VOL. 41.
The Huntingdon Journal.
J. R. DURBORROW, -
PUBLISHERS AND PROPRIETORS,
Ogee in new JOURNAL Building, Fifth Street.
THE HUNTINGDON JOURNAL is published every
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done wi h neatness and dispatch. Hand-bills, Blanks,
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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
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Is the place to buy all kinds of
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The Huntingdon Journal,
J. A. NASH,
EVERY FRIDAY MORNLNG,
THE NEW JOURNAL BUILDING,
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HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA,
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TO ADVERTISERS :
1 Circulation 1800. I
ADVERTISING MEDIUM,
The JOURNAL is one of the best
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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
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JOB DEPARTMENT
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itiNT All business letters should be ad
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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.
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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
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