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
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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,
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HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA
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: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.