VOL. 50.
The Huntingdon Journal.
J. R. DIJRBOItROW,
PUBLISHERS AND PROPRIETORS
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Professional Cards
B. T. BROWN
BROWN & BAILEY, Attorneys-at-
Law, °ace 21 door east of First National
Bank. Prompt personal attention will be given
to all legal business entrusted to their care, and
to the collection and remittance of claims.
Jan. 7,71.
'II W. DUCHANIN, D. D. S. W. T. GEoIIGEN, M. IL C. P., D. D. S .
BUCHANAN k GEORG EN,
SURGEON DENTISTS,
meh.17,'73.] 228 Penn St., HUNTINGDON, Pa.
ll CALDWELL, Attorney -at -Law,
•No. 111, 3d street. Office formerly occupied
by Messrs. Woods et Williamson. [ap 12/71.
DR. A. B. BRUMBAUGH, offers his
professional services to the community.
Office, No. 523 Washington street, one door east
of the Catholic Parsonage. Dan.-1/71.
EDEBURN & COOPER,
Civil, Hydraulic and Mining Engineers,
Surveys, Plans and estimates for the construc
tion of Water Works, Railroads and Bridges,
Surveys and Plans c: Mines fur working, Venti
lation, Drainage, ttc.
Parties contemplating work of the above nature
aro requested to communicate with us. Office 269
Liberty Street, Pittsburgh, Pa. - Feb.l7-3mo.
CTGEO. B ORLADY, Attorney-at Law.
Over Wharton's anU Chaney's Hardware
store, Huntingdon, Pa. [apl7-tf.
aJ. GREENS, Dentist. Office re
• moved to Leister's new building, Hill street
Ljan.4,'7l.
LI L. ROBB, Dentist, office in S. T.
t-i! • Brcwn'a new building, No. 520, Hill St.,
11 un tin gdon, Pa.
HUGH NEAL,
ENGINEER AND SURVFYOI3,
Car. Smithfield S!reet and Eighth Avenue
PITTSBURGH, PA
Second Floor City Bank
11. Co.rac3l..l„koDDEN. —, n ,. 11 t r
e tk e
t r n
il e - n at i
d a
o w ,
l'a. [ap.19,'71.
T FRANKLIN SCHLOCK, Attorney
!" • at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Prompt attention
given to all legal business. Office 229 Hill street,
corner of Court House Square. [dec.4,'l2
JSYLVANUS BLAIR, Attorney-at
• Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Otee, Hill street,
hree doors west of Smith. [jan.47l.
R. DURBORROW, Attorney-at-
J• Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will practice in the
several Courts of Huntingdon county. Particular
attention given to the settlement of estates of dece
dents.
Office in he JOURNAL Building. [feb.l,'7l
j W. MATTERN, Attorney-at-Law
r."
• and General Claim Agent, Huntingden, Pa.,
Soldiers' claims against the Government for back
pay, bounty, widows' and invalid pensions attend
ed to with great care and promptness
Office on Hill street.
S. GEISSINGER, Attorney -at
L• Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Office one doo
East of R. M. Speer's office. [Feb.s-1
K. ALLEN LOVELL.
L OVELL & MUSSER,
Attormeys-at-Law,
Specis 1 attention given to COLLECTIONS of all
kinds; to the settlement of ESTATES, so.; and
all other legal business prosecuted with fidelity and
dispatch. inov6,'72
p A. ORBISON, Attorney-at-Law,
• Patents obtained, Office, 321 Hill street,
Linn tiagdon, Pa. [may3l,'7l.
E. FLEMING, Attorney-at-Law,
• Huntingdon, Pa., office 319 Penn street,
nearly opposite First National Bank. Prompt
and careful attention given to all legal business.
NVILLIAM A. FLEMING, Attorney
at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Special attention
given to collections, and all other lsgal business
i..tended to with care and promptness. Office, No.
29, Hill street. {apl9,ll.
Hotels,
D ICKSON HOUSE,
(Formerly Farmer's Hotel,)
North-east corner of Fourth and Penn Streets,
HUNTINGDON, PA.,
SAMUEL DICKSON,
Having lately taken charge of the Dickson
House, (formerly Farmer's Hotel,) I am now pre
pared to entertain strangers and travelers in the
most satisfactory manner. The house and stable
have both undergone thorough repair. My table
will be filled with the best the market can afford,
and the stable will be attended by careful hostlers.
May 5, 1875—y
WAS HINGTON HOUSE,
Corner of Seventh and Penn Streets,
HUNTINGDON, PA.,
LEWIS RICHTER, - - PROPRIETOR.
Permanent or transient boarders will be taken
at this house on the following terms: Single meals
25 cents; regular boarders $lB per month.
Aug. 12, 1874
MORRISON HOUSE,
OPPOSITE PENNSYLVANIA R. R. DEPOT
HUNTING-DON, PA.
J. 11. CLOVER, Prop.
April A, 1871-Iy.
Miscellaneous.
fT ROBLEY, Merchant Tailor, No.
- A A • 813 Mifflin street, West Huntingdon,
Pa., respectfully solleits a sharo of public pat
ronage from town and country. [0ct18,72.
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STRANGE TRADITION.
