was equal
to their affection ; for Jennie could ride
the wildest colt, handle her bridle skillful
ly, or drive a canoe equal to a Comanche.
She was fearless as a warrior, yet tender
and sympathetic as a maiden could be.
Warlopa, a Comanche chief, had seen
her, and becoming enamored with her
beauty, had sworn to capture her and make
her his wife. At these threats the girl
laughed, for they did not trouble her in
the least. Not so with her parents ; for
they felt an anxiety lest Warlopa should
attempt to carry out his threat.
During the afternoon of this eventful
day Jennie bad left the lower apartments
of the stock house and ascended to the
roof. Here she remained gazing on the
magnificent prospect spread out before her.
Being atigued with her labor she had RC
complished during the forenoon in assist
ing the settlers to prepare for the attack,
she fell asleep. After a time she was
aroused by shouts. She sprang to her feet
and listened, :or below she heard voices.
Looking down she saw half a dozen of
the dusky fiends at work within the stock
ade, and then the flames Leaped around the
building. She was within the circle of the
Quickly she descended the ladder, and
reaching the lower apartment, she found
hernAf confronted by a large savage, who
saw her. Ewe in the glare, and recognizing
her, he exclaimed:
-Ali, good ! me take you to the chief,
Indian attempted to seizo her
.:nn up the ladder again.
• Indian quickly followed. She
tea t•i the roof, and as the Indian at
teen through the roof she
: ; ..ger in his heart, and he fell
was now a dangerous one.
The flames were leaping around her, and
the apartment below was dense with smoke.
liothing daunted, she once descended the
the ladder. But upon reaching the lower
100155 she f.:11 senseless from sutthcation.
When Colonel John Pool discovered the
situation of Jennie he exclaimed :
There is but lithe hope, but
ist save her or perish w:th her,'
Wantoni, one of the Lapan Indians, at
this juncture dashed forward and held the
Colonel Iron rushing into the burning
mass, exclaiming as he did so:
"41rautuni's life is nothing; Colonel's
everything. Ile must lead his whitb broth
er against the enemy. If she can be saved,
I save--I go."
Wantonitiashed forward. It was with
diffiealty that the Colonel v..s.s restrained
from nllowing, but he felt the uselessness
of the effort 011 his part, so he remained a
The Indian darted into the burning
mass, and was lost to view. He was se
verely burned, but be succeeded in reach
ing the lower apartment. It was quite
light., and ha saw the form of the maiden
stretched on the ground. He caught her
in his arms, but he well knew that it would
be almost certain death to return the way
he came. But his plans were formed in
an instant. Into the ditch he plunged,
and crawled forward with his precious
burden, taking care to keep her bead above
water. Onward he struggled, and soon he
passed the stockade, and reached the river.
tie was now quite deep in the water, but
he quickly rose to the surface, only to find
himself in close proximity to a canoe con
taining a Comanche. He was discovered,
and a tomahawk buried deep into his brain,
he sank bock dead. Jennie was lifted into
the canoe, but she was still unconscious.
She was quickly borne to the other side
of the river, and then handed over to War
loin, who detailed two of his warriors to
guard her.
. When the watchers saw that Wantoni
did not return, they gave up all as lost,
believing that he had perished in the flames
together with Jennie.
But it was now tithe to prepare fur self
defence, for the river was now filled with
canoes. The savages were advancing to
give them battle. One of the largest dwell
ings were selected, and here the defenders
took their stand. The fight soon began,
and ciaro.e after charge was made by the
Comanches, but without avail. Many of
their warriors had fallen beneath the un
erring rifles of the avengers. This mad
dened the foe, and they resolved to use
fire. Soon every cabin was in flames, save
that occupied by the defenders. The sight
was a mournful one to all but the savages,
who danced around in devilish glee.
Presently a terrible volley was opened
upon • the redskins. It came from the
woods close at hand. The besieged knew
that assistance had arrived, and they dart
ed from the cabin, while a cheer burst
from their lips. It was answered by a ter
rible shout;
.and now the unseen party ap
The savageshad already taken to flight,
leaving a large number of killed behind
them. They plunged into the river, and
gained the opposite bank as best they
could, not even pausing there, but pushing
rapidly towards their stronghold in the
Those who had so timely arrived were
weary with their long march and required
a few hours rest. But it was decided to
fillow up the Comanches without neces
sary delay. Daylight came, and a search
was made among the ruins of the block
house. The•charred remains of an Indian
were fund, but it was decided that it was
not Wantoni. Nothing could be discov
ered of Jennie.
Soon after the body of the friendly In
dian was found, and the manner of his
death was plain. Here was a mystery.
At ten o'clock that day over three hun
dred well-armed, determined avengers set
out for the camp of Warlopa. They cal
culated, from the distance, that they would
be able to reach it by dark the second
evening. "No quarter to the accursed
Comanches," was the watchword. They
felt confident of success. The friendly
Lapans acted as guides.
When Jennie Moore found herself really
a captive, she did not give away to grief as
most maidens would have done. On the
contrary, she was very cheerful, and often
burst out in a song, making the mountains
and valleys echo again. She had a double
motive in this.. In the first place it pleas
ed the savages; and in the next. place, if
friends were following her, they might
hear her and recognize her voice.
When it was over the chief said: "White
Bird sings well—she must become my
'•When do you propose to do me that
honor ?''
"To-night !" she repeated, with a shud
der, as she gazed around.
The chief seemed to divine her thought,
and continued : "Yes, to-night you rest in
Warlopa's arms. You cannot escape, and
your frowns will not avail. lam a great
chief. My lodge is black with scalps of
the pale face ; my hands are red with
their blood. The pale maiden's chief is
dead. I killed him. Ile is gone to the
hunting grounds. Pale face maiden see
him 110 more."
"Did you kill Colonel Pool ?" she ask
ed, her eyes flashing fire.
"Ough !"
"And my father and mother ?"
"All fell beneath the hatchet of the red
man. Your valley is laid bare. In the
ashes of your home lay all that you love.
Where stood the pale faces of yesterday is
now smouldering ashes of their homes.—
Pale maiden's friends are gone. She will
see them no more.
For some time Jennie remained silent,
and several tear drops'fell front her eyes.
But she became suddenly cheerful again and
NOVEMBER 29, 1871.
said : "Well, if I have lost ail, I suppose
I may as well be content to live a wild
life, and I have no doubt but that I can
find much enjoyment. I think I shall
make a capital Indian wife. You don't
know what I can do. Why, I venture to
say I can beat you with a rifle now."
"Ough !"
"Don't you believe me ?" she cried.—
"Well, we will see. Take your weapon
and eplit yonder sapling with the bullet."
The chief' fired, but missed his mark.
Jennie laughed derisively, and exclaim
ed :
"Now load and let me try."
The rifle was charged and handed her.
A large number of warriors were watch
ing her. She raised the weapon to her
shoulder, and aimed toward the sapling.
No one dreamed of her intentions. She
hesitated a moment, and while still retain
ing her position, hissed through her teeth .
"Chief, your lodge is black with the
scalps of the pale Lees, your hands are
red with their blood. You killed the pale
face chief, my father, mother and lover.
Now receive your reward."
Quick as thought she changed the direc
tion of her rifle, and fired. Warlopa ut
tered a howl and fell back dead. The he
roic maiden had shot him through the
For a time the savages did not utter a
sound—they appeared to be stricken dumb
with surprise. But soon they recovered,
and the most fiendish yells burst forth.—
It seemed that she would be instantly torn
to pieces, but an Indian interposed and
saved her. She was lashed to a tree, and
brushwood heaped around her. She felt
that there was no hope, and she resolved
to meet death without exhibiting any
The sun was low in the west. The
avengers had pushed forward with all pos
sible speed, and had arrived within half a
mile of the camp. It had been decided to
delay the attack until midnight.
.. •
K. guide was sent ahead to reconnoitre.
He stealthily approached the camp, and at
a glance saw what had transpired. He was
satisfied what the result would be, so he
hastened back and informed his friends.
An advance was immediately ordered,
and it was not long before three hundred
rifles were leveled in deadly aim at the
hearts of the Comanches, while they were
still unconscious of danger. Then came
the volley, followed by a charge, deadly in
its results. The Indians attempted resis
tance, but it was a feeble one and brief.—
Many of their number escaped by flight,
but the dead coo ered the ground in every
That lesson and the one received at the
settlement were indeed salutary ones, and
the Comanches did not soon venture to
niolest the white man again.
The joy of Jennie was great when she
found that her Parents and hor lover were
still alive; and the joy they experienced
at the recovery of their treasure was no
less than her own,
ai,eading for tie qi; 'Mon.
A Strange Tale
- T5O following adventure happened in
Bath, England, many years ago, and the
lady who narrated it to the writer, was, in
those days, a young girl staying in the
house. It was in the palmy days of Bath,
when that now fallen city rivalled London
in brilliancy and dissipation ; and when
all the rich, the gay, and the high-born of
England congregated there in the season,
and graced the balls and assemblies, Mrs.
It—, once the belle of the court of George
111., but at this period gradually retiring
from general society, possessed one of the
largest of the old houses, and gave in it
entertainments, which were the most pop
ular of the day. She was celebrated fur
three things (once for four, but the fourth
—her beauty—was of the days gone by) :
these things were her fascination, her be:
• nevolence, and—a set of the most match
less and perfect amethises. Her house
contained tapestried chambers. The walls
of the one in which she slept was hung
around with designs from heathen mytho
logy, and the finest piece in the room was
that which hung over her dressing table.
It represented Phesbus driving the chariot
of the sun. The figures and horses being
life-size, it filled up the space between the
two windows, and the horses were conceal
ed behind the old-fashioned Venitian look
ing-glan, while Phoebus himself, six feet
high, looked down by day and by night
on his mistress at her toilet.
One evening Mrs. It-had an unusial
large party at home. She wore all her
amethysts. On retiring to her room, about
four o'clock in the morning, she took off
her jewels, laid them on the table, and dis
missed her weary maid, intending to put
them away herself, but before doing so
knelt down, as usual, to say her prayers.
While engaged in her devotions, it was a
habit with her to look upward, and the
face of Phoebus was generally her point of
sight, as it were and the object on which
her eyes most easily rested. On this par
ticular night, as usual, she raised her eyes
to Phoebus. What does she see ? Has
Pygmation been at work ? Has he filled
those dull silk eyes with vital lire? Or
is she dreaming ? No. Possessed natur
ally of wonderful courage and calmness,
she continued to move her lips as if in
silent prayer, and never once withdrew
her gaze; and still the eyes looked down
upon hers. The light of her candles
shone distinctly on living orbs, and her
good keen sight enabled her, after a clev
erly managed scrutiny, to see that the ta
pestry eyes of Phoebus had been cut on:,
and that, with her door locked, and every
servant in bed in their distant apartments,
and all her jewels spread out before her,
she was not alone in the room. She con
cluded her prayers with her face sunk in
her hands. We can well imagine what
those prayers must have been. She knew
there was some one behind the tapestry;
ale knew that bells and screams were
equally useless ; and she laid down in her
bed as usual and waited the issue, her
only omission being that she did not put
away her jewels. "They may save my
life she said to herself; and she closed her
eyes. The clock struck five before a
sound was heard, and then the moment
arrived. She heard a rustle, a descent
from behind the tapestry, and a man stood
at her dressing-table. He took . off his
coat, and one by one he secured the jewels
beneath his waistcoat. What would be
his next move? Would it be to the bed
side or to the window ? Ho turned and
approached her bedside ; but by that time
she had seen enough, and again closed her
eyes and resigned herself to the Providence
whose protection she had been craving.
The man was her own coachmen. Ap
parently satisfied by a brief glance under
his dark lantern that he had not disturbed
her, he quietly unlocked the door and left
her. For two hours, they must have seem
ed two days—she allowed the house to re
main unalarmed, her on!y movement hav
ing been to relock the door which her liv
ing Pho3bus bad left ajar. At seven in
the morning she rang the bell, and or
dered the carriage round ju-t after break
fast. All this was according to her usual
habits. On he box was the man who
had cost her a night's rest and most pro
pably all her jewels. However, she drove
off; she went straight to the house of a
''Seize my coachman !" said she ; secure
him and search him. I have been robbed,
and I hardly think he has had time to dis
encumber himself of the jewels he has
taken from mc."
She was obeyed, and she was right.
The amethysts were still about him, and
lie gave himself to without a struggle.
Corporal Punishment,
The relation of teacher and scholar is
greatly misunderstood, both on the part of
parents and teachers. Yet, it should not
even be debatable, because of its everyday
life. It is decided by the courts, that it
is the business of the teacher to exact
obedience in school, and it is his legal right.
"Ae must exercise reasonable judgment
and discretion in determining, when to
punish and to what extent." Various
reasons unite to make him-the best judge
of the occasion and extent.
"To furnta correct opinion as to the ne
cessity and extent of the punishment, con
siderable allowance should be made to the
teacher by way of protecting him in the
exercise of his discretion. Hence the
teacher is not liable on the grounds of
excess cf punishment, unless it is clearly
excessive. If there is any reasonable
doubt whether the punishment was ex
cessive, the teacher should have the bene
fit of the doubt."
He to the effect of marks made in whip
ping, the following case is the ruling one
on record :
A lady in New York punished a mill
child to such an extent as to leave marks,
all of which were of such a character as
to pass away and leave no permanent in
jury. The judge instructed the jury that
if they believed the child (six or seven
years old) had been whipped so as to leave
marks, the teacher was guilty of assault
and battery. Under the charge the jury
found the lady guilty, but she appealed to
a higher court, in which Judge Gaston in
au able and exhaustive opinion reversed
the decision of the court below. Hear
him :
"But any correction, how ever severe,
which produces temporary pain only, and no
permanent ill. cannot be pronounced im
moderate, since it may have been necessa
ry for the reformation of the child, and
does not injuriously affect its future wel
fare, Within the sphere of his authority
the matter is the judge when correction is
required, and of the degree of correction
necessary; and like all others trusted with
a discretion, he cannot be made penally
responsible for error of judgment, but only
for wickedness of purpose. There was an
error in the instruction given to the jury,
that if the child was whipped by the de
fendant, so as to occasion marks, the teach
er had exceeded her authority and was
guilty as charged. The marks were all
temporary, and in a short time disappear
ed. no permanent injury was done to the
This is the law in Pennsylvania, and
prosecutors will not find it an easy matter
to get this decision reversed by any court
in the State.
The Contented Man
A wealthy epicure applied toan Arabian
doctor for a prescription that would restore
his body to health and give happiness to
his mind. The physician advised him to
exchange shirts with a man who was per
fectly contented with his lot, upon which
the patient set out upon his journey in
pursuit . of such a person. After many
months spent without accomplishing his
object, he was told of a certain cobbler of
whom every one had spoken as a model
of contentment and happiness. Pursuing
the direction given, the traveller was pleas
ed with the sight of the cobbler enjoying
a comfortable nap on a board. Without
ceremony he was aroused from his slum
bers, and the important interrogatory,
whether he was contented with his lot was
answered in the affirmative.
"Then," said the seeker after happiness,
"I have one small boon to ask at your
hands. It is that you exchange shirts
with me, that by this means I also may
become contented and happy."
"Most gladly would I accede to your
request, "replied the cobbler, '.but—"
"Nay, refuse me not," interrupted the
man of wealth ; "any slim thou mayest
name shall be thine."
"I seek no thy wealth, "said the cob
bler, "butHaut—"
"But what ?"
"The truth is—l have no shirt!"
Borrowing Trouble,
What a vast proportion of our lives
is spent in anxious and useless forebodings
concerning the future—either our own or
that of our dear ones. Present joys, pre
sent blessings slip by, and we lose half
their sweet flavor, and all for the want of
faith in Him who provides for the tiniest
insect in the sunbeams. Oh, when shall
we learn the sweet trust in God that our
little children teach us every day, by their
confiding faith in us ? We who are so
mutable, so faulty, so irritable, so unjust ;
and Be, who is so watchful, so pitiful, so
loving, so forgiving Why cannot we.
slipping our hand in His each day, walk
trustingly over that day's appointed path,
thorny or flowery, crooked or straight,
knowing that evening will bring us sleep,
and peace, and home. Why toil distrust
fully to gather up manna for days yet to
come, when every dewy morning shall
find it freshly sprinkled at our feet ?
When we do get near "our Father" how
wonderful seems this our distrust—how
our eyes overflow, that we could make so
mean a return for that all-embracing, all
bountiful, generous kindness, which is
measureless as the ocean, though our short
comings are numerous as its tossing waves.
LET him have his own way; allow him
free use of money; suffer him to rove where
he pleases on the Sabbath day; give him
free access to wicked companions;call him
to no account for his evenings ; furnish him
with no stated employmet. Pursue any
one of these ways, and you will experience
a most marvellous deliverance if you have
not to mourn over a debased and ruined
child. Thousands have realized the sand
result, and have gone mourning to their
THERE are 16,671 dogs taxed in Ver
mont this year at $1 each.
Pain @gainful.
Arresting Hemorrhage
A large number of de4ths from wounds
might be prevented if the means were im
mediately at hand for stopping the flow of
blood from some artery. In any case the
loss of blood is a disaster from which it
takes a long time to recover. The means
to be taken to save life must be adopted
instantly, before a surgeon can be called,
and therefore ought to be commonly un
derstood. Bleeding from a vein is of little
comparative consequence; that from an
artery is indicated at once by coming in
jets at each beat of the heart, and being et
a bright scarlet color instead of purple.—
If the wound be of such a character that
the end of the artery can be seen, it can
be readily taken up with a hook or sharp
pointed fork by any one who keeps his
wits about him in spite of the sudden
alarm, and tied with a strong thread. Oth
erwise, tie the limb between the wound
and the heart, the simplest device being to
bind the handkerchief around and run
stick beneath the knot, twisting it up unti.
the requisite pressure be attained to stop
the bleeding. Every intelligent person
should make it his business to learn prac
tically from some medical friend the best
method of thus extemporizing a tourniquet,
and the places where the compress is best
applied A little knowledge of this kind
will not unfiequently go a great way in
saving the life of a friend.
Ordinary bleeding from small cuts or
injuries may be stopped by cold water or
pressure until a clot has had time to form.
The wisdom of our Maker has made this
wonderful provision, that as soon as blood
ceases to circulate in its proper channels,
or comes in contact with the air, it will
coagulate. By this means a plug is form
ed at the mouth of an open vessel to stop
the flow of blood. Cold water and various
other styptics, like sulphate of iron, tannin,
alum, and matica hasten this result.—
Home and Health.
There are two forms of croup—the
spasmodic and pseudo-membranous. Tile
former occurs suddenly; the child usually
awakening from a sleep with a shrill,
hoarse cough, and difficulty of breathing.
It is the result of a spasmodic affection of
the muscles of the thrc at, caused by reflex .
nervous excitement produced by a vitiated
condition of the stomach or over excite.
ment of the brain and spinal marrow. A
hot bath, cold pack to the throat, and a
few draughts of cold water will usually re
lieve it. If this should not succeed, four
or five drops of the tincture of lobelia may
be administered on a little sugar every ten
or fifteen minutes, when the disease will
Pseudo-membranous croup is first mani
fested by slight chills and lever, soreness
of the throat, hoarseness, hurried respira
tion, quick pulse, and general febrile ex
citement. The child is generally better
during the day ; but worse at night, when
the hoarseness increases and a croupy,
troublesome cough, accompanied by Mt ex
pectoration of a tough, viscid mucous oc
curs. These symptoms are increased until
the false membrane accumulates in the
trachea, or upper portion of the windpipe,
and the patient dies from asphyxia. It is
the result of an inflammation of the mucous
membrane of the upper air-passage. The
treatment consists in a hot bath, hot packs
applied to the throat, a mitt lobelia emet
ic followed by ten grains of quinine, two
grains of pulverized sanguinaria canadensis
or blood-root, made into ten powders and
one given every hour in a teaspoonful of
sweetened vinegar and water. As soon as
the powders have been taken one teaspoon
ful of reetic syrup of sanguinaria should
be given every half hour. The patient
should be kept quiet in bed, and be al
lowed only boiled milk or rice and milk as
A Small Pox Remedy
A correspondent writes as follows : "I
herewith append a recipe which has been
used, to my knowledge, in a hundred ca
ses. It will prevent or cure the small pox.
though the pittings are filling. When
Jenner discovered cow-pox in England, the
world of science hurled an avalanche upon
his head; but when the most scientific
school of medicine in the world—that of
Paris—published that recipe as a panacea
for small pox, it passed unheeded. It is as
unfailing as fate, and conquers in every
instance. It is harmless when taken by a
"It will also cure scarlet fever. Here
is the recipe as I have used it, and cured
my children of scarlet fever; here it is as
I have used it to cure small pox ; when
learned physicians said the patient must
die. it cured : Sulphate of zinc, one grain;
foxglove (digitalis), one grain ; half a tea
spoonful of sugar; mix with two table
spoonful of Water. When thoroughly
mixed, add four ounces of water. Take a
spoonful every hour. Either disappears in
twelve hours. For a child, smaller doses,
according to age. If countries would com
pel their physicians to use this, there would
be no need of pest houses. If you value
advice and experience, use this for that
terrible disease."—N. Y. Uitizen.
Turpentine in Headache,
Dr. Warburton Begbie, in the Men
burgh Medical Journal, reccommelids the
use of turpentine in the severe headache
which is apt to oocur in nervous and hys
terial women. "There is," he says, "an
other class of sufferers from headache,
and this is composed of both sexes, who
may be relieved by turpentine. I refer to
the frontal headache, which is most apt to
occur after prolonged mental effort, but
may likewise be induced by unduly-sits
tained physical exertion, what may be
styled the headache of a fatigued brain. A
cup of very strong tea often relieves this
form of headache; but this remedy, with
not a few, is perilous, for, bringing retie,
to pain, it may produce general restless
ness, and—worst of all—banish sleep.
Turpentine, in doses of twenty or thirty
minams, given at intervals of an hour or
two, will not only remove the headache,
but produce, in a wonderful manner, that
soothing influence in which reference has
already been made."
P F. Whitehead has recently prescribed
for a patient with hiccough, which had
continued for 36 hours. Various remedies
were used with but little good effect, save
a temporary cessation by the use of mor
phine hypodermically. Thirty grains of
chloral hydrate gave immediate and per
manent relief.—Lancet.
DON'T be afraid of fresh air.
NO. 47.
Zlit *Agit eircit.
'Tis But a Drop.
"Tis but a drop," the father said,
And gave it to his son ;
But little did he think a work
Of death was then begun.
The "drop" that lured him, when the babe
Scarce lisped his father's name,
Planted his fatal appetite
. Deep in his infant frame.
'Tis but a drop," the comrades cried,
In truant schoolboy tone ;
"It did not hurt us in our robes—
It will not, now we're grown,"
And so they drank the mixture up,
That reeling, youthful band;
And each hbd learned to love the taste
From his own father's hand.
" ' Tis but a drop, I need it now,"
The staggering drunkard said;
It was my food in infancy—
My meat, and drink, and bread.
A drop—a drop—oh l let me have,
'Twill so refresh my soul!"
He took it—trembled—drank, and died,
Grasping the flowing bowl.
Family Worship.
We read that Abraham, the father of
the faithful went down into Egypt, being
driven thither by famine. Success at
tended him there, so that he increased in
wealth, but it was not like Canaan, the
land which he had left, the land which
God had shown him, the land'of promise;
he sojourned there for a season only, and
then returned to the place where he had for
merly resided. A pleasant and instructive
account of that return we have in the
words : "Abraham went to Bethel, the
place where his tent had been from the
beginning, unto the place of the altar
which he bad made there from the first,
or beginning, and there called he on the
name of the Lord." It seems that the
place where his taut was, his altar was;
that no sooner did he pitch his tent for
himself than be erected an altar for God.
This was as it should be. The tent and
the altar should go together. The dwell
ing for a family should have its altar,
around which the members of the house
worship God. This was Abraham's opin
ion and practice. Family worship there
fore is no new thing. It is as old as the
days of father Abraham. It is the good
old way in which the patriarchs walked.
We read of the altar that Isaac raised at
Beersheeba. Jacob also, whenever he
fixed Isis habitation, did the same. And
David the sweet singer of Israel, was care
ful to return from the public duties of
state, to perform the more pleasing duty
of praying with his family ; for we have
.t upon r -cord, 1 Chron. xvr, 43, that
when on a certain occasion he had been
assisting at a great and solemn ceremony,
the removal of the ark from the house of
Obededom to the place prepared for it,
and "all the people departed every man to
his house, David returned to bless his
household." These examples of Abraham,
Isaac, Jacob and David, have been follow
ed by believers ever since. And it is cer
tainly a duty recognized and enjoined by
the sacred scriptures; for those who keep
up the service of prod with_ their JaLA:m,
We find inspiration t7rnsineila7iLita
those who neglect to do it, he threatens
"The curse of the Lord is in the house of
the wicked, but he blesseth the habitation
of the just."
What is Happiness?
That depends much upon organization
and development. Happiness, speaking
in the true sense of the word, increases as
sensibility develops, and decreases as ex
citability grows. The activity of thesower
forces of mind partakes strongly of the
physical excitement; whereas the activity
of the higher group is higher, more natu
ral, less excitable, and more enjoyable.
The more excitement there is in pleasure,
the more it is adulterated. Those low in
the scale of development define happiness
as a "good time," where joviality and up
roarious boisterousness rule the hour;
while the person of higher development
might not be able to find more happiness
than in the woods, silent and alone, medi
tating, as with a book before him, yet there
may be no more than the grandeur of
nature to be teen. Let a picnic of rougsh
go into the woods one day; and one com
posed of the most cultivated classes—ar
tists, poets, philosophers, statesmen, &c.—
on the next. A better illustration could
not be found. The highest pleasures tran
quilize, and the lowest excite and intoxi
cate. The happiness of life will depend
upon where a wan places his centre. If
he makes his centre in the basilar faculties
he will reap corruption ; if he makes the
centre in the coronal faculties he will reap
life everlasting. The great majority of
men would be satisfied if they could have
warmth, joy, food, sleep, and the excite
ment of war or intoxication. The human
system cannot generate enough of happi
ness to fill out the whole being. All our
faculties cannot operate at once. There
fore distributive and successive happiness
is the order of nature; and this distribu
tion must take place on settled principles.
Every man ought to determine what part
of his mind he will live by. The great
majority of men live in the cellar of the
soul. It is time that the parlor should be
more occupied, and books and pictures
and music take the place of whiskey bar
rels. potato bins, and park barrels.
Christian Work,
Begin at once with the work to be done.
In the family, the church, the neighbor
hood; in any and all the walks and ways
of life, begin at once and work on; there
is much to do. The summer is over, and
you have had many interruptions in reli
gious culture, within and without. Now
is the time to begin again, a work never
to be intermitted. Work at home, in your
own heart, or your temper, your personal
habits, your mode of speaking to inferiors
and equals , and try to be better every day
that you grow older. Do something daily
to make those at home more cheerful con
tented and happy. 'Let an atmosphere of
kindness and charity be around you al
ways, and others will breathe and be glad.
Do good in the neighborhood. -There
is never a time when you cannot find some
thing to do, if you want it. Charity never
You have w3rk to do in the Church.
The prayer-meeting, the mission, the Sun
day school—all ask your aid, and ought to
have it. If you are a church member, do
your duty, your whole duty, or else quit.
Be faithful with one talent or ten ; but do
something as well as you can.
It casts nothing, and it is worth every
thing, to be a faithful, working Christian,
always in your place, and always ready to
do with your might what your hand finds
to do. Work all the time. Even in play,
in rest, in recreation, so live as to be the
better for it, and to make others better.