VOL. 41. The Huntingdon Journal. J. R. DURBORROW, - PUBLISHERS AND PROPRIETORS, Ogee in new JOURNAL Building, Fifth Street. THE HUNTINGDON JOURNAL is published every Friday by J. R. DURBOIROW and J. A. NASH, under the firm name of J. R. DURBORROW & Co., at $2.00 per annum to envsiscr, or $2.50 if not paid for in six months from date of subscription, and $3 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 Stat. unless absolutely paid for in advance. Transient advertisemerts will be inserted at TWELVE LND A-RALP CENTS per line for the first insertion, SEVEN AND A-HALT CENTS for the second and FIVE CENTS per line for all subsequent insertions. 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Hand-bills, Blanks, Cards, Pamphlets, Ac., of every variety and style, printed at the shortest notice, and everything in the Printing line will be executed in the most artistic manner and at the lowest rates. Professional Cards- T 1 CALDWELL, Attoruey-at-Law, No. 111, 3rd street I/ • Office rmerly occupied by Messrs. Wood: & Wil liamson. [apl2,'7l DR. A. B. BRUMBAUGH, offers his professional services to the community. Office, No n 3 Washington street, c ne door east of the Catholic Parsonage. [jan4,'7l EC. STOCKTON, Surgeon Dentist. Office in Twister's • building, - the room formerly occupied by Dr. E. J. Greene, Huntingdon, Pa. [apl2B, '7B. (1 B. Ofti.ADY, Attorney-at-Law, 405 Penn Street, U Huntingdon, Pa. [n0v17,'76 a L. ROBB, Dentist, office in 8. T. Brown's new building, U. No. b2O, Penn Street, Uuntingdon, Ps. [5p12271 HW. BUCHANAN, Surgeon Dentist, No. 228, Penn . Street, Hunting.lon, Pa. [mchl7,'7s HO.• MADDEN, Attorney-et-law. Office, No. Penn . Street, Huntingdon, Pa. [apl9,'7l r FRANKLIN SCHOCK, Attorney-at-Law, Hunting -lon. Pa. Prompt attention given to all legal busi ness. 01Bee, 229 Penn Street, corner of Court House Square. [dec4,l2 T SYLVANUS BLAIR, Attorney-at-Law, Huntingdon, tf . Pa. Office, Penn Street, thrie doors west of 3rd Street. [jan4,7l T W. MATTERN, Attorney-at-Law and General Claim . Agent, Huntingdon, Pft. Soldiers' claims against the Government for back-pay, Wan*, widows' and invalid pensions attended to with great care and promptness. Of fice on Penn Street. Uan4,'7l T R. DITHBORROW, Attorney-at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa., d . will practice in the several Courts of Huntingdon comity. Particular attention given to the settlement of Water et decedents. Office in the Jonattax. building. T S. GYISSINGIat, Attorney-at-Law and Notary Huntingdon, Pa. Office, No. 7.30 Penn Street, oppo tete Citrt souae. [febs,'7l A. ORBISON, Attorney-at-Law. Patents Obtained. rdice, 321 Penn Street, Huntingdon, Pa. finy3l,'7l - 0 )1. FLEMING, Attorney-at-Law, Ildntingdon, Pa., in Monitor building, Penn Street. Prompt its; rat .itd attention given to all legal btunnans. [augs,l4-emos . 7 1:.1.1AM A. FLEMING, Attorney-at-Law, Hunting . don, Pa. Special attention given to collections, anti all other legal businees attended to with care and promptness. Office, No. 229, Penn Street. [apl9,'7l school and Miscellaneous Books. GOOD BOOKS FOR THE 4filti, GARDEN AND HOUSEHOLD. The following is d list of Valuable Books, which will be supplied from the Office of the Huntingdon Jounnst. Any one or more of these books will be sent postpaid !co any of our readers on receipt of the regular price, which is named against each book. Alien's (K. L. & L. F.) New American Farm Book $2 50 (L. F.) American Cattle.* 2 5u Allen's (K.L.) American Farm Book 1 5u Alien's (L. F.) Rural Architecture ..... 1 50 Allen's (K. L.) Diseases of Domestic Animals 1 00 American Bird Fancier 3O American Gentleman's Stable Guide. 1 (Ai American Roes Culturist American Weeds and Useful Plants 1 75 Atwood's Country and Suburban Houses.- ...... A2woorl's Moder.i American :ouresteads* 3 50 Baker's Practical and Scientific Fruit Culture 2 50 Barber's Crack Shot. 1 75 Barry's Fruit Garden Belee Carpentry Made Easy....-.... ...... ............ 500 Meanent's Rabbit Fancier 3O Ticknall'aVi liege Builder end Supplement. 1 Vol l2 00 Bicknell's S , .oplecient to Village Builder. 6 00 Bngardus' Field Cover, and Trap Shootings ,remer's Method of Making Manures :a.ussingault's Rural Economy ... 1 80 Brackett'e Farm paper, Wets.; c10th.... 75 Breck's New Book of Flowers 1 75 Brill's Farm.-Gardening and Seed-Gr0wing........1 00 Broom-Corn and Broome paper, 50cts.; cloth 75 Brown's Taxiderntiet'e Manual ...... . ... 100 idrucltner's American Idanurees 1 50 Buchanan's Culture of the Grape and Wine making* 75 Bnel's Oider-Maker's,Manual. Buist's Flower-Garden Directory Buist's Fcmily Kitchen Gardener 1 00 Burges' American Kennel and Sporting Field.-___ 4 00 Btu - nhiun's The China Fowl* 1 Burp's Architectural Drawing Book. ...... . ...... Burn? Illustrated Drawing Book. 1 00 Burns' Ornamental Drawing Books 1 00 Burr's Vegetables of America. 3 00 Caldwill'e Agvieultnral Chemical Analysis ,2 00 tkaary Birds. Paper 5p cts Cloth 75 Cheriton's Grape-Grower's Guide 75 Cleveland's Landscape Achitectures 1 50 Clok's Diseases of Sheep* 1 25 Cabbett's American Gardener 75 Colo's American Fruit 800 k.... 75 Coles American Veterinarian 75 Cooked and Cooking Food for Domestic Animals.... 20 Cooper'. Game Fowles Corbett's Poultry Yard and Market*pa. 50cts., cloth 75 °ref'. Progressive American Architecture.-- C 'nunings' Architectural Details lO 00 Cummings & Miller's Architecture. lO 00 Copper's Universal Stair-Builder 3 50 -Dadal. Modern Home Doctor, 12 mo 1 50 Dadd's American (Aft', Doctor, 12 mo 1 50 Dadd's American Cattle Doctor, Bvo, cloth. 2 50 Dadd's American Reformed Horse Book, 8 vo, cloth* 2 50 Dada's Muck Manual 1 25 Darwin's Variations of Animals h Plants. 2 vols* [new ed.j Deed Shot; or, Sportsman's Complete Guide. 1 75 Detail Cottage and Constructive Architecture* lO 00 De Yoe's Market Assirdant. ' 250 Dirks, Mayhew, and Hutchison, on the Doh* 8 00 Downing't Landscape Gardening B5O Dwisr's Horse Book.. 2 00 Eastwood on Cranberry . 75 Eggleston's Circuit Ride:* . . Eggleston's End of the World. .. _.. Iggleston'e Hoosier School-Master Eggleston's Mystery of Metropollseille.........- 1 50 Eggleston's (Geo. C.) A Man of Honor 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 Ellett's Western Fruit. rower's Guide... ........... Ereleth's School House Architecture 6 00 Xvery Horse Owner's Cyclopaidia......__ ......... Field's Pear Culture Max Culture. [Seven Prise Essays by practical grow ers.) Flint <Charles L.) on Grasses*..--.... ......... -........... 2 50 Flint's Mitch Cows and Dairy Farming. 2 50 Frank Forester's American Game in its Season. 3 00 Frank Forester's Field Sports, 8 vo., 2 vole. ..... ...... 6 00 Prank Forester s Fish and Fishing, Bvo., 100 Eagle. 350 Frank Forester's Horse of America, 8 vo., 2 v01e.... 10 00 'rank Forpater's Manual for Young Sportsmen, 8 To. 3 00 French'. Farm Drainage 1 50 ruilu'e Forest-iree Guitarist 1 50 Fuller's Grape Guitarist 1 50 itillsrli Illustrated Strawberry Guitarist 2O Fuller's Small Fruit Guitarist. Fatten's Peach Culture l5O Gardner's Carriage Painters' Manual . 1 00 Gardner's How to Paint* 1 00 . Gayetin's Poultry - Breeding Gould's American Stair-Builder's* Gonid's Carpenter's and Builder's Assistant ...... ...... 3 0 0 Gregory on Catibages. . paper_ 30 Gregory on Onion Raising.. ..... paper.. 30 Gregory on Squaahee paper_ 30 Quenon on Mitch CORN 75 Guillaume's Interior Architecture* 8 00 Gun, Bad, and.Baddle.. .. Hallett's Builders' Specifications. 1 75 Hallett's Builders' Contracts. lO Harney's Barns, Ont-Buildings, and Fence 5..........-. 600 Harris's Ineects Injurious to Vegetation... Plain t 4 ; Colored Engravings 6 50 Harris on the Pig 1 00 Hedges' on Sorgiat or the Northern Sugar Plant.— 1 50 Helmsley's Hardy Trees. Shrube, and Plants. ...... Henderson's Gardening for Pleasure__ ........... liondersonGardening for Profit 1 60 THE JOURNAL STORE Is the place to buy all kinds of l 4 r r lj i g lOtt 0/11) AT HARD AN PRICESI J. R. DURBORROW, - - - J. A. NASH. The Huntingdon Journal, J. A. NASH, EVERY FRIDAY MORNLNG, THE NEW JOURNAL BUILDING, No. 212, FIFTH STREET, HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA, $2 00 per annum. in advance; $2.50 -within six months, and $3.00 if not paid within the year. 0 0 00000000 A 00000000 0 o 0 0 0 PROGRESSIVE 0 0 0 0- 0 0 REPUBLICAA PAPER. 0 0 - 0 00000000 SUBSCRIBE. 00000000 gliuggg TO ADVERTISERS : 1 Circulation 1800. I ADVERTISING MEDIUM, The JOURNAL is one of the best printed papers in the Juniata Valley, and is read by the best citizens in the county, It finds its way into 1800 homes weekly, and is read by at least 5000 persons, thus making it the BEST advertising medium in Central Pennsyl- vania. Those who patronize its columns are surd of getting a rich return for their investment. Advertisements, both local and foreign, solicited, and inserted at reasonable rates. Give us an order. ;;11,4gu JOB DEPARTMENT , co o Q.. 41 ._=,.; ! itiNT All business letters should be ad dressed to J. R. DURBORROW & CO., Huntingdon, Pa. he Printing PUBLISHED -IN TERMS 0 0 0 0 0 0 o o 0 o 0 0 o o FIRST-CLASS 5000 READERS WEEKL k7l. 5' CD CD 0 i OH a cD e. K gr o i • p. NZ, 1: r I Ca' , 1 t:ZI P 0 63. 0 g Al 0 -I T 0 0 73 , a SPEC PRINT. Cy Mists' *tin. Retrospection, "Of Such is the Kingdom of Heaven." In the dim vista of the past, my thoughts are wont to stray, Along the aisle of memory a distant silent way. And there upon the inner wall in bright and vivid green, Are living pictures of the past, to other eyes un seen. "Though many Summer suns have set, a score of years and more, And Winter with his frost and snow, has thrown his mantle o'er, And Time has many silver threads mingled with darker hue, Still, memory sacred to her trust, has kept thee clear and true." A little darling winsome face, so sweet and wond'rous fair, A little curly, gulden head, around me every where ; And soft brown eyes and dimpled hands and rosy little feet linger to run, with joyous voice and' cooing smile to meet. We could not love our darling more, we could not love her less, A sunbeam in our home was she in all her love liness. We would have shielded her from pain and every earthly care, Surrounded her with love and all things beautiful and rare; And yet we were so heiplees in her hour of sorest need To aid or to relieve her, powerless as a broken reed. The little face grew pale and cold, and the dear heart was still; And tearfully we bent in meek submission to His will. And why? The pitying Saviour bad but borne the lamb above Enfolded in his circling arms with a far deeper love. And we sat there sorrowing in the dim twilight grey, We knew no pain or death could enter is the home so far away. "Stiffer little children to come unto me," He said, And took them in His arms, and placed His hands upon each head. "In Heaven thine angels allrays do behold our father's face." 7 . And in the fullness of his love, their sure abiding place. And while I heard the pattering of her feet upon the floor, And looked to see the sunny head through the half•orened door; Ere I bethought me she was there where clouds can never come, Safe in her Father's house above, our own eternal home. Some time, when in the midst of all, a voice will softly say : "Thou art on the verge of time; I come to sum mon thee apy." And When about to step in the dark river's silent wave, About me the everlasting arm, mighty and strong to save, Then on this near eternal shore, with unveiled eyes shall see The little, loving, joyous face, waiting there for me. C'e *torg-feller. HIS LIFE FOR HERS. Hs had a face of satyr-like ugliness, a form of the most misshaped mould; his hair fep in tangled elf-locks upon one of the larg est humps that ever sat between the s houlders of a man. Everywhere women grew pale at sight of f him, and little children .fled away in - terror at his approach. Nobody seemed to notice that be had a pleasant smile and beautiful. kindly eyes, blue as gentians in autumn hedge rows. He knew all the hardships, all the vicis situdes of a wanderer's life; knew what it was to go hungry through the days and houseless through the nights, to eat the grudgingly given crust, and find it sweet. Occasionally he was fed and permitted to rest awhile in some farm-house or porch or kitchen; now and then he got a day's work iu some meadow or potato field, but invariably when night came, he was sent again upon his weary way, but what hurt him most was the thought that no man regarded him without distrust, no woman without fear. His name was Martin Cariuth ; he had wandered about the country in this risera• ble fashion since early May, and now the year was well advanced in the sultry heats of summer. He had sought employment diligently, but without avail. Every man's hand seemed against him—nearly every man's door was closed in his face. His body was worn thin with hunger, his feet, well nigh shoeless, were bruised and sore. He had known poverty all his days, but never had utterly lost heart and hope until now. Still he would not turn back to the great city whence he came. "Better starve here in the pure air and sunshine, than there in some dismal lane," so he told himself; and with every new risen dawn he resumed his painful way, taking something of pleasure in the beauty of God's green earth, even though the re morseless wolf of hunger was gnawing at his vitals, and he cared not how soon the living light of day was shut away from his sight forevermore. He was young in years as yet, being scarcely over a score, but his face wore the pathetic weariness of age—was stamped with the unutterable woe of existence.— His heart had never known the gleesome• ness of childhood—had never been elate, with the buoyancy of youth. One sultry August noon, his aimless wanderings brought him to a pretty, white farmhouse,mestled cosily down amidst the fair hills. He paused and looked timidly I around. Not a living thing was visible save a great yellow cat, that blinked at .him from the shaded porch. He was well nigh fainting with hanger, parched with thirst, ready to drop with exhaustion and the burning heat of the day. From where he stood,he could see through an open window of the farm Louse pantry some wheaten loaves of fresh bated bread, a row of flaky pies and a pretty round cake, mounted with snow-white frosting, and dainty enough to set before a queen. "Good Heaven !" thought Martin Car. rah, "that I should be starving here, and the wherewith to satisfj my hunger only just there!" He gazed upon the tempting food with famished eagerness. He stretched out his hand as if to seize it. His eyes were alight with the terrible fire of want that consumed him. And while he stood thus, a young girl came out o: the farm-house door. She was only a little thing, with a fresh flower-fair face, two limpid brown eyes, and a month like a sweet, red rose. She started a little 64 first beholding the stranger; but the wretchedness of his appearance touched her womanly heart, the mate misery in his e ;es filled her with the utmost compassion. "What do you ahe asked gently, looking.at him with a pitying gaze that he thought divine. 7. " I 'Ti 03 Cr re. C 4 0 . —. OF 0 i.it GC 0 He doffed his ragged ca; ; his lip trem bled; the tears came. He -ould scarce believe what he saw—scarce believe that A untingdon Joutrnat HUNTINGDON, PA , FRIDAY, AUGUST, 10 1877. woman stood there before him, her eyes full of sympathy and without fear. "I am very hungry," he faltered. "Wil: you give me something to eat ?" "Of course," rep* yd the girl, cheerily. "You come in good time, too; dinner is just ready." The young girl bade him enter the wide porch, where the shadow of thick-woven vines lay upon the sanded floor, a wooden bench stood against the wall, and a great, splint bottomed chair held out its wooing arms with a continual promise of rest. What happened ',A) the bewildered tramp after that seemed like a dream. Water was brought fur him to bathe his burning face • an abundance of substantial food was set before him to eat ; a stalwart son of toit came and plied him with sonic kindly questions ; there was a little, half whispered consultation just inside the kitchen door; a murmur of pleasant voices ; an arch, girlish face upraised in pretty pleading, two soft, fair mites of hands clasped upon a rough, masculine arm, and then Farmer Lynne went out again to Martin Carruth. "I've got to hire another hand to help along with the work," said he. meditatively, "and my daughter, Reenie, in there has been coaxing me to let you stay, so to please the girl I rather think I will. If you turn out bad the worst is likely to be your own, and I'll never trust no other again, just because Reenie says he's got innocent-lookin' eyes, and her woman's instinct tells her that he is honest and true." Through all the months of red leafed autumn Martin Carruth worked fliithfully at Lynne Farm ; And the trees were bare and the harvest fields shorn, he was still permitted to remain, not, as his employer expressed it, "that there was anything in particular to do, but he kind o' liked the poor unfortunate, and hated to turn him out again into the world." As for daisy-faced Reenie, she had grown to regard The hunchback with a singular feeling of friendship and trust. His gentle, retiring manner, the tender, guileless expression of his eyes, his very personal deformity and misfortune—all seemed to set him apart from the ruder sex to which he belonged, and innocent little Reenie made him the recipient of numerous girlish confidences, sure that he both appreciated and understood. But when she told him how handsome Robert St. John hat! whispered words of wooing to her under the winter stars, and she bad found them sweet to her, he turned sorrowfully away, and for hours after that lay up in the old barn loft, hid den among the fragrant hay, and moaning over the most helpless love that ever possessed a man. He wondered why he had been thus hideously