It was a dreary winter night; the snow
lay thick upon the ground, and the wind
went wandering through the narrow city
streets, now wailing lugubriously, then
shrieking shrilly ; rattling at the door and
windows, and thundering over the house
tops, making the people tremble in their
beds. The wild wind seemed to have some
special business in the world this night, as
it went careering and raging round and
round, driving the good folks into their
houses, hurling down chimney-pots, tear
ing up old trees, playing at hide-and-seek
in the churchyards as though it would wake
the dead, and failing that, flying up to the
steeple, howling furiously, striking it on
all sides, wrestling in a mad endeavor to
send it crashing on the graves below. If
it could only have woke up the spirit of
justice, that lay bound in a trance like
sleep, it might have been content to rest,
but it could not ; having tired itself out,
it sank down sobbing and wailing round a
palace prison, where a doomed King lay
sleeping his last earthly sleep. All the
griefs, trials and vicissitudes that can be•
fall humanity had been crowded into the
life of the unfortunate sovereign. He had
been weighed down by political anxieties
and military defeat, and at last with a
brave unflinching spirit had undergone
the terrible ordeal of a public trial—a
mere mockery of justice—which resulted
in his condemnation to death. He had
already bid farewell to wife, children,
friends and relations, and had now but a
few hours. to live. One wonder was rife
among the people, one question had flown
from lip to lip during the day, but night
came and left it unanswered—" Who was
to fulfil the ghastly office of headsman to
the King ?" It was not to be the corn
mon executioner—that was well known ;
but on whom, then, would devolve the re•
sponsible office ? It must be a practiced
hand who would strike one blow and have
done. One thing alone was known—
that at twelve o'clock on the morning of
the 30th of January the King's head was
to fall.
The night that was to herald such a
morrow was the very dreariest of the
dreary winter. The w:nd had puffed out
the tiny oil-lamps that lit the streets with
its first breath, and they were dull, dark,
and almost deserted. Still the snow fell
and the wind wailed on. It was neir!y
midnight, when a solitary pedestrian wend
ed his way through the silent city. He
was wrapped in a square roquelare, and
wore his hat pulled low over his elves. Ho
hurried along, looking neither to the right
nor to the lett, not even pausing for a sec
ond, till he reached a shabby, narrow
street in the purlieus of Westminster, with
rickety, tumble down houses on each side.
lle looked cautiously round him, laid his
hand upon a hitched door, and entered one
of these miserable abodes of humanity.—
There was a low whispering of voices in
the dark passage; then he ascended a steep
flight of worm eaten stairs, and was shown
into a room occupied by one solitary man.
The door closed behind him, and they two
were left alone. For a moment they gazed
on each other's face ; there was no hand
shaking,:not a single word of greeting pass
ed between them. The occupant of the
room was a large, heavy limbed man of
the lowest order, with a bloated face and
a ferocious cast of countenance. One huge
hand lay clenched upon the table, as he
leaned forward and scanned his visitor from
beneath his bushy brows. lle was the
first to speak.
"Well, I don't suppose you've come
here for the pleasure of looking at me,"
he said, with a ghastly grin. "That's your
writing and your signing, I suppose ?" He
held forth a crumpled bit of paper as he
spoke.
His visitor bowed his head in token of
assent, but said nothing.
"Well, what du you want ?—folks d.)n't
seek out the likes o' me for nothing. Tell
me quickly what you want; it is past mid
night, and I've work to do tomorrow that
needs a steady hand."
"It is on that matter, I desire to speak
to you," replied his visitor, in a cold, cal
culating tone. "You are here by com
mand of Oliver Cromwell to carry out the
execution of Charles Stuart. What is your
fee."
"You're curious, master ; but I don't
mind telling you. My price for the job is
twenty golden pieces."
"Let me take your place and make
it ten times more," exclaimed his visitor.
Richard, butcher, though he was, and fresh
from the shambles of St. Ives, recoiled be
fore the eager voice of the speaker. Was
he mad ? or—he smiled grimly, and shook
his head.
"It is a plot to save the King," he
said.
"Save the King !" echoed his visitor,
with a low laugh of bitter hatred. "Though
be had twenty heads, I would not rest till
the last one had fallen. I fought at Nase
by, strove with might and main to stand
face to face with him, that we might cross
swords and Sght till one or both were
slain, for I have sworn no hand but mine
shall shed his blood !"
"I'm sorry for your oath," replied Bran
don • "you might have kept it times enough
without wailing until now."
"I tell you I have watched and waited
"Bab !" interrupted the man ; "a blow
in the dark would have served your pur
pose, and the country would have been
saved much cost and trouble ; no one would
have asked who struck the blow-"
"Man ! I would be his executioner,
not his assassin !" exclaimed his visitor,
fiercely.
"You gentlefolk draw nice distinctions,"
sneered Richard Brandon.
"Time flies," rejoined his visitor; "there
are no moments to waste in quibling or
useless argument. I make you an offer
which will fill your purse and spare you an
unpleasant task. It can be no pleasure to
behead the King."
"But it would be au uncommonly un
pleasant thing for me to put my head in
his place."
"You run no risk," replied the other :
"in case of any discovery or failure my
head is in peril, not yours; but discovery
is impossible. Your person is unknown
to the prison authorities—unknown to the
people outside—unknown even to Crom
well ; in addition to which you are to be
cloaked and masked. Who could tell what
form or face is hidden by such disguise ?
It is but a few minutes work, then the ex
ecution is over, the executioner disappear;
no man will care to look upon his face
or clasp him by the hand; they will
shrink from him as though he were a pest
ilence stalking through the labd. Decide
quickly. There is the money,"—he flung
a bag of chinking coin upon the table as
he spoke—"count it. Give me your cre-
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, MAY 12, 1873.
dentials and disguise, and never fear but
all will go well."
'how know I that ?" said Brandon, ir
resolute and sorely tempted. "I was chosen
fin my skill; you are no professional, and
may be but a bungler at the work. I am
only a butcher, a slayer of innocent beasts,
and I would not be the torturer of a
King."
Ills visitor glanced keenly round the
room ; there was a huge billet of wood ly
ing in the corner. lie took it up and
placed it on the table.
"Give me an axe," he said, "and draw
a chalk line where I shall strike."
Without a word Richard Brandon rose
up, took a piece of chalk, and drew a line
across the wood. This done he produced
an axe scrutinized it carefully, passed his
finger over its keen sharp edge, and smiled
satisfied
"It should be a rare tool for sue!' fine
work," he said. Ile balanced it for a mo
ment in his hand, then lifted his arm and
deviating not a hair's-breadth either to
the right or to the left ! As the wood fell
on either side, with a heavy thud both
started, drew a long breath, and looked on
each other's faces. The professional slay
er felt he was in the presence of a master
hand.
The clack at WeAminster Abbey was
striking one as the mysterious stranger
left the house, bearing with him the dis
guise, the credentials, and the headsman's
axe.
* * * * * * *
Time turned his hourglass and days and
years fled past. The King's enemies had
passed away, and generations of their chil
dren after them. More than one crowned
King had laid his sceptre down at the door
of mighty King Death.
The follies and the courtly vices of the
Stuarts were fast fading into matters of
history; and his Majesty King George 11.
occupied the English throne. The noble
family of Stair had lost many of its valua
ble possessions during the political excite
ments of past times. At the present, the
chief representatives of the house of Stair
had fallen into disfavor with the King,
and contemplated withdrawing himself
from the Court. He came of a proud and
haughty race, and could not brook the idea
of a formal dismissal, which might any hour
befall him. He knew too well the character
of his sovereign. _ _ _
As he was walking along the Oxford
road making a mental arrangement of his
affairs, before retiring to 'his estates in
Scotland, which he intended to do forth
with, a man stepped suddenly in front of
him, and placed a letter in his hand In
some surprise at this mode of proceeding,
he opened it and read as follows :—"My
Lord—your bravery is well known ; but
will you have the courage to go to-morrow
night to the entrance of Somerset House,
where you will find one who (if you dare
follow him) will conduct you to a part of
the town not much frequented, but where
you will find a man who is impatient to
see you, and to discover secrets which are
of more importance than you imagine, and
which cannot be disclosed in a letter ?
It you are afraid this should be a plot
upon your purse, bring nothing valuable
about you, and come armed."
Lord Stair's surprise at reading this
strange requisition may be easily imagined.
At first lie took it for a trick of some se
cret enemy, or some affair of gallantry, the
heroine of which had probably her own
reasons for such a mysterious summons.
However, he determined to go, let the risk
be what it might. lie buckled on his
sword, and, providing himself with a pair
of pistols, went to the place appointed.—
There he found a man evidently waiting
for him, who, without speaking, made hi.n
a sign to follow. After walking for about
an hour they came into a dilapidated and
deserted street. His conductor knocked
at the door of a small house; on its being
opened he stood aside and said, "Walk in,
my lord," and the door closed behind
them. Holding his sword in one hand
and a pistol in the other, Lord Stair fol
lowed his conductor, and was shown into
a room the furniture of which was scanty
and belonged to a by gone alp?. At the
far end of the apartment there was seated,
or rather half buried, in a huge leathern
chair a very aged and decrepit man ; so
old, he seemed as though Time had for
gotten him, though the passing years had
left their mark upon his face, and scored
and reseored it over and over until scarce
ly a vestige cf Nature's original handiwork
remained. Flowing down almost to his
waist was a long white beard ; a pair of
unearthly eyes gleamed from beneath his
frosted brows. On a table by his side was
i Small old-fashioned lamp. Sa soon as
he found himself alone with this uninvi
ting figure he advanced cautiously and,
glancing suspiciously round him, grasped
his sword. The old man's dull eyes be.
came fixed upon his face, and a small,
faint voice inquired if he were Lord
Stair.
Lord Stair answered in the affirmative,
adding: "It is you. I presume, who have
sent for me in this mysterious fashion."
"Kneel down that I may look upon your
face."
Strangely impelled by his authoritative
tone, as well as some irresistible feeling in
his own heart, Lord Stair obeyed. The
old man seized the lamp, and throwing
the light full upon his visitor's face, gazed
at it eagerly ; he then stretched fort his
yellow, skeleton hand, and touched his
visitor's cheek. The young man almost
recoiled from it; he felt as though the
hand of death were writing his sign man
ual upon his brow.
"I see—l recognize the features of my
race—it is my own lost youth carne back
again. Now, lift up your eyes and look
on me."
Amazed, half stupified, and yet strange
ly affected, Lord Stair did as he was bid
den ; but lie saw nothing there to stir his
memory. It was a face 0f an utter
stranger, seemingly belonging to another
world.
"Your eyes do not recognize me," he
said impatiently; "but your soul must, for
it is akin to mine. Aye, you may start,
but the blood that rushes flaming to your
face now comes from the same fountain as
that which stagnates and freezes in mine.
For years, long years, I've yearned to look
upon the face of mine own race and blood;
a little while and I shall be content to die;
but not yet—not yet. I have two things
to do. I should not lie quiet in my grave
if left undone."
Guided by his directions Lord Stair
drew a heavy box from beneath a bed.
"There, there," continued the old man,
"you will find papers which will repair
the losses you and your family have sus
tained ; deeds which will restore you to
estates enjoyed wrongfully by others.—
With the aid of these you will easily re•
cover property which is yours by descent;
and you will read the story of my life, it
is written there."
Lord Stair hastily scanned the docu-
merits and found that they were precisely
what the old man hinted, and he raised
his eyes to hiw in wondering gratitude.—
He would have taken his bony hand and
pressed it to his lips, but the old man
snatched it away, murmuring—
" There's blood upon it. I've tried to
hide it, but it's always there."
Lord Stair recoiled a step, struck by
the sudden gesture, no less than by the
words, and the shuddering 'expression
that came into his companion's face. The
old man, observing the revulsion his words
created, put fi)rth his hands pleadingly, as
he added—
"No, don't leave me yet ; I am au old
wan—a very old man, and I have repent
ed. Oh God ! have I not repented ? Yea.
from the very hour that I slaked my thirst
fhr vengeance, my blood began to cit.], and
I felt the brand of murder—cruel, cow
ardly murder on my soul. I hid myself
from the eyes of mine own kindred, from
the eyes of all the world, and I would fain
have hidden from myself; but I have the
stain of Cain upon my brow. I meant my
secret to be buried with me, but it will
not let'we rest—it will not let we die un
til it has escaped my lips. I have tried to
die, but I could riot; I was a coward and
dared not." He paused a moment, over•
come by mental pain as well as physical
exhaustion ; then, grasping his young
kinsman's hand, he spoke again, almost in
a whisper.
"You remember Charles Stuart—King
Charles the First ?"
"Charles the Martyr, as we call him
now ? Yes, historically, I do rtmember
him," replied Lord Stair, wondering at
the question.
I—l—but it is all written there," re•
joined the old man, pointing to a bundle
of manuscripts. "I cannot force thy tongue
to tell all—only this; It was I who stood
upon the scaffold cloaked and masked ; it
was I who struck the ungodly blow that
unkinged England, and sent a thrill of
horror through the land—l, vindictive
monster that I was Even as the axe was
falling, I hurled my name—her name into
his ear ; and as I lifted his bleeding head,
his wild eyes seemed to roll towards mine.
Yes, he hearl me—heard we—and I know
that be forgave me."
Overcome by his terrible retrospection,
the aged speaker seemed to sink into an
unconscious state. Silently, noiselessly as
a spectre, the guide who had conducted
Lord Stair to the house appeared upon
the scene, and motioned him to leave the
room.
"Aye, go—go!" gasped the old man,
rallying for.a moment—"go, and return
nu wore."
* * *
Here the manuscript breaks off ab
ruptly. Of its truth or probability the
reader must judge for himself. We all
know the question of "Who beheaded
Charles I?" has been often asked, but
never satisfactorily answered. Richard
Brandon was engaged to play the part of
executioner, but it is denied that he was
the man who struck the blow.
glattliug lov the
The Source of Salt.
The sea depends on the disintegration
of rocks on land tie. salt. It does not or
iginate in oceans and seas. Rains wash it
and hold it in solution as particles are lib
erated by violence, decomposition, and
gradr:d action of natural farces. All
streaudets and rivers, therefore, arc con
stantly transporting salt to the sea. If
there is more than can be held in solution,
then it accumulates in masses at very deep
points. Thus the salt mines of Portland
and the vast horizontal beds of pure salt
in Texas, as well as that mountain of rock
salt in St. Domingo, were collected at the
bottom of ancient seas, which are now dry
land remote from water.
There are places in Africa where the
process of disintegration of salt from rocks
is regularly going on, but there is n •t,
water power enough to force it onward to
the sea. Hence the particles are spread
abroad and mixed with the soil. The ue
grocs of northern Africa having discover
its distribution where there is no wat.
er to dissolve in the ground leach it. In
that way they separate the salt. Salt per
vades the earth. It exists in the grasses
and most vegetable products on which ani
mals feed. In that way they derive enough
in most countries to meet the demands of
their natures. They require as much as
civilized humanity. With them it is ne
cessary, as with ourselves, for keeping the
organs of vision in good condition. Stop
the supply and blindness would ensue.
Canaries.
Rather more than three hundred years
ago, a ship partly laden with little green
birds captured in the Canary Islands, hay
ing been wrecked near Elba, the birds made
their escape, flew to the island, and there
settled themselves. Numbers of them
were caught by the inhabitants, and on ac
count of their sprightly vivacity and the
brilliancy of their voice they soon became
great favorites, and rapidly spread over
Europe. The original color of the canary
is not the bright yellow with which its
feathers are generally tinted, but a kind
of dappled olive green, black and yel
low, either color predominating accord
ing to circumstances. By careful man
agement the bird-fanciers arc able to pro
cure canaries of every tint between the
three colors, having instituted a set of rules
by which the quality and arrangement of
the coloring is reduced to a regular system.
Still the original dappled grean is always
apt to make its appearance, and even when
two colored birds are mated, a green one is
pretty sure to be found in the nest. For
my own part I cue little for the artificial
varieties produced by the fanciers, and to
my mind an intelligent bird and a good
songster is not one whit the less attractive
because the colors of its plumage are not
arranged precisely according to the fan
ciers's rules.
BENEVOLENCE is not a thing to be Li
ken up by chance, and put by at once to
make way f,r every employment which
savors of self. interest. It is the largest
part of our busines, beginning with our
home duties, and extending itself to the
utmost verge. of humanity. A vague feel
ing of kindness toward our fellow creatures
is no state of mind to rest in. It is not
enough for us to be able to say that noth•
ing of human interest is alien to us, and
we give our acquiescence, or indeed our
transient assistance, to any scheme of be
nevolence that may come in our way.
No; it is in promoting the welfare of oth
ers, we must toil; we must devote to it
earnest thought, constant care and zealous
endeavor.—Artkup Helps.
You should not stone your neighbor,
but you may rock his baby.
Among the many causes of pain and
sorrow in the world, tit! must potent are
the wounds which we wantonly inflict
upon each other. IVhen we reflect on the
numerous trials which visit mankind. in
the shape of poverty. siekness, bereave
ment, the failure of effort and the disap
pointment of hopes. it would seem as it
none could be found so cruel as wilfully to
add to the long catalogue. That there are
some who do this deliberately. and many
more wh do it thonghtlessiy. most be ad
mitted. Perhaps there is no weapon so
strong to injure, and so keen to wound. as
the tongue. Capable of showering the
richest blessings of love and sympathy, of
hope and cheer, of instruetion and eneonr•
figment. it is yet too oftea made the
channel through which the venom of sel.
fishness and malice flows to poison and de.
stroy human happiness. No'. only through
open kindness and harsh asperity -:re the
wounds of the tongue inflicted ; there is a
mere insiduous and secret course. less pal
pably cruel, often, indeed, assuming the
guise of apparent sincerity and friendship
and thus wholly escaping the aappmbriiina
it justly deserves. Of all the evils that
corrupt our social life there are none so
pernicious as those inflicted by the can
ning and malicious tattler. When we
meet face to face with a f,e. we at least
know what we encounter. and cm prepare
for the assan;t ; Ira when we are stabbed
in the dark, thrust at by supposed friend
ship and smitten by the band that menses
us, then indeed is a bitter enp presented
to our lips. It is impossible to calculate
the power for evil that is wielded by such
a character. By wily conversation he may
worm himself into others' secrets, and then
disclose them, causing infinite injury ; by
misrepresentation and esaggerated color
ing
he may produce utterly false impres
sinus, breaking up friendship. sowing the
seeds of distrust. casting equivocal slurs
on the character and candnet of those most' .
worthy of respect. magnifying petty acts
of thoughtlessness or trivial errors i7sto
serious and unpardonable offences. and in
a thousand ways clouding the happiness
and destroying the peace of those who
have a just claim to sympathy and regard.
. _
\\Thal a contrast to sucha charaet r is
that of the sincere, truthful. self respect
ing person, who se earnestly and energet
ically pursues his own occupation that ho
has neither leisure nor inclination to pry
into the affairs anthers ; who, with all
simp.icity and faithfulness, fulfills his own
relatioas in life and leaves others in free
dom to fulfill theirs ; who is as strict
in preserving, unsullied, the reputa
tion of others as in respecting their rights
of property. Such a one is not afraid or
suspicion. for he is himself unsuspicious,
and is ever more ready to discover the ex
cellencies of others than their defects ; he
fears not calumny, for he never stoops to
calumniate another; he dr2a.ls no expo
sure, for his life is one of transparent sin
cerity. Thoroughly respecting others. he
commands for himself the respect of all.—
His own troubles are not paraded f,r the
purpose or exciting pity, but are h ,rue
with fortitude. while ha never suffers thew
s) to absorb him as to prevent his ready
sympathy with those of others His joys
arc multiplied by sharing them with
friends, and he can usually coin:nand
* *
"A henrt at leiAure from it•eif
To f out he and tympathiar.-
or all the many finalities which confl - !ine
to firm the blessing and charm of social
life, none is ni - fro essential than a straight
forward sincerity. To be true to our own
convictions, to be true to all our profes
sions of friendship or regard. to he true to
justice, honor and integrity—in a word.
to be faithful to principle, is t.., lay the
only possible fjundation on which social
happiness can be maintained. Without
this, envyings, jealousies. selfishne.fs and
ill will will forever corrupt and embitter
our whole social fabric Directly. we al.
low insincerity and donble-deilings to
creep into our intercourse, direct!' we
suffer hypocrisy or decait of any kind to
tincture our convers:ttion, directly we per
mit selfish, envious or jealous feelings to
cloud our affections and repress our sym
pathy—that moment do we introduce a
poisonous element into our social life that
must eventually corrode its welfare and
destroy its happiness. Simplicity, fidelity
and purity of heart and lips from the at
mosphere in which social happiness loses
to dwell, ani only through their continued
influence upon society can it he purified.
sweetened and made to yield rich and
abundant fruit.
A Sick Baby in the House.
A great hush fells on the ear like a
knell, and an untold sadness settles like a
pall over the heart, for baby is eiek. Is it
not strange that a wee little thing sh )uld
have the power to change everything, ma
king the sunshine that but yesterday
played so merrily and bright in and out of
the windows seem such a cruel mockery
today, and changing the joyous tones of
the elder children into funeral notes' But
such is the spell that baby bee woven,
knitting itself into the very meshes of our
hearts, in such a quiet, subtle manner.
that we scarcely know how dear it is until
the little form lies prostrate.
What care we about the order of the
work.basket when the little hands that
made such havoc therein—scattering the
buttons over the flonr. pulling out the
needles, unwinding reefs. and doing other
innumerable things—are lying ilk, with
fever coursing through each waxen fin.
ger ? And does not every one in the house
share the solicitude, making the anxiety
general ? Even Mary leaves her work in
the kitchen to mike frequent inquiriee
about '•baby." Pape comes hone an h
earlier than his wont, so anxieue is he to
learn how 'baby" is.
But the most tenelling of ail is the
anxious face of the mother, sitting at the
sick couch. ever and anon bendin : , low
over the idol of her soul to kiss the little
cheek s) bright with fever, while her
heart ascends to the One who sent her
darling, in a petition tket the sufferer may
soon be restored to health ; and as her
glance falls on the tiny red cloak and hood
so lately worn. what wonder that the tears
fall fast ? It brings so vividly to mind
what may be. But need we dwell ?--
Those who have known what it is to have
an empty cloak and hood that will never
more be filled by the loved form for which
they were made, will know why mamma ' s
tears fell. To those who have bean spared
that sorrow, 'twere useless to explain—
God grant they may never know.
A NEW lIAMPOIHRE reporter. in fle
scribing the recent celebrat;en of her one.
hundredth birth-day by an old lady in
that State, naively luiys: "She talked feN
day without showing the least sign of fis
tiyue."
A Contrast.
A Rank Amory Swoon.
FA.) • ing , aoratnn prenelori no the
ere th, hattk 91 itritulywino. Septoin
ber 19. 17:7. in the pregiener
inn 3n.i h luny. It
They !h.!. !.k. the t'e .? I •'lll , l p•rt•fi tit !b•
SOLthTXRA AID CoVITItTMEV:—Wo
have Dui thi• evynin7, prrhipo for the tug
time. We h th • toil 4 tits
march. the r the licht. rho Amoy
of the ro!r.• 'de we Ikss• muiwrool ttrii
an" f. • r , no.ornely of the incerwel
r.e. the ,ntrif.re of the forvi i ew oppre.ww.
We have sit wi=lt atFer ni t besoie the
same rail) fir.% :iharel the raw. month
‘nl.iier•4 fir,: we have to2i4ler•r twirl rhie
rr 11 r.f rh • reveille whieb ratkri so to awry.
or the .it the tottcn letkit vie the
siztal for rite haply 4!ewp of tine golgroorr.
with to • eirth Ger tr. 4 fool. sad the Itisp
sack f.r hi. p ill. w .
_ _ _
An l rriw: sillier. an I hoethrwr.
have .1 in the pen...fiik ',it/. th.
eyp ~r while the sevlizht *yin
:way h•fin.l yonder 16.100., the sevirptht
that 1... 1 ,mm aloft) will glimmer , tet
se.nr,m frf hi 4:1 hare set WOW the.
Whitenin 7 tent!, of n -ST .sessepasest ;is
time% of t-rr rr aittl alines have we ritlber.
fwl t.ixeth,r. • :•wi grime Ora it sasy sot
be f.r the 13-4 t time It is a 'Arms time
Brethren. .ores sot the awtel swiee of na
ture Aerm to reho the rpspdbies sf !hip
hour ? The 117, of nor memory &sap
heari!y fr is yo.viv stall—the breast her:
died a:naez the plainer Chariots IV*.
—the p . a:ri that rewards heist* se ewes*.
inz in ~antizht —the heights of the Brow
dywine arse ;tinotery sad Irrasvi hirysesi
the vifen-4 of pn.les oreasi. sail ail mw
tare a palate of wolves* silowee.
the eve of the blowt.bri as ...trite if the
onorr.m.
-They th:st fah., the .er,,r,l shall peri.is
by the
.trvi h-no they rent taken the wand'—
Let thii de*.lateil plain. 'he hinn.ll-wwilsis
valley. the brirw,l /arm wileteri
awl the rir32.11 tnyro astsw•r—let
the whitenin; base+, or the hatchery.' far
mer. 'trewn the S-Ile a his linns.
.trail. awwer—let the startler; Illoggbillr,
with the babe die, iw to her *ilh ".
breast. that can aSsni sn seisteneore. kit
her answer, with the death rude miaglimg
with the moratoria; tones that apart die
Ist strugge f life—let the dyisez atesthar
and her babe answer It was hot • day
post. anti our !and slept in eh. rmiis of
pI2C:. W2l was not here—wma% was es It
here Fraud. and mar. awl misery. sod
want. litrAt 1110; 1.4. Ernst the
eternal solitude of the greens vrosis. arise
the blue smoke f the ...tee-es eihio. and
golden 11.•!tis of earn peered r wet frills
amid waste • f the wilderaests. and dat
glad music of h man voice.; awoke the si
lence of the for,st. Now : Gnel of everey,
behold the eh tnlze fader the shadow
of a pre:„..xt—na.l..r the sonetity of the
name "r God. invoking the Redeemer as
their ail. tin these forei,rs birrliar giay
our peoi.le : They throng ocr tower, they
darken ~ n r plains. and anir they ttems.
pass nor poet 4 on the lonely plaits or
l'had.i's Ford.
• They that take the %wore' 4hali periA
by the sw,bri -
Br-thrers, think nie wet unworthy of
belief when I tell y.4tt :hat the deem ne
Coe Britisher no-ar! Think tr.e rant rain
when I tell pi* that Leynnel that eland
this n .rr en-bri.e4l4 I are rat/seria l :.
thick an,: ra4:. the slither dorsi. 38.1 dee
bla:Ater storm. of 4 Divine Betribatine
They may enn4iner 12.4 hr 11141,17. : ) 11 - Tht
and stray wz stay be
driven rr..111 Ibis the lottir
litsl's own venvance will coupe :
Aye. if in the ram sobtioiel ~(
space—it' in the heart of the bog:mikes
Waiver* , . therc throbs the Win.; of an sw
rut Go 1. quick to aveingil. an) tore to roe
ish then wi:l the.: isms kierwlet ise
Ilrtmswiek called Kist, &el is hie besis
and in leis heart. chi vengeance of the
Eternal debovsla : A blight will be wpm
Liu life—a withered brain, .ite aceer-cd is
telleet—a blight will beep), hi* Adams.
and on his people. Grent low, dread
ful the punishment :
Sofa:nets*: I look arses stnom.g your
familiar faces with a ,tratkre Interest :
To-morrow martin we will 311 cr, gyro' to
battk—for seed t t,rtt vs that per sea
worthy minister will gs with yew. wevabitsg
God's aid its the kilt! We will isseirib
garth t s batik. Need I eshort yns t.. light
the 11 , )0 , 1 64ht—ta kite Gar your beats
strx_l4. E.r per wive., amt roar ebildrot !
Vim will g) firth to bottle tw issirriss
with light heats and decennia/ea spirits,l
though the solemn duty—the diary of
avenging :he decd—stay rest heavy on
your .tild in the hour of lissette.
when all armful is clarinets, lit by tlio
lurid cannon glare and the piereing mesk
et-dash, whi:n the waiusiesl strew the
ground, and the deed litter your pia. then
remember, soldiers.. that God is Irish yon
The Eternal fix' istbr+ for you—He ride.
on the battle eland. Ile memos ersehir I
with the march or the hat-vie eherrizr-
The Awtel and the Infinite klieg far you.
and ykku will triumph
- They that take the 4w .rkl shad ?-rids
by the sword. -
ou have taken the sword. het not iw
the spirit of wrong and ravage. Too boree
taken the sword for your homes. En- year
witt.s, and for your little nem
You hive taken the sword fur truth. f.r
jnetice and right ; and t you the pronsi.e
is, be of good cheer. for your fire bow ts
ken the ',iron', in tlefibleee i.f all that man
hold'sdear—in blasphemy of God ; they
shall perish by the sword.
.‘n.l now. brethren and soldier..
you 311 farewell- Many of im may fal to
the fight of to-morrow—t rest the ssello
of the fallen—.nany of as way live In sell
the i.t-ry ref the fight In IlanilToW, and in
the ni-mory „r all, will ever rest and fist
ger the quiet scene of this sistnnianl ai hr.
thilemn twilight advances over the valley
the woods on the opposite height=
their long 413.1.. we oTer the grees
ow ; around 101 are the frets of the WWI-
Rental host. tie half suppressed halide of
the camp, the hurried crimp ..f ...Wier. to
and fro; now the ennfokton, and ewe the
stillness which mirk the ere of
When we meet again.:n ►y tbs. lone *hail
owe ..f twilight tlnne err..r a rseeral
land.
1;...1 in heaven er.nt it.
A Du E boy was rath•.r travelled! far
fear that he wirshi not !m o w hip fish er
when they both reiebsi begs's. Is* lira
mother ea..-.I 9irn by remark iv's: ••All yew
have to do is to look fir in soitiri wit), s
re i 111 , 1•1 on h'.us.-
A room )eon; eras reilarhe thee the
only advice he get+ rpm, capitalist "0 MP
live within his iecoese. - whereas the Si
risky be espetieeeev u) live without se
income.
Nor 1.41* MIR
A' lel moral s few bsmiwi oft. be.
Ars b. .ie wooly kw "NEM At soli&
tie", by Woe* • how - iv Mho
low bawl_ awl time fkaliog Ir 110111 oposiar
sxrlt siesup enollbing b• serial sari
bombiby wiumiso. Lwi.R tee LON Me
boor and a Ur se bore die owamoy perL
firllva. wimp lbw istarese s• llir oupb_
hi• sass ism ties bashes aro jos
.irsee.r. Of merge 'bey spoP4 sea
brida tri, we imprbing sI fly
email dry sfLmwi n. bin so.
Asir 6.0.1 Owl roe WNW oil beak
~blow AI firy hem qif iry 11111 irs
aril is Moraine simiesolimiramlleb•lL
isle , P.m. rows ear Are
TIN, timer bed spple ware soll sow
wse4rwi imam ; taste poet swereseell imend
erbpie s. Gib peewees iwilesal et sop; awl
if they theserbtthey essidel iseemixsidity
inelt firtworibirert sei semi, Pis. sal
aribal their Fri is wars wow. Mei*
they boil se estel, beriatee they bol
time timed. Mee. they amirwel UAW
die tenets gives tem. ~ dos melling
meek br lost They weer siondloildllgoll.
beessset they bed eeewe *limb Ali styli
warship. ssi defy weld set Ailed est glee
se the pest mosurel For s vissisr ifs
offseary be heeled bay sow, silo up
write.pet* tap PO le um i sit
tsb - eh Is wry. teem be serried hie Vow
tsar is s mew: bps. mill WA edam MP
thee be meld Amp a ells wow
Tee piers she be wee sissy yam at
mid b• wars crippled is wesiree war
with bard teeth. bowing swinge veisemill
reserve mod ems alter Seib Mew mei
their fires bed bespeor the heteietleramie-
ty. Mop I. brimming saw 111110.111 w and
t Ilia lbw ems* sod* ash sp seder
4 me." 11511.4110. SI it slab see poi item
o;.ceireserst bask sod She it SIM
sob Wei sesoty Astor ties row Be he*
mail pimp 4 Iwo" sum slaw
lasi. "Web obey islets, tr. dm it sel
vetoers beepsig Mak bap and /. Ir 7
Ilk sew eueesty They vise awry ley
at I *AGA. wise be poser stett. dive
Ise ?times., bolt se boar se ems. 1411111.1110
rpm sae* sit &orb. eSibe. iii bop.
eitsrao. nisi ars. sad pesteme i mess
ism et tiffs wily. Is every psiiir die is
his Este. the beets is sore esilemlboallio.
so Betio Allem 'war oil ibis. em
**Arr. visithorq adelhop appear. boo W
do eh* fool it nook abous or awl so *my
bov* se boor. !Soo is disileso sio ii
ioet eho lishe 014 boohoo • elloomor.
bee dopy sr Awls. end why lbsoli ii =
be berry Rot shove ime 000
WU* is Pr boon~ 4 three amonne Rnr
rare Trams,
Mow lbws.
P 4ter boo shown moio Solboork room
A doe Kano Woo
rPrnerralle ii. slues airy all ibetidellise
sea b 1 wrier piques pet
Zaire Cervisin. taw aro laliihist &au
weary 0( dm Trosrery_ kw 011110.011 ape
hie Astir..
Tipp bimell is irbiell Wmits Avemby
set serrie4 se Aesaskty iv aid 'liken
seeiri
rbe 11.21 d, 4 tile hers Climbs_. el
Merse hav *4 is and her *web
mly especed it say time.
Ia Carri the k.. eipbov. rho sae
tarred sad Asthma by s ambef •tesuts•
able sperriva bap and the peg tie
VP*. esn.
I. 11--mg T 44. me Tsrailby ungeimg.
Vrigisey Vie Demo. s sad siam
trig forimer. Art anelber ant
iiimporW.
An ~bane. men - 311oriemey maw
amps no Areia. - lii m.o. asp
wilisive will 4. the row thiler—ooll be
se& etwarr.
Wiley IPSO ?Me s ersi » tbe
feint: 4 the Ifor Ilmeir in
Semi flee OM Ihr doe bond of Joie See
e awl Semi so tokisme.
Too Aaorives last gaiety op Iss
Lao r imms notass. veleassa 4 isr gs
rine. yobbistiono. bmilhearor 412 1 / 1 11*.
osto rya, of mail a.d pigiama.
A Swim oabotobor tomo war eery
roosesfy by bay serabate. a at on
timely boor by two inbrital soma&
•1110 1.4.160.1 rs ,odor too • bumf f dam-
llbe Ades* "st amid, Ass 4 Geary
Iraibiegs4) hurl *sty bow dellle
by Jalopy Felimas kiwi/ Sy ill is coolie
twos roma est dot UP may %pi Ales
the cherry "vv. Ayr al
iestaaaaas gm time id, s lisorb
of th• ishollifteam et as raised Mow sr
rrripgass. no. a Awe is dr essoisr-
Air elorapplaw alai a bum is -
010.001, tits 4s prolagivit OMAN on
Irme soy ef ow pais Wilms sr ef
•wigis et Ha eirrowasa, • maw its
firart spormi swim list Thew
* ripsaw is to • wow. • tbr
%Me. iria.4. N an Iwryayiar ass..
Thr gest 7epi b.tley limmilimins
is the soweiv•Tviry 4if vie bade at arallor
Mil. Joon, 17 Theo S6IIIPIP iri• Swami&
er fillilltlllllllll rykilloiim. s - iglu?
4 ire Ir,rib. swJ powasisest 4.1116.1• and •
!furze gtsw-tn4ai if beam wiry sod no
s-4 raised Se aware sea posiirt
frog i2IP4 as * Asibus, N s . sionoisep
!Mate Tti. lalloppies oreisoy psopswill
sp smogs s asisliseisary not of sow ppos.
.4.4 dm, son —si i so& 1111 up
opprolsoles spjoussi ppsspoithop isoldbe
sweirty &radii EP MOP
Swope gri. • eirpty iskarairs sw amplimpsd
Suit Ws brim bowl* opium lir airy
of bow Iri the saifpooto is
oir dm afar. 4 lira AlllMPOPOlM billilb =
Am IMP WPM op to poome Os wad
.f the vest ks. so . — .-r 1111141111.
rise doe moot sod dor roospierul how
So emir her buss roma so osibmodolio
tiff rv.rosolpirety Weft op rbo
proonse.
Me Free' ••••iiss orma• it •
elbrommi 1.1111k1111 1 01111) mho •
Wm& rir 111•411 hi somils swim.
• maw sialior irr s balm fir at
'roam •mg 4 sall w it Mr
Airs Ws, err is mai* ramp am!
impannos. Ala is soy is amPleet
Irresell immtio• M s lilies it pe.valft
pruliPrevs iw th• rinsed Ramo
A lishismse smodor 4 toy Worm sso
gams' swims, Milgrim* 'So oa.v isy by
tM ergissis• 4s ounew 4 Wm wow
A limb lis. s ribomimes Opp impose
• bier slisoub sibs weer mem 4 wit
11•11 w. eamisql eft so kW& or omplial•
wig •ha ose Abe ems amp
ssmommasessoi Ps spossol dielff• Obese
espy stembsol Is de MOP drier
NO. it