VOL. 41. The Huntingdon Journal. J. IL DURBORROW, PUBLISHERS AND PROPRIETORS Office in new JOURNAL Building, Fifth Street. THE HUNTINGDON JOVRNAT. is published every Friday by J. R. Dtmlosaow and .7. A. NASH, under the firm name of J. R. DEILUOIIROW .t Co., at $2,00 per annum IN ADVANCE, or $2.50 if not paid for in six months from date of subscription, and 53 if not paid within the year. No paper discontinued, unless at the option of the pub lishers, until all arrearages are paid. No paper, however, will be sent out of the State unless absolutely paid for in a d vance. . . . Transient advertisements will be inserted at TWELVE AND !AUL, CENTS per line for the first insertion, SEVEN AND ♦-HALE CENTS for the second and FIVE CENTS per line for all subsequent insertions. Regular quarterly and yearly business advertisements will be inserted at the following rates : 1 13m 16m 19m Ilyr 1 l3 m 6m 19m1lyr I lin Vi 601 4 501 5 501 8 00 ycoll 9 00 18 001,271$ 36 2 " 500 , 800 10 00 , 12 00 Scot 18 00 36 00 50 65 3 " 7 00'10 00 , 14 0011F1 00 7 00'10 00 14 00118 00 1340060 00 65 00 60 00 65 80 4 " 8 00114 00120 00118 00 1 00113600 6000, 80 100 All Resolutions of Associations, Communications of limited or individual interest, all party announcements, and notices of Marriages and Deaths, exceeding five lines, will be charged tat 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. AU advertising accounts are due and collectable when the advertisement is once inserted. JOB PRINTING of every kind, Plain and Fancy Colors, done with neatness and dispatch. Hand-bills, Blanks, Cards, Pamphlets, &c., of every variety and style, printed at the shortest norm, and everything In the Printing line will be executed in the most artistic manner and at the lowest rates. Professional Cards• 11 CALDWELL, Attorney-at-Law, 111, 3rd street. Ilp Mice formerly occupied by Messrs. Woods & Wil. liamson. [0.02:71 TAIt. A. B. BRUMBAUGH, offecs iie profesaionai s e r vice. El to the consmiluity. Office, N 0.523 Washington street, one door east of the C atholic Parsonage. [jan4,7l TI C. STOCKTON, Surgeon Dentigt. Office In Leletec'e J. building, in the room formerly occupied by Dr. E. J. Greene, Iluntingdon, Pa. [apl2B, '76. EO. 13. MILADY, Atteruey-at-Luw, 405 Penn street, G Huntingdon, Pa. Lnuvl7,'7s GL. ROBB, Dentist, office in S. T. Brown'a new building, • N. 52u, Penn Street, lluntingdon, Pa. [apl2.'7l IT W. BUCRANAN, Surgeon Dentist, No. 228, Pnnn 11.. Street, Huntingdon, Po.. [mchl7,'7s II• C. MADDEN, Attorney-at-Law. Office, No. —, Penn • Street., Huntingdon, Pa. (ap19,'71 j FRANKLIN SCHOCH, Attorney-at-Law, Hunting . .don, Pa. Prompt attention given to all legal busi ness. ()Mice, 229 Penn Street, corner of Coact House Square. [dec4,72 SYLVANITS BLAIR, Attorney-et-Law, Huntingdon, . Pa. 011 ice, Penn Street, three doors west of 3rd Street. [jan4,ll JW . hIATTEEN, Attorney -a t-Law and General Claim . A gent, Huntingdon, Pa. Soldiers' claims against the Government for back-pay, bounty, widows' and invalid pensions attended to with great care and promptness. Of fice on Penn Street. [jan4,7l J A. DURBORROW, Attorney-at-Law, Huntingdon, Pc, 0 . will practice in the several Courts of Huntingdon county. Particular attention given to the settlement of estates of decedents. Office in the Jotnutst. building. T S. OEISSINGER, Attorney-at-Law and Notary Public, IJ. Huntingdon, Pa. Office, No. 230 Penn Street, oppo site Court House. [febs,'7l RA. ORBISON, Attorney-at-Law, Patents Obtained. . Office, 321 Penn Street, Huntingdon, Pa. [my3l,'7l Q E. DIMMING, Attorney-at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa., L.l. office in Monitor building, Penn Street. Prompt and careful attention given to all legal bneineee. [augs,'74-6mos WILLIAM A. FLEMING, Attorney-at-Law, Hunting don, *Pa. Special attention given to collections, and all other legal business attended to with care and promptness. Office, No. 229, Penn Street. [apl9,'7l School and Miscellaneous Books. GOOD BOOKS FOR THE FARM, GARDEN AND HOUSEHOLD. The following is a list of Valuable Books, which will be supplied from the Office of the Huntingdon JOURNAL. Any one or more of these books will be sent post-paid to any of our readers on receipt of the regular price, which is named against each book. Allen's (B. L. & L. F.) New American Farm Book $2 50 Allen's (L. K) American Cattle.. 2 5o Allen's (R. L.) American Farm Book Allen's (L. F.) Rural Architecture 1 50 Allen's (it. L.) Diseases of Domestic Animals 1 it, Americas Bird Fancier. American Gentleman's Stable Guide. 1 American Bose Culturist American Weeds and Useful Plants 1 75 Atwood's Country and Suburban Hons. I 50 Atwood's Modern American rlomesteads* 3 50 Baker's Practical and Scientific Fruit Culture* 2 50 Barber's Crack Shot* 1 75 Barry's Fruit Garden 2 50 Belt's Carpentry Made Easy.. . . Bement's Rabbit Fancier 3O Bicknell's Village Builder and Supplement. 1 Vol l2 00 Bicknell's Supplement to Village Builder* 5 05) Bogardus' Field Cover, and Trap Shooting* 2 00 Bominees Method of Making Manures 25 Boussingault's Rural Economy 1 60 Brackett'. Farm Talk , . paper, Wets.; cloth Breck's New Book of Flowers Brill's Farm-Gardening and Seed-Growing Broom-Corn and Brooms paper, Sects.; cloth Brown's Taxidermist's Manual* 1 Bruckner's American Manures* 1 Buchansu2's Culturs of the Grapeand Wine making* Buel's Cider-Maker's Manuals Buist's Flower-Garden Directory 1 Buist's Family Kitchen Gardener 1 Burgos' American Kennel and Sporting Field*. Burnham's The China Fowl* Burn's Architectural Drawing Book* ......... Burns' illustrated Drawing Books Barns' Ornamental Drawing 800k5......... ...... Burr's Vegetables of America* Caldwell's Agricultnml Chemical Analysis Canary Birds. Paper 50 cts Cloth Chorlton's Grape-Grower's Guide Cleveland's Landscape Achitecture* Clok's Diseases of Sheep* Cobbett'e American Gardener Cole's American Fruit Book Cole's American Veterinaria n. Cooked and Cooking Food for Domestic Animals 20 Cooper's Game Fowls. Corbett's Poultry Yard and Market.pa. 50cts. , cloth 15 Croft's Progressive American Architectures.