VOL. 41. Ilse Huntingdon Journal J. R. DURRORROW, PUBLISHERS AND PROPRIETORS, O z lice ia new JOURNAL Building, Fifth Streei III'NTINGDON JOURNAL is published every Friday by J. R. Drartoaaow and J. A. NASH, under t rrn name of J. R. DLIRBORROW & CO. at $2,00 per anituni IN ADVANCE, or $2.50 if not paid for in six months from date of subscription, and $3 if not paid within the Nu paper discontinued, unless at the option of the pub lishers, until all arr,arages are paid. No paper, howev.r, will be sent out of the State unless ab,,,lutely paid for in advance._ _ . 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JOB PRINTING of every kind, Plain and Fancy Colors, done with neatness and dispatch. Hand-bills, Blanks, Cards, Pamphlets, &c., of every variety and style, printed at the shortest notice, and everything in the Printing line will he executed in the most artistic manner and at the In vest rates. Professional Cards• n CALDWELL, Attorney-at-Law, No. 111, 3rd street. 17. Office formerly occupied by Messrs. Woods & [ap12,71 R . A.B. BRUMBAUGH, offers his professional services .1 / to the community. Office, No 623 Washington street, one d.ior east of the Catholic Parsonage. [jan4,'7l C STOCKTON, %mei:in Dentist. Office in Leieter's Jo building, in the room formerly occupied by Dr. E. J. Greene, Huntingdon, Pa. [apl2B, '76. fl EO. B. ORLADY, Attorney-at-Law, 406 Penn Street, U Huntingdon, Pa. [n0v17,'76 GGL. ROBB, Dentist, office in S. T. Brown's new building, . No. 520, Penn Street, Huntingdon, Pa. [apl2:7l C. MADDEN, Attorney-at-Law. Office, No.—, Penn • Street, Huntingdon, Pa. [ap19,71 T SYLVANTS BLAIR, Attorney-at-Law, Ets._tingdon, J. Pa. 01Bee, Penn Street, throe doors west of 3rd Street. [jan4,'7l T W. MATTERN, Attorney-at-Law and General Claim . Agent, Huntingdon, Pa. Soldiers' claims against the Government for back-pay, bounty, widows' and Invalid pensions attended to with great care and promptness. Of fice on Penn Street. Dan4,ll LS. HEISSINGER, Attorney-at-Law and Notary Public, . Huntingdon, Pa. Office, No. 230 Penn Street, oppo site Court House. Lfebs,'7l C 1 E. FLEMING, Attortp.y-at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa., A 3. office in 211"nitor building, Penn Street. Prompt and careful attention given to ail legal bueiness. [angs,'74-6moei ytrl LLI AM A. FLI9IING, Attorney-at-Law, Hunting ? don, Pa. Special atteuteni given to collections, an,l all other legal business attended to with care and pnnuptlit,;. Office, No. 229, Penn Street. [spl9,'7l School and MiscelLueous Books GOOD BOOKS FOR TUE FARM, GARDEN AND HOUSEHOLD. The I , 4l.wing is a list of Valuable Books, which will be suppliwd from the Office of Ole Huntingdon JOURNAL. Any one or more of these book., Ail' be seat post-paid to any of our readers on receipt of the regular price. which is named against each book. Allen's (R — L. c L. F.) New American Farm Book $2 50 _Aljeti's (L. F.) American Cattle.* 2 544 Allen's (R. L.) American Farm Book 1 50 Allen's (L. F.) Rural Architecture 1 50 Allen's (It. L.) Diseases of Domestic Animals 1 00 American Bird Fancier ' 3)) American Gentleman's Stable Guide* 1 00 American Rose Cniturist 3O American Weeds and Useful Plants 1 75 Atwood's Country and Subnrban Houses... ...... Atwood's Modern American 'lomesteads. 3 50 Baker's Practical.and Scientific Fruit Cultures...—. 2 50 Barber's Crack Shot* Barry's Fruit Garden Belt's Carpentry Made Easy* . li 00 Bentent's Rabbit Fancier 3O Ilicknell's Village Builder and Supplement. 1 Vol* l2 00. Bickuell's Supplement to Village Builder* 4 00 Bogardus' Field Corer, and Trap Shooting. 2 00 Bonuner's Method of Making Manures.....-- Boussingault's Rural Economy ..... ._ 1 60 Brackett's Farm Talk-* paper, f.Octs.; c10th.... 75 Breck's New Book of Flowers.... ........ ...... ............ 1 75 Brill's Farm-Gardening and Seed-Growieg ...... --.... 1 00 Broom-turn and Brooms paper, 50cts.; cloth 75 Brown's Taxidermist's Manual Bruckaer's American Manures*.. 1 50 Buchanan's Culture of the Grapeand Wine making* 7.5 Buel's Cider-Maker's Manual* Buist's Flower-Garden Directoly. _ llO Buist's Family Kitchen Gardener 1 00 Burges' American Kennel and Sporting Field.-- 4 00 Burnham's The China Fowl* 1 00 Burn's Architectural Drawing Book* 1 00 Burns Illustrated Drawing Boot* 1 00 Burns' Ornamental Drawing 800 k.......... Ill'irr's Vegetables of America* 3 00 Caldwell's Agricultural Chemical Analysis 2 00 Canary Birds. Paper 50 cts Cloth 75 Charlton's Grape-Grower's Guide 75 Cleveland's Landscape Achitecture* 1 ClA's Diseases of Sheep* 1 25 Cobbett's American Gardener 75 la I **-C-ole's American Fruit Book 75 Cole's,frerWeicajtc Veterinarian 75 Cooked and Cooking Food for Domestic Animals.— 20 Cooper's Game Fowls* Corbett's Poultry Yard and Market*pa.socts., cloth 75 Croft's Progressive American Architectures ....- 10 00 Curuniings' Architectural Details lO 00 Cummings & Miller's Architectures lO 00 Copper's Universal Stair-Builder 3 50 Dadd's Mugern Horse Doctor, 12 mo 1 60 Dadl's American Cattle Doctor, 12 mo 1 50 Dada's American Cattle Doctor, Svo, cloth* 2 5 0 Da.lit's American Reformed Horse Book,B vo, cloth* 2 50 Dada's Muck Manual Darwin's Variation of Animals 8; Plants. 2 vole* [new ed.] Dead Shot; or, Sportsman's Complete Guides 1 75 D. , ,ail Cottage and Constructive Architectures ll 00 D • Voe's Market Assistant* 2 50 Disks, Mayhew, and Hutchison, on the Dog* 3 00 Down ing's Landscape Gardening Dwyer's Horse Book* 2 00 Eastwood on Cranberry . 75 Egglestou's Circuit Rider* ...... ........... ................... 1 75 Eggleston's End of the World Eggleston's Hoosier School-Master 1 25 Eggleston's Mystery of Metropolisville E,,,gleston's (Geo. C.) A Man of Honor 1 25 Elliott's Hand Book for Fruit Growers* Pa., 60c.; clo 1 00 Elliott's Hand-Book of Practical Landscape Oar dening....e ...... ... Elliott's Lawn and Shade Trees* 5 50 E liott's Western Fruit-Grower's Guide 1 50 c'eletli's School House Architectures 6 00 Every Horse Owner's Cyclopredia*.......... Field's Pear Culture. Flax Culture. [Seven Prize Essays by practical grow- Flint (Charles L.) OR Grasses* 2 50 Flint',. Mitch Cows and Dairy Farming* 2 50 Frank Forester's American Game in its Season* 3 00 Frank Forester's Field Sports, 8 v0.,2 vole* 6 00 Fro* Foresters Fish and Fishing, 100 Engs' 3 50 _...4,71,,5.ter's Horse of America, il vo., 2 vols lO 00 'ran Yirester's Manual for Young Sportsmen, Bvo 3 00 French's Farm Drainage 1 50 Fuller's Forest-Tree Culturist. 1 50 Fuller's Grape Culturist 1 60 Fuller's Illustrated Strawberry Culturist 2O Fuller's Small Fruit Culturist 1 5 • Fulton's Peach Culture 1 50 Gardner's Carriage Painters' Manual. • 1 00 Gardner's How to Paint* . ....- 1 00 Geyelin's Poultry-Breeding Gould's American Stair-Buildtr's• tiould's Carpenter's and Builder's Assistant * 31 0 Gregory on Cabbages Gregory on Onion Raising. Gregory on Squashes Paper- 30 Guenon on Milch Cows ..... .:.... 75 Gnillaume's Interior Architecture* 3 00 Gun, Rod, and Saddle* 1 00 Hallett's Builders' Specificatfons* 1 75 Hallett's Builders' Contracts* lO Henley's Barns, Out-Buildings, and w ences*.......--. 600 Harris's Inserts Injurious to Vegetation... Plain $1; Colored Engravings 6 50 Harris on the Pig Hedges' on Sorgho or the Northern Sugar Plants- 1 50 Helnisley's Hardy Trees, Shrubs, and Plants* ...... II enderson's Gardening for Pleasure-- ...... ........._ 1 50 Henderson Gardening for Profit Ilenderson's Practical Floriculture. Herbert's Hints to Horse-Keepers Holden's Book of Birds paper 25c.; cloth.. 50 Holver's Book of Evergreens 3 00 Ihoper's Dog and Gun paper 30c.; ; cloth 6O Hooper' Western Fruit Book* 1 50 Ihm Culture. By nine experienced cultivators 3O How to get a Farm and Where to b , rl One 1 25 Huismann's Grapes and Wines .l. 50 Hussey's Home Buildings* ............ ......... 5 00 Hussey's National Cottage Architecture J,cques's Manual of the Garden, Farm sad Barn- Yard* 1 75 Jennings on Cattle and their Di5ea5e5.......... ..... Jennings' Horse Training Made Easy* Jennings on the Horse and his Diseases* 1 75 Jennings on Sheep, Swine, and Poultry* 1 75 Jersey, Alderney, and Guernsey Cow... 1 50 John A Ames (Rebecca Harding Davis) 1 50 Johnson's How Crepe Feed Johnson's How Craps Grow 2 00 Johnson's Peat and its Uses : 1 25 Johnson's Agricultural Chemistry.. ......... .... ..... Johnson's Elements of Agricultural Chemistry...— l5O 'fern's Practical Landscape Gardening* 1 50 King's Beekeepers' Text 800k..Paper40c.........c10th 75 KlipparesWher , Plant* Lakey's Village and Country Houses 6 00 Leavitt's Facts about Peat* 1 75 Lenchar's flow to build Hot-Houses 1 50 Lewis' People's Practical Poultry Keeper* 1 50 Long's American Wild Fowl Shootings - 2 00 Loring't farm-Yard Club ofJotharn* 3 50 Loth's Practical Stair Builder* lO 00 Lyman's Cotton Culture Manual of Flax Culture* Marshall's Farmer's Hand Book* 1 50 Merrick's Strawberry Culture* 1 00 Miles oil, the Horse's Foot 75 Mohr on the Grape-Vine 1 00 Murray's The Perfect Elorse* J. R. DURBORROW, - - - J. A. NASH. The Huntingdon Journal., J. A. NASET EVERY FRIDAY MORNING, 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 00000000 0 • PROGRESSIVE 0 Il 0 0 REPUBLICAN PAPER. 0 00000000 SUBSCRIBE. 00000000 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 14mgm TO ADVERTISERS - Circulation 1800. ADVERTISING MEDIUM REIDERS WEEKLY, The .JOURNAL is one tf the best printed papers in the Juniata Valley, and is read by the best citizens in the It finds its way into 1800 county, 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 sure of getting a rich return for their investment. Advertisements, both local and foreign, solicited, and inserted at reasonable rates. Give us a❑ order ;um; JOB DEPARTMENT R l ; P 0 •-.4 I=f COLO ter All business letters should be ad dressed to J. B. DITRBORROW & CO., Huntingdon, Pa r7. - -* , he ,„ ... ..;... ..'':. . untingdon Journal. Printing. PUBLISHED -IN TERMS : 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 00000000 FIRST-CLASS 5000 c cot t "t 3 PD P. CD n co .—. 11:1 ti OQ :CIAL' TING A ginsfs' (triner. Under the Violets. BY OLIVER WENDALL HOLMES. Her hands are cold; her face is white; No more her pulses come and go ; Her eyes are shut to life and light; Fold the white vesture, snow on snow, And lay her where the violets blow. But not beneath a graven stone, To plead for tears with alien eyes ; A slender cross of wood alone Shall say that here a maiden lies In peace beneath the peaceful skies. And gray old trees of hugest limb Shall wheel their circling shadows round To make the scorching sunlight dim, That drinks the greenness from the ground, And drops the dead leaves on her mound. When o'er their boughs the squirrels run, And through the leaves the robbins call, And ripening in the Autumn sun, The acorns and the chestnuts fall, Doubt not that she will heed them all. For her the morning choir will sing Its matins from the branches high, And every minstrel voice of Spring That thrills beneath the April sky, Shall greet her with its earliest cry. When turning round their dial-track, Eastward the lengthening shadows .'ass, Her little mourners clad in black, The cricket sliding through the grass, Shall pipe for her an evening mass. At last the rootlets of the trees Shall find the prison where she lies, And hear the buried dust they seize In leaves and blossoms in the skies, So may the soul that warmed it rise! If any, born of kindlier blood, Should A sk "What maiden lies below !" Say only this : "A tender bud, That tried to blossom in the snow, Lies wither'd where the violets blow." _ That Clock. BY MINNIE C. BALLARD I have listened to the clock That hangs above my head; It's ticked away the livelong day, And curious words it's said. It whispered first, "You love him ;" Then softly sighed, "Take care!" It called his name out clear and loud, Then murmured low, "Beware !" It said, "lie thinks not of you ;" And then it said, "Ile dotes ;" Then came a merry interlude Of crowing, chuckling notes. 0 wicked, wicked clock, To tell my secrets so! I still my heart for very shame That you these things should know. I'll take you from the wall ; I'll tie your naughty hands; I'll draw a veil across your face, And doom to garret lands, Unless you quick repent, And tick back every word, You never more shall see the light Where you such scandals heard. —N. F. Evening Post. Eemperanct story. Ruth andeller Lover. "What is it Ruthie ? Are you angry that you won't kiss me good night ?" Henry Harland stood at the threshold of a fine old mansion and looked into the black eyes of Ruth Ward, to whom be was engaged to be married, who stood a little back in the shadow of the hail and refused to kiss him good night. "I cannot kiss you, Harry," she said, "because you have been drinking; and I cannot kiss a man whose breath is contam inated with liquor." The young man dropped his eyes, and a blush stole up his brown cheek, and then he offered the same excuse that all men offer when they first commence to tamper with strong drink. "Is that it, Ruthie ?" he said. I have only been drinking a glass of wine that Mrs. Gleason offered me. You don't ob ject to that, for you know I don't drink." "Uenry, my only brother was ruined from taking a glass of wine, and I made a vow, when I saw him in his coffin, that I would never receive the attention of any youno• 6 man who would trust himself to drink even wine, and feel that he was safe in doing so. In the beginning is the time to speak. The first glass is the one to avoid. If you knew what terrible anguish your breath, scented with wine, calls to my memory, you would understand better my firmness and determination." "Then you are going to break our en gagement because I have drank a glass of wine ?" said Henry disdainfully. "No, Henry, I love you," said Ruth; and I think you will for my sake be ab stemious in the future, and I wish you would sign the pledge. You have drank wine often of late, though I did not fully realize it until to day, and if you do not abstain from it now, I must refuse your at tentions in the future." "You profess to love me," said he; "but you do not, for love would induce you to stand by me and try to keep me from temptation ; but, instead. you are driving me to destruction." "Listen to me, Henry," said Ruth, her eye glistening, and her voice trembling.— "You say I do not love you, because I will not sacrifice my kappiness and welfare, and that of others, for you when you will not make the slight sacrifice for me of signing the pledge. Reason is as necessary as love, and how could I keep you from destruction when you are determined not to listen to me, but to go on in the very path which, I am sure, leads to ruin and a drunkard's grave ?" "You are too hasty, Ruth; your expe rience with your brother blinds you. Wine doesn't harm me, and as it is offered me continually, I cannot well refuse it." "Change your boarding place," said Ruth; Mrs. Gleason is doing more harm than she dreams of in treating her boarders to wine. Go to Mrs. Andrews' to board. She is a strong temperance woman. If you love me, why will you not grant me this request ?" "You know I love you, Ruth, but you are unreasonable. lamin no danger and can govern my appetite. You talk as though I was very near a drunkard's grave." It was all in vain that careful, black eyed Ruth pleaded with her lover, and when she saw that pleadings were all in vain, she said, in a voice firm but full of anguish : "Then dear Henry, farewell; I cannot break my vow. My brother's dead face would come to haunt me. I pray that you may see the error of your ways—farewell." She was gone, and though Henry Har land called after her, she did not return. He walked slowly down the steps and along the graveled walk. More and more his feelings softened, and before be had reached his boarding house he said softly to him self : bC 0 a. m m HUNTINGDON, PA , FRIDAY, DECEMBER 7, 1.877. "A glass of wine shall not separate me from my darling Ruth. I can much easier dispense with that than with her love, and I will sign the pledge to morrow, and we will be happy again." lie entered the house and was passing to his room, but a young man opened a door and stepping into the hall, said pleasantly : "That you, Harland ? walk in a moment, I want to speak with you." "It is too late," said Henry, passing on ; but the young man urged, and finally grasping his arm, he half dragged him in to the apartment. "You shall have a taste of this wine," he said, the best you ever drank; here's a glass ready for you." "No, I thank you," said Henry looking, as he said this, longingly at the wine.— "No Darte, I don't wish for any wine to night " _ _ "Well, but taste of this," said Darte; "you can't object to that. Taste it, and give me your ()Onion of it. I say it- is the best wine ever made " Henry drank, not only the first, but more and more, until his good resolve was forgotten and he staggered to his room.