VOL. 48 The Huntingdon Journal J.E.DURBORROW, PUBLISHERS AND PROPRISTORS. ()Ince on the Comes of Fiph and Washington streets. THE HUNTINGDON JOURNAL iN published every ednesday, by J. R. Drnacianow and J. A. NASH, under the firm name of J. R. Duanottnow lc Co., at $2.00 per annum, IN ADVANCE, or $2.50 if not paid :or in six months from date of subscription, and if not paid within the year. No paper discontinued, wnless at the option of the publishers, until all arrearages are paid. No paper, however, will be sent out of the State unless absolutely paid for in advance. Transient advertisements will be inserted at TWELVE AND A-HALF CENTS per line for the first insertion, S EVEN AND A-HALF CENTS for the second, and eivx CENTS per line for all subsequent inser tion.. Regular quarterly and yearly business advertise ments will be inserted at the following rates : 1 3ml6ml9mlly 3m16m19m Itch 3 5 -1. 1:10 )1 0 4 210 5 005'11-1: c ol 2940000 :°ools 60 3 " 700 10 00114 0018 00 9. 34 00 60 00 65 4 " 800 14 00 i 20 00121 00 I ' 6°l 3600 60 001 80 Local notices will be inserted at virsexx CENTS per line for each and every insertion. All Resolutions of Associations, Communications of limited or individual interest, all party an nouncements, and nokees of Marriages and Deaths, exceeding five linearwill be charged TOO CENTS per line. Legal and other notices will be charged to the party having them inserted. Advertising Agents must find their commission outside of these figures. Alt advertising account," are due and collectable «•hen the advertisement is once inserted. JOB PRINTING of every kind, in Plain and aney Colors, done with neatness and dispatch.— liand-bills, Blanks, Cards, Pamphlets, he., of every variety and style, printed at the shortest notion, and every thing in the Printing line will be execu ted in the most artistic manner and at the lowest rates. Professional Cards AP. W. JOHNSTON, Surveyor and • Civil Engineer, Huntingdon, Ps. Orrice: No. 113 Third Street. aug21,18;2. DR. H. W. BUCHANAN, DENTIST, No. 228 Hill Street, HUNTINGDON, PA. July 3, '72. CALDWELL, Attorney -at -Law, -A— , • No. 111, 3d street. Office formerly occupied by Messrs. Woods & Williamson. [apl2,'7l. DR. A. B. BRUMBAUGH, offers his professional services to the community. Office, No. 523 Washington street, one door east of the Catholic Parsonage. Dan. 4,11. EJ. GREENE, Dentist. O ffi ce re • moved to Leioter'e new building, Hill street fruntingdon. Dan. 4,11. Ci L. ROBB, Dentist, office in S. T. A.... 4 • Brown's new building, No. 520, Hill St., Huntingdon, Pa. [apl2,ll. Tr C. MADDEN, Attorney-at-Law • Office, No. —, HiH street, Huntingdon, Pa. [ap.19,'71. FRANKLIN SCHOOL Attorney rfi • at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Prompt attention given to all legal business. Office 229 11111 street, corner of Court House Square. [dec.4,72 JSYLVANCS BLAIR, Attorney-at • Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Office, Hill street, Brae doors west of Smith. Dan.4'7l. CHALMERS JACKSON, Attor• eft • ney at Law. Office with Wm. Dorris, Esq., No. 403, Hill street, Huntingdon, , All legal business promptly attended to. [janl6 R. DURBORROW, Attorney-at • Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will practice in the several Courts of Huntingdon county. Particular attention given to the settlement of estates of dece dents. iitioe in ho JOURNAL Building. [feb.l,ll. W. MANTERN, Attorney-at-Law r, • and General Claim Agent, Huntingdon, Pa., Soldiers' claims against the Government for back p. y, bounty, widows' and invalid pensions attend edd with great care and promptnees. Office on Hill street. [jan.4,7l. S. GEISSINGER, Attorney -at- L• Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Office with Brown 3. Bailey. [Feb.s-ly K. ALLEY LovEL, J. HALL MIOARSIB. L OVELL & MUSSER, AttoTer-at-Law, HUNTINGDON, PA. speeial attention given to COLLECTIONSof all kinds; to the settlement of ESTATES, he.; and all other legal business prosecuted with Sdelity and diepateh. [nov6,'72 IT? A. ORBISON, Attorney-at-Law, • Office. 321 Hill street, Huntingdon, Pa. fmay3l,'7l. JOHN SCOTT. S. T. BROWS, J. N. BAILET ‘,IOOTT, BROWN & BAILEY, At K-7 torneys-at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Pensions, land all claims of soldiers and soldiers' heirs agsinet t he Gorernment will be promptly prosecuted. Office on Hill street. [jan.4,'7l. -WII,LIAM A. FLEMING, Attorney at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Special attention given to eolleotions, and all other legal business attended to with care and promptness. Offlee, No. 22:1, Hill street. [apl9,ll. Hotels. :MORRISON HOUSE, OPPOSITE PENNSYLVANIA R. R. DEPOT HUNTINGDON, PA J. H. CLOVER, Prop, April b, 1871-Iy. WASHINGTON HOTEL, S. S. BOWDON, Prop'r. ~'.•rner of Pitt it Juliana Ste., Bedford, Ps. mayl. Miscellaneous, OYES! 0 YES! 0 YES! The subscriber holds himself in readiness to cry Sales and Auctions at the shortest notice. Having considerable experience in the business he feels assured that ho can give satisfaction. Terms reasonable. Address G. J. HENRY, Marchs-limos. Saxton, Bedford county, Pa. TTROBLEY, Merchant Tailor, in • Leister's Building (soot door,) Hunting ,lon, Pa., respectfully solicits . share of public patronage from town and country. [0ct16,72. lc? A. BECK, Fashionable Barber • and Hairdresser, Hill street, opposite the Franklin House. AU kinds of Tonics and Pomades kept on handand for sale. [apl9,'7l-61n rn „,IIIIRLEYSBURG ELECTRO-MED ICAL, Hydropathio and Orthopedic Insti tute, for the treatment of all Chronic Diseases and l/cfonnities. Send for Circulars. Address Drs. 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ETC., ETC., 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 dressed, J. R. DURBORROW & CO Now vanish the hot rays of summer As autumn the golden appears, The western winds solemnly murmur, And blustering winter draws near. The forest a hue of deep yellow Beneath the ceol breezes assumes The failing sun, hazy and mellow, The sere meadow faintly illnmes. October relieved by November, Frost-pinioned to Letbe may fly, And ushers bleak, hoary December, Suggestive of hearths blazing high, As nature puts off her green mantle And dons her soft garment of white, She changes her aspect so gentle, Though fraught with allurements so bright. Farewell to thy green shady bowers Sweet summer, thou season of bliss, Bright sunshine and heart-cheering flowers, Reluctant thy charms we dismiss. Instinctively turning our vision We greet coming winter's approach, Who, treating appeals with derision, Congeals the whole earth by his breath, ON THE TRAP, I was only a clown. a painted, grinning clown, attached en a small salary to a thea tre in the capital of one of the little duch ies into which Germany was divided before the genius and ambition of Bismark had effected its consolidation into the empire. My role was popular because everybody likes to laugh, nd likes one who puts them in a laughing mood. My make-up was considered a marvel of perfection. My songs always took, and my gestures and grimaces never failed to elicit the most rap turous applause. It used to be said that my face must be made of India-rubber, it could be twisted and distorted into such strong expressions. But I hated the life, and my success made it more and more distasteful. One night I went home completely worn out in body and mind. My little sister Ada, fifteen years old, and light and grace ful as a sylph, who was engaged as a dan sense at the same theatre, also seemed dispirited and worn. The play had been running forty nights, and the whole com pany was heartily sick of it. But it was not this alone which exerted a depressing influence on my spirits that evening. For many weeks I had been losing my heart to Fraulein Dora, the principal danseuse of the theatre, who was no less lovely in •mind and heart than in her person. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen; tall, well formed, graceful; with a step like a fairy queen ; large, thoughtful woman eyes; and a sweet, winning smile. What first drew me to her was her kind ness to my sister, whom she took every opportunity to befriend and assist in her profession. This was the more surprising, because Ada promised to become a danger ous rival ; and, in the theatrical profession, jealousy is the rule, and generosity the exception. So I learned to like Dora, and then to love her. But so did everybody else. All the gentry of the place fell in love with her, and raved about her beauty and her dancing, in a way that nearly drove me wild with jealousy. I was in love in the old-fashioned way we read of in novels—l am not ashamed to confess it —eager to kiss the ground on which she trod, and would not believe that any one else could love and worship her with the same devotion. I must not omit to say that Dora, in the midst of all this adula tion, displayed the most discreet and mod est behaviour. She was always attended to and from the theatre by her mother, and always returned the rich presents which were showered upon her. Among all who paid court to Dora, I feared only one, theyoung, rich, handsome, and accomplished Count Ernest von Wal ters, who pressed his suit with unremit ting ardor. What chance had the poor clown against this man ? Yet I fancied if he were only out of the way I need not de spair of winning her. Did she not love my sister, and had she not often spoken kindly to me, and praised my acting and singing? But this day I had learned the worst—that her kindness to me sprang only from a gentle and friendly feeliug for the brother of the girl she had learned to love like a sister, and that she had prom ised to be the wife of Count von Walters. What wonder that I went to my lodgings with despair in ray heart My little sister exerted herself to make things cheerful in our quiet sitting-room. She suspected nothing of the real cause of my downheartedness, for she, my confidant is everything else, had never been intrust ed with the secret of my love fcr Dora; and, in the hope of drawing me out of my moody silence, prattled on about a num ber of unimportant matters. She was in terrupted by a knock at the door, followed by the entrance of our landlady. The good soul apologized for coming in at so late an hour, but the postman bad brought a letter for me just after we had left for the theatre, and as it bore a foreign post mark, she thought it might be important I should get it that evening. I thanked her mechanically, but a glance at the post ' mark caused me to tear the letter open with eager and trembling fingers; for I had often heard my father speak of an crly brother who had settled in England in early youth, and from whom vague re ports came, from time to time, of a success ful mercantile career. The letter was postmarked London, and the heavy black border lines told the story before the seal VMS broken. My uncle was dead. He had never married, and on his death-bed, remembering his only brother, he had left all his wealth to him or his children. For a moment I felt stunned and faint; and Ada, throwing her arms übout my neck, begged me to tell her what bad news was in my letter to make me look so strange and pale. I took her on my knee and told her we were rich, and would have no more need to act in the theatre. We would leave this miserable little town and go to Berlin. To my surprise, Ada again put her arms about my neck, and whispered softly, 'Need we leave the theatre immediately, dear brother ?" BUSINESS CARDS, LEGAL BLANKS, PAMPHLETS "No, child," said I, wondering what she could mean ; "but tell me why you should want to stay another day, when you can lease at once and be free from this slayey ?" Because, dear brother," she answered, hesitating and blushing, "Franlein Dora told me 1 was a great deal prettier than she was, and a better dancer; and that I should have the first place in the new dance they arc to put on the stage next week. Oh. I would like to have such a in z piety . Autumn BE THE BAUD Or THE MOUNTAIN Via Jterg-igdia. HUNTINGDON, PA., - WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 29, 1873. triumph once ! It would be such a pleas ant way to say good-bye to the stage." I could deny her nothing, my little sister; and though to me it was like going into the torture room of the Inquisition to enter the theatre and see Count Ernest on such familiar term awith Dora, I consented for the present to conceal my good fortune from our friends, and go on just the same as if nothing had happened. The eventful evening came at length. The play was interspersed with ballet dancing, and was to end in a grand trans formation scene in which Ada and Dora were to rise as sea nymphs, iu a shell-like oar, from the waters of a mimic lake. It so happened that, just before the last scene, I went into the room underneath the stage, where the machinery for raising the car was placed, impelled by a strange foreboding of impending misfortune, to assure myself that everything was in order; and that no precaution against accident had been neglected. There I found the master - machinist, a dark and gloomy vis aged man, standing by the car, mutter ing to himself in an undertone, "Bottter she should die than marry the count. He has bewitched her, as he does all women. A little slit would—" "What are you muttering to yourself ?" I asked him, suddenly; "and what do you mean by these mysterious words ?" He faced me. as if struck by an unex pected blow. 'I was only examining the machinery to see that everything was right." he an swered, sullenly, and turned away. I carefully examined the cords by which the car was raised. Everything appeared to be secure and in good order; and I went back to my place, trying to laugh myself out of' my apprehensions. Bet though it was easy to argue that ail was right, and that my fears arose merely from some explicable disorder of the brain, I could not feel secure. I was positive that some frightful misadventure would occur before the play was over ; and every nerve was stained in the effort to maintain a calm exterior. The play progressed. The curtain rose upon the magnificent transformation scene; and the plaudits or the audience grew tu multuous as the splendors unrolled before them. At length the car began to rise slowly and majestically, to low, sweet strains of music. I watched, with scarce- ly beating heart and bated breath, the first appearance of the beautiful vision— for like a vision it looked, rising, and still rising, the car resplendent with all tile tinsel which shone like gold, and silver, and diamonds. A • sound as of many tinkling fFuntains mingled with the strains of delicious music; fairy land seemed opening upon the sight, with arch ing bowers and far-reaching vistas, and myriads of elfin forms disporting on the ground and in the air. For a moment I was fascinated, when Ada and Dora, in all their beauty, rose above the lake, their stately car seemingly lifted by invisible bands. I forgot my apprehensions. and once more breathed freely. Suddenly there was a dreadful crash, and a wild cry filled the house. The car had fallen. For an instant I felt rooted to the spot where I was standing, and then recovering my se nses, rushed forward to learn the worst. As I made my way through the narrow passage under the stage, I heard some one say in a pitying tone : "Poor thing, she will never dance again !" Which was it ? Ada ? Dora? I fought my way through the crowd of aetors and attendants, and saw my little Ada lying senseless in Dora's arms. Throwing myself on my knees, I took her cold hands in both of mine: "My dear friend," said Dora, who was weeping si lently, "she is not dead, though dreadfully hurt. The surgeon will be here directly. Compose yourself. She is reviving!" Mi,' little darling opened her eye's, with a deep sigh, and looked about with a be wildered gaze. "Hush, little one," said Dora," softly, as she saw Ada about to speak. "Lie still and be patient till the surgeon comes." The gentle sufferer closed her eyes, and her little hands pressed mine with a tender grasp. The surgeon was soon on the spot. Fie assured nie that Ada had sustained no fatal injury, but it was doubtful whether she would be able to walk again. With a piteous cry. she fell back in Dom's arms, and fainted dead away. _ _ '• I had noticed no one but Ada and Dora, but at this moment I was conscious that the count was kneeling beside me, and had clasped Dora's hand. "Better she than you, my love!" be murmured. "Dora gave him a quick look of reproof. "This is no time for :love-making," she answered, withdrawing her hand. "Have you no feeling for the poor girl lyinghere, whose whole life must be one of misery and sorrow ?" "What is this ballet girl to me ?" an swered the count, stung to the quick, and for a moment thrown off his guard. "Of course, I am sorry for her," he added the next moment, "but—" At this moment Ada opened her eyes again, and a faint blushstruggled with the paleness in her cheeks, as her gaze fell upon the count. A beautiful smile played on her trembling lips, and she reached her hand toward him. "Oh, my love," she said in a low whisper—a whisper which first sent the blood mantling into Dora's face and then lett it paler than snow— "you are near and I—" Something in the count's face stopped her words. "The girl is wandering," he said coldly. "She does not know what she is saying." We carried Ada home, ant? through the long illness which followed, Dora was her constant nurse and companion. To this dear friend was confided with many tears the secret of her heart. The count had won her love, and promised to ask my con sent to their union. Unsuspecting and confiding she knew nothing of his attentions to Dora, and it was by his wish that she had never mentioned his name to me. I heard afterward that he and Dora met but once after the accident, and that he en deavored to defend his perfidy on the plea that be was only amusing himself with Ada, and never had seriously thought of making her his wife. "So much the worse for you, count," said the true hearted wo man. "I shall never be your wife and never want to see your face again." We are married now, Dora and I. From loving Ada she learned in time to love me, and the sweet and gentle invalid, who nev er again will walk until she steps upon the heavenly shore, is happy in our love. No murmur ever escapes her lips. Her sweet face is never clouded. Since Dora learned her sad story, the count's name has never passed my sister's lips, nor has she ever in any way alluded to hint. But Dora found her one day weeping silently over a pic ture which she put away without being seen. I have not told bow the accident hap pened. The master machinist, himself in love with Dora, bad cut several strands of the cords by which the car was secured. He openly avowed his crime, and only re gretted that Dora had not been killed. "She rejected me with scorn," he said on his trial. "I was resolved she should nev er give herband to another." He was man ifestly a maniac. I can never forgive my self for not watching him more closely af ter that encounter under the stage. for tin pinion. Education of Destitute Children , The. Board of State Charities, through its President, Mr. George L. Harrison, submitted to the Constitutional Convention last week a memorial in behalf of the edu cation of the poor and destitne children of the Coutmonwealth, which the present Constitution assumes more especially to provide for, but which does not at all reach the lowest element of that class. This memorial presents a clear and convincing argument in favor of a constitutional pro vision for the education of the class re ferred to, which was induced by the fact that two sections of the article on "legis lation," viz : sections 18 and 19, practical ly shut it out from the benefits of public instruction which are freely offered at the public cost, even to those who can readily obtain it at their own expense. The more liberal of theAtwo sections requires a two thirds vote of all the members of both branches of the Legislature to legalize any grant for charitable or educational pur poses to any institution not absolutely un der Ste* control; and this necessarily ex cludes tie only possible instrumentality for reclaiming and educating vagrant chil dren, namely : private effort and private benevolence, receiving any aid from the State for fulfilling what is the State's pro• per work, but which the State cannot per form by any system which she has in oper ation. The main objection to a provision for aiding in the education of this low ele ment of the youthful population is. that it is a "charitable" work, with which the State should have nothing to do; or if no, she must own and control all the machine ry which does the work , that is, she shall not contribute to the House of Refuge, the Asylums for the Blind and for the Deaf Mutes and the Imbecile Children; or to the Hospital for the Insane of Dixmont, Allegheny county, on the same terms as to the penitentiaries or the two other in sane asylums, at Harrisburg and Danville, respectively ; because the former, being private charitable corporations, may be considered unsafe agencies to which to en trust the public funds or the public confi deuce. It would seem that•the half cen tury's experience of • the management of these prescribed institutions should have satisfied the members of the Convention that this very element of private effort and beneficence, which enters into their Con stitution and their administration, has been the greatest safeguard of their integ rity and the strongest stimulus to their success. But concerning the education of the neglected and destitute children of the State. it seems clear that charity is not in voked from the Convention or the Legis ture at all. It is simply right. The poli cy of providing for tuiversal education is accepted. Shall, then the blind be exclu ded on account of their blindness, or the mute fur their want of speech Shall they, too, not enjoy the rights or privi leges which the Legislature may freely ac cord to their less dependent fellows ? Because they are blind and deaf and dumb, shall they be enforced to ignorance ? Must they see the lessons and hear the voices whieh the common school teachers employ in the education of the more favored pro teges of the State, or lose their share of the State's bounty ? There is a character above the Constitution, which it seems to us is invaded by the restriction which has been imposed upon the legislation in re ference to the education of all classes of defectives, with which may fairly be num bered these destitute and neglected chil dren, in whose behalf the Beard of Public Charities has memorialized the Conven tion. It is the character of "Equal Rights." The argument of Mr. Harrison, which the Convention so unceremoniously disposed of the other day—thinking it is not worth while either to have it read or printed in their journal—proves most clearly and conclusively that "this class of children has not been reached by our public schools ; and that this is the lesson not only of our own past experience, but wherever the system of free schools has been tried. They may be ever so free and open to all, but these children must remain outside." And they "remain outside," because of some deficiency, which, as in the cases of the blind, the deaf and dumb, and the im becile, afflicts their condition. They are destitute of care and guardianship; they have no sure means of support; they must beg or steal, or do some uncertain and degrading work in order to obtain food whereby to live and the clothing to cover their nakedness. This, then, is their de ficiency, and for this they are no more re sponsible than are the blind and the mute and the feeble minded. Must they starve or go naked in order that they may avail themselves of the educational provisions of the State? Mr. Harrison takes the ground that where this "deficiency" is sup plied by private bounty, the State at least aid in the "educational" service, by pro viding a given sum for each inmate of schools established for industrial training and education of this class by privats effort, whenever or wherever established; the State as a matter of course, exercises the right of inspection to see that the money it grants is not squandered or misapplied, and reserving the power of revoking its sanction and withholding its aid, whenev er it judges that there is occasion for such a course. This fundamental evil, which, if not 'met and overcome, will render vain many of the attempted reforms of:the Con vention, has been thoroughly appreciated in countries where the necessity is less paramount titan it is in a democratic land. It was found in England that, under the Elementary Education :let, which is of a compulsory character, this class of the pop ulation could not be provided for, and the government, after full experience of the benefit to the State of the industrial schools, which were educated by private labor and benevolence, gave such schools a recognized status, and has since syste matically inspected them and aided them by moderate per capita grants. This pol icy has had the effect of extending their number very largely, and many children go out of these schools—prepared by day domestic training and reformed by indus trial work from their erratic habits, into the free public schools—and the condition of the whole juvenile population of Eng land has been changed. In the language of a distinguished member of the Interna tional Congress recently held in London, "the system has cut up juvenile vagrancy by the roots, and almost destroyed juvenile crime in many localities. It seems unaccountable that with us; where the only surety for our institutions is the virtue and intelligence of the peo ple, it should not be thought worth while to reclaim that wild, vagrant and abject youth who live, of necessity, in the atmos phere of ignorance and debasement, and who not only furnish the material for our prisons and almshouses, but largely aid in makino• e' the very laws under which we live. We trust that the Convention may revise its work in this behalf, or at least think fit.to answer the argument of the Board of Public Charities.—The .dge, October 6,187.. How to Cure a Cold. One of our citizens who has been trou bled with a severe celdon the lungs, effect ed his recovery in the following simple manner : He boiled a little hoarhound and boneset together, and then drank freely of the tea bane going to bed. The next. day be took five pills, put ono kind of plaster on his breast, another under his arms, and still another on his back.— Under advice from an experienced old lady he took all these with an oyster knife in the afternoon, and and slapped on a mus tard plaster Instead. His mother put some onion drafts to his feet, and gave him a lump of tar to swallow. Then he put hot bricks to his feet, and went to bed. The next morning another old lady came in with a bottle of goose oil, and gave him a dose of it in a quill, and an aunt arrived at about the same time from Bethel, with a bundle of sweet fern. which she made into tea and gave it to him every half hour until noon, when he took a big dose of salts. After dinner his wife, who had seen a fine old lady of great experience in doctor ing on Franklin street, gave him two pills of her make, about the size of an English walnut, and of a like shape, and two I spoonfuls of a homemade balsam to keep them down. Then he took half a pint of hot rum at the suggestion of a sea captain, who resided in the next house, and steam ed his legs with an alcohol bath. At this crisis two of the neighbors ar rived who saw at once that his blood was out of order, and they gave him half a gallon of spearmint tea, and a big dose of castor oil. Before going to bed he took eight of a new kind of pills, wrapped a piece of flannel soaked in hot vinegar and salt around his neck, and had feathers burnt on a shovel in his room. He is now fully cared and full of gratitude. We advise our readers to cut this out and keep it where it can ho found when danger threatens. A Tough Story Old John B , of the town of W-, this State, was, during his life, one of the most inveterate liars and story tellers extant. The shoemaker that John patronized, lived about a half mile from the town, and, in John's estimation could beat anything in the town, or out cf it, mending or making a pair of boots or shoes. One morning, late in the fall, John started early to have a pair of shoes mended for his wife. As Was his custom, when going out of town, he shouldered his well worn shot gun, thinking that he might perohanee get some game on the way. He had got half way to his destination, when he heard a great "flutterin," as he ex pressed it, overhead. Ho looked up and with pleasure saw a flock of wild geese on their migratory journey to warmer cli mates. John's gun had but one load. He blazed away, but was astonished that no game came down. He loaded hastily and in ramming the second load, his ramrod stuck tight. He had no time to loose, and so be shot ramrod and all at the rap idly passing flock. Nothing fell. John proceeded on his way wondering how he had missed, for he was a good shot. After getting through at the shoemaker's, and on his return, and when near the spot where he had made his vain shots in the morning, he heard another "flutterin." On looking up he was agreeably surprised to see the ramrod he had shot away early in the morning, on its return, -strung full of as fine game as he had ever shot in his life." John of course was surprised, and so were we when he told us the story. Motherly. What a dear old Saxon epithet is the word "motherly." Motherly kindness, attention, nurture 1 The word is never unwelcome when fairly applied. Motherly influence; who has not felt it? Motherly love; who has not joyed in it? Motherly self-denial ; often the secret heading of the longest chapters of her life, the memory of which long survives them all. Mother ly self-sacrifice; true to Ike last, often re appearing in some posthumous expression, like a voice from the tomb. My friend, the Rev. John Burbidge, of St. Stephen's, Sheffield, put. it to the mothers and sons of his church : "Does not history tell us how St. Agustine, Theoderet, Basil and St. Chrasestum owed everything to a mother's prayers Have we not read how Bishop Hall was dedicated to the service of Christ by his mother on her death-bed; how Payson traced all his hopes and use fulness to the Christian nurture of his home; how Brainerd ascribed his deep re ligious feelings to the education of his ear ly years; how Plfilip Henry and his five sisters avowed that what piety they pos sessed they owed under God to their pa rents; how James Montgomery traced his love for spiritual things to the instruction received in childhood; how the mother of the Wesleys left impressions on the char acter of her illustrious sons which were never effected ; how Romaine Doddridge, Felix Neff, Leigh Richmonds, Kiehard Knill and Robert Moffat all tell the melt ing and moulding influence of the Chris tian homes amid which they were rear ed ?"—Quiver. Fashions The striking features of the prevailing fashions are : Compression of the heart, lungs and liver. Compression of the feet and tipping of the heels. Dyed, burned and crimped hair. Freckle erasers, balms, rouge, eye-brow dark, lip-carminator and nail pink. Ear-rings. Belladonna, to brighten the eyes, and arsenic, slate-pencils and pie to whiten the face. A hump on the back. Fans like daggers. umbrellas like shil lelahs, and knapsacks laboriously buckled around the wasted place called the waist. Hair clipped on the forehead. Floating hair. The less brains inside of the bead the more hair bought For the outside of it. All the ornaments possible to be gotten on the bead, hands and neck. Can these striking characteristics be found in association retrogressive, brutal or aboriginal ? If they ean, a suspicion is justified as to whether the theory of evolu tion, in female fashions be correct.—Miss Buchanan in. Chicago Tribune. Tit-Bite Taken on the FIT Chicken cholera is what now agitates Chester county. The latest style in coffins is included by a Charleston paper in its fashion gossip. The Society of Friends in Indiana are reported to have abolished all roles against "marrying out." A Californian recently rode a fifteen-mile horse-back race against a Pacific railway train for p5O, and won it. At a Boston restaurant a supply of live trout is kept in a tank, so that epicures may pick out which fish they will have cooked. The largest lump of lead ever found was recently dug up at Minersville, Mo. It weighs (30,000 pounds, and is worth al most 520,000. At a trial recently held in St. Louis the prisoner at the bar, the lawyer who was defending him, the reporter and the judge were all classmates in college. The Brunswick and Albany Railroad was sold at public sale, at Brunswick, for $530,000 to German bondholders who hold over $2,000,000 of first mortgage bonds. A prosperous Princeton, Illinois, . . merchant has for his motto. Early to bed and early to rise, never get tight, and advertise, let your wares be known if you are wise. The tenth annual session of the Inter national Division of the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers opened at Philadel , phia. The Brotherhood comprises 9,500 members. Several of the delegates of the Evangel ' ical Alliance accepted an invitation of the German Protestants at Baltimore, and made addresses at the St. Matthew Evan gelical Lutheran Church. Judge Wells, of the Massachusetts Supreme Court, fined the proprietors of a Boston paper twenty-five dollars for con tempt in publishing an article tending to bias the jury in a pending suit., The Boston Young Men's Christian Union have started a novel and very use ful charity. It is to provide rides in carriages for invalids who are unable to pay the cost of the necessary exercise. The Secretar: of War has issued, by di rection of the President, a general order holding apart a tract of land within the military reservation at Fort McPher son, Nebraska. to he used as a national cemetery. Fifteen Chinese shoemakers left North Adams for California last week, where they expect to get $6O per month in a shoe factory. They include some of the first arrivals, and all of them can read and write. Charles Mellon, son of William K Mel lon, sugar refiner, of New York city, died at Irvington on Wednesday, from injuries received at the White Plains the day be fore, during a row, growing out of a dis pute about a horse raee. According to the report of the Geo logical Survey of New Foundland, a vein of hone stone rivaling in texture and quality the famous oil stone of Turkey, has been discovered on that Island. It occurs in great quantity. The Indians of Bad River, Wisconsin, this year have raised 3,000 bushels of oats, 1,000 of corn, 5,000 of potatoes, 2,000 of rutabagas, and 300 tons of hay. And they have gathered 1,600 bushels of cran berries and two tons of wild rice. It is estimated that the surplus wheat crop of Minnesota, tOr 187:1, in its trans portation to market at Chicago, Milwaukee and Duluth, will fill one hundred thousand cars, constituting more than six thousand five hundred trains of fifteen cars each. A war party of two hundred Sioux at tacked the Poncas agency, seventy-five miles west of Sioux City. They were re pulsed by the Poncas but renewed the at tack in the afternoon, driving the Poncas into a plum orchard. Four on each side were killed. Charles 11. Phelps, the defaulting cash ier of the New York State Treasury, was Wednesday brought before the police court for examination, but at the request of the District Attorney the case *as postponed until Saturday and Phelps re manded to jail. Postal cards have proved so popular in this country that during the first five mogths of their use more than siztyfive millions have been issued. When Con gress authorized the issue it was expected that one hundred millions of these cards would be used the first year. Hillsboro, Ell., has a philosopher, named Jeff. Yocum. After listening to various exploits o' other days, narrated by a party of gentlemen Jeff broke in with: "Well, fellers, I tell you it seems to me that as men get older fun gets skeerser." Jeff was profoundly right. 0. S. Long, editor of the Wheeling Register, was attacked by James M. Swee ney, candidate for the House of Delegates, and badly punished, Wednesday afternoon. on the custom house steps. The cause of the attack was an editorial in the Register severely reflecting on Sweeney's character. The Old Men's Home, of Philadel phia, deposited a large sum with Jay Cooke three days before the crash, and the St. John's Children's Hospital in Washington lost about $20,000 by the Washington house. The latter sum was a portion of an appropriation made by Congress last winter. The Paymaster's ear of the Louisville and Nashville Railroad Company started out Wednesday to pay off along the line. The delay of several weeks in the month ly payments has caused great embarrass ment to the employees. The heavy amounts of interest due and paid by the conspany has caused the unprecedented delay. Tho Directors of the St. Louis National bank instructed the President to take measures to call a meeting of members of the Clearing Souse to discuss the fea sibility of the immediate resumption of currency payment, Quite a number of banks are very anxious to resume, and are said to be willing to assist 'any bank that can show itself entirely solvent. akeetand the ,f Wade. Heaven Beyond these chilling winds and gloomy skies, Beyond death's cloudy portal, There is a land where beauty never dies, And love becomes immortal. A land whose light is never dimmed by shade, Whos• fields are ever vernal; Where nothing beautiful can ever fade, Bet bloom for aye, eternal. We may not know how sweet the balmy sir. How bright and fair its flowers; We may not hear the songs that echo there, Through those enchanted bowers. The city's shining towers we may not see, With our dim earthly vision; For death, the silent warden, keeps the key That opes those gates elysian. But sometimes when down the western sky The fiery sunset lingers, Its golden gates swing inward noiselessly, Unlocked by unseen fingers. And while they stand a moment half ajar, Gleams from the inner glory Stream brightly through the azure vault afar, And half reveal the story. • Light in Darkness , There came to Richmond. during the late war, a company of Union officers, who had been captured at the battle of Gettys burg. Among them was a chaplain from New England. who , , invincible cheerful ness had been the wondee of his comrades. He had braved many a danger. had march ed many a weary mile with blistered feet, and spent many a sleepless night caring for the sick and wounded ; but 'love had made his labor light, and the suffering easy to bear," and he had never known, in all his soldier life, one despondent moment. But now he stood a captive before the walls of Libby Prison, waiting in the storm for his turn to enter and be search ed. He looked up at the grated window ; no light gleamed down upon him. He lis tened; no friendly voice greeted his ear. The great building seemed a living tomb. He knew that hundreds were there, and yet no sound of life. Visions of home swept in upon his soul from the surround ing gloom. He thought of his wife and little ones waiting long and vainly for his return. It was the darkest, hour of his life. He sat down upon the curbstone and wept like a child. Just then, far up in the third story of the prison, a voice rang out strong and clear upon the night air, "Pram God from whom all blessings flow." Other voices joined in ; all parts ware sung. Hundreds were singing—strongly, cheer fully, gratefully. The very foundations seemed to shake with the thunder of their praise. The harsh voices of the guard were drowned. The little company of drenched and shivering soldiers below felt their souls "marching on," to the tune of Old Hun dred from the depths of gloom and des pondency up to life and light again. The transition was wonderful. No happier man lay down upon the floor that night than the New England chap lain. "Glorify ye the Lord in the fires." (Isaiah xxiv, 15). Sing the doxology, whatever heavens frown above you, and whatever waves threaten to engulf you. As long as you can see the cross on whioh He died in agony for you, let a heart bur dened with its gratitude break out in con stant thanksgiving.—Oar Paper. The Clergyman and the Infidel. Some years ago a well known clergyman delivered a series of discourses against Atheism, in a town some of the citizens of which were known to be infidels. A few days afterward he took passage in a steamer ascending the Mississippi, and found on board several of the citizens of that town, among whom was a noted infidel. So soon as this man discovered the clergyman, he commenced his blas phemies; and when he perceived him reading at one of the tables, he proposed to his companions to go with him to the opposite side of the table and listen to some stories he had to tell about religion and religious men which he said would annoy the old preacher. Quite a number, prompted by curiosity, gathered around him to hear Ms vnlgai: stories and anec dotes, all of which were pointed against the Bible and its ministers. The preacher did not raise his eyes from the book which he was reading, nor appear to be the least troubled by the presence of the rabble. At length die infidel walked up to him, and rudely slapping him on the shoulder, said, "Old fellow, what do you think of these things ?" The clergyman calmly pointed towards the land, and said, "Do yon see that beau tiful landscape spread out in such quiet loveliness before you?" "Yes." It has a variety of flowers, plants, and shrubs that are calculated to fill the beholder with delight." "Yes." "Well, if you were to send out a dove, it would pass over that scene and see in it all that was beautiful and lovely, and delight itself in gazing at and admiring it ; hut if you were to send out a buzzard over precisely the scene, it would see in it nothing' to fix its attention , unless it could find in it some rotten carcass that would be loath some to all other animals. It would alight and gloat upon that with exquisite pleasure." "Do yon mean to compare me with a buzzard, Sir ?" said the infidel, coloring deeply. "I made no allusion to you, Sir," said the clergyman, very quiet ly. The infidel walked off in confusion. and went by the name of "The Buzzard" during the remainder of the passage. "That's Me." A poor Hottentot in Southern Africa lived with a good Dutchman, who kept up family prayer daily. One day he read, "two men went up into the temple to pray." The poor savage, whose heart was already awakened, looked earnestly at the reader, and whispered, "Now I'll learn how to pray." The Dutchman read on, "God, I thank Thee that I am not as oth er men." "No, I am not, but I am worse," whispered the Hottentot. Again the Dutch man read, "I fast twice in the week, I give tithes of all that I possess." "I don't do that. I don't pray in that manner. What shall I de ?" said the distressed savage. The good man read on until he came to the publican "standing afar off." "That's where 1 am," said the Hottentot. "Would not lift up so much as his eyes unto heav en," read the other. "That's me," cried his hearer. "But smote upon his breast, saying, God be merciful to me a sinner'!" "That's me : that's my prayer !" cried the poor creature, and, smiting on his dark breast, he prayed. "God be merciful to me a sinner'" until, like the poor publican, he went down to his house a saved and happy man. NO. 43.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers