The Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1871-1904, July 20, 1877, Image 1

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    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
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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
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county,
homes weekly, and is read by at least
5000 persons, thus makingit the BEST
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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.
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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.