— The nest morning he awoke with a ba I headache and a guilty conscience. "I cannot see Ruth to day," he said, "nor sign the pledge, while last night's in dulgence is so near, but in a few days, when this has passed by. we will be good friends once more and 1 will ❑ot drink again." had he gone at that moment, confessed his fault, and pledged himself to abstain thereafter, he might have been saved ; but he listened again to the voice of the tempter and fell, and the drunkard's seal was upon him. A few months after he had heard Ruth Ward's farewell, he fled from his native city, determined to change his course and be again a man. A thousand times he thought of her warning, and a thousand times resolved to drink no more; but every time his resolution was broken, and at last, disgraced and despised, he fled, no one knew whither but himself. The twenty thousand dollars which were his six months before, were all gone; his dress was shabby, his eyes bloodshot and his form emaciated. From the car window he looked anxiously at every station, not knowing when or where to stop. At last he spied in a distance a beautiful village, made up of snow-white cottages, shaded with huge elms and poplars. It looked so quiet, and peaceful, and inviting, that when the train stopped at the station he alighted and gazed with a wistful, hun gry look at the shady streeta and quiet homes. How happy he might have been now, if he had listened to the words of Ruth Ward. It was the mouth appointed for their mar riage, and with how much anticipated hap piness had he looked forward to it. He was weak, and hungry, and heartsick, and he leaned against a pile of boxes near him and groaned in agony of spirit. A man touched him on the arm. -Look here, stranger," he said, "you look faint. Come around the corner, here, and get a glass of whisky." He started at those words; his thirst was maddened, and he was about to follow the man's directions, when another man, tall, gentlemanly and kind, said in a low, earnest tone : "Stranger, I see that you are unhappy ; but whisky won't help you." "Help me," screamed Henry looking at the man wildly; "it has already been my ruin ; but what can I do ? I am tempted on every side. I have no work, no home and no friends." "I am the friend of just such as you," said the man, in a soft fatherly tone. Henry looked up in surprise, and there was a gleam of hope in his face. The kind gentleman drew his arm with in his own. "Come with me," he said, away from these dens of murder and destruction, and I will give you every inducement to re form. I read your history in your face, and I know the whole story from my own experience, for once I was a drunkard, and was tempted alike as you are; but a kind heart cheered me, and a kind hand led me into a better path, and it is my greatest desire to help all those who have fallen in to temptation." Henry had indeed found a friend. He was soon at work and had joined a lodge of Good Tea.plars, in tha village, and his superior education, and refined manners and uncommon ability, soon raised him to a high position in society. Mr. Ives, the gentleman who had be friended him was a merchant, and Henry was employed as clerk in the store. He kept this position but a short time, how ever, for his abilities wete soon discovered, and the position of head book-keeper was given him. Months passed on, and he be came the handsome, elegant gentleman be was before the wine cup maddened him, and many a young girl felt the blood rush ing to her face when she heard his step or felt the clasp of his hand, but Henry had not forgotten the black-eyed girl who had SO firmly refused his attentions, and his highest ambition and hope was to make himself worthy of her love, and then seek her out and make her his wife. Several years passed away, and a great temperance conve“tion called him to his Dative city. Ilis eloquence as a speaker had been discovered, and he had often addressed meetings on the subject of temperance, hoping thereby to save some soul from de struction. The evening appointed for him to address the meeting was very fair and the attendance was large. Tall, graceful and manly, he bowed before the audience, and proceeded with his lecture ! but he had spoken but a few moments before he discovered a pair of black eyes fixed upon him, the expressive black eyes of Ruth Ward. He hesitated a moment, embar rassed and confused, then regaining his self-possession, he broke the thread of his discourse and related his experience. There was a dead silence in the room, as the handsome man told his past depredation, his temptations. his broken resolves, ' and his meetir , with the good man who had befriendefhim. Not an eye in that great assembly was free from tears, and when he had closed with an eloquent peroration of warning to young men, there was a mo ment's silence, then cheer after cheer rent the air, and men and women crowded around the platform to clasp the hand of the young orator. In vain he looked for those black eyes which had inspired him to speak with such eloquence, they were not there to greet him. Disappointed, he was about to depart, for the hall was near ly empty, when he felt a touch on his arm, and turning beheld the black eyes full of tears, but the red lips wreathed with a smile. At the threshold of the old mansion that night, he received the goodnight kiss, and the promise that the early spring should find them man and wife. elett Visa Hang. Words of Wisdom. He that has no friend and no enemy is one of the vulgar, and without talents, power or energy. Conscience, be it ever so little a worm while we live, grows suddenly to a serpent on our death bed. Franklin says, "A poor man must work to find meat fbr his stomach, a rich one to find stomach for meat." The unpleasant sensation that is produced by modesty, is amply compensated by the prepossession it creates in our favor. - He who has guineas for his subjects, is, unfortunately, the king of most men. A man may start at impending danger or wince at the sensation of pain ; and yet he may be a true philosopher and not be afraid of death. A passionate man should be regarded with the same caution as a loaded blunder buss, which may unexpectedly go off and do us an injury. Too much sensibility creates unhappi ness; and too much insensibility creates crime. He who surpasses or subdues mankind must look down on the fate of those be. low. The pitying tears and fond smiles of wo men are like the showers and sunshine of spring, Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much—Wisdom is humble that he knows no more If you wish to keep your enemies from knowing any harm of you, don't let your friends know any. The epicure, the drunkard, and the man of loose morals are equally contemptible ; though the brutes obey instinct, they nev er exceed the bounds of moderation ; and besides, it is beneath the dignity of man to place felicity in the service of his Fenses. He is wise who never acts without rea son, and never against it. -The beginning of anger is foolishness and its end is repentance. He who pretends to be everybody's friend is nobody's. If you do what you should not, you must bear what you would not. The imagination is of so delicate a tex ture that even words wound it. If we lack the sagacity to discriminate nicely between our acquaintances and our friends, our misfbrtune will readily do it for us. It is not so easy as philosophers tell us to lay aside our prejudices; more volition cannot enable us to divest ourselves of long established feelings, and reason is averse to laying aside theories it has once been taught to admire. Hath any wronged thee ? Be bravely avenged; slight it, and the work is begun; forgive, and it's finishA. He is below him self that is not above an injury. It is often better to have a great deal of hunt happen to one than a little ; a great deal may rouse you to remove what a lit• tle will only accustom you to endure. The great man should retire occasionally from the stage to avoid wearying admira tion ; for however brilliant the sui may be, it would be wrong for it never to set. Distress Under the Confederacy. In the course of a spirited and interest ing paper on "Horne Life in the Confed eraby," which appears in the Philadelphia Times, Mrs. M. P. Handy sayS, regard ing the cost of existence in those days : "If the Confederates 'did not die in the last ditch,' at all events they went nearer to it than most of them will ever care to go again. In the spring of 1865 a barrel of flour sold in Richmond at $1,200, while a pound of bacon was worth $l5 and sugar 875 a pound; turkeys were $25 a pound ; butter, $5O; eggs, $3O a dozen, and apples five dollars a piece, while all the necessa ries of life were dear in proportion. There were those favored children of fortune whom want did not come near, but by far the greater number of Confederates learn ed from experience what actual hunger meant. Sherman's march to the sea, Sher idan's desolating tramp through the Val ley of the Shenandoah, after which he boasted that, if a crow should fly across the fertile country from Staunton to Win chester, he must carry his rations with him or starve; these were the death wounds of the Lost Cause—want and -hunger, the deadliest foes with which its armies had to grapple ; and Jeff Davis himself virtually ended the conflict when he sent the provis ion train, which should have waited fur Lee at Amelia Court House, on to Dan ville. Fitz Lee and his staff did not sur render at Appomattox with the rest of the army, but made a daring and hopeless ef fort to find their way across the country to join Johnston. The next day they stop ped for an hour at the house of the writer, a day's march on the journey to North Carolina. A hasty lunch was prepared for them, to which the staff did justice; but the General sat apart, his head bowed upon his hands, scarcely tasting the cup of 'real coffee' which had been made to do him special honor. Only once, except when asking as to his route, &c., did he rouse himself; then a lady present spoke bitterly of the number of stragglers who had poured through the country, and past our gates. 'Madam,' he said, 'the men were not to blame; they fought like dev ils as long and longer than their rations held out ; they never straggled until the officers told them to go and get something. to eat. The rations from Amelia to Ap• potnattex Court House were an ear of corn apiece fur the men, nothing for the horses. Could men do more r " What is a Good Education. Edward Everett, the gifted orator, nev er spoke more truthfully than when utter ing the following words : "To read the English language well, to write with des patch a neat, legible hand, and be master of the first four rules of arithmetic, so as to dispose of at once, with accuracy, every question of figures wb ieh comes up in prat tice—l call this a good education. And if you add the ability to write pure gram matrical English, I regard this as an ex cellent education. These are the tools. You can do much with them. They are the foundation, and unless you begin with these, all your flashy attainments, a little geology, and all other ologies and osophies are ostentatious rubbish." It is generally the custom among the schools of to-day to neglect these so-called "common branch es." They omit the foundation, and build up a vast and imposing structure of showy accomplishments. No sooner does a pupil of one of these schools attempt to enter upon the busy scenes of life, than he finds his "castle in the air," built at so great a cost of time and money, come tumbling down upon his ears. Dressing the Baby. MAN'S MEANS AND WOMAN'S WAYS-YOU KNOW HOW 'TIS YOURSELF. When a woman goes to work to dress a two-year old child she does it in a syste matic, business-like manner, and without any noise or fuss; and before you know it the youngster is slid out of her hands with his face washed and hair combed, his cloth ing in ship shape order, and a $lO chromo under his arm. This all comes from know in.. how. With a man it is different. He male - s elaborate preparations and puts on the air of one who is getting an eighty four gun ship ready for a two year's cruise. He collects the youngster's duds together in a heap, gathering them up from pretty much all over the house, and after a great deal of bawling for this, and sharp snapping inquires for that, and an unlimited amount of getting down on his knees and looking under the furniture for the other (all of which comes from his having undressed the child the night before) he at length sits resignedly down in a chair and with a feeble attempt at good-nature says : "Come, Freddie, come to papa, and have ycur cases on." The child, who is just then traveling around in his night-dress, and playing with a damp towel and a stove wrench, makes a bee line for the door, full of a desire to es cape into the next room. "Come, Freddie, come to papa, like a good boy," says the father, with a brave effort at patience. The child keeps on his course. "Fred !" This sounds so much like business that the youngster stops, turns and tracking slowly up to the now stern.browed parent, gradually gets within reach, when a sud den grab of his arm brings him into posi tion where the damp towel slaps around on the father's clean shirt front, and the stove wrench plumps solidly down ou the top of his fbot. "Immortal Julius !" he screams in agony nursing his foot with one hand and sha king the poor innocent with the other; whereupon the innocent sets up an ac companying yell. A voice from below, where the wife and mother is busied in getting breakfast, joins in the chorus. "Olmstead Molleson, what on earth are you doing to that child ?" "Oh, you be darned !" goes back the quick reply,in ashort, ugly,desperate growl that silences all further inquiry. Then the father, after rubbing his foot and groaning awhile, squares the child around and begins the process of dressing him, which is mostly made up of dreadful struggles between clumsy fingers and smooth porcelain buttons, a general mis placing of garments hind-side before, up side down, searches after the missing ar ticles, and talk like the following: "Turn around !" `Stand still !" "Hold your arm up "Thunder and lightning ! Can't you let things be ?" "Stop reaching !" "Up, I say !" "Can't you keep still ?" "Where's that other skirt ?" "Stitt up !" "Let go " "Blast that button !" "Now, where the blazes is that pin ?" "Stand up ! ' "There, by thunder 1" "Why don't you fall down and be done with it ?" "Stop your howling !" "Stop !" "Ouch ! Devil take that pin '." "Let that be "Behave !" "Gteat scat !" "Say, why don't you have four or five thousand more buttons on your clothes ?" "Now, where's that stocking ?" "Keep your foot still !" "Say, keep—your—foot—still !" "By jove in Jerusalem !" "Gimme the other foot !" "No, the other !" "Can't you see ?" "Sanctified Solomon ! what do you want to spread your toes all out for ? How do you suppose I'm going to put your sock ing on with your fbot in that shape ?" "Stop it I" "Stop it, I say !" "Prow, wow e—e—u! Who stuck that pin in that way ?" "You of course," says a cold, thin cut ting voice; and he glances up and sees his wife looking down on him in a taunting, exasperating sort of way. "I'd be ashamed of myself," she continued, "to go on in that way and get so out of patience with a little bit of a baby. You've been making noise enough to raise the dead, and the clothes look as if they'd been thrown on with a pitchfork. Gimme him !" And he gets up sheepishly and sullenly, and after slamming and stamping around the house after the liniment bottle, and banging the doors and making as big a noise as he can, he works himself into such a state of meanness and mortification that, to spite himself, he goes off downtown without his breakfast "Please Charge This." These three words are of immence im portance to every head of the family. These threo. words are like three links in a chain which we forge for ourselves, and every time they are repeated this chain becomes stronger and stronger. These three words add fifty per cent. to the cost of any article we purchase, for the seller wants, and very likely needs, cash, and he can turn his mosey over several times before we can liquidate his claim he charges, in addition to the cash price, a profit fur each time be might have used his money had we paid cash on the spot. These three words, easily and pleasantly spoken, and as pleasantly responded to make a man the object slave of the creditor. These three words should be blotted from every farmer's vocabulary. He can not afford, of all men, to pay enormous in terests, nor can he allow debts to accumu late when future and uncertain gains can only be relied upon. These three words need never be spoken if a thorough self-denial be practiced for a year or two. Pay as you go, involves no accumulating burdens, but lightens instead the daily routine of labor. MAN : "Do you think it would be safe for me to cross this pasture ?" Maid : "Well, the old bull don't like red very much, but if you chalk your nose I guess he won't attack you." "THE funeral was all that could be ex pected," says an aged lady who looks upon these events with an artistic eye. "The display of flowers was grand, and the wid ow wept like a born angel." Toothache. Gracious 1 Godfrey I how it pains me I Lordy I don't that old tooth jump I Seems as though ten thousand devils Pried with crowbars round its stump. Whew 1 can't some one give me something Just to stop this blasted pain— Hot-drops, laudanum, cloves, or hop-bag ? Quick I or I shall be insane! Stop that 'tarnal baby's squalling Jehew 1 don't my tooth ache sweet 1 Darn that cat! I'd like to kill it 1 Always under some one's feet. Jove 1 I'd like to fight with some one, Just to get my jaw stove in— Fire I murder I Godfrey 1 Gunther ! Oh it's aching now like sin 1 Howling, am I ? Well, I know it And I guess that you'd howl, too, If you had a blasted toothache— Same as this one—troubling you Curse I I know it don't relieve me ; But I'm crazy with the pain 1 Ain't there any thing to ease it ? Let me try the hops again. There, now, gently—place them easy ! Phew ! They're hot I Just let 'em cool ! Well, put 'em on, You're bound to burn me. There you've done it! Darn a fool! To Young Men. It has been said, and truly, that a man is a brindle of habits, It may be sai d, with equal truth, that bad habits are our worst enemies. Ilow they steal on us almost unconsciously and securely fasten themselves to us ! What tremendous efforts it takes to rid ourselves of them when once we have yielded. In one of the great churches of Naples I looked upon a form of marble that I shall never forget. The statue is called "Vice Convinced," and represents, in life size, a man struggling with tremendous effort to break loose from the network of evil habits with which they have completely enveloped him. The net is represented by a cordon of open work marble about him. A master hand has wrought out this wonderful piece of statu. ary. A strong man in the prime of life finds himself completely encircled, bound hand and foot by bad habits. The net work is complete. There seems to be no possible escape from its meshes. But un der the inspirations of a new purpose, that seems to have come to the man from the face of a beautiful angel, with a mighty effort he has succeeded in breaking asun der the coils that are about him. Every muscle is at a tenison, every part of the entire form seems convulsed in the fearful struggle. But he has been successful, and a radiant smile of joy and relief light up his face. Never before had I so fully realized the power and tyranny of a habit, how utterly impossible it is to break loose from a bad one. Every day I meet, on these streets men, who, though rich, would give all their treasures in a moment could they rise above the power of an evil habit. Only the other day a citizen fled away from our city to a distant part of the coun try, hoping, as he said, to get rid of the temptations that were about him . The formation of correct habits in early lire is comparatively easy. In a word; if -Jou would become model characters you Lb..- discard all bad habits, all odd habits, all that is ungracious or ungratef-1 in word or deed, or manner. In order to do this you must study constantly yourselves, and, if possible, be under the influence and shadow of good men and women. Read in hours of recreation, good books. Shun, as you would a deadly poison, the impure literature that is more or less abroad. Pass by on the other side, always, when invited to take a social glass with a friend. Bear about with you the conscious dignity of manhood, not in a vain, but a modest, yet positive way. Never sacrifice principle for place. Embark in no business scheme that has not a fair premise of moderate returns. Never spend that which you have not got. Don't discount the future, it may not be yours. Even;ng damps. One more fruitful cause of disease re mains to be noted, and that is excessive diurnal changes of temperature The range of the thermometer from noon( ay to morn ing is not only greater in ft a country, but the heavy dews consequent upon this ren der the changes mcre perceptible and less easily r:sisted by the human system. Du ring the day the heat is 't more severely than in the city, where shelter during ex ercise is obtainabl, for most of the day, and when evening cores on with its cool bree zes, Inca - ,ous persons expose themselves with lithe or no additional clothing. They came into the country to be comfortable they say, and they ride or sit in the open air till thoroughly cooled if not slightly chilled. At the same hour on the next day they are again chilled, and so on until in termittent fever or some one of its kindred diseases so cordially invited, steps in and takes full possession. We by no means re pudiate the malarial origin of these diseas es, but we do say that such a course of conduct strongly predisposes the system to the influence of that dread unknown de stroyer. Such checks of perspiration are also fre quent causes of intestinal diseases, mole frequent than any other; as is notoriously seen in the great prevalence of dyset...ery and kindred disorders when the contrast between the temperature of night and day is most marked.—Dr. Searle. Bob Ingersoll's Temperance Speech. Ta a recent letter to an Indiana paper Colonel Robert G. Ingersoll says that the only "temperance speech" he ever made was in what was known as the Munn trial in Chicago, when he made the following remarks on intemperance : "I believe, gentlemen, that alcohol to a certain degree demoralizes those who make it, those who sell it, and those who drink it. I believe that from the time it issu , s from the coiled and poisoned worm of the distillery until it empties into the hell of crime, dishonor and death, it demoralizes everybody that touches it from its source to its end. Ido not believe that anybody can contemplate the subject without be coming- prejudiced against that liquid crime. All we have to do, is to think of the wrecks upon either bank of this stream of death— of the suicides—of the insanity—of the poverty—of the ignorance—of the destitu tion—of the little children tugging at the faded dresses of weeping and despairing wives asking for bread—of the men of genius it has wrecked—of the millions struggling with imaginary serpents pro duced by this devlish thing; and of the asy lums, of the prisons, and of scaffolds upon either bank, I do not wonder that every thoughtful man is prejudiced against that damned stuff called alcohol. WHERE are you going asked one little fellow of another who had slipped and fal len down on the pavement. "Going to get up !" was the reply. Wonderful Invention. It has been said that Science is never sensational, remarks the Scientific Ameri can ; that it is intellectual not emotional; but certainly nothing that can be conceiv ed would be more likely to create the profoundest of sensations, to arouse the liveliest of human emotions, than once more to hear the familiar voices of the dead. Yet Science now announces that this is possible, and can be done. That the voices of those who departed before the invention of the wonderful apparatus are forever stilled is too obvious a truth ; but whoever has spoken or whoever may speak into the mouthpiece of the phono graph, and whose words are recorded by it, has the assurance that his speech may be reproduced audibly in his own tones long after he himself has turned to death. The possibility► is simply startling. A strip of indented paper travels through a little machine, the sounds of the latter are mag nified, and our great grandchildren or pos terity centuries hence hear us as plainly as if we were present. Speech has become, as it were, immortal. The possibilit i es of the future arc not much more wonderful than those of the present. The orator in Boston speaks, the indented strip of paper is the tangible result; but this travels under a second machine which may connect with the telephone. Not only is the speaker heard now in San Francisco for example, but by passing the strip again under the reproducer he may be heard to morrow, or next year, or next century. his speech in the first instance is recorded and transmitted simultaneously, and indefi nite repetition is possible. The new invention is purely mechanical —no electricity is involved. It is a sim• plc affair of vibrating plates, thrown into vibration by the human voice. It is crude yet, but the principle has been found, and modifications and improvements are only a matter of time. So also are its possibili ties other than those already noted. Will letter writing be a proceeding of the past ? Why not, if by simply talking into a mouthpiece our speech is recorded on paper and our correspondent can by the same paper hear us speak. Are we -to have a new kind of books? There is no reason why the orations of our modern Ciceros should not be recorded and detachably bound so that we can run the indented slips through the machine, and in the quiet of our own apartments listen again, and as often as we will, to the eloquent words. Nor are we restricted to spoken words. Music may be crystalized as well. Imagine au opera or an oratorio, sung by the greatest living vocalists, thus recorded, and capable of being repeated as we desire. The credit of the invention belongs to Mr. Thomas A. Edison. The Nobility of Labor. Blood never makes a nobleman. The blood of a kitrg is as poor as that of a peas- ant, and often poorer. The blood of the autocrat, whose whisper shakes a kingdom and whose - Trod awes a cootisegt, ik,fig, more crimson or of greater virtue than - M I serf's, which the autocrat despises. Birth never endows nobility- The magnificence of the cradle nor the tinted frescoing and gorgeous drapery of the palace never crea ted rank. Ile alone is a nobleman who has made the world better and happier for hav ing lived, who has fringed the clouds with silvery beauty, planted the rose and water ed it into bloom upon the desert waste, beautified the forest wilds or gathered the splendors of the valley into charming sym metries. There are millions of noblemen's graves over which a tear was never shed, and which time bas leveled to the even surface of the prairie, but from which streams back through centuries the glow of a nobility which charms a world into bumble worship of itssublimity and gen uine worth. Many a man has died nuhonored and unsung who left in every footprint from his childhood to the tomb a rich and bril liant legacy to the world and no legacy worth , ommemcrating was ever left the world, which was not baptized in the sweat of honest toil. From mental -.1 physical exertion the earth has been wade to blossom, the seas have been coy- Hed with life. Civilization has shot its sunshine into the gloom of ruddiness, and seir -ice has rained its softness on the world. On every field that bears a tempting harv vest on its breast,on every brick in every building that was ever reared, on every book of value that was ever written, on ev ery thought that turns to light the world in every workshop, and nine, and furnace and factory—wherever labor sweats, are written the credentials of nobility. Camp . Meeting Experience. In a camp meeting in this State a woman elated her experience in giving up certain articles of ornament and gay attire that she had loved. She said that at first she re ;olved to wear no more artificial flowers, gr y colored ribbons, handsome silks, ear ornaments, nor brooches ; but one idol re mained. It was her wedding ring. At last she resolved to throw this away, too, and when she did it the ble.csing of sanctifi ce ion came. The Methodist says : "As she stood in the audience relating the change that had come over her, she dis played an immense mass of false hair wound up on the back of her head, upon which was mounted a top knot of a hat, neither protection from sun or cold, nor ornamental to behold. She disclosed be neath a half-cast off shawl, a corseted waist which was reduced to such diminutive pro portions as to appear painfully abnormal, supported padding, puffins, pannier, and pinback, and a dress skirt sadly bedrabbled to a depth of the several inches which it dragged upon the ground. As she sac down after her testimony and an exhorta tion to erring sisters to renounce all pomp and glory of the world, she plied her fan and panted very like a ball-room belle who had waltzed too long and was dressed too tightly to breathe with ease, When at the close of the meeting the woman walked away, she had a parasol, a fan and a hymn book to hold in one hand, and the other was employed in gathering and holding the front breadth of her skirts high enough to enable her to step, while the limit of her mincing gait was determined by her contracted pinback and stilted boot heels. And away she went a sanctified woman." —Philadelphia Day. "AMY TO TEACh."-A metropolitan housekeeper advertised recently for a wet nurse. A young Irish girl offered herself. "How old are you, Bridget?" said the dame. "Sixteen, plase, ma'am." "Have you ever had a baby ?" "No ma'am, but I am very fond of them." "Then I am afraid, Bridget, you will not do for me; it is a wet nurse I want." "Oh, plase ma'am, I know I'll do; I'm very aisy to teach."— Neu , York Xerald. NO: 48.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers