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JOB PRINTING of every kind, in Plain and Fancy Colors, done with neatness and dispatch.— Iland-bills, Blanks, Curds, l'amnhlets, se., of every variety and style, printed at tlie shortest notice, and every thing in the Printing line will be execu ted in the most artistic manner and at the lowest rates. Professional Cards. A'. W. JOHNSTON, Surveyor and • Civil Engineer Huntingdon, Pa. OFFICE: No. 113 Third Street. aug21,1872. S. T. BROWN BROWN & BAILEY, Attorneys-at- Law, Office 21 door east of First National Bank. Prompt personal attention will be given to all legal business entrusted to their care, and to tho collection and remittance of claims. Jan. 7,71. DR. 11. W. BUCHANAN, DENTIST, Nu. 228 Hill Street, HUNTINGDON, PA July 3, '72 DCALDWELL, Attorney -at -Law, •No. 111, 3d street. Office formerly occupied by Messrs. Woods a Williamson. (ap12,'71. DR. A. B. BRUMBAUGH, offers his professional services to the community. Office, No. 523 Washington street, one door east of the Catholic Parsonage. Ljan.4,'7l. 11 4 . J. GREENE, Dentist. Office re- EA • moved to Leister's new building, Hill street Prontingdon. Ljan.4;7l . LAW NOTICE.—S. E. Fleming. Esq.. has ads day vol• untarily withdrawn from our law firm. SPEER t M'fifURTRIE. Attorneys-at-Law. Huntingdon, July 15, 1874. E. FLE3IING, Attorney-at-Law, • Huntingdon, Pa., office 319 Penn street, nearly opposite First National Bank. Prompt and careful attention given to all legal business. Aug.5,'74-limos. GEORGE D. BALLANTYNE, M. D., of Pittsburg, graduate of Bellevue Hospi tal Medical College, offers his professional services to the citizens of Huntingdon and vicinity. Office 927 Washington street, WeetHuntingdon. Ju1y22;1874-3mos. fl L. ROBB, Dentist, office in S. T. "LA • Brewn's new building, No. 520, Hill St., Huntingdon, Pa. [apl2,'7l. HC. MADDEN, Attorney-at-Law • Mee, No. —, Hill street, Huntingdon, Pa. [ap.19,'71. 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LOVELL & MUSSER, Attorneys-at-Law, Specisl attention given to COLLECTIONS of all kinds; to the settlement of ESTATES, &c.; and all other legal business prosecuted with fidelity and dispatch. in0v6,72 IP A. ORBISON, Attorney-at-Law, -+-v• Moo, 321 Hill street, Huntingdon, Pa. [may3l,ll. WILLIAM A. FLEMING, Attorney at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Special attention given to collections, and all other legal business attended to with care and promptness. Office, No. 229, Ilill street. [apl9,'7l. Hotels JACKSON HOUSE FOUR DOORS EAST OF THE UNION DEPOT, HUNTINGDON, PA. A. B. ZEIGLER, Prop, N0v12,1 - 3-6w MORRISON HOUSE, OPPOSITE PENNSYLVANIA R. R. DEPOT lIUNTINUDON, PA. J. 11. CLOVER, Prop. April 5, 1871-17. Miscellaneous ItOBLEY, Merchant Tailor, in K• Leister's Building (second floor,) Hunting don, Pa., respectfully.solicits a share of public patronage from town and country. [0ct16,72. RA. BECK, Fashionable Barber • and Hairdresser, Hill street, opposite the Franklin House. 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Orders by mail promptly filled. All letters should be ad dressed, J. R.DURBORROW & CO , The untingdon Journal. Printing. PUBLISHED HUNTINGDON, PA, CIRCULATION 1800 SONABLE TERMS paid within the year. JOB PRINTING W I T II AND IN TIIE STYLE, SUCH AS CIRCULARS, BUSINESS CARDS, PROGRAMMES, CONCERT TICKETS, ORDER BOOKS, RECEIPTS, LEGAL BLANKS LETTER HEADS, PAMPHLETS PAPER BOOKS, ETC., ETC., ETC., ETC., ETC., puoto' A Sterling Old Story Who shall judge man from his manner? Who shall know him by his dress? Paupers may be fit for princes, Princes fit for something less. Crumpled shirt and dirty jacket May beclothe the golden ore ; Of the deepest thoughts and feelings— Satin vest can do no more. There arc streams of crystal nectar Ever flowing out of stone ; There arc purple beds and golden, Bidden, crushed and overthrown, God, who counts by souls, not by dresses, Loves and prospers you and me, While he values thrones the highest But as pebbles in the sea. Man upraised above his fellows, Oft forgets his fellows then ; Masters—rulers—lords, remember That your meanest hinds are men ; Men of labor, men of feeling, Men of thoughts, and men of fame, Claiming equal rights to sunshine In a Man's ennobling name. There are foam-embroidered oceans, There are little wood-clad rills ; There are feeble inch-high saplings, There are cedars on the hills. God, who counts by souls, not stations, Loves and prospers you and me ; For to Him all vain distinctions Are as pebbles in the sea. Toiling hands alone are builders Of a nation's wealth and fame ; Titled laziness is pensioned, Fed and fattened on the same; By the sweat of other's foreheads, Living only to rejoice, While the poor man's outraged freedom Vainly lifts its feeble voice. Truth and justice are eternal, Born with loveliness and light; Secret wrongs shall never prosper While there is a sunny right. Cod, whose world wide voice is singing Boundles love to you and me, Links oppression with its titles, But as pebbles in the sea. Norg-aeller. it BITTER TRIAL; - OR - A HUSBAND'S TEMPTATION. CHAPTER I We came down earlier than usual to the "shore" that season, and took rooms at a cottage not liking the bustle of a large hotel. We were to occupy the cottage jointly with another family, consisting of a gentleman, his wife and little daughter, about six years old. Our landlady was a pleasant Quaker, of middle age and all the appointments.of her house were neat and comfortable. We were the first on the ground, and would have the nice little home all to ourselves for two weeks,, when our fellow-boarders would arrive. • "I hope they are pleasant people," said my wife, as we sat at the tea-table on the evening before the day on which Mrs. Rawlings expected them. "You said their name was Clare ?" turning to our landlady. "Yes." "Who are they ?" "People of standing, I believe," was the quiet answer. "Were they ever here before ?" Mrs. Rawlings said—" No." _ "I feel a little nervous about our fellow boarders," said my wife when we were alone. "If they shall prove agreeable, we shall have a very cosy time ; but if dis agreeable, only annoyance. Two families thrown together as closely as our will be, need, fur comfort to themselves, affinity of taste and temperament." "We shall have to make the best of what comes," I answered. "Nn doubt they will prove agreeable enough." We were on the porch next day, waiting for the new arrival, when the omnibus from the depot drove up. Mr. Clare was a man of about thirty-five. He had one of those fine, but marked faces, which once seen you would never forget. It was frank, but strong in fea ture—with a sweet mouth—firmly set for all its sweetness. His eyes were large and gentle, and just a little sad, I thought, as I looked into them for the first time. As he lifted his wife from the omnibus —she was small and light—with almost lover-like gentleness, I felt my heart going out towards the man, and drew a deep breath af relief. "The right kind of people," said I, as they passed into the cottage, and left, me alone with my wife on the porch. "Did you get a good look at Mrs. Clare? I did not." "Yes." "Well, what did the look tell you ?" • "She's lovely." "And Me Clare—what do you think of him ?" "lie's a splendid lovking man," answer ed my wife, with an emphasis on one word in the sentence that left an impression of a doubt in her mind. "Did you notice his mouth ?" "Yes." "It was strong, yet : , weet, like a wo man's." A slight veil of thought drooped down over my wife's face. She did not answer for some moments ; then said, in a kind of absent way, as if she were turning over some doubt in her mind—"yes ; the mouth was gentle and firm—but has lines of suf fering." "fou think so." "They were very plain to my eyes." And now, looking thro'igh my wife's eyes, they were plain to me." We met Mr. and Mrs. Clare at the din ner table, and found them all we could de sire—quiet, refined, and just social enough to make intercourse pleasant. The lady was charming, although you could call her beautiful. She was petite in figure, with a short oval face, and brown eyes that were lustrous, yet tender ! I noticed, a 3 she sat beside her husband at the table, that she leaned a little toward him. After wards, I observed the same attitude, always when they were together, sitting or stand ing. And she had a way of looking into his face that was peculiar—a sober, loving kind of a way—questioning, and I some times thought touched with a doubt, or shadowed by some ever-present memory. Mr. Clare was very gentle towards his wife, and, it was plain to see, very fond of her. Nay, "fond" is too weak a word.— He loved her with pure and deep affec tion. I had claret on the table, and offered my bottle to our new guests. But they de clined, with what seemed to me almost cold politeness. "It is cooling to the blood," I remarked, as I lifted a glass of the richlycolored wine to my lips. "It may cool the blood in some veins, but it burns like fire in others," replied Mr. Clare, after a moment or two of si lence. HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 19, 1874. I said nothing in answer to this, and the subject was dropped. I found Mr. Clare a man of large culture, simple habits, and fine conversational powers. We were much together, and mutually enjoyed each other's society. CIIAPTER II A week went pleasantly enough. Bath ing, walking and driving on the beach, sitting in the fresh sea breeze and watch ing the surf as it came seething in upon the shore, or gazing out upon the great immeasurable ocean—so the time passed almost like a dream. Every day I took my claret, but Mr. Clare drank only water. "I wish you would try a glass of this wine," said I, as we sat at the dinner-table one day, about a week after the arrival of our new friends, and I pushed the bottle toward him. "Thank you," Mr. Clare answered grave ly and decidedly. "But lam better with out wine." "Are you quite sure of that ?" I que ried. "Pure wine gives life to the blood. It is the spurious stuff that sets the veins on fire." I noticed that Mrs. Clare leaned just a little closer to her husband . and looked sideways into his fate, iu that peculiar way I have mentioned. A faint but quickly fading smile rested on Mr. Clare's lips as lie replied, "There may be idiosyncracies of blood that will not bear even pure wine. 1 have heard of such." "Yes," ha answered, .►icr a moment's thought ; then added—" About a year ago I saw a curious statement that impres• sed me strongly. It was made by a phy sician of some note, and recorded in a med ical journal. It was to the effect, ascer tained by dissections, that a too free use of stimulating drink tended to enlarge the blood globules, as well as those of the brain and other organs, so that they stood open-mouthed, as it were, inflamed, athirst always and eager to drink. The physician to whom I have ref;mTed, after clearly as certaining the existence of this morbid change, had an opportunity to dissect the brain of a man who, after being a drunk ard for many years ; reformed and lived so berly until he died. To his astonishment, he found that the unnaturally enlarged globules of the blood and brain had not shrunk to their proper size. Though they did not exhibit the inflammation of the drunkard's brain, they were enlarged, and ready, it seems, on the instant to absorb the fumes of alcohol, and resume their old diseased condition." A low, half stifled sigh touched my ears. I glanced into the face of Mrs. Clare, and saw that her eyes had the set look of one who is gazing intently on some mental picture on which her soft eyes were fixed ; I needed no words to tell mo that. "Curious," I remarked, as Mr. Clare ceased speaking. "I was struck," he resumed, after a pause, "with the impression wade by this discovery on the physician's mind. He thought he saw in this morbid state of the brain the physical part of the reason why a man who has once been a drunkard can never again, as long as he lives, safely take one drop of alcoholic liquor. Ile thought he saw why a glass of wine put the man back instantly to where he was when he drank all the time. lie saw the citadel free from the enemy, but undefended, in capable of defence, and it 3 doors wide open, so that there was no safety, except in keeping the foe at a distance, away be yond the outermost wall." I thought I detected a slight shiver in Clare's:voice, as with some warmth of man ner he closed the last sentence. "1 never understood the pathology of this thing before," said I—"the physical reason why there was no safety fbr the drunkard only in total abstinence We have the secret here. But I cannot un derstand why pure wine should inflame the blood when every globule is in its nor mal state." "There are such things as hereditary conditions," remarked Mr. Clare. "Is not a drunkard as likely to transmit the enlarged and thirsty blood and globules to his children, as a consumptive his tuber• cular diathesis ?" I was half startled by the conclusive di rectness of the query. "The law of truoswission," he wont on, "acts in no partial way. Whatever we do of habit, whether physical or mental, goes down potentially to our children. It is an estate of which no one can rob them. We bless or curse them in our daily lives." There was a shiver in his voice now.— My ear felt it almost painfully. Were you always so abstemious ?" I asked two or three days afterward:3, as my glass of claret brought back the wine ques tion. "No," he answered, somewhat gravely. "In my younger days I drank occasion ally. But wine always was too heating for my blood." "Perhaps," said I, "the article was not always pure. It has long been difficult to get the genuine stuff." "It was pure in my father's house," he replied. "Then you are familiar with the best brands," I remarked. "Entirely." "And know the flavor of good wine." "Few men know it better," he replied quietly. - I lifted the half emptied glass of claret that stood near my plate, held it to the light, and then sipped a few drops, saying as I did so, "I think this is all right, it should be, for it came directly from the importer's, and I paid him his own price under the guarantee of genuineness. I am afraid of all doctored stuff. Do me the favor," and I poured a claret glass half full, "just to let a few drops fall on your tongue, and give me your opinion of its quality." How would he refuse so slight a request ? For an instant there was hesitation. I looked at him and saw a quick change in his face. his wife leaned closer and laid her hand very softly on his arm. Then he took the glass I held toward him, raised it to his mouth, and sipped a few drops of the fruity wine. My eyes were on his face, watching for the connoisseur's look of pleasure. The expression I saw was more than that. It had in it a quick thrill. Removing the glass from his lips, he held it poised for a moment, then lifting it again, he drained the contents at a single draught. I will never forget the sudden pallor and look of despair that struck into Mrs. Clare's face. "Pure wine, without question," said Clare, in a low, changed voice, as he kept tasting the flavor on his tongue. "Pure wine, sir ! You are fortunate in getting so good an article." I noticed that lie turned himself a little away from his wife, still holding the glass in his hand, and reaching it, I thought, a little forward, as if inviting me to fill it. "Thank you! I am glad to know it," I returned, my voice betraying the change in my feelings. Mr. Clare set the l.►ss down quickly, and went on with his dinner, bending low to his plate. The meal was finished in si hence and embarrassment. I ventured to look once or twice at Mrs. Clare, who was only pretending to eat. tier face was pale and anxious. The change in her husband's countenance was as marked as the change in hers. All the old sweetness had faded from his lips, that now touched each other in a harder pressure; and the gentleness had gone out of his eyes. lie arose without speaking, and left the table, Mrs. Clara following. Our cham her adjoined theirs, and thither, after leav ing the dinning.roem. I went wits► my wife. "Did you see Mrs. Clare's face when her husband drank that glass of wine ?" she asked, looking at me very soberly. "Yes, and I would give this moment half lam worth to recall the thoughtless act. But it never, for an instant, crossed my mind that he was it: danger." At this moment we heard through the partitions that separated our chambers, the voice of Mr. Clare pitched to an unusual tone. "Come, lie down and get your usual nap," we heard Mrs. Clare say coaxingly. "I am going to walk on the beach, I tell you!" was roughly answered. "I can't sleep." "Then I'll walk with you," wad the firm, but kind reply. _ _ . "Not if I wi, , l► to go alone, madam ! And I do !" We heard no more. Everything was silent in the room for some minutes. Then the door opened, and the sound of heavy feet was on the stairs. A low cry, like a despairiug wail, thrilled upon the air. Af terwards all was as silent as death in the adjoininr , chamber. "You had better go after bite," said my wife, turning on me a pale face. "It will be of little use, I fear," was my reply, though, acting on her suggestion, I went out quickly. I looked up and down the street, as I stepped from the cottage, but Clare was not in sight. At the next corner, going towards the sea, was a drinking saloon. I went in, but did not find him. Then I hurried down to the beach, thinkino. r he might have gone to walk there as he had said. To my great relief, I saw hint sit ting alone in one of the rude arbors cover ed with dead leaves, that were scattered along the shore. "Ah ! Good afternoon !" I spoke fain ilarly. "Enjoying this delicious breeze ?" lie looked up at me with a countenance so altered, that I scarcely recognized a feature ; stared scowlingly for a while; then, with a fierce impulse in his voice, flung out the imprecation— " Curse you !" T staggered as though he hod struck me. I was not sur2rised alone—l was ap, palled. "If you had put a pistol to my head, you could not have done me worse ser vice I" lie added in a voice that was pas sionate with despair. _ _ _ I sat down beside him and tuck his hand, but he flung mine away, glaring at me with hate and loathing. "Just leave me !" he cried. You've done your cursed work. Leave me !" All my efforts were in vain--and Heav en knows I tried faithfully to soothe him, and so get down into his confidence that I could help him in his fierec struggle with an awakened appetite. Finding that I wculd nut leave hitn, he arose and strode rapidly up the beach. f followed near enough to keep him in sight; but he turned into one of the streets that came down to the beach, and I lost track of him. Nearly an hour afterwards, I foun:l leis at the bar of the hotel with a glass in his band, drinking. I went up to him, and was about to speak, when be bent towards TM with so evil a light in his eyes, that I felt for the instant afraid. Lifting a warn ing finger, lie said, in a low, passionate voice : "Keep on your own side, sir! I owe no good will—and Fin 11:1112,WOUS !" Ile stood, bending forward. gazing steadily at me, without cbanging a muscle of his face, or varying its expression in the smallest degree. I turned slowly and went away - . my heart like lead in my bosom. CHAPTER 111 - Mr. Clare was absent at tea-time, and his wire did not comedown from her room. I sat out upon the porch until nearly ten o'clock waiting fur his return. "Isn't that him ?" asked my wit::. who, troubled as I was, sat on the porch with me A nian, walking unevenly, came into the light of the nearest lamp, took hold of the post and studied hinisclffor a moment, and then moved on toward the cotta! , e. Yes, it was Clare. lie came forward, planting his steps carefully, stumbled a little as he ascended the porch, but recov ered himself, and, without speaking, came in and went up to his chamber, u►aking but little noise on the way. We soon followed, anxious and heavy hearted, and sat down in our room with no thought of retiring. The souuds that came from tha next room were not intel ligible nor satisfactory. Some one was moving about uneasily, and either putting things right or changing the old order. This went on steadily for perhaps a quar ter of an hour, without a voice being heard. Then we were startled by a low, quick cry of; fear, and knew the voice to be that of Mrs. Clare. A dead silence followed. We listened in painful suspense. '•I have a mind to do it," we heard Mr. Clare say, and following the sentence came the clear click of the pistol lock. The next few minutes seemed an age, as we waited for the deadly report, afraid to stir or cal!, lest our interference should work the fatal catastrophe we sought to avert. "Shoot if you will I" It was the clear. steady voice of Mrs. Clare. "I am ready." All was hushed as death again, and we sat, scarcely breathing, in an agony .)f dread. What would 1 not have given to know just how it was in that chamber, so that 1 might determine whether it were safe to interfere. But the impenetrable walls hid everything, and left us in doubt and irresolution. Silence ! silence for nearly a quarter of an hour. Then old sounds began again, and the uneasy movements and disturbance went on. "I'll throw you from the window if you do that again !" There was something savage in the voice of Clare as he said this, in a loud unguarded voice. Then we heard a struggle. I could bear it no longer, but ran out into the hal:, and tried to enter their mom ; but the dwmwas fastened. I rattled the leek, and struck the door loudly two or three times. "What's wanted ?" was growled from within. I would never have recognized the voice as that of Mr. Clare. "Open the door," I said. A hand was laid upon the leek inside, and the key began turning in the wards. "Don't, for heaven's sake !" 1 heard. in a low cry of terror, from Mrs. flare. This was answered by a wicked impre cation, followed by a struggle, a heavy fall upon the floor, and a silence deep as death. I threw myself against the door, but the lock and hinges were struig, and did not yield. I was about repeating the ef fort, when I found myself' standing Gee to thee with Clare, his eyes wild awl fierce. like the eyes of a wad wan, and his coun tenance fearfully distorted. Ile held a pistol in his hand. pointin g it di rec tly a t my head. Ile did not speak, but looked the personification of murder. I was par alyzed by this apparition. and we stood like two statues, for I cannot say how long —a second or a minute—when flare seemed to vanish like a spectre, and the shut door was again between ns. I went back into my room and sat down. weak and trembling, great beads of sweat rolling front my forehead. "Ilark !" said my wife. and we both listened anxiously. The noise that came from our neighbor's room was like that of a body dragged across the floor, and then lifted upon the bed. It was the last sound that reached our ears. For over an him wc sat listening with strained senk , A. Not the slightest movement was apparent. "They arc asleep." said my wife. in a husk whisper. It was after midnight. "The sleep to one of them may have no waking in this world," was my troubled answer. My wife shuddered. _ _ "Cost what it will. I must have the se cret of that room !" I exclaimed. starting up under the sudden spur of keen self-ac cusation. "I am a dastard to sit here and leave a poor weak woman to the mercy of a drunken maniac !" I would hear to no remonstranc-i in the part of my nife. but went out quickly. How was 1 to enter the room ? I stood close to the door. canvassing in thought the ways and means of passing the barrier that intervened, when to my surprise saw that it was slightly ajar, not having been fastened by Clare when ho shot it in my face. Softly I pushed it open. step ping noiselessly into the room. A lamp still burned on the mantle. The sight that met my eyes, so unlooked for and so touching, I shall never forget. Mrs. Clare was lying on the bed. her face turned towards the light. She was very pale, her countenance having the marble fixedness of death. But I saw that she was sleeping. Oh! the sadness, the grief, the helpless anguish that rested on her lips, and moulded the lines about her mouth ! I felt the tears creeping into my eyes. - Sitting in a, chair beside, the bed, was Mr. Clare, also asleep. One arm was drawn under and around the neck of his wife, and her white cheek pressed closely to his face, that was so much shadowed that I could not get its full expression. I stood only a moment jolt long enough to comprehend the scene—then noiselessly shut the door. _ On the next morning. Mr. and Mrs. Clare met us at the breakfast-table. Her face was so Changed, I would scarcely have recognized it. I noticed that she leaned towards her husband as she 53i de hi m at the table, in the old way. nail rinser than before. !Pis face was that of 1 man who had suffered a terrible butuiliation. lie neither looked at Doer spoke to any one. But I noticed, as he drank his coffee. and cat, or pretended to eat, a piece of toast. that his hearing was firm. like that of a man self-possessed and in earnest. ()nee only since then have I (Towed their path. though the thought of them long remained a heavy burden on my heart. It was a year afterwards I met them in the Park, walking nrighe7. she leaning on his arm. the sweetnes4 and love I hail once seen, again resting on her countenance. and the manly strengt4 and gentleness of his face as marked a,. when first saw him at the sea-shore. They ili,l not olk4erve me. 30,1 1 pia4e,l on. glad t, Le unohservel. ani with a liYbter heart. 1124 I Sal , ' fervently : "Thank =_gattling - tor the illion. THE 1 I.tt.t: TEMPT:ft.—No trait of character is more valuable in a nunaie than the posseision of a sweet temper. Home can never be made happy without it. It is like the &wen: that spring up on: path, way reviving and eneermg us. I, t a wan go home at night, wearied and worn out by the toils of the day, and how soothingly is a word dictated by a good disposition ! It is sunshine falling upon the heart lie is happy and the cares of lire are fo-gottcri. A sweet temper has a s,othing influence over the minds of the whole family.— Where it is found in the wife and mother. you observe kindness and love predomina ting over the natural feeling of a had heart. Smiles, kind words and looks characterise the children, and peace and love have their dwelling there. Study. then, to acquire and retain a sweet temper. It is more valuable than gild, and captivates more than beauty, and to the close of lire retains all its powers. A DUTCH NOTICE.—Stop diet': Look here voice. don't it ? I rant to fint we oud, of you got blenty dime. and don't got nn bosopility of a clout spout it. vareapouts a man Tiffs here rot wort away a long spell cf veder ago. Ile lied down py an Irish man rot keeps a Dutch grocery store; nod runt away mit mine vile and mine nruprel la, and I don't likes dot. c-.nuse dot makes me aggravat;on. 'Veil, I don't rare use AO much apout de ole romans ; but I valets de umperella pack. Ile TM a shtond-gorn blected yeller, apout tree huntret end forty pounts olt, and !multi veigh apout dirty fife years wit an ivory handle nn'l tree rips pr.tke. Ain't it ? "A MAN in a l'ennsyivani., lunatic asylum," says an exchange. • imagines himself a woman, and fur that reason parts his hair in the middle." Several Huntingdon young men, outside of the lunatic asylum, part their hair in the middle, because, as it is supposed, they hare a reason. "THERE," said a Effie girl, while rum maging a bureau, "there now, grandpa has gone to heaven and left his specta cles." TEMPTATIONS are a file which rub off much of the trust of our self-confidence. A Discouraged Boy. This b.y was a wood h.y. tie .wits here been an angel to-dny het C)r tie tihno reit of this false hearted wall He impel one of 3 set of triplets. and tberegwip didn't hiro honors showerel Irte him in his early days. bat .41 women said there was riundation there for an orator,. a great general or a phiL-s , pher. and oki men examined his 7:ead and raid it yrs levet,. Nothing p-i-tiontar lrippen,d t.. Christopher Colutabns until the eighth yew of his reign. Ilis cheiih slays were full of mud pies. the butt end of shin gles, paregoric. Pm/4 t avid ~Tel straw hats with th • front irrim t off 11 was a deep thinker and a ..dose .sliserzer for a small boy. an') h.- W3ll jolt ins. tie enough to believe thin- , 1 which other boy* pitched nut the win.l.yr w:.thoist a •Mernia When ehri-toplier t roinz :) It ainr year obi he heard some one •,:c ?hat penny !Sart.' W'tl tW110 , 11 , 19 went".' 114 therefore ki I ttnr-strran away ja a crack under the mop tp , ard. and every day he looked to se, grow to two e.ntA lie hail eontilenee :tail patience, but at length both dare war. Then he zot the eent one day, and Nort , n's winniienneti it. an.! that was rive last that 116001,111 The youthful Christopher .iiiin't belirte in maxims quite as nt teh before, b e hadn't rut his eye-teeth yet When this boy Will 3 7 ,se .44,p e hr hetri it 9ki:d that -trunk wan mighty and ova,' prerail," and that a boy who a:ways spoke the truth tr , nl.i nuke a great and 700.1 man coosteneed 1., veil the truth. On.• !lay h : zt+t his father's best razor nut and harked it -n a stun-.. sod when the old gent eame 'lonia and asked who in the blarys had FL. se that. Clirlsw pher Columbus spoke tr . , and said wa.,4 1, f,th..r—!: notebe4 your ra zor." eh r* the old Inns a Inokecl op into the pearls tree; 041. I'll fix you an you won't serer noteb =- other razor !or me .‘nd he cot a butidinz iimb to! ,Ireet ell that hny down until the boy .311 gear* That nilht Christ/Titer ralituabtai mined never to tel the Iry h again attires by accident, ant all thr•n,:h stair: to that retoluti..n When the 1:14 tw oil h.' ra4l in a little honk that •-howeity was the hen pulley. - He diciart mom t h us half believe it. bat 'hooch' he'd try. lie went to being hone... One lay his moth er sent him to th..! 7•70 ,, ,ry te , !Ply owe. but Bill Jon• . indoer.l hi as to sysaiwiler the chanze f,r Whim be got home hi. moth.r hi= ror the little balance. anti I•isrietopher • Spent it for soda. eb" +he rephet.l. ••liere your poor $1 mother is workinf like a sfare. aryl yon are arrintwi wars% sods-water ! f don't think ri.lll swill any more. I : .oats trey knee.** ag;tate , i hire in the iivelieat manner That night an he tastie.l on his downy straw tier, the hny merle ip it s:wd that hnneity didn't pay. amyl he rewilve.l tw cheat the who'.. wnrki if he nnwl4 When l'hri,itoph.w ex+ a hail I year oliier he e-one li-rem the injnnetion = •• kind t., the poor. - H.• did not bony eheth - w it ge.ni.l re .'r r. 4. Mat be net about 't. Its knew 4 pow w , wase wbo rii-e