— Cummings' Architectural Details lO 00 Cummings 4 Miller's Architecture. lO 00 Cupper's Universal Stair-Builder 3 50 Dadd'a Modern Horse Doctor, 12 mo 1 50 Dadd's American Cattle Doctor, 12 mo 1 50 Dadd's American Cattle Doctor, Bvo, cloth. 2 50 Dadd's American Reformed Horse Book,B Ito, cloth 250 Dada's Muck Manual 1 15 Darwin's Variations of Animals .1c Plants. 2 vols [new ed.] 5 00 Dead Shut ; or, Sportsman's Complete Guide* 1 75 Detail Cottage and Constructive Architecture* lO 00 I,e Voe'S Market Assistant* 2 50 Dinka, Mayhew, and Hutchison, on the Dog* Downing's Landscape Gardening Dwyer's Horse Book*.. ............ . .......... Eastwood on Cranberry. Eggleston's Circuit Rider* Eggleston's End of the World Eggleston's Hoosier School-Master Eggleston's Mystery of Metr0p01i5vi11e.................. Eggleston's (Geo. C.) A Man of Honor 1 23 Elliott's Hand Book for Fruit Growers* Pa., 60c.; clo 1 00 Elliott's Hand-Book of Practical Landscape Gar dening*. e Elliott's Lawn and Shade Trees* 1 50 E liott's Western Fruit-Grower's Guide 1 50 Eveleth's School House Architecture* 6 00 Every Horse Owner's Cyclopsedia‘..— 3 75 Field's Pear Culture... ........ .......... ..... ... ...... 1 25 Flax Culture. [Seven Prize Essays by practical grow- Flint (aeries L.) on Grasses* 2 50 Flint's Milch Cows and Dairy Farming* 2 50 Frank Forester's American Game in its Season* 3 00 Frank Forester's Feld Sports, S v0.,2 vols* 6 00 ...... Frank Foresters Fish and Fishing, 100 Eugs*.. 3 50 Frank Forester's Horse of America, 8 vo., 2 v01e*.... 10 00 Frank Forester's Manual for Young Sportsmen, 8 vo. 3 00 French's Farm Drainage Fuller's Forest-Tree Culturist . 1 50 Fuller's Grape Culturist 1 50 Fuller's Illustrated Strawberry Culturist 2O Fuller's Small Fruit Culturist , rultou's Peach Culture Gardner's Carriage Painters' Manual * 1 00 Gardner's How to Paint* Geyelin's Poultry-Breeding 1 25 Gould's American Stair-Builder's* 4 00 Gould's Carpenter's and Builder's Assistant ...... *.. 30 0 Gregory on Cabbages , paper.. 30 Gregory on Onima Raising*.. . .......paper.. 30 Gregory on Squashes paper.. 30 Guenon on Mitch Cows 75 Guillaume's Interior Architecture* • Gun, Rod, and Saddle. ...... -- Bn“ Hallett's ...enders' Specifications* llallett's Builders' Contracts* lO Tierney's Barns, Ont-Buildings, and Fences*.......__. 600 Harris's Insects Injurious to Vegetation. .Plain $4; Colored Engravings f, 50 Harris on the Pig 1 50 Hedges' ou Sorgho or the Northern Sugar Plant*._ 1 50 Helmsley's Hardy Trees, Shnibs, and P1ante*......_.7 50 Henderson's Gardening for Pleasure. ............. .... l5O Henderson Gardening for Profit — 1 50 THE JOURNAL STORM Is the place to buy all kinds of 000 NM AT HARD PAN PRICESI J. R. DURBORROW, - - - J. A. NASH. The Huntingdon Journal, J. A. NASII EVERY FRIDAY MORNING, THE NEW JOURNAL BUILDING, No. 212, FIFTH STREET, FIUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA, $2 00 per annum. in advance; $2.50 within six months, and $3.00 if not paid within the year 00000000 00000000 Susscpus. 00000000 mimigg TO ADVERTISERS Circulation 1800. ADVERTISING MEDIUM The JOURNAL is one of the best printed papers in the Juniata Valley, and is read by the best citizens in the 75 .... 1 75 1 00 75 00 50 county, homes weekly, and is read by at least 5000 persons, thus makingit the BEST 4 00 1 00 1 00 100 1 00 3 00 2 00 75 75 1 5() 1 25 advertising medium in Central Penusyl- vania. Those who patronize its columns are sure of getting a rich return for their investment. Advertisements, both local and foreign, solicited, and inserted at reasonable rates. Give us an order. ;gum 3 OU a 50 1 75 1 50 1 25 50 JOB D 3 00 1 00 175 in = s. .-, p. = COLOR PRI. kir All business letters should be ad dressed to J. R. DURBORROW & CO., Huntingdon, Pa The untingdon Journal. Printing PUBLISIIED -IN TERMS : 0 0 0 0 0 0 00 o o 00000000 PiwGitEssivit REPUBLICAN PAPER. 0 0 0 o 0 0 e 0 FIRST-CLASS 5000 RENDERS WEEKLY. It finds its way into 1800 PARTMENT ON" ;." rz s. 0 .-4 04 so co ocs =r: 33 0 .4 or 4 1 1:1 co g fa, .-i 0 0 Q , P ,B .`'' • 1 2. - :CIAL' Ely gluts' *ha. Live for Something. Live for something; be not idle, Look about thee for employ ; Sit not down to useless dreaming— Labor is the sweetest joy. Folded hands are ever weary, Selfish hearts are never gay, Life for thee has many duties— Active be, then, while you may Scatter blessings in thy pathway, Gentle words and cheering smiles Better are than gold and silver, With their grief-dispelling wiles. As the pleasant sunshine falleth Ever on the grateful earth, So let sympathy and kindness Gladden well the darkened earth. Hearts that are oppressed and weary, Drop the tear of sympathy ; Whisper words of hope and comfort, Give and thy reward shall be— Joy unto thy soul returning From this perfect fountain-head, Freely, as thou freely givest Shall the grateful light be shed. Ely *torl-Etlitt. KATE'S ESCAPADE. It was a cool, beautiful September morn ing, and Kate Howard sang blithely as she flitted through the wide hall which ran the length of the grand old house, which was her home. She was passing the library door, when her father called her to come in. On entering she found him with an open letter in his hand. "I have just received word from my friend Seymour, that he will visit us next week," said he. Kate shrugged her shoulders ; "papa's friends" are not generally very entertain ing to young people. "lie will be accompanied by his nephew, for whom he has been guardian, who has just returned from an extended foreign tour. He is a young man of excellent family, and heir to an immense fortune.— It has long been Seymour's wish—as, also, mine—that you and his nephew should marry when you have reached suitable ages. You are now twenty, and that is quite old enough. They will be here on Tuesday, and I desire that you look your best, and be as agreeable—" He was interrupted by Kate, who, being possessed of considerable spirit, did not rel ish being thus summarily disposed of. "Do you think I am going to marry a man I don't know, aad never saw ?" she asked, indignantly. "Do you wish to sell me, as if I were a share in railroad stock, or had no more heart or soul than a lump of coal ?" "Kate," said her father, sternly, "to whom are you speaking ?" "I don't care !" she cried, excitedly.— "I hate Seymour and all his relations, and, if his nephew was as rich as Crcesus, I wouldn't marry him There 1" It had been a favorite project of her father's, and Kate had heard it hinted at ever since she had been out of school.-- She bad only laughed. The idea of things assuming such a tangible shape had not occurred to her. In vain her father .coaxed, scolded, threatened. Kate was obstinate and de clared she'd "never even speak" to the obnoxious suitor. Thus the tempestuous interview ended, and Kate went to her room in a high state of indignation.-- Throwing herself on a low couch, she gave vent to her feelings in a flood of angry tears. She soon dried her eyes, however, and began to think about the means by which she could vanquish the enemy.— One thing was certain. She wasn't going to stay home to be bored by a conceited swell who parted his hair in the middle, and drawled his words—possibly lisped. No ; anything was better than that. Why not go to Grandfather Howard's ? They were always wanting her to visit them.— Why not go now ? So she immediately wrote to them, saying she was coming, and telling when to be at Stanley (the nearest station) to meet her. Grandfather Howard lived in the country, about one hundred miles from the city. He was a warm-hearted, pleasant old gentleman, and he and his wife lived alone in a great stone farm house. The peaceful quiet of their lives was occasionally enlivened by a visit from grandchildren. These, however, were not frequent, so when Kate's letter arrived announcing her coming, it was quite an event to them. The spare chamber was aired and rearranged, and an endless variety of good things prepared to tempt her appetite. "For," said Grandma How ard, "the dear child is fed oil confectionery and French cookery, and good wholesome food will do her good." Monday was the day appointed fir her arrival, and at 5 o'clock that afternoon Mr. Howard got out the falling top and drove to the depot at Stanley. Kate was accustomed to doing as she pleased, so Monday morning found her at the depot awaiting the arrival of the train. Her brother Charlie was with her, and when the train came in he deposited her safely in the car, with the brotherly advice "not to 'step from the frying pan into the fire' and fall in love while she was gone," gave her a parting kiss, and she was left alone, without a friend in the crowded car. She opened the new book she had brought but finding it un interesting, began to look about her to see who w_tre her fellow passengers, for nothing so amused her as the study of character. The car was crowded. Near the front was a nervous old lady who held her ticket tigt'..ty grasped in one hand and her port uionnaie in the other—all the while look ing fearfully about her. Evidently she was not much used to steam transportation. Near her a yankee peddler was trying to convince a stout old gentleman at his side that his "blacking" was "the best that's made, sir." Glancing down the car the usual number or gentlemen engrossed in their newspapers, and of ladies in novels, met her . eye. These with a few tired, dirty children, and an invalid who upset her camphor bottle, made up the occupants of the car. "There are none," thought she, "who look as if there was a history connected with them. 0. CD CD She was gazing out of the window as they stopped at thr! first, Et ~n, and did not notice any on =titer, till a voice at her side ri '..mured : Y. - "Pardon me, madame, but this is the only vacant seat." She moved slightly to make room, and a young gentleman sat beside her. Taking out a newspaper, he was soon apparently buried in its contents, and Kate had an opportunity to study her new companion. He was a gentleman, and quite distinyuc, the first glance decided. Handsome ? Yes, undoubtedly handsome, though rather a peculiar style, for hair and mustache were jetty black, and the eyes, shaded by heavy brows, were blue as the sky. HUNTINGDON, PA , FRIDAY, JULY 20, 1877. "He must be twenty-five," thought she, unaware how closely she was scrutinizing him, till the blue eyes were suddenly raised from the paper and met hers with a frank and rather curious look. Blushing deeply at being caught in such a rude act, Kate drew down her veil and gazed studiously on the passing land scape. Station after station was passed. half an hour more and she would be in Stanley, free from Seymour and his nephew. The very thought was refreshing. She almost laughed as she thought of the dis comfiture her departure would cause both the "contracting parties," as brother Char lie called her father and Mr. Seymour. Her reverie was broken by the stranger, who courteously offered her a book he had just taken from his satchel. Kate accepted his profered kindness, and more for polite ness sake than any other reason, began to read. A quick jerk, a crash as if the heavens were falling, a sudden stop, and Kate was precipitated into the arms of the gentle man at her side. Everybody was frightened. The ladies shrieked and gentlemen lc , ,ked anxious. The peddler grasped his satchel containing the "superior blacking," and the maiden lady still held fast to her pocket book as she cried out : "I allus said so ! These cars are mighty unsafe !" No one knew exactly how it happened, but the engine had been precipitated down the steep embankment dragging the bag gage-car with it. Fortunately no one was, injured, though some were considerably shaken. Of course everything was con fusion, the gentlemen all left the cars, and several ladies also. Kate knowing the danger, if any, had passed, remained in her scat. The stranger, after ascertaining the extent of the damage and probable delay, returned. Kate questioned him, eagerly. "There is," said he, "no danger, the engine has been precipitated down an em- bankment and it will be several hours be• fore the train can move on." "What is the distance from Stanley "Only a mile and a half. As it is inT destination lam going to walk. I slid. be glad," he added, "if when I get there I can be of any service to you." "Thank you," she replied, "I, too, au only going to Stanley, and as the distance is short, I will walk, too." He picked up her light hand-bag and his own more substantial satchel, an to• gether they left the car. The ice of con. ventionality being broken, they conversed pleasantly on different topics, and very en, tertaining and agreeable Kate found het strange companion. Ile, oh reader, is the veritable nephew of Seymour. Having no desire to be married to a simpering boarding school miss, as he mentally pictured Kate, be had left his guardian to proceed alone to the house of his old friend, while he went to Stanley to visit an old college chum As . ae walked and talked with Kate he thought more than once, if some one as bright aid witty as she had been her uncle's choice, his would not have been so terrible h fate after all. The conversation turned on books, and they were in the midst of an animated discussion concerning their favorite authors, when the depot at Stanley was• reached, and Kate was warmly welcomed by her grandfather. Near him stood a young gentleman, to whom he had evidently been talking. This young man seized her companion by the hand, and after a hearty shake, turned and introduced him to Mr. Howard as Mr. Cecil Alland. After the usual greetings Mr. Howard presented his grand-daughter to both the young men and Kate had the oppottunity of thanking Mr. Alland for his kindness to her. She rather wondered at the peculiar smile which pervaded his countenance, as her grandfather pronounced her name, but it passed away as he acknowledged her thanks, by a graceful how, and assured her ‘"Twas nothing." Mr. Howard, after a cordial invitation to Mr. Davids to bring his friend to the farmhouse took Kate to the carriage, and they rode away. A short drive, over a smooth, quiet road brought them to the farmhouse, and grandma Howard received her gue,t with open arms. Kate found her visit, as she expected, rather quiet, but the woods were beautiful and she took frequent rambles, bringing as trophies of her search great handfuls of lovely leaves, or a new scene in her sketch book. Some times she would take a book and read an hour in the calm autumnal solitude. Thus the days fled. True to his promise Mr. Davids brought his friend out to call and after that almost evc-y evening found him at the farm house, occasionally with his host, but oftenest alone. He knew Kate was the "simpering miss" he had purposely avoided and chance had so opportunely thrown in his way, but she evidently did not identify him with the one whom he was positive she had left the city to evade. He often laughed in secret over their escapades, and blessed kind fate and the railroad accident. which, contrary to their designs, had thrown them together. Kate had been from home a month, but it did not seem nearly so long. She could not. help ad mitting that looking forward to the even ingmae the days pass swiftly, for now she Lad grown to expect Mr. Alland with the growing dusk. Her brother had written that "Seymour had arrived without his nephew," but she had lingered still. liven after hearing of his departure she was loth to go. But it must be. It was her last evening at the farm house. Mr. Alland came as usual, and Kate told him she was goinff ° home the next day. "I have made a long visit," she said; "longer than I intended." Then the recollection of the object of her visit caused her to laugh aloud. Though readily guessing, Mr. Alland inquired the reason of her mirth. Kate gave him a graphic description of the stormy interview with her father, and her escapade, adding, "lie must have equally dreaded me, for he didn't come with his uncle, and I ran away for nothing, after all." "For nothing, Kate ?" A warm hand grasped hers, and a soft voice whispered in her e: , F7 the old, old story of love. S! - :e must have been a will ing listener, for the hours rolled by un heeded, and Mr. and Mrs. Howard bad long been dreaming, when he pressed the last burning kiss on her forehead and was gone. The next day found them seated in the tram steaming V.rard the city. Kate was rather troubled as visions of her father's indignation flitted through her mind—for he was determined she was to marry a wealthy man, and her lover, alas ! assured her he was not rich. But as she glanced at his manly form, and thought of the rich graces of his mind she felt she would not give him up for all the wealth the world contained. When they reached the city Kate wished him to allow her to go home alone. "I know papa will be furious and he might say something you would not like. Indeed, I'd rather see him first and pre pare his mind for what's corning, you know,' she said, laughing. _ But with the same curious smile she had before observed he insisted on accom panying her. "Better have it over with him at once," he said. So it was with secret misgiiing,s she entered her own drawing room, and found her father and brother there. The usual home greetings were over and Kate felt rather than saw her lover draw her father aside, and in a low tone say something which she knew concerned her. Mr. Howard demanded in an icy tone : "Who and what are you, sir ?" To which he answered something that caused her father to break into a hearty laugh as he seized him by both hands and led him to where Kate sat. "My dear daughter," said he ; "here is Cecil Alland, Mr. Seymour's nephew. Ile wishes to marry you, but as you have so emphatically declared you'd never speak to him, I am obliged to tell him his suit is hopeless." But Kate was already i❑ her lover's arms. To this day (and they have been married a year) he teases her about her escapade. LlTistellanß. `Old Maids." Mrs. Mary A. Livermore pays the fol lowing touching tribute to old maids : They have been brave enough to elect to walk through life alone, when soul;; man has asked them in marriage, whom they could not love ; with white lips they have answered "no," while their hearts have said "yes," because duty demanded of them the sacrifice of their own happiness. Their lives have been stepping stones fur the advancement of younger sisters; they have earned the money to carry brothers through college into professions; like the Caryatides of architecture, they stand in their places, and uphold the roof over a dependent household; they invert the order of nature and become mother to the aged, childish parents, fathers and mothers, whose falling feet they guide gently down the hill of life, and whose withered hands they by and by fold beneath the daisies; and carry words of cheer and a word of comfort to households invaded by trouble, sickness or death. The dusty years stretch far behind them, beauty, comeliness, droop ing away from them, and they grow faded and careworn ; they become nobodies to the hurrying, rushing, bustling world, and by and by they will slip out into the gloom —the shadows will veil them forever from earthly sight—the great surprise of joyful greeting will welcome them, and they will thrill to the embrace of the Heavenly Bridegroom. Stewart,. who from your $100,000,000 of earthly treasure, has given $1,000,000 to the working women in a beautiful home, Peabody, whose gifts of libraries and institutes and educational funds were princely, Vanderbilt and Drew, who have put millions into the endowment of schools and colleges—these poor women have given, and are giving, more than ye all; for out of your abundance ye have given but little, and these superfluous women have given their all—themselves, with their loving hearts, with the possi bilities of happiness, with their dreams of the future. Teach Your Bcys. Teach them that a true lady may be found in calico quite as frequently as in velvet. Teach them that a common school edu cation, with common sense, is better than a college education without it. Teach them that one good, honest trade, well mastered, is worth a dozen beggarly "professions." Teach them that "honesty is the best policy"—that 'tis better to be poor than to be rich on the profits of "crooked whisky," etc., and point your precept by examples of those who are now suffering the tor ments of the doomed. Teach them to respect their elders and themselves. Teach them that, as they expect to be men some day, they cannot too soon learn to protect the weak and helpless. Teach them that to wear patched clothes is no disgrace, but to wear a "black eye" is. Teach them that God is no respecter of sex, and that when he gave the 7tll com mandment he meant it for them as well as for their sisters. Teach them that by indulging their de praved appetites in the worst forms of dis sipation, they are not fitting themselves to become the husbands of pure girls. Teach them that 'tis better to be an hott est man seven days in the week than to be a Christian (?) one day atd a villain six days. Teach them that "God helps those who helps themselves." Do all this, and you will have brought them up "in the way they should go." The Old Queen of the Turf. A correspondent visiting Mr. A. Welch's stud farm, Chestnut Hill, Philadelphia, recently, thus relates among other inter esting things what he saw is the horse, line : "There was one box stall in the stable that was passed carelessly by while the yearlings were being exhibited, until at last one gentleman casually remarked, "What have you got in there ?" The groom opened the door, and the visitors saw a poor looking, decrepit old mare, with every bone in her body standing out as if the flesh was gradually wearing away, and the eyes sunken and bleared, showing that her sun had almost set. They did not leave in disgust, but stood and looked in silence at all that was left of the famous Flora Temple, the queen of the turf, that in her palmy days could draw tens of thousands to a trotting match to see her move. Her days of glory had passed away, and never again will she be greeted with the applause of thousands as she swings into the homestretch at a twenty gait. Flora Temple came to Mr. Welch's stud farm in October 1864, and &dice then has had three foals—a filly by Rysdyk, by Hambletonian, out of Lady Duke ; and a filly by Leamington. The old mare is now thirty-two years of age and will soon pass away." Vl , lII' is a fender like Westminster Ab by ? Because it contains the ashes of the grate. THOSE who know the least tell the most. Dead. Dead ! Only an old, old man, that for three score years and ten has been before the foot-lights in the great drama of life, his part played ever nobly. The curtain has fallen, never to rise again, revealing the bent form and silvery hair, no matter how earnest an encore rings along the aisles and under the arches of earth's grand Academy of Music ; for list ening in the watches of the night, he heard the tinkle of a bell held high in the hands of seraphim and kne . w that, for him, anoth er stage was waiting, and that henceforth, amid scenery painted by Infinite hands, and bearing well the test of nearness, he must appear before an audience waiting with immortelles of fadeless beauty to crown the coming of his strong, true soul, risen to royal destiny. And so, with never an adieu, he Las passed outward and upward, beyond the range of earthly vision, and the reach of earthly voice, and we say that he is--dead. Yet something of him that we loved re mains. It lies in yonder, with snow upon its bosom, and peace upon its brows, and we shall lay it away—a modern Sophocles— where, about it, the ivy will be ever green, and the blind winds sweet with song ; and God will hear us whisper : "Unto tho Land through this we go, Through this—the land of dreams. " ' _ _ Dead ! Only a mother, whose Halt; ones are sit ting with wonder over their faces and in their hearts—too young, as yet, to realize the measures of their loss; a sorrow new and strange, silencing the merriment upon their lips and quieting their loisterous steps. She has been to them a mother in deed and in truth. She has not left them to the care of hirelings, nor have they ever, until now, been shut from the safe shelter of her breast. Daily have her hands ad ministered to their necessities. And night ly she heard their "Now I lay me," and, after the good-nigh kisses, she has gone to her own still room and, kneeling, prayed for them. Now, deep must be her slumber, fur not even at the cry of her children do her pae lids and lips unclose. Deaf to all their calling, and deaf; too, to the low, smothered, self-accusings of him who, God forgive him ! was not the tend erest of husbands. He and his children have been her joy, her world, her very life. This he knows. She has lived in, and through, and for them, and now—she is dead. She was the sweetheart of his youth and the pride of his manhood; but years ago her face lost somewhat its rosy freshness, and the care of wifehood and motherhood had written dark circles about the eyes that won him, and heavy lines across the patient brow whereon his lover-kisses were, and he had grown to thinking other faces fairer, and other voices sweeter, because fuller of merriment and song. He is thinking of all this now, sitting by the rosewood casket,and looking through remorseful tears upon the face that, pas sionless and cold, seems fairer and sweeter, and dearer now than all the world besides; and over her bosom, that never will rise or fall again with the beating of her heavy heart, his tears are falai.., and his hand is hot in hers ; but she is blind, and deaf. and dumb, and repentance and apprecia tion have come, alas, too late ! The hours go wearily by. In through the half open door little faces look frightened and tearful, then disappear; and, hiding themselves behind the window shades, watch the snowflakes falling white ly to the streets, while little hearts are querying if God is good while they are motherless ? Ah ! we that are older have quer'ed thus, and Ile has forgiven, and vouchsafed peace Dead ! Only a child. A fair haired, happy child, that was glad because of the sunshine of summer and the snows of winter ; glad and happy always. Playing amid the blossoms, laughing low and lightly to the music of the birds, and reaching for the sunshine that made the glad earth golden, it heard—who will ever know what? Perchance a word, a whisper, a flow of raiment loosing from its folds the sweets of blossoms immortal, or saw the bending of brows,the beck of hands celestial, and the bared bosom of a sera phim whose lips were holding for it the kiss of greeting and the lullaby of love. And so, with life that needeth not to gather grains of knowledge from fields of experience in broad, green earth, it has gone, with lilies of innocence folded white ly in its soul, where it shall know the ecstacies of freedom in worlds whose name is Legion, and we say it is—dead! Thre will be dearth of beauty and of joy in the home and in the hearts that to night in the lower-land are written "child less !" There will be bitter cries for sound of feet whose patter is sweet on the "golden stairs," and dumb despair will write itself is voiceless lines over lips that hunger and thirst for kisses whose cling ing will quicken their pulses nevermore this side the home eternal. And yet There are no dead ! We heap above white blos soms The clay of valleys, or the sea-side sands ; And violets twine—or pale anemone blossoms To crows their resting with cur trembling hands; But oh ! above us are the brows immortal, The dear, sweet eyes that loved and love us still; And far beyond the shadow of Death's portal, Love's own fair land will Love's own dreams fulfil. _ 411.0. • -di-- When Men are at Their Best, Pr. Bears states that from an analysis of the lives of a thousand representative men in all the great branches of the human family he made the discovery that the golden decade was between 40 and 50; the brazen between 20 and 30; the iron between 50 and 60. The superiority of youth and middle life over old age in original work appears all the greater when we consider the fact that all the positions of honor and prestige—professorships and public stations—are in the hands of the old. Reputation, like money and position, is mainly confined to the old. Men are not widely known until long after they had done the work that gave them their fame. Portraits of great men are delu sions; statues are false. They are taken when men have become famous, which, on the average, is at least 26 years after they did the work which gave them fame.— Original work requires enthusiasm. If all the original work done by men under 45 was annihilated, they would be reduced to barbarism. Men are at their best at the time when enthusiasm and experience are almost evenly balanced. The period on the average, is from 38 to 40. After this the law is that the experience in creases but enthusiasm decreases. Of oourse there arc exceptions. Taking Al! Freely. A good Kentucky lady, upon her return to the home of her youth, after an absence of many months, heard of the distressed condition of "Old Aunt Peggy," a negro woman who had belonged to the family. In the kindness of her heart, she imme diately made arrangements for her comfort, and started out in the rain to find her. When Mrs. B. entered the wretched hovel. Aunt Peggy, who was hovering over a lit tle fire in an old rusty, broken stove, ex claimed, "Dar, now ! if dar ain't Mis's Mary I" After an exchange of hearty greetings, Mrs. 1 3 said, "Oh dear ! how have you li:ed in this condition ?" "Oh ! de good Lord mi'ue mindt':l 'bout me. Sometimes I has urthin' to eat, but den lle takes my appetite '" -- ay from me, so I doesn't crave nothin' ; den I gits sleepy, an' I dreams mi'te pleas'nt. 0 child ! I. taker it all freely I" "Well, but, Aunt, Peggy, you have not, a thy spot in your shanty." "Well, honey. I knows dat, but it d• i't seem to gin me no cold ; den bless you! it don't rain eb'ry day." Mrs. B , who by this time was very much impresses.: that "that godliness with contentreent" w, s truly "great g, in" said. "Well, Aunt Peggy ; I will send for ;ou this afternoon. Wa have a nice little room fitted up, aid your wants shall be supplied as long as you live." Cl.sping her hands together, she fell down upon her knees; and with tears of joy str_atn' , ; down her pear aid black eh eks, she praised the Lord ; then quiet ing down, "Dar, now ! didn't I tell you I takes it ail freely ? S'posd Aunt Peggy hadn't been sich a fix, whar'd Miss :•tary got sich a chance to put another star in her crow] ? E'n I knows its gwy'in to be sot full on 'em, 'kase you was always good to us." Importance of Knowing the Time. If the standard time is important to the wan of business in making his appoint• limits and regulating his affairs, to the traveler in providing railways with a cor rect time by whi.h to govern the move of trains, and in general to every citizen in nis daily occupations on land, it is vital to the successful and safe naviga tion of the ocean. Every ship that sails for a foreign port must before her depart ure know the correction of her chronome ters to Greenwich time (that is, the num ber of seconds they are fast or slow on the time), and besides this their rate (or the nuwber of seconds they daily gain or loose). Provided with good chronometers and with these data well determined, a ship sails from her port with the power of de. termining on any day her position on the eat th's surface. A simple observation of the latitude of the sun at noon gives, by a short compu tation, her latitude, and a determination of the angular distance of' the sun east or west of her meridian gives the local time. The difference of the local time of the ship and the Greenwich time, as shown by her chronometers, gives her longitude. Lati tude and longitude being known, her place on the chart can be put down with but lit tle uncertainty. This is daily done, if possible, on every one of the ships sailing out of New York City, and on the skill of her officers, the goodness of her chronome ters, and the accuracy of their rates, de pends the safety of her passengers and cargo. To all men of business, then in their appointments and affairs on shore and in their commercial ventures by sea, the fact that a standard time is easily at tainable and perfectly correct' is of no slight importance. To travelers, whether by sea or land, it is truly a matter of life and death. The watches of railway em ployees are usually set by one clock, but a difference of' one or two minutes on a crowded road may bring about the most fearful results, as the reports of the vari ous railway commissions will show. If' a ship leaves New York, supposing her chronometer which is regulated to Green wich time to be losing two seconds a day, while it is really losing six, every day she is really about a mile farther west than her reckoning shows her to be, and in a voyage of a month she will suppose herself to be too far west by thirty miles. Such a result may be attended with the most dis astrous consequences, and that it does not often so result is due to the skill and watch fulness of sea captains, a class of men whose vigilance and faithfulness are too little appreciated.—Popular Science. No Help in It. Settle it at once my friend, whether you are old or young, and settle it forever, to eschew the wine cup in every form which it may present itself. Though wreathed in flowers, pressed to your lips by the hand of beauty, don't yield to ita seductive charms. In the days of prosperity you do not need it ; in the hours of adversity it will only multiply your sorrows and plant additional thorns in the pillow for your aching head To think that you can escape the sorrows of life by getting drunk, is like jumping into the angry sea to get out of a shower of rain ! How foolish, if a man should feel troubled about his busi ness, that he should deprive himself of reason by intoxication at a time when, of all others, he needs the clearest judgment to stand at the helm while the storm is raging and pilot the ship safely through the rocks and breakers that threaten his destruction. Ah ! strange infatuation that a man should admit an enemy at his mouth that will steal away his pocket, strangle his conscience and murder his children and destroy his soul ! A Royal Quarrel. Long years ago—(but this is a bit of ex clusive reminiscence known only to a few) —Queen Victoria, in the early days of her wedded life, had one of these squabbles with her husband, of the sort that will come about sometimes even between the most loving couples. Chagrined, and vex ed, the prince retired to his room and lock • ed the door. The queen took the matter quietly for a while, but after the lapse of an hour she went to his door and rapped. "Albert," said she "come out." "No I will not ;" answered the prince within. "Come, go away ; leave me alone." The royal temper waxed hot at this. "Sir," she cried "come out at once. The queen, whose:subject you are, commands you !" He obeyed immediately. Entering the room she designated, he sat down in silence. The queen was the first to break the silence. "Albert," she said, "speak to me." "Does the queen command it ?" ho ask ed. "No," she answered, throwing her arms around his neck, "your wife begs it." it4tt of ,fun. A Hard Grind. A hand.organ man was making hie way up Adams avenue, reeently,when a boy met him and asked : "How many tunes do you play ?" "Sixteen shunes—nice, sweet shunes," replied the man. "My fhther is fond of music, but he is a deaf," continued the boy. "Oh, dat mak no difference—l mak a him hear." The boy led the way up the street to wher- a piaster bust of Sir Isaac Newton had been arranged in a bay window to look like a living man, and the Italian spit on his tiara and began on the crank, Ile ground out all the tunes iu rotation, and tLen began at the bottom and ground back up the scale till he got all the tunes in the garret of the box again. The man in the bay window didn't move a hair, and the Ita - An drew a long breath and sighed— " Play moar museek—mail a him hear soon " He rad out eight tunes and then threw son._ gravel at the window. The bast didn't even work its ears, and the Italian lea.nec , th' organ iii the fence and loudly sang— "Oh ! w: ) shall (links of ate sun' nioar When I ant far a-w-a-y ?" he seven other tunes were rattled off . at a lively pace, while the nrin whistled, kicked on the fence, and eneoor• aged a dog-fight in order to attract, the.. deaf man's attention. "Sing louder—play harder !" calk i the boy from the next street corner The grinder secured a brace for his feet, unbuttoned his vest, and the way be roar• ed brought out the citizens by the score. lie kept his eyes on the bust and gave heed to the . crowd, and the organ box was srnokiag ikot when he let up on the grind - Resting the organ on the ground, be leap ed over the fence and got a square look at. his victim. His quiet grin faded into a , look of yk,e, misery and murder, and get ting, his eyes on the boy with the red neck : tie, he ran him four blocks and undor.re carpenter shop, before a still, small voice whispered that he had better huti,l Detroit l'ress. A Thrilling Tale of Love add War. CHAPTER FIRST. 'Twas night. The sun was not shining, but the gas lights were lit. She leaned in maidenly meditation against a curbstone. There was a blood curdling yell, and 299 f Indians, headed by flit-him-on-the-bead and-he tumbled down, sprang upon tile scene. The maiden sank unconscious upon the wet stones, and only her bustle pre vented her from catching a death cold. Hit-him on-the-head, &c., seized her in his arms, and swinging his tomahawk fifty-two times about his head, vanished upon th'e prairie CHAPTER SECOND. A form is seen stealing softly over the earth. It is the maiden's lover. He will rescue her or die in the attempt. He comes upon the Indian camp; be sees his fair one cleaning her teeth at a gurgling stream while the 2491 Indians stand around. Hie blows fall thick and that, and 298 redskins bite the dust, whflo the remaining one and a half grapple with him in a deathly grip. Tho fair maiden, nerved by her lover's danger, and with more than superhuman strength, attempted to soothe the savage breast by singing a soft melody, which so overcome the one and a half Indian that he fainted and died. The verdict of the corn ner's jury was that be came to his death in a false-set to. CHAPTER THIRD , "We are saved," ho shouted, and she would have said the same thing only ahe had got her teeth twisted and couldn't speak. CHAPTER. FOUILTIL At that moment a :huge grizzly bear came suddenly upon them. "We must. flee," he cried, and seizing her in his arms, he ran twentyfive miles and climbed a tree. Tho grizzly followed. At this juncture Tiger Jack appeared upon the scene, and with unerring aim laid the beet dead. CHAPTER FIFT H The relaxation of the nerves from fear by this sudden deliverance was too much, and he and she, sitting side by side on the tree sighed, and tumbled down and broke their necks. Tiger Jack was so overoorne by emotion that he could only say : "Well I'll be consarned," and he dropped two tears. And the place was ever after known as the broken-necked lovers' hill. Tough an the Fish. A devout clergyman sought every op• portunity to impress upon the mind of his son the fact that God takes care of all his creatures ; that the falling sparrow attracts his attention, and his loving kindness is over all his works. Happening, one 4ay, to see a crane wading in quest of 140,1,the good man pointed out to his son the per fect adaptation of the crane to get his liv ing in that manner. "See," said he, '•how his legs are formed for wading ! What a long, slender bill he has! Observe how nicely he folds his fret when putting them in or out of the water He is thus enabled to approach'the "fish without giiing them any notice of his ar rival." •'My son," said he, •'it is impossi ble to look at that bird without recognizing the goodness of God in thus providing the means of subsistence." Yes," replied the boy, "I think I car. see the goodness of God, at least so far as the crane is concerned ; but after all, fath er, don't you think the arrangement a lit• tle tough on the fish ?" 128 LIKE You.—A wan was sawing wood the other day in a back yard.. He severed two sticks as thick as your wrist and then went into the house. "Mary," said he to his wife, "my country needs me ; there's no use talking, we are just got to slaughter all these Injuns; no true patriot can be expected to hang around the wood pile these days." "John," said his wife, "if you fight Injuns as well as you saw wood and support your Emily, it would take 128 like you to capture one squaw, and then you'd have to catch her when she had the ague and throw peper in her eyes." John went back to the wood pile, wonder ing who told his wife all about him. DURING the review of a Sunday School lesson, last Sunday, the question was asked, "What became of Elijah ?" and the entire congregation was electrified by a small shrill voice that piped out with extreme unction. "He went to heaven like a house a•fire you bet." All bets were declared off and the congregation sung a hymn. NO. 28.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers