VOL. 42. The Huntingdon Journal J. R. DURBORROW, PUBLISHERS AND PROPRIETORS Office in new JOURNAL Building, Fifth Street. TIIE HUNTINGDON JOURNAL is published every Friday by J. It. Drasolutow and .1. A. NASH, under the firm name of J. R. DURBORHOW 8L CO., at $2,00 per annum IN ADVANCE, or 12.50 if not paid for In six months from date of subscription, and $3 if not paid within the year. No paper discontinued, unless at the option of the pub lishers, until all arrearagos are paid. No paper, however, will be sent out of the State unless absolutely paid for in advance. Transient advertisements will be inserted at TWELVE AND A-HALF CENTS per line for the first insertion, SEW( ♦ND A-HALF CENTS for the second and FIVE CENTS per line for all subsequent insertions. Regular quarterly and yearly business advertisements will be inserted at the following rates : I I3ml 6m 9m Iyr I I3ml 6m 19ml I lyr 110183 501 4 501 5 501 8 001 1 4..011 9 C 0 18 004271 36 2" I 5 00 , 8 011 1 10 00112 001%coll 18 00136 00 50 65 3 " 7 00:10 00114 00118 001 3 i,c01 1 34 00150 00 65 80 4 " 800 14 0(00 001.18 00 1 c 01136 00160 00 80i 100 All Resolutions of Association., Communications of limited or individual interest, all party annouscemente, and notices of Marriages and Deaths, exceeding five lines, will be charged TEN CENTS per line. Legal and other notices will be charged to the party having them inserted. Advertising Agents must find their commission7outside of these figures. All advertising accounts are due and collectable when the advertisement is once inserted. _ JOB PRINTING of every kind, Plain and Fancy Colors, done with neatness and dispatch. Iland-hills, Blanks, Cards, Pamphlets, &c., of every variety and style, printed at the shortest notice. and everything in the Printing line will be executed in the most artistic manner and at the lowest rates. Professional Cards• DR. J. G. CAMP, graduate of Pennsylvania College of Dental Surgery. Office 228 Penn Street. Teeth ex tracted without pain. Charges moderate. [DecT '77-3m TA CALDWELL, Attorney-at-Law, No. 111, 3rd street. .11. Office formerly occupied by Messrs. Woods & Wil liamson. [apl2,'7l DR. A.B. BRUMBAUGH, offers his professional services to the community. Office, No 523 Washington street, one door east of the Catholic Parsonage. [jan4,'7l 1 1 C. STOCKTON, Surgeon Dentist. O ffi ce in Ligister's 111. building, in the room formerly occupied by Dr. E. J. Greene, Eluntiugdon, Pa. [apl2B, '76. Glik). B: ORLADY, Attorney-at-Law, 405 Penn Street, Huntingdon, Pa. [n0v17,'75 GL. ROBB, Dentist, office in S. T. Brown's new building, U. No. 520, Penn Street, Huntingdon, Pa. [apl2.'7l I{ C. MADDEN, Attorney-at-Law. Office, No. —, Penn I{. Street, Huntingdon, Pa. [apl9,'7l TSYLVANITS BLAIR, Attorney-at-Law, Huntingdon, . Pa. Office, Penn Street, three doors west of 3rd Street. Ljan4,'7l T W. MATTERN, Attorney-at-Law and General Claim tl • 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,'7l T S. GEISSINGER, Attorney-at-Law and Notary Public, Huntingdon, Pa. Office, No. 230 Penn Street, oppo site Court House. [febs,'7l (1 E. FLEMING, Attormy-at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa., . office in Monitor building, Penn Street. Prompt and careful attention giTen to all legal business. [augs,74-6mos WILLIAM A. FLEMING, Attorney-at-Law, Hunting don, Pa.. Special attention given to collections, and all other legal business attended to with care and promptness. Office, No. 229, Penn Street. [apl9,ll School and Miscellaneous Books GOOD BOOKS FOR THE FARM, GARDEN AND HOUSEHOLD. The following is a list of Valuable Books, which will be supplied from the Office of the Huntingdon JOURNAL. Any one or more of these books will be sent post-paid to any of our readers on receipt of the regular price, which Is named against each book. . . Allen's (R L. R L. F.) New American Farm Book $2 60 Allen's (L. F.) American Cattle.. 2 54 , Allan's R. L . ) American Farm Book 1 Allen's (L. F.) Rural Architecture 1 Allen's (11. L.) Diseases of Domestic Animals 1 American Bird Fancier American Gentleman's Stable Guide*. American Rode Crilturist. American Weeds and Useful Plants 1 75 Atwood's Country and Suburban Houses. 1 50 Atwood's Modern American 'ioinesteade* 3 50 Baker's Practical and Scientific Fruit Culture* 2 50 Barber's Crack Shot* Barry's Fruit Garden Belt's Carpentry Made Easy* Bement's Rabbit Fancier 3O Bicknell's Village Builder and Supplement. 1 Vol* l2 00 Bicknell's Supplement to Village Builder* b 00 Bogardus' Field Cower, and Trap Shooting* 2 On Bommer's Method of Making Manures 25 Boussingault , Rural Economy 1 60 Brackett's Farm Talk-* paper, Wets.; c10th.... 75 Breck'e New Book of Flowers 1 75 Brill's Farm-Gardening and Seed-Growing 1 (r 0 Broom-Corn and Brooms paper, Wets.; cloth 75 Brown's Taxidermist's Manual* 1 00 Bruckuer's American Manures.. Buchanan's Culture of the Grapeaud Wine making* 75 Buel's Cider-Maker's Manual* Buist's Flower-Garden Direct0ry..........„ 1 50 Buist's Family Kitchen Gardener 1 00 Burger' American Kennel and Sporting Field• Burnham's The China Fowl* Burn's Architectural Drawing Book*, Burns' illustrated Drawing Book. Burns' Ornamental Drawing Books. Burr's Vegetables of America* Caldwell's Agricultural Chemical Analysis Canary Birds. Paper 50 cts Cloth Chorlton's Grape-Grower's Guide. Cleveland's Landscape Achitecture* Clok's Diseases of Sheep* Cobbett's American Gardener. Cole's American Fruit Book Cole'. American Veterinarian Cooked and Cooking Food for Domestic Animals*— 20 Cooper's Game Fowls* 5 00 Corbett's Poultry Yard and Market*pa.socts., cloth 75 Croft's Progressive American Architectures lO 00 Cummings' Architectural Details lO 00 Cummings & Miller's Architecture* lO 00 Cupper's Universal Stair-Builder 3 50 Dadd's Modern Horse Doctor, 12 mo 1 50 Dadd's American Cattle Doctor, 12 mo 1 50 Dadd's American Cattle Doctor, Svo, cloth* 2 5 0 Dadd's American Reformed Horse Book, e so, cloth 2 50 Dada's Stuck Manual 1 25 Darwin's Variations of Animals A Plants. 2 vole* [new ed.] Dead Shot; or, Sportsman's Complete Guide* Detail Cottage and Constructive Architecture* De Voe's Mirrket Assistant* Dinka, Mayhew, and Hutchison, on the Dog* Downing's Landscape Gardening Dwyer's Horse 800k*... ...................... ............ Ecuawood on Cranberry Egglestun's Circuit Riler*. Egileston's End of the World Egileston:s Hoosier School-Master. Eggleston's Mystery of Metropolisville 1 Eggleston's (Geo. C.) A Man of Honor 1 Elliott's Head Gook for Fruit G rowers* Pa., 60c. ; clo 1 Elliott's Hand-Book of Practical Landscape Gar dening*. e Elliott's Lawn and Shade Tress* 1 50 E notes Western Fruit-Grower's Guide 1 50 Eveleth's School Hou.. Architecture* 6 00 Every Horse Owner's Cyc10ptedia........... ............. Field's Pear Culture Flax Culture. [Seven Prize Essays by practical grow ers ] 30 Flint (Charles L.) on Grasses* 2 50 Flint's Mitch Cows and Dairy Farming* 2 50 Frank Forester's American Game in its Season* 3 00 Frank Forester's Field Sports, 8 vo. 2 vols*. ..... Frank Foresters Fish and Fishing, 100 Engs* 3 50 Frank Forester's Horse of America, 8 vo., 2 vols lO 00 Frank Forester's Manual fur Young Sportsmen. Bvo 3 00 French's Farm Drainage Fuller's Forest-Tree Culturist Fuller's Grape Culturist 1 50 Fuller's Illustrated Strawberry Culturist 2O Fuller's Small Fruit Culturist 1 5 i Fulton's Peach Culture Gardner'e Carriage Painters' Manual * 1 00 Gardner's How to Paint* Geyelin's Poultry-Breeding • Gould's American Stair-Builder's* Gould's Carpenter's and Builder's Assistant * 3.1 0 Gregory on Cabbages paper.. 30 Gregory on Onion Raising* Gregory on Squashes .paper.. 30 Guenon on Milch Cows 75 Guillaume's Interior Architecture* Gun, Rod, and Saddle* Hallett's Builders' Specitications* Hallett's Builders' Contracts* ... Harney's Barns, Out-Buildings, and 6 00 Harris's Insects Injurious to Vegetation... Plain $4; Colored Engravings 6 V) Harris on the Pig Hedges' on Sorgho or the Northern Sugar Plant* Helmsley's Hardy Tress, Shrubs, and Plante* Henderson's Gardening for Pleasure.. .... Henderson Gardening for Profit Henderson's Practical Floriculture . Herbert's Hints to Horse-Keepers Holden's Book of Birds paper 25c.; cloth.. Hooper's Book of Evergreens Hooper's Dog and Gun paper 30c.;; cloth Hooper' Western Fruit Book* Hop Culture. By nine experienced cultivators How to get .a Farm and Where to find One , Husmann's Grapes and Wine* Hussey's Home Buildings* ...... ......... Hussey's National Cottage Architecture—. ...... Jacques's Manual of the Garden, Farm and Barn Yard* Jennings on Cattle and their Diseases* Jennings' Horse Training Made Jcnnings on the Horse and his Disoases* Jennings on Sheep, Swine, and Poultry* Jersey, Alderney. and Guernsey Cow* John Androes (Rebecca Harding Davis) Johnson's Aow Craps Feed Johnson's How Crops Gr0w......... Johnson's Peat and its Uses i Johnson's Agricultural Chemistry . 1 75 Johnson's Elements of Agricultural Chemistry...—. 1 50 Kern's Practical Landscape Gardening* 1 50 King's Beekeepers' Text Book..Pa.per 40c.........c10th 75 Klippart'a Wheat Plant* . 1 Tr , Lakey's Village and Country Houses. Leavitt's Facts about Peat* Leuchar's How to build Hot-rfouses Lewis' People's Practical Poultry Keeper* 1 50 Long's American Wild Fowl Shooting* 2 00 loring's Farm-Yard Club of Jotham* 3 50 Loth's Practical Stair Builder* ... lO 00 Lyman's Cotton Culture 1 50 Manual of Flax Culture*.. 2O Marshall's Farmer's hand Book* 1 bu J. R. DURBORROW, - - - J. A. NASH'. The Huntingdon Journal, J. A. NASH, 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 $3.00 if 00000000 A 00000000 0 0 0 0 0 PROGRESSIVE 0 00000000 SUBSCRIBE.' 00000000 gumgg TO ADVERTISERS Circulation 1800. ADVERTISING MEDIUM, 1 The JOURNAL is one of the best 4 00 1 00 1 00 1 00 1 00 300 printed papers in the Juniata Valley, and is read by the best citizens in the county, It finds its way into 1800 homes weekly, and is read by at least 5000 persons, thus making it the BEST advertising medium in Central Pennsyl- vania. Those who patronize its columns are sure of getting a rich return for their investment. Advertisements, both local and foreign, solicited, and inserted at reasonable rates. Give us an order. .... 500 ... 1 75 -.. 10 00 ... 250 .... 800 6 50 ... 200 ugggggg JOB DEPARTMENT , cs co C co cr CO CD a I fa. ml 3 00 1 00 1 75 1 50 7 50 1 50 1 50 1 50 1 75 50 3 (H) .. 175 ... 175 ... 1 25 ... 1 75 ... 1 75 I ho ... 1 50 ... 200 COLOR PRI .... 2 00 sar All business letters should be ad dressed to J. R. DURBORROW & CO., Huntingdon, Pa. 11. *4' • rya he ~• un t in ,d on ourna Printing PUBLISHED -IN-- TERMS : not paid within the year 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 REPUBLICAN PAPER. 0 o o 0 o 0 0 0 o FIRST-CLASS 5000 RE &DEES WEEKLY, ~iP • C$ it Or 0 R 0 0; rz , C .1 0. CD li : ti 43 . : t 5 0 tyq p E TING A SPECIALTY. - Ely Rims' *Wm Falling Asleep. Golden head so lowly bending, Little feet so white and bare, Dewy eyes, half shut, half opened, Lisping out her evening prayer. Well she knows when she is saying "Now I lay me down to sleep," 'Tis to God that she is praying, Praying him her soul to keep. Half asleep, and murmuring faintly, "If I should die before I wake"— Tiny fingers clasped so saintly— "l pray the Lord my soul to take." 0 the rapture, sweet, unbroken, Of the soul who wrote that prayer' Children's myriad voices floating Up to heaven, record it there. If, of all that has been written, If I could choose what might be mine, It should be that child's petition, Rising to the throne divine. The Wolf at the Door. BY WILL S. HAYS "Hark! How the merciless cold winds blow; Mamma, come look at the 'beautiful snow.' See how the streets are all mantled in white; I'm looking for papa—he'll come home all right. 0 ! Why are you looking so lonely and sad ? I know papa drinks, but can't I make you glad? Come ! kiss me, mamma, and don't weep any More." "Hush ! Come to my arms, there's a wolf at the door." "Mamma, don't cry, let me kneel at your feet, We are hungry and cold, and we've nothing to eat. Look up, and be cheerful, in God put your trust, If papa is a drunkard, God will not blame us. Why do you tremble so; wipe off that tear, The fire is out, but we've nothing to fear, Let's lay down together and sleep on the floor" "No ! no! there's no sleep while the wolf's at the door." "Oh ! Mamma, God bless you! cheer up all you can, Some day 1 may be a good eon and a man, To bring to your sorrowful heart hope and joy, If Papa's a drunkard, just think, I'm your boy. Though he may desert us, there's One left us still Who'll never forsake us,—no! God never will." "Hush ! child, there's your father; don't say a word more. Great God ! Can't he see there's a wolf at the door." Aye ! staggering drunk at that hour so late, The father stood reeling in snow at the gate. His barefooted boy, dressed so poorly and thin, Went out in the snow, and he led "Papa" in. But just as he entered, he fell to the floor, And there went forth a howl from the wolf at the door. The emblem of death to the door-knob was tied, A husband—A father—A DRUNKARD had died. Ely *tug:biter. ROSAMOND GIFFORD. "Good bye, mamma, and wish me good luck, please !" "Good-bye, Rosamond ; but, as for my wishes, they can't signify one way or the other. fin nothing but alorlorn remnant of the olden time." Rosamond Gifford turned away from the cracked mirror in its frame of stained wood, and went smilingly out in the nip ping November air—a tall, blooming dam sel, with deep brown eyes, and a lovely pink and white complexion whose simple black alpaca dress set off her fresh beauty, as an antique vase might relieve a cluster of full blossomed roses. "Mamma," said little Helen Gifford, as she put another shovelful of coals on the carefully husbanded fire, "do you feel sorry that Rosa is going to work the sewing ma chines at the Exhibition ?" Mrs. Gifford withdrew behind her pocket handkerchief. "Ah, child, it's well for you that you haven't my sensitive feelings !" "But, mamma, why shouldn't Rosa sew at the Exhibition fair, just the same as in the sewing machine room in Oxford street? Where's the difference, so long as they pay her for it ?" hire. Gifford shook her cap borders hys terically. "I never thought to see the day when a Gifford should be compelled to work for a living—and to work in public, too I I only wish I had been dead and buried first ?" "Mamma, don't !" pleaded poor little Helen. "It would have been a great deal bet ter !" groaned Mrs. Gifford, "I shouldn't have been in the way,with my old-fashioned ideas and notions, then ! I hope Sir Walter Morton sleeps peacefully in his bed—that is all ! I know I couldn't, if I cheated my cousin's children out of their inheritance !" "But, mamma, how was it Cousin Wal- ter's fault, if the law gave him the estate, instead of us?" "Law, indeed ! Nonsense ! When your poor dear papa always brought me up in expectation that some day Morton Place would be ours. And to him step in—a selfish, domineering, heartless--" "But, mamma, darling, you have never seen him." "If he bad had a solitary instinct of a gentleman about him, he would have in vited us all to make our home at Morton Place for the rest of our days." Helen lifted her eyebrows shrewdly. "If we had gained the lawsuit, mamma, I don't think you would have invited Cousin Walter to make his home at Mor ton." r 4 -1 r:2-! "Go and get your knitting, Helen," said Mrs. Gifford, petulantly. And Helen silently obeyed. Pretty Rosamond Gifford cried a little under her veil, as she hurried along the streets, because her earnest efforts to gain a livelihood were so little appreciated by her mother; but it was nothing more se rious than the sparkle of a summer shower, and when she entered the railed off com partment at the Exhibition, where ber sewing machines stood, the sweet dimpling smile had come back to her lips once again. "You're a little late this morning, Miss Gifford," was the comment of her employer. "Two or three people have inquired about the new patent attachment already." So Rosamond sat down, heart and hands alike occupied with the business of the hour, entirely unconscious that she herself was the prettiest object ill the place. Suddenly, the sound of a gentleman's voice close to her ear made her start. FP 't PI 22 02 02 co 4,4 0 "See here, Morton ; you are interested in this cew improvement if you are going to supply the industrial schools at your place with sewing machines. It is really the best thing out." And Rosamond, glancing up through her long eyelashes, saw a tall, well-made gentleman, with bright brown eyes, chest nut locks and a grave, pleasant mouth, and heard him introduced to her employer as "Sir Walter Morton, of Morton Place, Staffordshire." eir- The vertible Cousin Walter—the mys terious wonder of her youth and childhood —and Rosamond felt her heart throbbing a pulse or two faster, as the brown, clear eyes fell upon her face. "Miss Gifford, will you be kind enough HUNTINGDON, PA , FRIDAY, JANUARY 18, 1878. to run a strip of cloth through the ma chine ? Then, sir, you will perceive the manifest• improvement in this latest attach ment." But the stranger was looking, not at the little silver plate and glancing wheel, but at the fair, flushed face which bent over them. "Gifford !" he repeated slowly. "I have cousins by the name of Gifford." "And lam one of those cousins," said Rosamond, courageously. "There—you turn this screw a little, and it relieves the tension at once, thereby improving the stitch ; for—" "Allow me to claim relationship, then ;" and Sir Walter Morton frankly held out his hand. Rosamond hesitated an instant. Her mother would have haughtily repulsed the overtures of friendship ; but she and her mother had always held different theo ries on the subject of Sir Walter Morton. So she put her hand in his. "I am glad to meet you," said Morton. "I should have met you before, but a letter from your mother— " Yes," said Rosamond, coloring deeply; "I know bow my mother feels. Shall I show you about the machines now ?" "Are you exhibiting them ?" "Yes, I am earning my own living." Morton's fine face lighted up. "And I honor you for it. Yes, you nrty show me, if you please. lam just order ing a few for some schools I have estab lished." And when Sir Walter Morton took his leave, the man of sewing machines came gleefully to Rosamond's side "Your cousin has ordered a dozen, Miss Gifford. I wish we had a few more custo• mers like him." Sir Walter Morton came again the next day, to examine into one or two knotty points respecting the machinery and stayed until Rosamond got up to put on her shawl and bonnet. 'You are going home ?" he asked. "Yes ; Miss Morrison takes my place in the evening," she replied. But it is quite dark ; you must let me see you home." "Yes ; but—my mother ?" Morton laughed. "I comprehend. I am no special favorite with her. But I can preserve a prudent incognitio. Let me be Mr. Walters." And Rosamond, who really was a little timid concerning that long, lonely walk in the dusk, and who was beginning to like and trust her new-found relative, consent ed. Mrs. Gifford received the new comer with stately dignity. "I'm sure I'm very happy to meet you sir," she said. "Any friend of Rosamond's will always be welcome to me, and I only wish I could receive you in a more fitting manner. We have not always been what we are—nor should we be now if law and justice were anything but mere meaningless names." "Indeed !" said Morton, smiling curious ly, while Rosamond felt as if her face were all on fire. "No, sir," said Mrs. Gifford, the bows on her lace cap quivering with the empha sis she used. "If we had our rights, we should have been the Giffords of Morton Place, and my daughter Rosamond, instead of exhibiting sewing machines, would have been sitting in silks and velvets. But we have been deprived of our rightful inheri tance by a fiend in human shape, named Walter Morton. Perhaps you have heard of the great lawsuit ?" "I think I have a faint recollection of it," said Mr. Walters, gravely. "Mamma," interrupted Rosamond, in a voice of distress, "these—these family matters cannot be interesting to a stranger, and—" "Excuse me !" said Mrs. Gifford, draw ing herself up primly. "Of course, lam in the wrong—l always am—only it isn't exactly pleasant to be told of it by my own daughter !" "Mamma, you know I didn't mean that !" But Mrs. Gifford declined to be propi tiated on any terms, and sat stiff and prim the remainder of the evening, full of un spoken reminscences of "the great lawsuit " "He will never come near us again," was Rosamond's regretful thought ; as she laid her flushed cheeks on the pillow that night, with little Helen's fragrant breath mingling with her own. But Rosamond was mistaken. "Mr. Walters" did come again, the very next evening but one ; and again, and yet again ! "You are looking pale, Miss Gifford," he said, the last time "It is one of the misfortunes of our re duced station in life," Mrs. Gifford sighed, "that Rosamond is obliged to lead a too sedentary He!" "A little walk would bring the roses back to your cheeks," said Mr. Walters.— "It is a lovely moonlight night. Will you come ?" Mrs. Gifford nodded her sanction.; and Rosamond put on the tartan shawl and the little round hat with the redbird's wing in front, and slipped her arm through that of her cousin. "Rosamond," said Sir Walter Morton, after they had walked a little way in si lence, "the Exhibition closes to-morrow." "Yes," said she, regretfully. "And with it closes your work ?" "Yes. I wish I could hear of some new engagement." Morton drew her arm closer to his. "I know of one, Rosamond; but I don't exactly know whether it would suit you." "What is it ?" "I want to engage you, Rosamond—to be my wife." * * * * * * Mrs. Gifford had looked up at the clock half a dozen times, true to her instinct of always worrying about something, before Rosamond came back. "Child !" she croaked, "do you see what time it is ? Where is Mr. Walters ?" "He would not come in. He is coming to see you to-morrow, mamma." "To see me ! What for ?" "Mamma, he has asked me to marry him." "He is a most gentlemanly person, my dear," said Mrs. Gifford, smiling and bridling. "I shall consent with the greatest pleasure." "You like him, then, mamma ?" "Certainly I do." -Theo, mamma, I may venture to tell you that he is our cousin, Walter Morton; that I shall be the mistress of Morton Place, and that you will reign, in very truth, in the halls of our ancestors, you have spoken about so oft,en." And she laughed and cried, both in one breath, upon the old lady's neck. "Bless my soul !" said Mrs. Gifford dropping her spectacle case and cracking the lenses right across. But she made no objection to the "fiend in human shape," and Miss Rosamond Gifford soon took to herself another '.local habitation and a name !" csritet The Turk at Prayer. Twelve o'clock is the hour of prayer.— , The call of the Muezzin is heard from every minaret of the hillside and of the valley beyond, and the faithful—most numerous in the laboring class, respond to the sum mons, leaving their work or business to rub their hands and feet with earth in de fault of water, according to the injunctions of the Koran. The writer, on one of his tours of observation, came to a hillock covered with fresh blades of grass and tangled wild flowers ; it stands back from the pathway, and a poor workman chooses the spot to perform there his namaz with out interruption. Tie has no prayer car pet; he simply turns towards Mecca and begins his devotions. Every change of attitude in the Mussulman prayer has a special meaning, being accompanied by pious phrases and ejaculations ' • it may therefore be interesting to note his move ments, although the murmured words are, of course, quite inaudible. He stands at first upright, with his arms hanging down, and his bale feet a little apart; next the hands are raised open, on each side of the face, the thumbs touching the lobe of the ear ; this is the introduction. The worshiper begins prayer by placing his hands to gether, the right uppermost ; then bows low from the waist, his hands slightly spread upon his knees, then raises himself for a moment and afterwards kneels down, and, with his hands on the ground before him, touches it with his nose and forehead ; without rising he then sinks backwards, (this bowing is performed twice,) after which he rises in one movement,—his feet still remaining on the same spot,—and stands again, his right hand clasping his left, and all previous attitudes are repeated four or five times. At one period of his devotions, the worshiper, sitting back, turns his head first over the right shoulder and then over the left, with murmured saluta tions, supposed to be addressed to the good and evil angels of his destiny; finally he stands holding his hands before his face as if reading, then gently strokes face and beard, and the namaz is completed; the poor man slips on his worn old shoes, and sitting down begins to eat his dinner—a large lump of coarse, dry bread.— Temple Bar. Transient Troubles. Most of us have had trouble all of our lives, and each day has brought all the evil that we wished to endure. But if we were asked to recount the sorrows of our lives, how many could we remember ? How many that are six months old should we think worthy to be remembered or mention ed ? To day's troubles look large, but a week hence they will be forgotten and bar• ied out of sight. "If you would keep a book, and every day put down the things that worry you, and see what becomes of them, it would be a benefit to you. You allow a thing to annoy you, just as you allow a fly to settle on you and plague you ; and you loose your temper (or rather get it; for when men are surcharged with temper they are said to have lost it) and you justify your self for being thrown off your balance by causes which you do not trace out. But if you would see what it was that threw you off your balance before breakfast, and put down in a little book, and follow it out, and ascertain what becomes of it, you would see what a fool you were in the matter." The art of forgetting is a blessed art, but the art of overlooking is quite as im portant. And if we should take time to write down the origin, progress, and out come of a few of our troubles, it would make us so ashamed of the fuss we make over them, that we should be glad to drop such things and bury them at once in eternal forgetfulness. Life is too short to be worn out in petty worries, frettiags, hatreds, and vexations. Let us banish all these, and think what soever things are pure, and lovely, and gentle, and of good report. Favors. If you want to be happy, never ask a favor. Give as many as you can, and if any are freely offered, it is not necessary to be too proud to take them ; but never ask for or stand waiting for any. Who ever asked a favor at the right time ? To be refused is a woeful stab to one's pride. It is even worse than to have a favor granted hesitatingly. We suppose that out of a hundred who petition for the least thing—if it be even an hour of time— ninety nine wish, with burning cheeks and aching hearts, they had not done so. Don't ask favors of your nearest friend. Do everything for yourself until you drop,and then if any one picks you up, let it be of his own free choice, not from any groan you utter. But while you can stand, be a soldier Eat your own crust, rather than feast on another's dainty meals; drink cold water rather than another's wine. The world is full of people asking favors, and people tire of granting them. Love or tenderness should never be put aside, when its full hands are stretched towards you ; but as few love, so few are tender, that a favor asked is apt to be a millstone around your neck, even if you gain the thing you want by the asking. As you cast your bread on the water, and it returns, so will the favor you ask, if unwillingly granted, come back to you when you least expect or desire. Favors conceded upon solicitation are never repaid. They are more costly in the end than overdue usurers' bills. The Medicine of Sunshine. The world wants more sunshine in its disposition, in its business, in its charities, in its theology. For ten thousand of the aches and pains and irritations of men and women we recommend sunshine. It soothes better than morphine, it stimulates better than champagne. It is the very best plaster for a wound. The good Samaritan poured out into the fallen traveler's gash more of this than of oil. Florence Night ingale used it on the Crimean battle fields. Take it into all the alleys, on board the ships, by all the sick beds Not a vialful, not a cupful, not a demijohnful, but a great, big, hearty soulful I It is good for spleen, for liver complaint, for neuralgia, hysteria,rheumatism,fallen fortunes,"minds diseased" and for melancholy. After all, perhaps heaven itself is mere sunshine, as we are told there is "no night there." "MY soN, remember that your character ought to shine brighter than your booth." "Suppose I blacken it, then, fa.ther 7" NOTHING in this bleak world is easier to start and harder to stand than a boil or a daily paper. The New Year. BY GEORGE W. BUNGAY Silent and white, Thro' the dim night, Fell the soft snow, Now fast, now slow, Making the posts Like sheeted ghosts; Robing the woods In finer goods Than ever were spun by mortal skill, And bleached on the sunny side of the hill, Where fringes are woven by weavers,where The warp is mist, and the woof is air; The world is dressed like a bride in white, Although the poor old year died last night. Drop not a tear On the cold bier Of the brave year, Whose corse is here. his work is done, And battles won, And he will be Named with the free, Thro' future time, For deeds sublime. We welcome here The new born year. The snow that falls From the gray walls Of the thick clouds, Is not for shrouds For the days fled, Or the days dead. 'Tis the white fleece, Emblem of peace, Sent down to cheer The softyoungyear. May not red vein Make a red stain On the robe white, Woven last night. So, ring the soft, Sweet bells aloft. Ring the true chime Of the good time ; Ring loud and clear For this New Year. By Request.] Leaving Property in Trust. It has become very customary in this country for a father who has children and has property, to leave tiis property in trust for his children. There are extreme cases in which such a course is the dictate of prudence, and is indeed essential for the preservation of the property to the uses of those for whose benefit it is intended ; but generally the preceding is adopted without sufficient cause. It often results frcm a selfish and mean feeling—an unwillingness that the wealth which the testator has ac• cumulated should pass—so long as that can be prevented—into the absolute control of any other person. The property which the giver would fain take with him if he could—but cannot—is given in such a way as to do the least possible good. It is hampered and tied up in every conceiva ble way. The full enjoyment of it is put off to the next generation. It was a very interesting anecdote which Mr. Tilden related at a dinner party, a few evenings since, of Martin Van Buren. Mr. Van Buren sent for Mr. Tilden to consult him about a will which he had drawn up, creating certain complicated trusts. Mr. Tilden suggested that it was hardly worth while to try to be wiser than the law, anl to trust grandchildren whom one did not know. In consequence of this advice Mr. Buren wisely altered his will. The meanness toward children some• times extends far beyond depriving them of the inheritance which would be theirs under the law,and is carried to the extreme of placing upon enduring public records a father's displeasure toward his offspring. An example of this occurred but a short time ago. A wealthy merchant of this city, who died abroad, not content with leaving only a pittance, and that in trust, to his son, was mean enough to incorporate in his will a catalogue of that son's sup posed vices. If a rich father is not willing to leave a son his lawful share of the prop erty he has accumulated, he might at least have the decency to take his departure without leaving behind him a shower of curses, rained down on that son's head. The memory of such an unnatural father and heartless man deserves to be execrated. Trustees are apt to turn out incompetent or dishonest. It is seldom they take as good care of property as would be taken by those for whom they hold it. If you have anything to give it is almost always safer and better to give it directly to the person for whose benefit it is intended. The Battle Fields of Virginia. The battle-fields around Richmond are quiet meadows now, reclaimed by Nature, with few signs of the days of "blood and iron." At Cold Harbor. Fair Oaks, Seven Pines, and Malvern Hill, one sees little to remind him of the terrible scenes enacted there twelve and fifteen years ago. In the woods and on the hill sides and river bluffs on the Peninsula, where no attempt has been made to cultivate the land, slo ping earthworks are still to be seen, but elsewhere the entrenchments have been leveled. Below Petersburg there are a few traces even of such formidable fortifi cations as Steadman, Hell and Damnation. The Crater and the fields around it are owned by Mr. Griffiths, who was born close by, and was in Petersburg when the mine was fired. He has built a house near the Crater, and now has his father's farm under excellent cultivation. The Crater itself has been left almost untouch ed, and a thick underbrush of peach trees and sprouts have sprung up from the pits thrown away by the soldiers during the siege. The ravine where the dead lay in great heaps on that terrible morning, has been brought under the plough year after year, until now only a slight depression in the field can be pointed out. The visitor has to pay twenty five cents for a glimpse of the Crater and the interior of a shed stocked with battle relics. Rest for the Mind. When the daily occupation is monoton ous and unengrossing, a full supply of ex citement for the leisure hours may be de sirable ; but where the mental powers have been taxed to their utmost through the hours of labor, it is absolutely neces sary to health and happiness that they be entirely released for at least a portion of the time that is left. It is not enough that the usual amount of time be spent in the absolute rest of sleep, if every waking hour be filled to the brim with eager seri ous occupation. It is not enough that certain hours be secured, free from abso lute work, if they are still permeated with energetic thought, intense feeling or exci ting pleasures. The mind needs rest from effort in its waking hours, a time when it may rightly lay aside its activity and enjoy being acted upon by calm and gentle influ ences. "Dl°Tuza, mother, I saw the Prince of Wales out riding, and he spoke to me." "What did be say, darling ?" He said get ont of the way, you nasty, little black guard." Caste. BY HAZEL WOOD. "From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud. Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud!" "Harry Arnold is what they call a rising man in this place," said Louise Merrion to her sister Katherine, who was standing in the window watching the October wind stripping the leaves offthe trees. _ _ Katherine turned from the window with that proud, disdainful expression of coun tenance which came naturally to the Mer rions. "A rising men, working I presume, on a capital equal to a sum that I should think nothing of spending on a season's dresses," said Katherine Merrion, her voice fairly tinkling with scorn. "Now, my dear sister, you needn't turn on me so fiercely. I'm not advising you to marry him—far from it. He, perhaps, might do, but our family could never think of recognizing that ignorant old couple, his father and mother, as connections." Katherine turned to the window again as these words fell from her sister's lips.— There was an expression of acute pain on her face, and she secretly clutched at the casement fur support. "But I do feel sorry for the man," con tinued Louise, rising from the sofa, where she had been lolling. "He is so whole souled, so earnest." "Howe'er it be, it seems to Lae, 'Tis only noble to be good; Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood." But, then, this is a queer world. We cannot do as we would always; but you might have found another heart than his for a summer's pastime, Katherine. It was not to-day, nor yesterday, you learned that he was no fitting mate for a Merrion, that his manners had not that repose which stamps the casts of Vere de Vere ;" and Louise swept from the room, thinking that she had fully discharged her duty iu giving her younger sister a piece of her mind. When the door closed behind Louise, Katherine Merrion turned from the window, staggered rather than walked to the sofa, and fell, face downward. She struggled for breath. The oppression around her heart, the terrible suffocating sensation that troubled her so much of late was upon her now. She lay for some moments with her face buried in the pillow, then rising, she walked up and down the length of the room, with her hand pressed over her heart. "Oh, Heaven ! this excitement is killing me !" she said to herself. "If we were only going back to town to day instead of to morrow. I have a presentment that it would ward off some terrible calamity. If the ball to-night were only over. How can I meet him again ? He knows we are going away to-morrow. To-night, I feel it, he will tell me that he loves me, per haps ask me to be his wife—ask, me, a Merrion ! How quickly Louise saw through the plea of poverty ! Oh, how every word she uttered pierced my heart, and yet every word was true ! I. never could recognize his relations, and he himself has not the polish of the men of our set. Ah, if Louise only knew the truth. Instead of him, she would pity me." Night came, and there was a gathering of "fair women and brave men." Music and mirth filled the grand saloon where Katherine Merrion, in flashing jewels and costly raiment, reigned the fairest of the fair. The carnation of her cheeks and lips were deeper than usual to-night, and her eyes shone like diamonds. Little her ad mirers dreamed that she was laboring under some terrible excitement. Outwardly she appeared the gayest of the gay, inwardly she was like one awaiting doom, and it was at hand. "Miss Merrion, will you walk with me on the veranda ? You are going away from us to-morrow. I will not have another opportunity to speak with you alone ?" The speaker was a handsome, reserved man of some five and thirty years—a man whom you could tell at a glance was out of place amidst all this gaiety and splendor, and were it not for Katherine Merrion we would not find Harry Arnold here. An awful change came over Katherine as she listened to these words. The gray• ness of death o'erspread the face that but a moment ago was flushed with the warm blood of life. She looked up at the hand some grave face of the man before her, and tried to speak. "Katherine—Miss Merrion, are you ill?" "No," she faintly gasped, "but I cannot go. I know what you would say—l love you, Harry Arnold—" There wasa gurgling sound in her throat, and before he could realize it, Katherine lay stretched upon the floor at his feet. The queen of the evening had fainted. There was a general confusion. Everybody was running for restoratives, and the ladies tendered smelling salts in abundance. But restoratives were applied in vain. Lathe rine Merrion was dead ! And it was well. Ir. her future there was not a ray of hope, and Henry Arnold only knew that she had loved him, and he was faithful to her memory. "All children of the same dear God are equal in the faith at last," and Katherine Merrion with her caste, and pride, and beauty was, in common with earth's poorest daughter, "heir but to some six feet of sod." "Dumb." I can hardly express to you how much I feel there is to be thought of, arising from the word"dumb" as applied to animals. Dumb animals ! What an immense exhor tation that is to pity. It is a remarkable thing that this word dumb should have been so largely applied to animals, for in reality, there are very few dumb animals. But,doubtless,tbe word is often used to con vey a larger idea than that of dumbness, namely, the want of power in animals to convey by sound to mankind what they feel, or, perhaps, I should rather say the want of power in men to understand the meaning of the various sounds uttered by animals. But as regards those animals which are mostly dumb, such as the horse, which, except on rare occasions of extreme suffering, makes no sound at all, but only expresses pain by certain movements indi eating pain—how tender we ought to be of them, and how observant of these move ments, considering their dumbness. The human baby guides and governs us by its cries. In fact it will nearly rule a house hold by these cries, and woe would betide it if it had not this power of making its afflictions known. It is a sad thing to re flect upon, that the animal, which has most to endure from man,is the one which has the least powers of protesting by noise against any of his evil treatment.—Arthur Helps. For the JOURNAL.] Pure. BY S. E. GRZGORY Purity : Freedom from guilt, or the de filement of sin; innocence : chastity; as, purity of heart or life. Purity is a most noble and excellent trait. There is no slavery so base as that whereby a man be comes a drudge to his own lusts, nor any victory so glorious as that which is obtain ed over them. All impure delights bare a sting in them and produce trouble and pain and leave a burdened mind. Excess and intemperance and all inordinate lusts are enemies to the body as well as to the soul. If we would occupy the mind more with the affairs of religion and the future life,' the love of this world would fast dis appear from our sight. Our intentions should be pure. If a man visits his friend and watches at his pillow for charity's sake and because of his old affection, we approve it; but if he does it in hope of a legacy he is a vulture, and only watches for the carcass. Read the story of the good Samaritan and learn the purity of his intentions, and he that does the same for a disciple in the name of a disciple shall have a crown, but if be give water in despite when the disci ple needs wine or cordial, his reward shall be to want that water to cool his tongue. Holy intentions are to the actions of a Mil that which the soul is to the body, or the sun to the world, or the root to the tree, or the fountain to a river. A pare heart is a heart free from all bad desires and in clined to conform to the Divine will in all things. Any one, in order to become a christian, must have his heart purified. How can this be done? Water is an em blem of purity, as our flesh can be bathed with water and cleansed from all impuri ties, so may our souls be washed in the blood of the Lamb, and cleansed or puri fied from Fin. The heart is the seat or foundation of a.. sin, and that being so we must first make the fountain pure so the stream will be pure. They, and they alone, are truly blessed whose hearts have been washed from the pollutions of sin. In parity and holiness God delights, and without this no man did or ever shall see God. Ist John 3d and 3d says, "And every man that bat this hope in him purifieth himself even as he is pure." This I understand to mean when a man is converted or born of God be does not sin; or in other words, the Lord does not impute sin to him. For we know that "whosoever is born of God sinneth not; but that be that is be gotten of God keepeth himself and that, wicked one toucheth him not." And again-, the man who is washed from all his impurities and is soundly and scripturally converted knows it, and when asked, "Nave you been born again ? Are you a acow Cr . eip . tuie ? Do you enjoy religion ? Are you ready to die ? Are you converted ?" does he answer, hope I enjoy religion. I hope my name is written in the Lamb's Book of Life." No, he doesn't reply in any such manner. He knows it. Yes, he KNOWS it. "For the Spirit of God bear eth witness with his spirit that he is the child of God." Let us read the story of the blind man. • A blind man named Bartimeus sat by the way-side begging, and when he was told "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by" he began to cry out, "Jesus, thou Son of David, have mercy on me." The multi tude told him to be silent. But be cried the more, a great deal, saying, "Thou Sots of David, have merry on me." And Jesus stood still and called him and said, "what wilt thou have me to do for thee ?" And he answered, "Lord, that my eyes may be open." And Jesussaid,''thy faith bath made thee whole." And immediately be could see and he followed Jesus praising God for what he had done for him. We all have many temptations to over come. They try our faith and strengthen us. I have a minister in my mind's eye who will not allow his children to go out side the house or yard for fear they will be contaminated with the corrupting influ ences of other children. I, myself, do net believe in children running wild or asso ciating with whom they please. But list en what he says : "I don't want my chil dren ever to see vice." All very well,if it could be done, but the thing is impossible. If you attempt to preserve a man from danger by keeping him out of it you will render him unfit for any style of life. On the other hand there are pareets who do not care what kind of company their children keep, nor the kind of books they read. Reading bad books \ "--has a tendency to vitiate the mind as much as keeping bad company. And the bey or girl who delights in fictions or stories of vulgarity, shame and murder, certainly has bad thoughts and an impure mind. Stich a one recalls to my mind a certain bird that will not eat anything that is clean, but whose food consists of putrid flesh, oor ruption and cairion. Our re,igion should be pure. The man whose religion is pure must keep himself unspottedifrom the world. It's hard to live in the world and not be of the world. But this can be done We may travel a bad road without sit ting down in the mud. There are souln'al who cannot be purified except by severe 4.i trials and sufferings. Then submission in, L i the surest way of deriving their benefits. God has promised to be with His people iu their afflictions. He has promised to sup port them under their afflictions, and He has promised to deliver His people out of their afflictions, and after their toiling, suffering and bleeding, there will come an hour in which the purified soul can say, "it is finished." Atter that, "Eye bath not seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived the joys that begin never to end." ALEXANDRIA, PA. Alcohol's Harvest. There are 140,000 drinking saloons is this country, and 128,000 schools. Mann. factarers and sellers of strong drink, 560,000, or about four times the number of teachers. in these saloons there are 5,600,000 daily customers, one in eight of our whole population. Of these 100,000 are annually imprisoned for crime, th expense of 890,000,000, and 150,000 ga down to drunkards' graves,leavieg 200,000 beggared orphans. Grasp these there,. A file of men sixty miles in length ms b. ing steadily down to the grate ; sore than 400 every day throughout the year. As this year's 160,000 go down, another 1500 000 is presaiug in to fill their places„ „ another back of that, and another, polities down from every hamlet and hind& tin the country. Many there are wbo wwaid turn aside from these racks hewer, and reform, but for the semi% hopeless • ness of the effort; so firmly are they held in the inexorable bonds of habit. NO. 3.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers