VOL. 47-
The tfuntingdon Journal.
J. IL DUI:BORROW,
PCBLISIIERS AND PROPMETORS.
on the Corner of Bath and Washington streets.
Tug HUNTINGDON JOUDNAL is published every
Wednesday, by J. R. DURDOEROW and J. A. NAsu,
under the firm name of J. R. DIIIIDORIIOW IC CO., at
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JOB PRINTING of every kind, in Plain and
Fancy Colors, done with neatness and dispatch.—
Rand-bills, Blanks, Cards, Pamphlets, Ice. ' of every
variety and style, printed at the shortest notice,
ttnd every thing in the Printing line will be execu
ted in the most artistie manner and at the lowest
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Professional Cards
CALDWELL, Attorney -at -Law,
D•NO. 111, 31 street. °Mee formerly occupied
by Messrs. Woods ct Williamson. [apl2,'7l.
DR. R. R. WIESTLING,
respectfully offers his professional services
to the citizens of Huntingdon and vicinity.
Office removed to No. 818 i Hill street, (Sutra's
BUILDING.) [apr.s,ll-Iy.
DR. J. C. FLEMMING respectfully
offors his professional services to the citizens
of Huntingdon and vicinity. Office seggpd floor of
Cunningham's building, on corner of eh and Hill
Street. may 24
DR. D. P. MILLER, Office on Hill
street, in the room formerly occupied by
Dr. John WCulloch, Huntingdon, Pa., would res
pectfully offer his professional services to the citi
zens of Huntingdon and vicinity. [jan.4,'7l.
DR. A. B. BRUMBAUGH, offers his
professional services to the community.
Office, No. 523 Washington street, one door east
of the Catholic Parsonage. [jan.4,'7l.
EJ. GREENE, Dentist. Office re
• moved to Leister's new building,, Hill street
ITt,tingdon. [j0n.4,'71.
C.l._ L. ROBB, Dentist, office in S. T.
ik—il • BroWn's new building, No. 520, Hill St.,
Huntingdon, Pa. [apl2,'7l.
GLAZIER, Notary Public, corner
- PIT
• of Washington and Smith streets. Hun
tingdon, Pa. [ jan.l2'7l.
T I T C. MADDEN, Attorney-at-Law.
• Office, Yo. —, Hill street, Huntingdon,
Pa [ap.19,'71.
JSYLVA.NUS BLAIR, Attorney-at
• Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Office, Hill street,
three doors west of Smith. [jan.4'7l.
JR. PATTON, Druggist and Apoth
• ceary, opposito the Exchange Hotel, Hun
tingdon, Pa. Prescriptions accurately compounded.
Pure Liquors for Medicinal purposes. [n0v.23,'70.
HALL 141JSSER, Attorney-at-Law,
c-IP • No. 319 Hill et., Huntingdon, Pa. [jan.4,'7l.
jr R. DURBORROW, Attorney'=at
t., • Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will practice in the
several Courts of Huntingdon county. Particular
attention given to the settlement of estates of dece
dents.
- 0 - ifice in he JouaNAL Building. [feb.l,7l
W. MATTERN, Attorney-at-Law
J • and General Claim Agent, Huntingdon, Pa.,
Soldier? claims against the Government for back
pay, bounty, widows' and invalid pensions attend
ed to with great care and promptness.
Office on Hill street.
ALLEN LOVELL, Attorney-at
.‘. • Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Special attention
given to COLLECTIONS of all kinds; to the settle
ment of Estates, &c.; and all other Legal Business
prosecuted with fidelity nod dispatch.
jiffir• Office in room lately occupied by R. Milton
Speer, Esq. Dan.4;7l.
MILES ZENTMYER, Attorney-at-
Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend promptly
to all legal business. Office in Cunningham's new
building. Lian.4,ll.
R. ALLISON HILLER. H.
AELLER & BUCHANAN,
DENTISTS,
No. 228 TIM Street,
lIIINTR.TGDON, PA.
April 5,
PM. & M. S. LYTLE, Attorneys
. at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend to
all kinds of legal business entrusted to their care.
Office on the south side of Hill street, fourth door
west of &nat. [jan.4,ll.
Teo A. ORBISON, Attorney-at-Law,
• °Moe, 321. Hill street, Huntingdon, Pa.
[may3l,7l.
JOEY SCOTT. S. T. SCOW'S. J. Y. BAILEY
COTT, BROWN & BAILEY, At
torneys-at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Pensions,
and all claims of soldiers and soldiers' heirs against
the Government will be promptly prosecuted.
Office on Hill straet. pan. 4,71.
rri W. MYTON, Attorney-at-Law, Hun
-A- • tingdon, Pa. Office with J. Sewell Stewart,
Esq. [jan.4,'7l.
"WILLIAM A. FLEMING, Attorney
at-Law,v Huntingdon, Pa. Special.attention
given to collections, and all other l,gal business
attended to with care and promptness. Office, No.
229, Hill street. [apl9,'7l.
Miscellaneous
XCHANGE HOTEL, Huntingdon,
-124 Pa. JOHN S. MILLER, Proprietor.
January 4, 1871.
NEAR THE RAILROAD DEPOT,
con. WAYNE and JITNIATA STREETT
UNITED STATES HOTEL,
HOLLIDAYSBURG, PA
M'CLAIN Jc CO., PROPRIETORS
ROBT. KING, Merchant Tailor, 412
Washington street, Huntingdon Pa., a lib
eral share of patronage respectfully solicited.
A pril 12, 1671.
L . EWISTOWN BOILER WORKS.
.-a—d SNYDER, WEIDNER & CO., .Idanufac
urers of Locomotivoand Stationary Boilers, Tanks,
Pipes, Filling-Barrows for Furnaces and Sheet
Iron Work of every description. Works on Logan
street, Lewistown, Pa.
All orders prmn?lly attendal to. Repairing
done at short nutt..-c. [Apr 5,'71,1y..
AR. BECK, Fashionable Barber
• and Hairdresser, Hill street, opposite the
Franklin House. All kinds of Tonics and Pomades
kept on hand and for sale. [npl9,ll-6m
COLORED PRINTING DONE AT
`%.,' the Journal Office, at Philadelphia prices.
r
he Huntingdon J tun , al.
ghe plum' ffloattr.
J. A. NASH,
[For the JOURNAL.]
Ever.
Ever and ever the world goes round,
Bearing its burdens and crosses;
Ever and ever fife years roll on,
With their tide of sorrows avid losses.
Ever and ever the book of life
Bears upon its pages
The weary, weary lay of the heart,
Sung through all the ages.
Ever and ever with outstretched hands,
We grasp for a golden morrow;
Ever and ever the billows of time
Are freighted with bitter sorrow;
Ever and ever the lips smile on,
That tha.world may walk in blindness ;
Little they know of the heart's wild woe
When the face looks lint with kindness.
liver and ever the shadows fall
Over the golden mosses ;
Ever a gleam from Paradise,
Lightens our cares and crosses.
Ever and ever the morning dawns
On hopes that are breathed in gladness
Ever and ever the night brings in
Its tide of bitter sadness.
Ever and ever the eye of God
Looketh upon us with pity;
And ever the light is shown to us,
That gleams from the Golden City
gin c9torp-Zeller,
A Narrow Escape.
CONDEMNED to die ! Condemned to per
ish ignominiously on the scaffold ! Con
demned to bid adieu to wife, mother, chil
dren, and friends ! _ _
The poor man wept aloud in the extre
mity of his anguish. His trembling lips
eould frame no prayer, and thus the last
avenue of escape was closed against him.
The most direct and unequivocal evidences
surrounded this man—Lloyd Fletcher by
name—and the jury, in bringing in their
verdict of "guilty in the first degree," had
only acted on their sober conviction of the
man's guilt, drawn from the overwhelming
evidence.
Charles Lancaster, an Englishman, and
a neighbor of Fletcher's, had been found
brutally murdered, in a lone spot, in the
suburbs of London. Fletcher's pistol was
picked up near him,
thrown aside as he
found himself pursued.
Footprints in the mud corresponded ex
actly with the boots the prisoner wore, and
to crown all they had been bitter and in
veterate enemies for months previous.—
Fletcher had been heard to say, on several
occasions, that nothing but the man's death
could satisfy his implacable vengeance;
and then again, he could produce no one
to assist him in proving an alibi. Lloyd
was a man vary domestic in his habits, and
very devotedly attached to his family. He
was known to be absent from home on that
evening, yet, on this particular night, Mrs.
Fletcher waited up until daylight for his
return, expecting every moment (on ac
count of the circumstances being so unpre
cedented) to have him brought home a
corpse. He seemed to be recovering from
the deep stupor of intoxication as he en
tered his wife's presence on the morning
described, and only knew enough to find
the bed and sleep profoundly.
At the time of his arrest, his hands
were found lame and bruised; so this, with
the rest, made the sum too crushing for
the skillful counsel he had employed, and
the result was, "Hanged by the neck,
Fletcher, till you are dead; and God have
meroy on your soul."
It lacked now only three days to the ex
ecution, . and here he sat in his lone, com
fortless, whitewashed * veil, and his head
bowed on his hands. "Can nothing be
done ? Must I die thus, poor, miserable
dog that lam ? Will Omnipotence allow
an innocent man to perish ? Out upon
such a God as that !" And the poor fellow
struck wildly at his prison-house, groaning
so deeply that he aroused the attention of
the turnkey, who was passing the cell.—
The iron door swung back on its creaking
hinges and the stalwart form of the keeper
appeared before him.
"Come, come, Fletcher, less noise here;
be a man ! Yon ain't the first man that's
had to swing—not by a long shot! You
won't get much sympathy here if you are
like a nursin. , infant, I can tell you. Die
game, Fletcher ; die game."
"ut lam innocent, I tell you, you old
wretch; as innocent of the crime as my
little girl baby at home. Oh, my Gcd !
my wife—my children--,"
"Oh, shut up, here's your old woman,
now."
Dan.4,'7l
The hardened turnkey waited a minute
to witness the meeting of this suffering
couple, and then with maddened curses
withdrew. But the condemned man and
his loving, faithful wife took no notice of
his departure, but clasped in each other's
arms awaited for calmness to speak.
"Oh, Sarah !"
"Oh, Lloyd! God have mercy on us
all, my husband ! and now listen. Lie
down here—place your head on my lap; I
have something to tell you."
"Tell me, Sarah, did they search you
this time ?" he asked, grasping her hands.
"Yes, Lloyd, and they found nothing.
I repented my rash promises to you before
I reached home. Come what may, suicide
must not be your fate. But listen. You
see that I am comparatively happy; and
let me tell you what has produced this
change—a sweet little dream in which I
saw you and our darlings all together, com
fortable and happy."
"Oh, Sarah, talk not of dreams to a
doomed man like me; perhaps we may be
happy in another existence; but no, that
cannot be—for surely God will not allow
an innocent man to die the death of the
guilty. Oh, no, Sarah, oh, no !"
"Keep up your courage, my dear hus
band, a certain, strange, mysterious some
thing assures me that all will yet be well,
how or in what manner heaven only
knuws."
"I wish I could see it—l wish I could
feel it, Sarah ; do not mislead me with
false hopes. Oh, my God, if there could
only be found a way to escape from this
ignominious death!"
"Come, madam, time's up," and the
turnkey made his appearance. "Hate to
disturb such a pair of cooinr , doves. but
orders are orders, ma ' am, and must be
obeyed. Always obey orders if you break
crowns. You ought to persuade your
husband to stop his sniveling. Mark what
I tell you, ma'am, you'll be looking for
another husband in three month's time,"
continued the wretch, as he walked out by
her side.
31ah15-tf
Sarah hurried through the corridor, en
deavoring to hear as little as possible of
the brute's conversation, and reached her
home and children, there to hope and pray.
The hours sped on, and it lacked one day
more for the execution. Fletcher had
given 4p all hope of a reprieve, and listen
ed to the building of the scaffold with a
solemn feeling born of despair.
"I've brought another gal to see you
this time, Fletcher. It's very probable
she won't be so agreeable-like as t'other
one, but will do as much good, I reckon."
A. woman in black stood before the bed
on which Fletcher reclined. He recogni
zed Mrs. Lancaster, the wife of the mur
dered man.
"Ah, this does me good," said she, ta
king a step nearer and shaking her clench
ed fist in his face. "It does not pay to
take a fellow creature's life, does it ? Don't
you speak to me, you villain—don't dare
to open your mouth. I came here to gloat
over your misery, and see how the pros
pect of leaving your wife and babies affect
ed you. Oh, you tremble. I have found
the tender chord. My husband's wife and
children were nothing—oh, no.' Wretch,
villain, may the law be fully justified."
The woman, to all appearance, exaspera,
ted beyond the power of further utterance,
stepped nearer, and, with a sly movement.,
hid one of her gloves under the pillow of
the bewildered man.
-"Have you finished, ma'am," inquired
the turnkey, with his hand on the door.
"Now, really, Fletcher, don't you rather
prefer an interview of this kind to one of
those lallygagging sort you have had so
many of lately ? 'Twill do you more good—
ten to one. What are You doing now ?"
"Giving him due more look, that is all.
Murderer . robber ! wretch ! I want to
engrave his picture on my brain so indel
ibly that I can never forget a single fea
ture."
"By the crown, your old man must have
had a Tartar ! Oh, ho, ho, ho !" and the
fat turnkey shook his fat sides with laugh
ter. "I don't believe he's got it much bet
ter where he is staying now than .he had
with you. It takes a woman to use up the
King's English. I always said so, now I
know it."
Mrs. Lancaster drew her veil over her
face, and quietly left the prison. As soon
as he dared, with trembling fingers, Lloyd
drew forth the glove. In it was a vial
containing a mixture of chloroform or eith
er, a small sharp instrument to fire his
shackles, and a note. It read thus :
You are not the man, and I cannot allow
you to be hung. Overpower the keeper,
take his clothes, and leave. Go to the old
rookery, No. - first floor where a dis
guise awaits you, and then God help you,
for you must conceal yourself.
Lloyd, with a wildly beating heart, con
cealed the articles and tried to think. The ,
keeper did not enter the cell till he brought
his tea, and how could he accomplish his
purpose then ? There would be too many
astir in the prison then, and he might be
detected.
"Defeated now, with the weapons of de
liverance in my hands. No, indeed, Lloyd
Fletcher !"
"Fletcher, I suppose you know that ac
cording to the prison rules you are not al
lowed to stay alone to-night. It would be
barbarous to leave a feller without good
company his last night on earth," said the
turnkey, an hour or two after Mrs. Lan
caster's visit.
"You'll have to take your pick between
old Father Walsh and myself, but I sup
pose you will take me, bad as you hate me,
afore that hypocrite."
"Why can't I have my wife ?" asked
Lloyd, with a voice fall of bitterness.
"Oh, wives ain't allowable on such occa
sions. She'll be around in the morning an
hour or two; but talk quick, which will
you have ?"
"What difference do you think it makes
to me, you heartless wretch, who watches
with my last moments on earth, when my
only friend is denied me ?"
So it was arranged. The turnkey was
to occupy his cell, and Lloyd went to work
with his little instrument to file the hand-.
cuffs and chains which bound him. It was
slow and tedious. but in an hour's time he
had the satisfaction of one free hand, and
had the power to remove his limbs from
the galling rattling torments which had so
firmly held him.
"f must be able to throw these fetters
off, or lam lost." So he worked away in
dustriously until the obstinate link was
displaced, and he could .wear, or leave
them off at his pleasure. Ten o'clock ar
rived, and the turnkey had his cot brought
in the cell.
"When are you going to turn in Fletch
er? I'm as tired as an East India nigger.
Plagy afraid I shan't be much company
to-night; better had the priest. You wrote
all your letters yesterday Fletcher, didn't
you?" and the keeper yawned deeply,
turned once or twice, and in five minutes
was snoring profoundly.
"Now is my time," thought Fletcher.
"It will not do to wait. Heaven help
me."
Noiselessly he stepped from the chains
and drew off the torturing handcuffs. It
was but the work of a moment to saturate
the handkerchief with the mixture, and in
less time than it takes to tell it, Lloyd had
stripped the hardened wretch. There was
a trifling difference in height, but Lloyd
lacked the aldermanic proportions of the
jailor. However, he managed that quickly
and easily, unlocked the door of the cell,
stepped into the corridor, locked it again,
carefully withdrew the key, and imitated
as nearly as possible the dull, heavy tread
of the keeper. The jail physician was
just leaving the building, and Lloyd walked
along after him, as if to see him safely out.
Only one subordinate guarded the en
trance, and so Lloyd and the doctor walked
out together, without exciting the slightest
suspicion.
He reached the old rookery., donned his
attire, which proved to be a soldier's uni
form, removed the black wig of the keeper,
and substituted a light, curly one, and be
fore twelve o'clock had reached the house
of a friend, two or three miles from the
city, told his story, and was warmly re
ceived and promised protection. Lloyd
felt sure he had left no clue by which he
could be traced to this spot, and, almost
overcome by his great happiness, be fell
on his knees and thanked the God he had
previously foreswore, for the miraculous
escape.
The next morning all was astir in the
prison, but our turnkey did not make his
appearance ; what could it mean ? A key
was produced to open the cell door, and
the nude inanimate figure of the fat keeper
was presented to their astonished view. In
the middle of the cell was the prisoner's
wardrobe ; all he could spare from the
make-up of the turnkey's lusty propor
tions. A little cold water and fresh air
revived him, but be could throw no light
on the mysterious disappearance of Fletch
er. He had seen nothing, knew nothing,
and remembered nothing. Mrs. Fletcher
was arrested on suspicion of assisting her
husband to escape, but nothing could be
proven, and a few Sys saw her at liberty.
She was confident that her darling was
safe, but could form no idea of the mode,
HUNTINGDON, PA., JANUARY 24, 1872
or where he was concealed. However, now
that so much was gained, she felt that she
could afford to wait for the rest. Large
rewards were ofFered for the prisoner's ap
prehension ; large posters were placarded
everywhere; and the detectives were set to
work to ferret out his hiding place, but in
vain. When the excitement was at its
height, the ante-mortem statement and
confession of a dying man were brought
before the court, entirely exonerating Lloyd
Fletchex from complicity in the murder.
The man was Mrs. Lancaster's foster-broth
er. He had drugged and beaten poor
Fletcher the night of the perpetration of
the crime, stolen his pistol and committed
the deed himself. Mrs. Lancaster had
been from the first exceedingly suspicious
of him, but proofs were not in her power,
she had used every means possible to re
store Lloyd his liberty, trusting to time
and a merciful God for the rest. How well
she acted her part and succeeded in
. her
endeavors, the reader is aware. Fletcher
W4S immediately pardoned, and drawn by
the excited Londoners to his residence.
PAtutling for Ow 41;i Mon.
The Wives of the Presidents,
The customs of the Republic which re
turn to private life those who have served
it, and the genius of democratic institu
tions which condemn, as assumed emblems
of nobility, the prefixing of titles to the
names of American women, have acted as
an insurmountable barrier to the, acquain
tance of the general public with the ladies
who have occupied the first social position
in the land.
Mrs. Washington, to whom fell the
honor first, occupied the envied place of
power eight years, and her history is per
haps better known than any of her descen
dants. Biographers and historians, stim
ulated with a desire to secure her memory
from the dust of years, have been indefa
tigable in their labors, and she is perhaps
more highly extolled and more truly ven
erated than any of many women who have
succeeded her.
To Mrs. Adams properly belongs the
highest place of honor in the American
heart because her position was more dif
ficult; her duties more arduous, and be
cause she was stronger mentally, and more
thoroughly disciplined than any who have
succeeded her. She became the occupant
of a place held to be almost sacred because
of its newness and the exalted character of
both Washington and his wife. To suc
ceed the former was a difficult task for her
husband to perform ; to occupy Mrs.
Washington's place was an impossibility.
But Mrs. Adams was gifted with great
strength and courage ; with rare powers of
mind and heart, and was the best repre
sentative of the best type of American wo
men of that day whose life history has been
handed down to us.
Mrs. Jefferson had been dead nineteen
years when her husband became President
of the United States, and but for the oc
casional visits of his two married daugh
ters, and the frequent presence of Mrs.
Madison, the White House during , the
eight years of Thomas Jefferson's stay
would have been entirely without a social
history.
James Madison's wife was the most pop
ular woman of the day, and had it not
been for the unfortunate war of 1812, and
the disturbed condition of the country,
both before and after this unfortunate event,
her administration of lady of the White
House would have been the most brilliant
of any recorded in the annals of the social
history of the country.
birs. Monroe was a timid, delicate wo
man unfitted by nature and habit for the
place she held, and at the expiration of
her husband's term of office gladly retired
with him to their Virginia home, where,
in 1830, she died.
Mrs. ,John Quincy Adams was a Mary
land woman who had been educated in
England, and who filled her semi-official
position with dignity and honor.
Mrs. Jackson died of a broken heart
before her husband succeeded to Presi
dency.
Mrs. Van Buren had been dead seven
teen years when her husband was elected
Chief Magistrate, and her daughter-in-law,
a lady of great refinement, was mistress of
the White House during the term.
Mrs. Harrison was preparing to leave
her Western home when news of her hus
band's death reached her.
Mr. Tyler, who filled the unexpired
term, lost his wife during his stay in the
White House, and subsequently married
Miss Gardner, of New York, eight months
before the close of his administration.
Mrs. James K. Polk, of Tennessee, was
the second Southern lady, who, as tile wife
of the President, lived in the Executive
Mansion during the full term.
Mrs. Taylor heartily disliked the for
mality of Washington society, and retired
to her Louisiana home immediately after
her husband's death.
Mr. Filmore, who served out Gen. Tay
lor's time, had a noble wife, and she and
her daughter are remembered as two of
the most cultivated, refined and attractive
ladies ever in the White House.
Mrs. Pierce was always an invalid, and
after the sudden death of her only child,
a young and promising boy, her health
gave way entirely, and her position as hos
tess was a most undesirable one to her.
Miss Harriet Lane made her uncle's
administration famous for its social attrac
tions. She was one of the most beautiful
of women, as well as one of the truest and
kindest of nieces, and Mr. Buchanan was
peculiarly fortunate in his social relations,
though he lived and died a bachelor. •
_ .
Mrs.' Lincoln's career was checkered
from the first, and the awful tragedy that
closed her life at the White House, secured
for her the sympathy of the people.
Mrs. Patterson vas the Mistress of the
White House during President Johnson's
administration, her mother being a con
firmed invalid. The family greatly en
deared themselves to the people by their
simplicity and refined, unassuming man
ners.
Cheerfulness.
We believe that cheerfulness can be, and
ought to be, cultivated by all; that kind
ness is most ben4ficially contagions; that
to carry good nature and wisely-curbed
temper with you wherever you go ; that
patience and forbearance in your inter
course with family and friends and com
munity will always bring forth the richest
of social fruits; that the treasure of good
deeds achieved, the sufferings assuaged,
are worth infinitely more than political
honors; that the creation of joy is inesti
mably better than the besetting sin of bor
rowing trouble, and with Charles Lamb,
that "a laugh is worth a hundred groans
in any state of the market."
Wheeled Himself Into a Fortune ,
At a meeting of the stockholders of a
prominent railway coporation, recently held
in Boston, there were present two gentle
men, both up in years, one, howler, con
siderably the senior of the other. In talk
ing of the old times gone by, the younger
gentleman called the attention of his
friends, and told a pleasant little story,
which should be read with profit by every
poor, industrious, and striving lad. We
use his own language :
"Nearly half a century ago, gentlemen,
I was put upcn the world to make my liv
ing. I was stout, willing and able, con
sidering my tender years, and secured a
place in a hardware store, to do all sorts of
chores required. I was paid seventy-five
dollars a year fbr my services. One day,
after I had been at wore three months or
more, my friend there, Mr. 8., who holds
his age remarkably well, came into the
store and bought a large bill of shovels
and tongs, sad-irons and pans, buckets,
scrapers and scuttles, for he was married
next day, and was supplying his household
in advance, as was the groom's custom in
those days. The articles were packed on
the barrow, and made a load sufficiently
heavy for a young mule. But more will
ing than able, I started off, proud that I
could move such a mass on the wheelbar
iow. I got on remarkably well, till I
struck the mud road, now Seventh avenue,
leading to my friend B.'s house; there _I
toiled and tugged and tugged and toiled,
and could not budge the load up hill, the
wheel going in full half its diameter in the
mud every time I tried to propel forward.
Finally a good-natured Irishman, passing
by with a dray, took my barrow, self, and
all on his vehicle, and iu consideration of
promise to pay him a "bit," landed me at
the house.
I counted the articles carefully as I de
livered them, and with my empty barrow
trudged my way back, whistling with glee
over my triumph over difficulty. Some
weeks after I paid the Irishman the "bit,"
and never got it back from my employers.
Mr. 8., I am sure, would have remunera
ted tne, but he never before heard this story;
in, if he is inclined, he cat} compromise the
debt by sending me a bushel of his rare
ripe peaches next Fall. Bat to the moral.
A merchant had witnessed my struggles,
and how zealously I labored to deliver that
load of hardware ; he even watched me to
the house, and saw me count each piece as
I landed it in the door-way. He sent for
me the next day, and asked my name,
told me he had a reward for my industry
and cheerfulness under difficulty, in the
shape of a five-hundred-dollar-clerkship in
his establishment. I accepted, and now,
after nearly half a century has passed, I
look back and say, I wheeled myself into
all I own, for that reward of perseverance
was my grand steppingstone to fortune.
The speaker was a very wealthy banker,
a man of influence and position, and one
universally respected for many good quali
ties of head and heart. Boys, take a
moral from this story, and be willing and
industrious. You do not know how many
eyes are.upon you, to discover whether you
are sluggish and carelesg, or indnstriousand
willing. _
Self-Examination
Examine yourself. Do it impartially.
Do it faithfully. Do it often.
Sit down by yourself, and shutting out
all thoughts on other subjects, review your
own life for the last day—for the last
week. Recall both your acts and your
words—for, both to others and yourself,
your words are oftner as serious realities
as your actions,
We believe there is not a human being
who will not be benefited and improved by
the habitual review of his or her own life,
in this manner.
Have your hours been turned to ac
count, either in work or recreation ;or
have they been frittered away, in a man
ner profitless, or positively injurious, to
both mind and body ?
Have you made any acquisitions of
knowledge within the day or the week
just gone ? Can you say you know this
thing, or that, which I did not know be
fore ?
7 fiave you strengthened your principles
which require constant b4acing, for a
thousand temptations are always at work
to undermine them ? We say to under
mine them ; for it is only the worst of
men who sit down and deliberately con
coct plans of wickedness. It is the in
sidious unperceived approach of the Temp
ter, in disguised and undistinguishable
form, from which the greatest danger is to
be anticipated.
Have you helped your unsuccessful and
troubled brother where you had it in your
power ? Have you said a kind and en
couraging word where that was all that
was needed ? Have you done a kind and
generous act where it was your duty to do
one ?
_
We shall be judged by our works, and
there is no more efficient aid in improv
ing our works, and in rendering the future
better than the past, than by a frequent,
searching review, and an unprejudiced,
unsparing judgment of the past.
Faith and Works
There are two oars of a boat. Row with
the right oar alone, and a boat describes a
useless circle on the water. Row with the
left oar alone, and it merely goes in the
opposite direction. But use both oars with
equal force and it moves swiftly and evenly
foreward.
Faith and works ; they are the two
wings of a bird. Using but the right wing
the bird flutters helplessly on the earth.
Using the left wing alone, there is the
same result. But plying both with equal
vigor, it plumes its fright heavenward.
'So' faith alone or works alone, distract
the soul—bind it in helplessness to earth,
or turn it in idle circles ; but give faith
and works in equal strength, and its move
ment is uniform.
"What God hath joined together let no
one put assunder."
APPROPRIATE NAMEs.—The following
names are indeed appropriate for the uses
mentioned :
For an auctioneer's wife—Bid-dy.
For a general's wife—Sally.
For a sport's wife—Bet-ty.
For a fisherman's wife—Net-ty.
For a shoemaker's wife—Peg-gy.
For a teamster's wife—Car-rio.
For a lawyer's wife—Sue.
For a printer's wife—Em.
For a druggist's wife—Ann Eliza.
For a carpet man's wife—Mat-tie.
HE who betrays another's secret, be
cause he has quarrelled with him, was
never worthy of the sacred name of friend ;
a breach of kindness at one side will not
justify a breach of trust on the other.
tor the glide *M o.
=---=
Eyes and no Eyes.
You have all read the story in the
school readers of the two boys who went
over the same route, one with his eyes
open and the other with them shut. It
is old, but worth repeating, and worth re
membering every day. So many things
slip by us; so many things worth knowing
go on right under our eyes without being
noticed.
I knew a man who had very little time
for reading or study, but whose mind was
a perfect storehouse of information on al
most every subject.
"How does it happen that yon know so
much more than the rest of us ?" I asked
him, me day.
"Oh," said he, "I never had time to lay
in a regular stock of learning, so I 'save
all the bits' that come in my way, and
they count up a good Beal in the course of
a year."
That is just the thing—save all the
bits.
"That boy," said a gentleman, "always
seems to be on the lookout for something
to see."
So be was; and while waiting in a
newspaper office for a package, he learned,
by using his eyes, how a mailing machine
was operated. While he waited at the
florist's, he saw the man setting a box of
cuttings, and learned by the use of his
eyes, what he never would have guessed,
that slips rooted best in nearly pure sand.
"This is lapis luznli," said the jeweler
to his customer; and this is chrysophrase."
And the wide-awake errand boy turned
around from the door to take a sharp
look, so that in future he knew just how
those two precious stones looked. In one
day, he learned of the barber what became
of the hair clippings; of the carpenter,
how to drive a nail so as not to split the
wood; of the shoemaker, how the differ-'
ent surfaces of fancy leathers are made ;
of a locust, that its month was of no use
to him in singing; from a scrap of news
paper, where sponges were obtained ; and
from an old Irish woman,
how to keep
stove-pipes from rusting. Only bits and
fragments of knowledge, but all of them
worth saving, and all helping to increase
the stock in trade of the boy who meant
to be a man.
A Good Reputation to Have
The little stcry lam going to tell yon
happened just before the war, when every
one was very, very busy. Soldiers were
enlisting and going away from almost
every home in the land.
One young man had volunteered and
was expected to be daily ordered to the
seat of war. One day his mother gave
him an unpaid bill with money to pay it.
When he returned home at night, she
said, "Did you pay that bill ?" "Yes," he
answered.
In a few days the bill was sent in a sec
ond time. "I thought," she said to her
son, "that you paid this."
"I really do not remember, mother ; you
know I have had so many things on my
mind."
"Bat yon said you did."
"Well," he answered, "if I said I did,
I did."
He went away, and his mother took the
bill herself to the store. The young man
had been known in the town all his life,
and what opinion was held of him this will
'show.
"I am quite sure," she said, "that my
son paid this some days ago; has been
very busy since, and has quite forgotten
about it; but he told me that day he had,
and says that if he said then that he had,
he is quite sure he did."
"Well," said the man, "I forget about
it; but if ever he said he did, he did.
Wasn't that a grand character to have ?
Having once said a thing, that was enough
to make others believe it, whether he re
membered it or not.
I wish all the boys in our land were
sure of as good a reputation.
The Fox and the Lion's Den.
You boys who read Bsop,s Fables, will
remember the story of the lion who feign
ed to be sick, and induced all the smaller
beasts to come and pay their respects to
him in his den. Only the fox, it was no
ticed, did not come, and the lion sent to
inquire the reason.
"Tell his majesty," said the shrewd fel
low' "that when I draw near the mouth of
his den, and see the prints of my fellow
creatures' feet all pointing forward and
none backward, I am warned not to ven
ture further."
There is a lesson of wisdom for you.—
The fable might have been written to-day,
if only some keen-eyed /Esop would walk
along our streets and take note of the lions'
dens, and see silly dupes that are always
going in, but never coming out. Grog
shops, saloons, theatres, gambling dens ! do
you think when you have once entered,
you can come away at will ? Never be
lieve it. If the old lion does not devour
you at once, he will eat you piece-meal.—
Be sure you will not escape without at
leas. the marks of his teeth and claws.—
No tracks coming out! The people who
come away leave behind purity, and honor,
and honesty, and manhood; they enter
whole; they limp away; maimed and dis
figured, by another door. Take warning,
boys, and when the old lion sets his traps
in the shape of music, and merriment, and
pleasant company, to draw . you inside his
door, be sure there is an inner den where
terrible jaws are lying in wait. "No
TRACKS COMING OUT," says lEsop, which
is only another version of Solomon's dec
laration :
"There is a way that seemeth right unto
a man, but the end thereof is death."
Air Castles
Air castles ! Who has not built them 7
vast structures that tower up and grow
grander, until lost in their own limitless
magnificence. Who has not builded them,
and then in blissful admiration viewed
their work, until a breath of air from the
cold world of reality
" Whelmed in nothing, the unsubstantial bubble l"
We are all architects, and we all build
castles ! In youth we are happy at our
work, for we have faith in it; but there
comes a time when the illusion vanishes,
when we know that the fabrics we have
wrought with so much pains, are more
fragile than a shadow. Then the employ
ment ceases to be a pastime; but we have
learned the trade, and we must work at
it. So we go on building, building, build
ing, though the splendor of our creations
forever mock us with vanity.
CHILDREN obey your parents.
he J'
Don't Know Adam
As Artemus Ward was once travelling
in the cars, dreading to be bored, and feel
ing miserable, a man approached him, sat
down and said :
"Did you bear the last thing on Horace
Greeley ?"
"Greeley ? G reeley ?" said Artemus.
"Horace Greely ? Who is be ?"
The Man was quiet about five minutes.
Pretty soon he said :
"George Francis Train is kicking up a
good deal of a row over in England; do
you think they will put him in a bastile ?"
"Train? Train ? George Francis Train ?"
said Artemus, solemnly. "I never heard
of him."
This ignorance kept the man quiet for
fifteen minutes; then he said :
"What do you think about General
Grant's chances for the Presidency ? Do
ydn think they will run him ?"
"Grant ? Grant ? hang it, man," said
Artemus, "you appear to • know more
strangers than any man I ever saw."
The man was furious; he walked up the
car, but at last came back and said :
"You confounded ignoramus, did you
ever hear of Adam ?"
..A.rtemus looked up and said : "What
was his other name?"
Sharp Youth,
On a certain railroad, the other day, a
newsboy entered a car with a bundle of
dailies, and accosted a crusty old chap who
sat crouched in a scat near the stove :
Taper, sir, only five cents."
"No!" growled the passenger; but I'd
give five dollars if there was a fire in that
stove."
"Did you say you'd give five dollars if
you had fire in that stove ?" said the boy,
turning back.
"Yes, and darned quick, too."
The boy, in the twinkling of an eye,
opened the stove door, thrust in the bun
dle of fresh papers, touched a lighted match
to them, and demanded his pay. The pas
sengers, who had been watching the ma
noeuvre, shouted with laughter, and the
old fellow, after hesitating a moment,
sheepishly drew five dollars from his pock
et and paid the bill.
"Sold out again," quoth the sharp boy,
as he went out after his basket of confec
tionery.
Too Much for Him
A gentlemanly conductor was collecting
tickets from his passengers. All handed
over the tickets promptly except one fat
old lady who sat next to the door, and
who seemed to be reaching down to get
something she had dropped on the floor.
'When her time came to pay, she raised
her head, and thus addressed the blushing
conductor :
"I allurs, when I travels, carry my
money in my stockin', for you see nothing
can get at it thar—and I'd just thank you,
young man, just to reach it for me, as I'm
so jammed in I can't get to it. I forgot
to nit a ticket at the depot."
The conductor glanced at the other pas
sengers some of whom were laughing at
his plight; one or two young ladies among
them blushed scarlet, and he beat a hasty
retreat, muttering something about not
charging old ladies, etc. His cash was
short that trip the fare of one passenger.
a became _necessary last _week in the
criminal court at Newport, Ky., in order
to render a'boy witness competent, to
prove that he had reached the age of ten
years, and his mother, an Irish woman,
was called for that purpose.
"How old is your son John ?" quoth
the lawyer.
"Indade, sir, - I dunno, but I think he's
not tin yet," was the reply.
'Did you make no record of his birth ?"
"The praist did, in the old country, sir,
where he was born."
"How long after your marriage was it ?"
"About a year; may be liss."
"When were you married ?"
"Dade, sir, I dunno."
"Did you not bring a certificate of your
marriage with you from the old country ?"
"Hey, sir, and what should I made wid
a certificate whin I had the ould mon him
self along wid me ?"
No further questions were asked.
"CLERK," said a tall Kentuckian to a
hotel official, "this young lady and me
have eloped. Have you any marryin' fa
cilities 'round here ?"
The clerk replied in the affirmative, and
the two were "spliced" in less than an
hour. The bride-groom was evidently not
yet satified, and lingered around the ho
tel-book. •
"Clerk," said he confidentially, at length,
"hadn't ye better change the register, and
give us one room now we're married ?"
"It's already done," replied the clerk;
"you're marked for the same room."
"Well, clerk,.replied the Kentuckian,
quickly, "won't you just show me up, then,
for I'm awful sleepy.
AN Irishman was looking about the
ruins of a burnt confectionery establish
ment in Nashua, N. H., when he spied a
box of lozenges, still in a fair state of pre
servation. He picked up the box, but
preliminary to making off with it the idea
occurred to him to Be sure that the lozen
ges were worth purloining. He picked up
a roll and broke it in two, and crammed
his mouth as full of lozenges as the Cra
chitts did of spoons. In a moment more
the box was hurled to the ground, accom
panied by the exclamation : "Be gorra,
they are hot yet !" They were of the
cayenne sort.
AN elderly gentleman, returning home
on Sunday, began to extol the merits of
the sermon to his son. The following short
dialogue tells the story:
"I have heard, Walter," said the old
gentleman, "one of the most delightful
sermons ever delivered before a Christian
society. It carried' me to the gates of
heaven."
"Well, I think," replied Walter, "you'd
better have dodged in, for you never will
have such another chance."
A SENTIMENTAL youth, having seen a
young damsel shedding tears over some
thing in her lap, took the first opportunity
to be introduced to her, and made no doubt
that she was a congenial spirit. "What
work was it that affected you so much the
other morning ? I saw you shed a great
many tears. Was it Bulwer's last ?" "I
don't know what Bulwer's last is," return
ed she, "but I assure you I was doing a
job which almost kills me. I was peeling
onions.
NO. 4.
Bit om Sink.
We All Might Do Good.
We all might do good
Where we often do ill;
There is always the way,
If there be but the will.
Though it be but a word,
Kindly breathed or suppressed,
It may guard off some pain,
Or give peace to some breast.
We all might do good
In a thousand small ways--
In forbearing to Hatter,
Yet yielding due praise,
In spurning all rumor,
Reproving wrong done,
And treating but kindly
The hearts we have won.
We all might do good,
Whether lowly or great,
For the deed is not guaged
By the purse or estate ;
If it be but a cup
Of cold water that's given,
Like the widow's two mites,
It is something for heaven
Live for Something.
Live for something ! Life is the divinest
of Heaven's gifts to man, and something
divine should be got out of it. Put upon
the mode of the divine, and endowed with
such God-like capabilities and powers, how
inappreciably grand arc life's possibilities
in the way of achievement for earth and
heaven !
In the order of Providence, life's minis
try is indeed lofty and sublime. Every
man and every woman has his or her par
ticular assignment in the duties of respon
sibilities of daily life. We are in the
world to make the world better; to lift it
up to higher summits of happiness and
progress; to make its hearts and homes
brighter and happier, by devoting to fol
lowers our best thoughts and activities. It
is the motto of every tiue heart, and the
genius of every noble life, that "no man
liveth to himself," lives chiefly for his own
selfish good. By a law of our intellectual
and moral being, we promote our own hap
piness in the exact proportion we contrib
ute to the enjoyment of others. Nothing
worthy of the name of happiness is possi
sible in the experience of those who live
only for themselves, all oblivious of the
welfare of their fellows. That only is the
true philosophy which recognizes and work
out the principle in daily action, that
noble duties, not 117,7.eelfshnese
Not to be vriled - a3rny ic;;in7l;;;7l;jarns,
But to improve ourselves, and serve mankind."
But to live for something, involves the
necessity of an intelligent and definite plan
of action. More than splendid dreaming,
or even magnificent resolves, is necessary
to success in the objects and ambitions of
life. Men conic to the best results in
either department of effort, only as they
thoughtfully plan, and earnestly toil in
giving directions. Those who have made
money, acquired learning,won fame, or
wielded power in the world, have always,
in every age, and among all people, done
so by embodying a well defined purpose in
earnest, living action. The reason that
thousands fail in their work in life, is the
want of a specific plan in laying out their
energies; they work hard for nothing, be
cause there is no actual result possible to
their mode of action. The means are ad
justed to the end; hence failure is the in
evitable result.
Live for something definite and practi
cal. Take hold of things with a method
and a willl, and they must yield to you,
and become the ministers of your own
happiness and that of others. Nothing ,
within the realm of the possible can with
stand the man or woman who is intelligent
ly and determinedly bent on success. A
great action is always preceded by a great
purpose. History and daily life are full
of examples to show us that the measure
of human achievement has always been
proportioned to the amount of human da
ring and doing. If not always, yet at least
often,
-"The attempt
Is all the wedge that splits its knotty way
IletwLat the impossible and possible."
Be practical. Deal with the questions
and facts of life as they really are. What
can be done, and is worth doing, do with
dispatch ; what can not be done, and would
be worthless, if it could, leave to the
dreamers and idlers along the walks of life.
Discard the idea that little things are un
important, and that great occasions only
are worthy of your best thonghts and en
deavors. It is the little things of life that
make up its happiness or misery, its joy or
its sorrow; and surely nothing is trivial
that bears on questions so vital and per
sonal as these. A kind look is a little
thing, but it may fall like a sumbeam on a
sad heart, and chase away its sadness. A
pleasant word is a small thing, but it may
brighten the spirits, and revive the hopes
of some poor despondent soul about to give
up in despair, before the conflicts and trials
of life.—Rev. F. S. Cassidy.
Hunger for Heaven.
My friends, I am not tired of earthly
life beyond what all men, fitted for the life
to come, at times are weary of it. I love
it in its uses, its labors, and its joys. Its
duties give exercise to my faculties, its
loves to my affections, its successes to my
happiness. I am not morbid, but measure
the world through a healthy body, a grow
ing mind, and a hope as strong and bra
cing as a current of northern air when it
bears down upon a camp from the sides of
mountains planted thickly with odorous.
trees. The pulse of this life is strong
within me, my friends many, and my fur
tune beyond my merit or my expectation.
I am not talking to you as a - disa 4 ppointed,
depressed, an unhappy man. Keeping s only
what I have, blessed only with my present
blessings, I could stay on earth forewr, if
it be God's will, and be content.. But, in
spite of all this, when my thoughts range
out ahead, and canvass my future, I can
but feel persuaded that the present, pre
cious as it is, does not begin to measure the
resources of blessings hidden in the heart
for.me. My present state does not per
mit me their full reception; does not al
low the perfect disclosure of his love. I
need the spiritual body, the heavenly lan
guage, the celestial sphere of action, the
holy companionships, the powers and func
tions, the rank and dignity, the privilege
and liberty, of the glorified world and
state, or ever I shall know the breadth
and length and depth and hight of the
richness of His love; and I feel persuad
ed that by the very drift and movement of
time I am being borne toward, and at last
shall come to something far better than
the good of to-day.—Rev. W. H. Murray.
PEACE 18 that harmony in the state that
health is in the body.
BEHOLD now is the accepted time, now
is the day of salvation.