fashioned, and she lovely as a lily of the field; not that he wanted her one whit less beautiful, but he only wished that he, too, had been comely to look upon, and had had a fair chance of winning this girl who had inspired him with a passion deathless as his immortal soul. But he kept the pain of it to himself; he suffered mutely, and made no sign, even when called to congratulateßeeuie upon her 1 betrothal, and told that when the next spring flowers should bloom she would go a bride to the home of Robert St. John. The winter passed away amid a round of rustic festivities at Lynne Farm and in the vicinity. March came in with driving winds and wrathful skies, with snow, ice and bitter, intense cold, holding dominion over the land. "Goin' to have a mighty tough storm— begins just the right way," said Farmer Lynne, oracularly, coming into the warmth of the great, fire-lighted kitchen at the close of one dismal blustering afternoon, just as the last glimmer of day was fading out of a leaden March day. "Shouldn't wonder if we were," respond ed Mrs. Lynne peering out at the fine. steadily falling snow. "I a'most wish I'd have made Reenie stayed to home "Stayed to home! Why, where on earth has she gone ?" "Over to spend the night with Delia Hildreth. Delia's got some fine new pat terns and things, and Reenie wanted to cut out a few by them for herself I told her she'd better wait and let you or Mar tin take her over, but she was afraid you wouldn't be willing for her to go, and a storm comin' on, so she hurriedaway, and had plenty of time to get there before it begun to snow. You see, Delia invited her to-night; she'd her mind set on gain,' and I didn't like to say 'no.' " "Oh, well, she's all right," said Farmer Lynne, composedly stretching out his brawny hands to the warmth of the blazing fire. "As well off at Hildreth's as here; only," added he, after a moment of reflec tion, "I'd rather have her at home." The inmates of Lynne farm house re tired usually early that night. The master drank his last glass of cider just as the clock was striking eight; the mistress folded away a dainty pair of wool hose she bad been mending for her girl; and Mar tin Carruth arose from his seat by the chimney side, went ever to the window, and looked anxiously out into the dreary night. "Hadn't I better go ever to Mr. Hil dreth's and see if Reenie's all- right, sir ?" he asked presently giving expression to an unaccountable desire that had hauuted him since the first storm began. "What !" exclaimed Farmer Lynne, "in the teeth of all this storm, upon a silly er rand like that, and only to be laughed at for your pains ? No, no ! Go to bed.— I'll bring Iteenie home in the mornite, if I have to break the road for it, never you fear. It's mighty kind o' lonesome here without the gal, and I don't know how on earth we'll be able to let that Bob St. John have her fora life time." Up in his little chamber under the eaves, Martin Carruth fancied he hear the voice of Reenie Lynne, continually wailing in the long, lamentable blasts with out; that he saw her fair face looking at him through the gloom, her pretty hands beating imploringly at hig window pane, along with the swiftly falling snow. He could neither sleep nor lie quiet upon his bed. A dread premonition of evil haunted him ; a vague but horrible fear tortured and would not let him rest. He arose, slipped on his clothes, and crept stealthily down the stairs that led to the narrow back entry below. All the house was still, not a sound audible save Farmer Lynne's breathing, and the tick-a tick-tick of the big old fashioned clock against the kitchen wall. Groping about in the darkness, Carruth found a lantern, lighted it cautiously, un belted the back door, and slipped out into the light. The driving snow smote him wrathfully in the face, a keen north-east wind bed arisen, and it cut him like a knife. • He paused irresolutely, half turned baok to the house from whence he came, and then butte: shaggy great-coat, a winter's gift from Farmer Lynne, close up to his chin, he strode out on the bleak and drifted highway. "I'll only get laughed at for my pains, as the master says," he muttered. "No matter, though. When I know that Reenie is safe at Hildreth's I'll go home and rest—never until, never until !" he repeated, with unconscious emphasis, bat. tling his way manfully through the pitiless storm, the feeble light of his lantern shining with a wierd glimmer athwart the ghastly, white-shrouded night. Already the snow was piled high along the roadside fences, and the wild winds caught and whirled it aloft, to mingle with the'ceaseless downEill from the heavens above. Just a mile from Lynne Farm a set of bars opened upon a path which led across to ffildreth's. Floundering on through the white, el dying gloom, Martin Carruth reached this pl • c at last, and instead of keeping to the road, ho lowered the long, snow•covered bars, struggled up out of a huge drift, and to.At his labored way across the trackless, wind-swept field. led by that safne invisible power which had drawn him out into the night and storm. Suddenly upon his ear there fpll a sound that was not born of imagination, neither was it the wailing wintry blasts amongst the bare, writhing trev i tops, across the wide pathless waste of snow, but a human voice moaning in distress and fear. "Great Heaven !" exclaimed Martin Carruth, "my fears then are true. Ree nie is not safe at Hildreth's. Reenie is here freezing, dying, and helpless in the stgrm, and I tarried away so long. Fool !" He strove frantically to beat away the blinding veil of snow from before his via ion; he breasted without feeling or know ill the mad wind's wrath • he spurned this clogging drifts from about his feet; heScalle wildly "Reenie! Reenie ! Ree• nit!" and a gasping cry answered him el4se at hand, but smothered and faint like that of one sinking in the sea. 4.1 41Ie lifted his lantern aloft, held it at aim's length. peered with terrible eager ness through the whirling gloom, and saw her, Reenie Lynne, the girl whom he 101 , - 4 kneeling at the foot of a giant oak, which somewhat sheltered her from the fury of the storm, and clinging to it with frail, upstretched arms, as the shipwreck. ed mariner, in mid ocean, clings to the spar which keeps him afloat upon the hun gry and tempest-lashed waves. "Good God ! Reenie, how came you here?" cried Carruth, looking down upoi the wild, woefill face that seemed already stricken with the pallor of death. "I fell and twisted my ankle," replied the girl, with feeble trembling. accents. 'The pain of it was eo great that I fainted, and when my senses came back again the snow was falling fast, and I was deathly cold. I crept about a little, trying to keep the horrible numbness away. I called, but nobody heard ; then I gave myself up to die, only it was hard, and I am so glad you are here to save me, Martin Carruth l" 'Something told me you were in peril," red the hunchback, tenderly raising the girl's trembling form to his side. "I could not rest, nor listen to reason ; so when the folks were all abed. I stole out and away through the storm I should have enure if a thousand dcaths bad threatened. I knew you were in danger, and an angel led me straight to your side. It's an awful night, Reenie, but never fear—l'll take you safe ly home." He suppDrted the girl upon his arm ; he held his lantern carefully, so that it might shed it's light about her way; but when she attempted to step, all the world grew black again ; she threw out her hands, gave utterance to a piercing cry of pain, fainted, and lay a dead weight against the should ers of her friend. He lifted her in both his arms ; the lan tern dropped from his grasp and was ex tinguished in the snow; the ceaselessly falling flakes enveloped him in clouds, of dense, spectral gloom Weighed down . with his senseless bur den, plunging in treacherous unseen drifts, smote upon by the wanton winds, blinded by the night and storm, he strove to buffet his way back to the road, but instead only wandered farther and yet farther out upon the wide, white pathless field, losing all knowledge of where he was, groping for fa miliar landmarks, helplessly astray as if in the midst of the Sahara, or some wild en chanted forest, where never had echoed the footstep of man. His strength—not great at any time— was failing fast ; the brave, loyal soul within him was faint with dread and des pair. _ He called aloud many times, but no re sponse came ; perhaps afteAvards, some one would tell how, half-awakening from his dreams, he had fancied cries of distress sounding abroad, but no human ear seemed to hear, no human aid was nigh in this hour of direst need. "For her fake, not mine; help me, oh God!" cried Martin Carruth ; Lut the ri otous blast only howled about him yet more fiercely than before. He wandered farther and farther from the highway and human habitation; an awful faintness seized upon him ; his brain reeled, his limbs trembled; all the white maze of endless snow seemed dancing in sparks of fire before his vision; he stum bled and sunk helpless to the earth, still clasping his inanimate burden, still shield. ing it with the tenderest care,even in his fall Where he lay, some stunted trees—ev ergreens mostly—stretched out their branches and sheltered him a little from the fury of the winds and drifting snow. His strength was utterly gone, his brain benumbed, his limbs cramped and chilled, but 'still he thought only of the girl—for her his efforts—for her his prayers. • He laid his hand against her heart, and felt that it yet beat; he changed her head to au easier position upon his arm; he chafed her icy fingers—it was all that he could do—and presently she stirred, moan ed a little, and opened her eyes upon the blinding horror of the night and storm, "I am so cold!" silo, gasped, shivering. "Are we almost home, Martin Carruth Her words smote Carruth keener, than the thrust of aek'nife, when he lay there, well nigh as helpless as herself in the snow; but when he essayed to answer she only fell to babbling wildly, and he knew and was glad that in this hour of supreme anguish her mind was wandering in the land of delirium and dreams. He was aware that death waited not far away for one or both of them. Perhaps, wrapped in his warm coat, and able to creep about a little, 4 9 might survive until the morning came an showed him where he was; but Reenie would surely perish, and her life was infinitely dearer to him than his own. With a supreme effort of exhausted na ture, he staggered to his feet, stripped the coat-from off his shoulders, and folded it about the girl. "Not my life, but hers, oh God l" was still the burden of his cry, and he sank down again, the blood in his veins turning to ice, with no shield between himself and the wild wind's wrath. The night crept on apace; the fury of the storm increased, but after a little Mar tin Carruth knew nothing of this. The balmy breath •of summer played around him, the drowsy hum of insects and the tuneful songs of birds were in his ears, green hills and flower-strewn fields, and soft, blue skies were before his vision ; all these for a brief time, and then came utter darkness, oblivion, death. The morning dawned,4he storm cleared, the sun arose, and a man going to look af ter some sheep he had missed from their fold found two human forms lying motion less in the snow. From one the soul had fled ; the calm face was upturned, with the light of Heav en frozen thereon ; the other, folded in a shaggy great coat, and with warm, winter wraps beneath, was breathing still—still had a frail hold on life, that but for a no ble sacrifice had gone out hours since in the storm and darkness of the night. They were carried back to the Lynne farm, both living maid and dead hero. The one was put reverently away beneath the pure, white March snow; the other lay for many days in the border-land between this world and the next, but when the fe ver engendered by that night of horror had burned itself out, fair-faced .Reenie Lynne came swiftly back to health, and ia the beautiful month of roses went to the altar with Robert St. John, a '...,appy bride sure ly, but in her heart the saddened memory of onewho had been only a wanderer—the tender regret for a royal life lost to save her own. .*elitt iscrilart We do not think the thot.ght of Berth is half so sad even to the most life-loving and death-dreading as the thought of pass ing out of the minds of men, an' above all, oat of :he hearts of those we love. It is dreadful beyond a doubt, and film such a contemplation it is inost natural we !should shrink. We do not consider that we need dread such an obliviOn, if we take pains to engraft ourselves upon the he.rta and minds of those with' whom we mingle. There is scarcely a heart that is so ungrate ful as to forget one who quickened its throbs deeds of kindness. The echo of kind words, they fall back upon the heart, like showers that bless the earth from which they came. Ah yes, in after years they return over and over again, when perhaps the lips that breathed them are far away or silent in the grave. Has any one felt the pain, too, that a kind word or tone may contain, when they are felt to be undeserved ? The power of a reproving, depreciating glance, bow like an arrow is poisoned fang seems to fester in the heart that refuses to forgive itself, though others have forgiven it. This teaches the worth of kindness ; the very pain its absence costs. We stand'in the present, the island that lies between two vast oceans of time. We think as we look into the future, we hear the muttered threats of storms unborn, of griefs that are to try us, and of disappoint menu that are to vex us. Through the cloudy mantle, however, we. discern the halo of bright dreams, that perhaps may be realized ; therefore, as we presour feet upon the shores of that future we take de light in the beauty of the scenery around us, and firget the sad experiences and warnings of by gone years. Pity it is so. What good does it do us even though we are able to trace our paths back across the ocean of days and hours belonging to the past ? Does the view of that deviating track and the remembrance of the mad winds and waves, make us more timid and prayerful, more anxious for strength higher than our own ? We fear not. If we could but be induced to make steps of our past falls, to lead us upward, how happy would we be. What is before us ? We know not all ; but this we know ; that there will• be the same need for courage and labor; the same need for faith and prayer ; that the cardinal points of every year are -pre cisely the same ; that the needle always points toward excellence; towards perfec tion. Although we know not all the fu ture has in reverse for us, yet we know it has the demands to make on us that the past has made, and that we shall have no time for idleness; or any less lack of oppor tunity for the display of ambition. "Let us then be up and doing With a heart for any fate ; Still achieving, still pursuing. Learn to labor and to wait." We know not how soon the sands of life' shah run out; we know that we shall ever stand again upon the verge of another open year. The fancy that now peas these lines may be soaring in some high scene of ex istence ; and many an eye that will read them, may be viewing more glorious vis ions than the human imagination can bring forth, before this time next year. None of us can read the closed page of the fu ture, therefore we must do our best now, and leave all the rest with God ; hanging with the faith of a little child upon our Father's love knowing that his promise will be fulfilled. We trust we shall mount up with renew ed strength to do battle to our enemies, these passions of ours that so clog at every step we take. The world tries to teach us a very injurious lesson. It is to be ho ped none of us will learn to be selfish, utter ly lost in self. We hope self-interest may never gain the supremacy over our love for "one another."—Chicago Western Rural. It is a sweet, sweet song, warbled to and fro among the topmost boughs of the heart, and filling the whole air with such joy and gladness, as the songs of birds do when the summer morning comes out of darkness. and day is born on the mountains. We have all possessions in the future, which we call "sometime." Beautiful flowers and singing birds are there, only our hands seldom grasp the one, or our ears hear the other. Bat, 0 reader ! be of good cheer, for all the good there is a golden "some time when the hills and valleys of time are all passed; when the wear and fever, thPdisappointment and sorrow of life are over; then there is the place and the rest appointed of God. 0 homestead ! over whose roof fall no shadows or even clouds, and over whose threshold the voice of sor row is never heard; built upon the eternal bills, and standing with the spires and pin naeles'of celestial beauty among the palm tree of the city on high, those who love God shall rest under thy shadows where there is no more normw nor pain, nor the sound of weeping "sometimes." Life. Sometime. if; 17. Japanese Miniature Odes. Of all the excellencies of the ancient Japanese poets, none can have a greater charm for the modern English reader than their passionate love of nature, and their tender interpretation of her mysteries— qualities which are inherited by their oth erwise strictly practical descendants at the present day. Take, for instance, the fol lowing stanza : "Softly the dews upon my forehead light:— From off tile oars, perchance, as feather'd spray, They fall, while some fair junk hands on her way Across the Heavn'ly stream on starlit night' The "Heavenly Stream" is the• Japa nese name for that which we call the Mil ky Way. Or, again, listen to the follow ing, one of the odes ob the snow : "When from the skies tbat wintry 00011 enshroods The blossoms fall and flutter round rny heal, Methinks the Spring e'en now his ligamast abed . . O'er heav'nlylalide that lie heyond the clouds!' The flowers to which the snow is here compared are those of the splendid double cherry tree, the king of trees, whose. prais es these far Eastern Lads are never tired of singing. One of the most celebrated of them, Nsrihira, even goes so far, by an ex-. memo of rapture, as almost to cure these too lovely flowers. He exclaims : "If earth out ceased to offer my eight The beauteous cherry trees whs.n flowering, Ah t then, indeed, with peaceful, pure delight Mine heart in the jo . A of Spriu—gl" Rather far-fetch-d, perhaps. But then we shoula remember that to one nation al ne, in all the annals of literature, was it given to knot - exactly the limits of true taste ; and that if the Japanese sometimes sin against Greek ideas of moderation, we later Europeans could sparcely venture to throw at them the first stone. Possibly, too, a tenuency to exaggeration was, it Narib:ra's case, but a fami'y failing. At least, we find a half brother of his—also a grandee of t:.e then Mikado's court— giving vent to -Try ridielious rmtir..,ents at the aspect of a celebratLd cascade. He ~ays : "The roaring for nt scatters far and near Its silv'ry drops.Oh ! let r'e pick them up. For when of grief I drain some da_ the ca , ), Each will do service as a bitter tear!" From thit to avowed ear:eature is but a step ; afid tile poet Tadawine is himself laug ;ng wt►tn he write- of another water fall : "lona years, methinks, of sorrow and of care Must have paled over the old loan. .13-head Of the cascade; fo• like a eilv'ry threrd It rolls adown, ^rr shows one jet-black hair I" It would be impossible to accuse the Japanese of want of imagination when we find them capable of so bold an idea as is contained in the following "miniature ode" on the wild geese : "What junk, impell'd by Autumn's fresh'ning gale, Comes speeding rae? 'Tie the wild geese drit'n Across the fathomless expanse of heav'n, And lifting up their voice. for a sail." Yet it is certain that some of the most powerful aids to imagination are wanting among them, and , ne of these aids in par ticular, ..ne use of impersonation—which to us Europeans is naturally suggested by the genders of nouns either in our own or in kindred and well known tongues—the Japanese are almost entirely deprived by the very different nature of their language which does not so much as possess words answering to our "he" and "she" to dis tinguish a man from a woman. Death *ith his sickle, or Flora leading back the May, would appear to these simple minded Cli entals as queer and far-fetched a notion as would that of stationing upon bridges and in other public places, big statues of scan- tily-dressed females supposed to represent Commerce and A griculture,for Philosophy and Religion, or some such other abstract ideas. It would probably be hard to get them at all to understand what was meant, and when they did at last understand, they would most assuredly burst out laughing. Indeed, in the whole course of his Japa nese reading the present writer does not remember to have met with more than one clear instance of impersonation. It occurs in a stanza cm Old Age, which, though seemingly intended to be joking, may per- haps be thought to have in it a certain touch of pathos: "Oki Age is not a friend I wish to meet; And if some day to see me he should come, I'd lock the dour as he walked up the street. And cry 'Most honored Sir, I'm not at homy' " —The Cornhill Magazine. _ Who Ate Roger Williams ? AN OLD TRADITION REVIVED, Roger Williams was a native of Wales, was a Puritan, and the founder of the col ony of Rhode island. He died in Provi dence in 1683. Many years afterwards the private burying ground where he was interred was searched for the remains of himself and wife, for the purpose of erect ins a monument over them. Very little was found The shape of the coffin could be traced by a black line in the earth. The rusted hinges and nails and a round wooden knot alone remained in one grave, while a single lock of braided hair was found in the other. Near the graves stood an apple tree, the larger root of which pushed its way to the precise spot occupied by the skull of Roger Williams, and turn ing passed around it and followed the di rection of the backbone to the hips. Here it divided into two branches, sending one along each leg to the heel, when the roots turned upwards to the toes, the whole bear ing a striking resemblance to the human form. These roots are now deposited in She museum of Brown university. It was thus found that the organic matter—the flesh, the bones, of Roger Williams—had passed into an appletree, transmuted into woody fibre, bloomed into fragrant blossoms and bore luscious fruit, which from year to year has been gathered and eaten. Those, therefore, who ate the appples from this tree ate Roger Williams. Stow but but Sure. The "slow fighter" was a tall, raw bo ned specimen of the Pike County breed, and when tie arrived in the mining canip the boys began to have fun with him—to "mill him" as they all call it in the par lance of-the mines. We stood it for a long time with perfect equanimity, until fin dry one of the party dared him out of doors to fight He went. When they all got read; and squared off, Pike Cotrnty stretched out his long neck and presented the tip of his big nose triumphantly close to his tormentor: "I'm a little slow," he said, "and can't fight unless I'm well riled; just paste me one—a good 'un—right on the end of that smeller !" His request was complied N.;13. "That was a good 'uu," ha said calmly, "but I don't feel quite riled yit"—(turn ing the side of his head to the adversary) —"please chug me another lively one un der the ear. !" The astonished adversary again com plied, whereupon Pike County, remarked that he was "not quite as well riled as he would like to be, but would do the best he could," sailed into the crowd, and for the neat ten days the "boys" were engaged in mending broken jaws, repairing damaged, eyes and tenderly resurrecting smashed noses.—Neac Orleans Democrat. 74[93,.._ • . 4.:41 ,t ,";nt. The President's Retreat. A NEWSPAPER MAN VIPITS THZ OLD SOLDIER'S HOME AID RELATES 8041 READABLE PACTS ABOUT IT. Washington Cor. Har/ord Times.] Buchanan was the first President summered here. Lincoln found it t , most pleasant place he could find ;ad gladly moved there. - The attractions at Long Branch were too much for Grant, and he could not be induced to forego _ them, notwithstanding that the soldiers home furnished a more delightful sad cooler home than could be secured at the , Branch. The origin of the soldiers' home , is interesting. When Gen. Winfield Scott -, "captured the city of Mexico, instead .- • sacking the city he levied a sum of $3OO 000 upon its residents, which was gladl contributed. A portion of this money used to relieve the temporary wants of soldiers, and the remainder, over $lOO,l- • was turned over to the Treasury De. ment, where, afterwards, in 1851, it w taken out, in accordance with an act Congress, passed at the request of Scott' to establish the .'military asylum," as was first called. The soldiers did not lik the idea of the name of military asylum ; "- it sounded too much, they said, like army.: paor house, and at their request, in 18.5" Congress passed an act changing the /a. to "soldiers' haute." The "home" is in n• sense a public charity. With the exeep' tion of the $lOO,OOO first appropriated, .• has never never cost the government o cent. It is supported by a contribution o 25 cents per month from the pay of eac , A . • soldier in the army. Besides this all to feitures by court warted and money du dead soldiers remaining unclaimed f ti—ee years is added to the fund, wbic now is very large.. The whole credit o this home and refuge for veterans (wit. without it would be thrown out on elf cold eharity of the world) belongs to Ge. Scott, who for many years before be finallyi succeeded worked hard to have the how instituted. At present there are abo._ flee hundred inmates. 'they are their own bosses, and are required to do nothing but t e- - behave themselves. They are always fre to gr, or come as they please, and, without being required to do any work, each of them picks out some little duty - to per. form which gives him occupation for an hour or so every day. The buildings' slut grounds are kept in the beet condition and it is a source of general remark ti everything looks admirably. The hem building was %rmerly the summer re ; deuce of Mr. Geo. W. Riggs, the Wash ington banker Two hundred acres land were attached to it. Since that th grounds have been enlarged by the pur,..f chaee of the Howard estate, containingT three hundred acres more, from Mr. W.. W. Corcoran, who sold it at a very le rate, allowing the governor of the honaa fix his own price on the estate. The hundred acres are now finely improved'. and contain over twelve miles of hancV some carriage d rives, which too are thronged i by many of the stylish turnouts from the : -= • city every pleasant afternoon. A driv or ride'to the Soldiers' Home is recogni by society as a very proper thing, anee having been made fashionable, is now a the go. A Bad Fire. "Jones, have you heard of the fire burned up that man's house and lot "No, Smith, where was it ?" "Here in the city." 'What a misfortune. Was it a _ "Yes, a nice house and lot—a home for any tavily." What a pity ? How did the fire "The min played with fire, and lesaly set it himself." "flow silly! Did you say the lot burned too?" . "Yes, lot and all. All gone slick clean." "That's singular. It must have terrible hot fire—and then I don't how it could burn the lot." "No, it was not a large fire, nor a hot fire; indeed, it was so small that it tracted but little attention." "But bow could such a little fire btu house and lot ? You haven't told me. "It burned a long time—more 6 twenty years—and though it tieemed consume very slowly, yet it wore al about 5159 worth every year until it all gone. "I can't understand you yet. Tell all about it." "Well, it was kindled in the end cigar. The cigar cost him, he AI told me, $12.50 a month, or $l5O and that in twenty-one years would el to $3,150 besides all the interegil the whole sum wouldn't be far 000. That would buy a fine boo lot. It would pay for a large farm country." Whew ! I guess now you mean te I have smoked more than twenty but I didn't know it cost as much i I havn't any hong!, of my own; I ways rented—thought I was too own a house—and all because I ha l burning it up! What a fool I have The boys had better never set which cost so much, and which, might be so easily put out, - if once kindled, to keep Can Women Keep a • o r George Francis Train renderaja ant as follows : Men say women can't eep a secret. It is just the reverse—w can men can't. Women carry with them to their graves secrets that would kill soy man. Woman never tells; man always does. Woman suffers and dies; tutu blabs and lives. Man cannot keep a octet, woman cannot make it known. What is sport to the man is death to the woman. Adam was a sneak. Eve would have kept the apple business a secret. Be ye fruitful. Who ever heard a winnow talk about her love gaseos ? Everybody has heard a man gossip. Man delights in telling of his elicit conquests; woman would cut ber tongue first. Men are warn in their club room talk ; women relined in their parlor conversation. Whoever heard of a woman telling of her losers t WIN has not listened to the dissipation of the men ? Men boast ; women don't. Women never tell tales out of school ; men are al, ways blabbing. So down with the old adage, Women can keep a secret. A CHINAMAN became the rattle American-born son, and as he abont swinging his pigtail, ho said Melican man, all same. Me heap ington. Me lightning rod ages 'way. Whoopee GRAVITY is no more si dom than a paper soils? is ~, '4 ; ;* NO, 31. 11• I . . a - 0 -
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