VOL. 42.
New Advertisements.
STRAWBRIDGE & CLOTHIER
Desire to keep before the people the great advantages which they are
able to offer to purchasers of every description of Dry Goods.
DIRECT IMPORTATIONS
AND
•
EXCLUSIVELY CASH PURCHASES
Enables us to secure all our supplies at the lowest possible rates, and it is safe to say at least
25 per cent. lower than any house whose business is transacted on the credit system. A large
business and moderate expenses permit very small profits, and having all these advantages,
there can be no doubt that we distribute goods to consumers at much lower prices than are
usual, and at least as low as the same goods are sold at wholesale.
It is impossible to name but a few items out of our immense stock, but samples of every de
scription of goods cheerfully forwarded on application by mail.
SPRING SITITINGS 5
12i CENTS.
POPLIN LUSTRES, 12i Cts.
One-Halt Wool, and Desirable Shades.
SPRING CASHMERES,
ONE-HALF WOOL,
AT 15 CENTS.
FANCY MOITAIRS, 18 Cts.
Manchester and Pacific Fancy Mohairs, 20 Cts.
STYLISH NOVELTY'' SUITINGS, 25c.
FLEUR' CUSTOM CLOTH,
A Novelty.
AT 31 CENTS.
STRIPED ALL-WOOL BEIGE, at 22 Cents, worth 37,i Cents.
MOHAIR BEIGE, 20 Cts.
• GAINSBORO' MOHAIR GLACES, 25 Cts.
T./IL/I - VER./1 MOIL/lIR MIXTURES, 31 Cents.
The two last named lots are 25 per cent. lower than same qualities have ever before been sold at.
48 - inch Camel's Hair, 621 - 2 Cts-
Plain All-wool Deßeges, 25 Cents.
Plain All-wool Deßeges, best quality, 35 Cents.
aISIIMERE BEIGES, 24, 36, 46, 48 Inches Wide.
And in all qualities.
Cashmere Beige Neigeuse, All Silk and Wool, 37i Cents.
Beautiful Silk-Mixed Novelties,
At 50, 56, 60, 62i, 75 cts. and upwards.
BUNTINGS IN ALL COLORS,
And in every width.
LACE BUNTINGS.
The most complete line of shades and styles to be found in Philadelphia.
Consumers all over the country are invited to share the advantages
of our system of doing business, which the Mail Order Department now
renders so easy.
STRAWBRIDGE & CLOTHIER ,
N. VT. COR. EIGHTH AND MARKET STREETS,
PHILADELPHIA.
Ailvaxwe Similig ;Al@
JUST 13 l-.G14-11-N.
Before the regular business of the season we propose to make things
brisk by one of our occasional sales, organized on a stupendous
scale, and coupled with attractigns of an elaborate character.
The rush for "Advance Bargains" and First Fresh Goods
will stimulate business, not only at the Grand Depot,
but, we trust throughout the whole city.
The quotations that follow will repay a careful reading.
The new lots just received will excite wonder when qual
ities and prices are seen.
SILKS.
We test carefully the good we sell and guarantee to take
back and return the money for such as are different from
expectations.
The following four grades of Black Silks are fully rec
ommended:
$ 75c.
1 CO
23 pieces 19-in. good weight Gro Grains
14 pieces full 2u-in heavy high lustre do
48 pieces lull 21-in. genuine Lyons do. Brilliant
Lustre do.
32 pieces full 21-in. super weight and finish Black
Cashmere Silk
Finer goods are placed on our counters equally cheap,
bat the above will be found exceptional lute that cannot
be replaced.
One case bold styles, black ground with white
stripes
82 pieces oil boiled Silk, black and white and color-
ed ground stripes,....
41 pieces neat Checks and Stripes, in colors of great
variety............ ...._
.. ..................
71 piecsebandaome designs in Colored Stripes and
Check _
66c.
47 piecesentirely new patterns and the latest Paris
Novelty 7-Ic.
52 pieces full 21-in. Solid Color Gro Grain Silks 1 (10
44 pieces full 21-in. do. Brilliant Lustre Lyons
Goode
The above two tots embrace all the newest Spring
Sim Airs, an d contain a few of the latest Evening Tints.
MOUB.IiiNG G001)8.
Black Cashmeres, imported with great care, especially '
for retailing. Great pains have been taken to secure best
color and undoubted qmalities. A large stock of every
grade, rec.:lug from be cents to $l5O.
Silk Warp Henrietta Cloth, of beautiful finish, our own
importation, from $l.OO to $2 50 per yard.
Black Merinoca, celebrated 113a89. at 65 cents to $1.50.
Alpacas and Pure Mohair Lustres, good weight and su
per color, the best ever offered for 25, 31 and 37 cents.
Black Bunting at 25 and 31c.
French Black do. at 37!4.
DRESS GOODS.
,This is one of the best collections ever offered.
Bourettes, several styles 6 l4c.
One case Striped Suitings, in beautiful Spring shades,lOc.
a bargain.
One case Small Checks 1 .2%c
One case Colored Alpacas
One case Colored Alpacas
One case Spring Caehm res lBc
One case Spring Cretonnes
One case Twilled Beige
One case Twilled Beige
One case All-wool Striped Beige 22c
One cue Camel's Hair Suiting 2sc
Bunting in Gaslight Tints 0 5 and 31c
One case Matelasse Beige. 2Bc
One case Spring Bourettea. 3oc
One case Tufted Beige
One case Silk and Wool Pongee.
All-wool Matelasse Beige 37%, 45 and buc
Cashmere Beige, all-wool 3le
6-4 Camel's Hair Snitings,in choice Spring shades
56, 62% and 75c
Shepherds' Plaids. -37% and 48c
Choice Styles Spring Calicoes, in medium colors sc
Beautiful styles Shirting Chintzes
Newest designs in Cambrics, Poularde and Cretonnee
9, 10, 11 and 12%c
foreign and Domestic Shirting Cheviots, from 8 cents
up.
One case Seersucker. at
One came du at 16c.
Latest effects in Toil d'Aleace, Cinghams,
Quilts—A large invoice has just been received, per
steamer Pennsylvania, all rises and qualities, Marseilles
Cradle, Crib and Bed Spreads for spring and summer. The
depression in English manufacturing towns has reduced
the price lower than they have ever been within the knowl
edge of intelligent merchants.
354 QUILTS JUST OPENING.
BRIGHT AND NEW.
PRICES RANGE FROM 60c. TO $7.50.
GRAND DEPOT,
Professional Cards•
n CALDWELL, Attorney-at-Law, No. 111, 3rd street.
1). Office formerly occupied by Messrs. Woods & Wil
liamson. [apl2,'7l
lAB. A.B. BRUMBAUGH, offers his professional services
to thecommunity. Office, No 523 Washington street,
one door east of the Catholic Parsonage. [jan4,'7l
12 C. STOCKTON, Surgeon Dentild. Office in Lender's
I:J.. building, in the room formerly occupied by Dr. E.
J. Greene, Huntingdon, Pa. [apl2B, '76.
GBO. B. ORLADY, Attorney-at-Law, 405 Penn Street,
Huntingdon, Pa. [tiovl7,'7s
ft L. ROBB, Dentist, office in S. T. Brown's new building,
U. Nu, 520, Penn Street, lluutingdon, Pa. [ap12.71
I-I . C. MADDEN, Attorney-at-Law. Office, No.—, Penn
Street, Huntingdon, Pa. LaPl9,ll
T SYLVANCTS BLAIR, Attorney-at-Law, Huntingdon,
0.1. Pa. Office, Penn Street, three dour. west of 3rd
Street. Ljun4,'7l
J.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. [jan4,'7l
18. OFX3SINGEB, Attorney-at-Law and Notary Public,
i. Huntingdon, Pa. Office, No. 2.10 Penn Street, oppo
rite Court House. [febs,'7l
E. FLEMING, Attorney-at-Lair. Huntingdon, Pa.,
13. office in Monitor building, Penn Street. Prompt
end careful attention given to all legal busineas.
[augs,'74-6mos
WILLIAM A. FLEMING, Attorney-at-Law, Ilunting
-11 don, Pa Special attention given to collections,
and all other legal business attended to with care and
promptness. Office, No. 229, Penn Street. rapl9,'7l
The iluntingdon Journal.
New Advertisements
HOUSEKEEPERS' LINENS, Ac.
Irish and Flemish}
From 22c. to $1.45.
Yard-wide Linens
40-inch.
Pillow and Bolster 42,inch. 1 Frum
45-inch.
50-inch. I 30 cents
54-inch.
Irish and Belgian. 64-inch. i
EXTRA HEAVY AS LOW AS
90-INCH A DOLLAR
IRISH SHEETING. f A YARD.
BARNSLEY SHEETING: I ,I
IRISH SHEETINGS, Unusually
SCOTCH SHEETINGS,
.1 . Low Prices.
FLEMISH SHEETINGS.
OUR OWN IMPORTATION ) From 62c.
TABLE - LINEN 8-4 WIDE - to three dollars
VERY FINE GOODS. a yard.
TABLE LINEN BY THE YAL.D 1 From 25c.
6-4. 7-4. 6-4. 9-4. 104.
LOOM DICE AND DAMASK. Upward.
HANDSOME DAMASK SETS,'i . Cheaper
Table Clothe and Napkins to match, from than ever
2 yards to 6 yards long, Irish, Barnsley, before.
French, German. \
Beautiful Napkins, from 50c. a dozen to $24 00.
Full-sized French Napkins, reduced from $6.00 to $4.50.
Complete Stock of TOWELS 9c. UP
Damask and Huck TOWELS 10c. UP
Towels, Barnsley, TOWELS 11c. UP
Irish, Scotch, French, i TOWELS I2c. UP
German, Ac at.c. I TOWELS 14c. UP
EVERY HOUSEKEEPER WILL NOW DO WELL TO
COME AND EXAMINE LINENS AND PRICES.
Getting thessloods direct from the manufactories in
Ireland and elsawbese, and avoiding all extra costs we
are able to maks vss7-low prices.
Embroideries mad Ribbons. Lange lot colored embroid
eries, one, two, arulthten soollope, in Navy Blue, Black,
Brown and Red. :.
Linens,
Nanow patterns, 6to Sc. Medium patterns, 9 to 14c.
Wide patterns, 15 to 25c.
Guipure and Duchesaltmbrolderies, in beautiful assort
ment.
The RIBBON DEPARTMENT has been greatly improv
ed, and the stock is wonderfully choice and desirable.
All-silk French Imported Saab Ribbons, in all the beau
tiful spring shaded, at the following prices :
6 inches wide, 40c. per yard ; worth 75c.
6 inches wide, 50c. per yard ; worth $l.OO.
7 inches wide, 60e. per yard ; worth $1.25.
8 inches wide, 75c. per yard; worth $1.50.
The colors are perfect, and they are made of the best
quality of French Silk.
We open a new end complete line of Satin Ribbons, in
all widths, in two colors, the very latest. Also, Satin and
Watered Oros Grain. Satin and Oro. Grain in the newest
Paris spring colors.
We have opened a new line of all-silk heavy Gros Grain
Ribbons manufactured expressly for us, which are of su
perb quality.
A full stock of Fancy Brocade Persian and Fi inged-edge
Ribbons. An entirely new article.
SUITS AND CLOAKS.
Stuff and Silk Costumes from $lO to $5O.
$35 Suits reduced to $22.
$5O Suits reduced to $35.
$lB Suits reduced to $lO.
$6 Costs reduced from $l2.
$12.50 Coate reduced from $25.
Splendid bargains in this Section.
UPHOLSTERY GOODS.
We have from 400 to 500 pairs Lace Curtains, regular
makes. Many of the lota have been largely reduced.
Regular 525 Curtains reduced to 518.
Regular $2O Curtains reduced to 514.
Regular 512.50 Curtains reduced to 58.50.
Regular 510 Curtains reduced t 056.81.
We commend these quotations to the careful considera
tion of the people, who will find, on visiting UP, that we
have only given half of the list of attractions of this Ad
vance Sale.
IN WANAMAKER I
THIRTEENTH STREET.
JO
Miscellaneous
rroALL MEN—A SPEEDY CURE.
The direful results of Early Indiscretion,which renders
Marriage impossible,Destroying both body and mind Gener
al Organic Weakness,Pain in the Head or Back,' ncrigestion-
Palpitation of the Heart,Nervousness,Timidity,Tremblings,
Bashfulness, Blushing, Languor, Lassitude, Dyspepsia,
Nervous Debility, Consumption, Ac., with those Fearful
Effects of mind so much to be dreaded, Lose of Memory,
Confusion of Ideas, Depression of Spirits, Evil Forebod
ings, Aversion of Society, Self Distrust, Love of Solitude,
etc.
MARRIAGE.
Married persons, or young men contemplating mar
riage, aware of Physical Weakness (Loss of Procreative
Power—lmpotency), Nervous excitability, Palpitation,
Organic Weakness, Nervous Debility, or any other Dis
qualification, speedily relieved.
A SPEEDY CURE WARRANTED.
In recent diseases immediate Relief—No Mercury. Per
eons ruining their Health, Wasting Time with Ignorant
Pretenders and Improper treatment. Driving Disease into
the System by that deadly poison, Mercury, and causing
Fatal Affections of the Head, Throat, Nose or Skin, Liver,
Lungs, Stomach or Bowels, speedily cured. Let no false
delicacy pre.ent your apply lug.
Enclose stamp to use on reply. Address,
DR. J. CLEGG,
LOCK HOSPITAL, BALTIMORE, MD.
Sep2l-Iy] Offices, 89 k 91, South High Street.
NOW IS THE TIME TO SECURE TERRITO
RY FOR DR, EGLE'S GREAT WORK,
THE NEW ILLUSTRATED
HISTORY OF
PENNSYLVANIA_
The grandest selling book for the Pennsylvania field. Lib
eral terms to Agents. 'end $2.00 atonce for complete
outfit, or 10 cents for our 64 page sample, and name terri
tory wanted. Address D. C. Goodrich, Puldisher,
HARRISBURG, PA.
Don't fail to say what paper you saw this in. Linis-3m.
Eke uses' Nobler.
He lived just a mile from the village,
Out there by the forks of the road ;
His farm by the help of good tillage,
Increased when he planted and sowed.
His dwelling was low and old-fashioned ;
The roof was all covered with moss ;
But still by his fixing and patching—
It kept out the rain and the frost.
He lived very peaceful and quiet;
We knew him as Jeremy Todd ;
So plain was his dress and his diet,
The neighbors all said—he was odd.
The fashions be never would follow,
Nor try to put on any style,
But owing a dime or a dollar—
He paid it when due, with a smile.
His words were but few, but well chosen ;
'Twas clear that be meant what he said :
His temper—not heated, nor frozen,
And calm was the life that he lead.
He did not belong tc the meeting,
And said very little of God ;
But orphans were glad at his greeting,
And everyone said—he was odd.
If ever he offered to sell you—
A cow, or an ex, or a horse,
He made it his business to tell you—
Each one of the animal's faults.
He hired Billy Peters, the cripple,
To husk out his corn by the day,
And heaped up the grain on the bushel—
To measure the wheat for his pay,
His name was not on the subscription—
To save the poor heathen abroad :
His neighbors be helped in affliction,
The people all thought—he was odd.
Be never made any "profession,"
Nor said that he had a "new heart,"
But something he had in possession,
Of which many more had a part;
A something, that mode him so gentle—
So honest, so kindly and true ;
If not church religion—we venture—
That Jesus would say—"lt will do."
He might, in the church have been better--
And rendered more service to God ;
He'd more of the "spirit" than "letter,"
And that was what made him so odd.
The preacher might say he was Godless,
Because he subscribed to no creed ;
But still 'twas a part of his oddness—
The wretched and hungry to feed.
If Jeremy failed of salvation—
Because he stayed out of the church,
We cannot see how in creation—
Professors will shun the lee lurch—
Who wear the full garb of the pious—
But love not their neighbors—nor God!
We choose, when our Maker shall try us—
To be like the old farmer—odd.
Ely c,'s_tup—Celitr.
Romance of a Hidden Heart.
Mr Steele had never married ; he en
joyed his riches without companionship -
ho had not a relative in the world. A
hard,elfish, grasping man beloved by none,
and respected only because of his great
wealth. Spite of his power to do good
the world was none the better for Richard
Steele's existence.
No one in Milford remembered Mr.
Steele as other than the miser he was to
day ; for fifteen years he had been a citizen
of the town, and no change, either fur
better or worse, had come over him, in a
moral point of view.
His gardens of Ireton Hall were the
finest for scores of miles; the yellow pears
and luscious nectarines mellowed on its
walls, the ungathered grapes purpled on
the trellises, and no schoolboy's daring
hands disturbed the ripe treasures. Mr.
Steele's great dog, Pluto, was as selfish as
his master, and as savage as his master.
and his cruel teeth were always ready to
inflict summary punishment on all depre
dators.
Upwards.
One quiet afternoon, as Mr. Steele sat
on the piazza gazing out on the broad
acres of Ireton, his eye fell on two little
children who were coming down the road,
hand in hand. They arrived in front of
the gardens, and cast wishful looks at the
damask roses which hung over the quaintly
carved gate. For a moment they conversed
together in subdued voices. and then they
turned in at the lion guarded gateway, and
went slowly up the avenue,
An angry scowl contracted the brow of
Mr. Steele at this unwonted intrusion, and
he half arose from his seat PS if to drive
away the unwelcome guests They were
the first children who had ever dared to
trespass on the estate of Ireton Hall.
They came fearlessly up to the piazza.
still holding each other hands. The eldest
was a boy of perhaps twelve years, a brave,
noble little fellow with brown eyes, and
dark, glossy hair. The other was a girl ;
she could not have been more than nine
summers old, and beauty like hers is sel
dotn seen save in some old, rare picture.
The sight of her face struck a strange
thrill to the heart of Richard Steele, and
involuntarily he bent down to look at her.
She was fair as a water lily, save the
crimson which tinged her lips, and leaped
at intervals to her white cheeks.
Her eyes were deep blue, and her hair
like ripples of molten gold touched by
sunbeams. Both the children wore mourn
ing garments, cheap and coarse, but neat
as human hands could make them.
The little girl spoke first.
"Please, sir, will you give brother and
me some roses?"
The tone was musical, and sweet as harp
notes, but the rich man's countenance
grew hard and cold. He pointed to the
highway,
"Be off :" he exclaimed ; "I do not raise
flowers for beggars."
How the dark eyes of the boy flashed !
and he was about to make some sharp
answer, but the pressure of the girl's
fingers on his arm checked him.
"We are not beggars," she said, calmly ;
"but our mother is dead and we are or
phans. She loved the roses, and we love
them, too. Please give us one apiece. It
will seem so good to smell flowers once
more."
The bard face did not relax—the long,
thin finger still pointed to the gate; but
the blue-eyed petitioner did not move.—
She was regarding him with an expression
strangely tender and pitying, and it an
noyed him more than anything else to be
pitied.
"Why do you look at me in that way ?"
he demanded, harshly.
"Because I am sorry for you," she said,
sweetly. "You are old, and sad, and all
alone Where are your children ?"
"I have none," he answered, and won
dered at the time why be did so.
"None ! Have you no little girl to sit
on your knee, and call you papa ? I'm
sure I pity you very much !"
"Hump !"
"But I do ! Indeed I do ! It must be
dreadful not to love anybody. Did you
never have anybody to love you ?"
A spasm of pain shot athwart the rigid
face of Richard Steele, and his tall frame
quivered, it might be with agony or anger,
one could not decide from his words. He
pushed the child away.
"Not another word ! I will not listen !
He is Odd.
HUNTINGDON, PA,, FRIDAY, APRIL 12, 1878.
Good heavens ! that lips like those should
ask me that question 1"
'Pardon nie—l didn't mean to hurt
your feelings. You loved somebody, and
Heaven took her away. Was it your
sister ?"
"Ali, yes and memory flew back to
thatgentle, fair haired child who had clung
with soft arms to his neck, and kissed with
warm lips his cheek. His little sister
May How well he remembered her, as
she looked the last time he saw her face,
lying cold and calm, like marble, in the
shadow of a coffin. Yes, he remembered
May, and his eye grew moist with some
thing like a tear, but it was a strange
visitant, and he dashed it away. Yet that
tear was not given to May ; she had been
for years safe in heaven ; it was given to
another, whose blue eyes seemed to be
looking at him out of the orbs of the little
girl before him. lie bent down over her,
and scanned her features closely. Then
he asked, "My child, what is your name ?"
"Violet Gray."
The man smothered a cry of surprise.
and his face grew strangely pale. even in
the ruddy light of sunset. It must have
been a strange emotion, indeed, which
could thus stir the hard heart of Richard
Steele. Presently he said—
" And what was your mother's name be
fore she married ?"
"Violet Dale."
"And she is dead ?"
Ile spoke the words in a deep whisper,
ai though fearing to utter them.
"She is with the angels."
A silence fell upon the group, broken
only by the suppressed sobs of the girl and
the heavy breathing of the man.
When he again addressed her, his voice
had taken a softness which none in Mil
ford had ever heard in its measured ca
dence.
"And this boy is your brother""
"Yes, my brother Richard "
"Richard : For whom was he named
thus ?"
Mr. Steele asked the question breath
lessly. with an earnestness very strange
and foreign to his stony nature.
"For a schoolmate of my mother's—"
"And this ,chooltnate's surname—do
you remember it ?"
"It was Richard Steele, sir "
How the cold face lighted up, and the
stern mouth grew almost tender as this
proof of the power of the old love was
given him.
"Did Vio'et—did your mother ever
mention this Richard Steele to you ?"
The boy came forward and replied, "His
name was the last on her lips when si , e
died; and, two days before she left us, she
gave me a letter which I was to put into
his own hand; and we are searching for
him, my sister and I, and, when we have
found him, we are going to live with a
cousin of my father's, in Portsmouth."
"You need look no farther for Richard
Steele, my boy ;he is before you ! Come
into the house and give me the letter."
The children followed him into the great
parlor, and calling the astonished house
keeper, be bade her prepare them some
refreshments; then, receiving the packet
from the boy, he went up stairs to his
chamber, closed and locked the door, and
sat down in the arm chair by the window.
He held the letter some time in his hand,
gazing intently on the superscription
which he could scarcely discern for the
mist that dimmed his eyes. At length he
kissed the writing and gently broke the
seal. which the fingers of the dead had
fixed. The contents of the sheet were as
follows :
"RICHARD STEELE—NOW that I am dying, it
will wrong no one to confess what has hitherto
been kept a secret in my own bosom. You
believed me false and fickle ; you despised all
women because of me, and I have suffered you
to go on in ignorance, while all the time my
heart has been slowly breaking for want of
your love. When you left me to go out into the
world in search of fortune, my love for you
wronged Heaven I I was an idolater, and you,
Richard, was my idol. But if my love was
strong, my pride was stronger, and when your
letters, after becoming less frequent, ceased
altogether, I sought no explanation of your
silence.
Georgia Dale. my step mother, was my
counsellor, and because I listened to her my
life has been shipwrecked. She it was who
first whispered in my ear the story of your
devotedness to a fair heiress ; she it was who
brought me the letter containing the tidings
of your marriage. Oh, Richard, Richard! who
shall picture to you the days of agony which
succeeded ? But for my pride, I should have
lost my reason.
"Well, after that Charles Gray sought my
favor; my step mother approved of him, and I
perjured myself at God's altar. Too late I
learned the truth 1 It was all a vile plot of
Georgia Dale's ; I stood between her and you ;
but forme, she hoped to win y,.ur love. You
know the result ; her plot was a failure. You
fled from the country, hating me in your heart,
and never guessing that the smiling bride of
Charles Gray cast out a thought atter you
Seven years ago my husband died, and
during these intervening years I have earned
my own and my children's bread by the labor
of my h .nda. Only once in that time have I
looked on your face, and then you thought
me hundreds of miles away; but my love was
potent, and I journeyed, on foot and alone, a
hundred leagues to see you once more.
You were walking in the garden, and the
woman whom you turned away when she
asked for a draught of water was Violet Dale.
I would not reveal myself to you ; it is better
as it is. And now, Heaven bless you, Richard
Steele ! I have loved you long, and you only ;
and in the Heaven where I am going there is
neithermarrying nor giving in marriage; meet
me there, VIOLET GRAY."
He finished the manuscript, and, °owing
his face upon the open sheet, the long pent
sorrow of his heart burst forth in tears—
tears such as only one like him can shed.
The closed chambers were open at last, the
double granite doors were rolled back, and
the angels of tender memory flew in and
took up their abode there.
Violet Dale ! the soft-eyed girl whom
he had loved with the freshness of his
youth and the fervor of his manhood;
Violet who had made his whole life a
failure And yet she had been innocent;
before the tribunal of his judgment she
was blameless. Yet she was dead—what
mattered this long-deferred discovery ?
it was too late now ! Too late fur her, but
not too late for her children. They should
be his, and he would be their father. And
it was even so. Richard and Violet Gray
went forth no more from Ireton Hall ;
hence their home was with the early friend
of their mother.
Unbounden was th , : surprise in Milford
when it was known that Mr. Steele had
adopted two strange children ; but still
greater was the astonishment when, on the
following Sunday, the rich man walked in
to church leading the orphans, on on either
side. The good work was begun, and it
went on until Richard Steele's whole nature
was revolutionized.
Years afterwards, while he lay on his
deathbed, loving and grieving friends
were arwind him, and at the very last he
fancied he saw the face of his lost Violet
hovering above the couch.
At the funeral there were few dry eyes,
for the poor had learned to bless his
bounty, and the sick and distressed offered
up his name in their prayers.
And, therefore, say not that because
men are harsh and cold there is no oasis
in the desert, for in every human heart,
however strong, there is a fountain of
sweet water, and happy is he who breaks
the flinty barriers and allows the stream
to gush forth.
(sclett L.t' istelianß.
Zeke and Polly at the Theater.
"How much be you goin' to tax us to
go in ?" said Zeke, as he and Polly stepped
up to the box office at the theater the
other night, just as the window was opened,
for they had come early to make sure of
getting all there was to be of the show.
The scale of prices was explained by the
ticket seller.
"Crab cider and mince meat !" ejacu
lated Zeke ; that's more'n they charge at a
circus with two clowns. Can't you let us
set on the top benches for a quarter apiece ?
You'll not find us anyways stingy about
buyin' lemonade and peanuts. What
d'ye say. Is it a dicker ?"
He was informed that the prices were
as unchangeable as the times, and after
considerable parley invested in a couple of
balcony tickets, which they both read and
examined critically to be sure that no gouge
game was lurking for them in the paste
board. A few minutes later found them
comfortably installed in front seats with
eyes wide open drinking in the wonder and
magnificence of a theater for the first time.
"Aint it too purty for anything ?" said
Polly. 'Look at all the fine fixin's ; an',
my sakes ! what a bouncin' big picter that
is"—meaning the drop curtain. "I never
expected to see the like o' that in all my
born days. But where's all the people, I
wonder. It'll be too bad and kind o' lone
some for us it' nobody else comes."
"A man down at the tavern," remarked
Zeke, "was sayin' that nearly every theater
the head woman of this show performs in
burn down, and maybe the folks is scared
so about it they won't come on that ac
count. Hold on though, there comes two
or three down stairs there, and maybe it'll
all cone right after all. What gits me
though is, where they're goin' to have the
doin's—the ring's full of seats."
"But did you ever see anything so
splendid as this is ?" said Polly, with eyes
sparkling in delight. "See what lots o'
lamps they've got. An' such whoopin'
lookin' glasses—big as a barn door. What
a sight of iminey it must a' co,t."
"Enormous !" chimed in Zeke. "As
much as a thousand dollars, I'll bet. But
I wonder what them eubby holes is there,
with all them fancy fix ups"—meaning the
boxes
"I 'spect tbent's for the band, maybe,"
ventured Polly. "I don't see anywhere
else to put 'em."
"Like as not." said Zeke, "but they're
terrible sl,iw about gittin' started. See
bow the folks is beginnin' to pour in,
though ;" and he laid his head on the rail
ing and busied his eyes watching the crowd
gathering in.
"Zeke !" said Polly, quickly pulling his
arm, "there's some more picters up on the
ceilin'."
"Sure enough," replied her husband
looking up. "I wish we'd a' went in the
other gallery I blieve we could a seen
better up there. I s'pose, though that's
the dollar place, and there's no use throwin'
money away Hello ! now we'll have the
show at last—there they come"—as the
orchestra came shuffling up from under the
sage.
'lt ain't near so nice as the brass band
or George Thompson's fiddlin' at parties,"
said Polly, with disappointment; but when
the overture was finally completed and the
curtain went up on the first act eyes and
mouths never opened wider in astonishment
and delight than did theirs at that delect
able moment.
"Potater bugs an' prunin' honks ! But
don't that Kit you ?" was Zeke's comment.
Polly didn't say anything for some time,
but sat almost breathless with excitement,
and never once took her eyes from the
stage till the curtain went down at the
close of the act To both of them the
play was a living reality. Their own
identity was lost sight of, and their feel
ings drawn to the highest tention in sym
pathy fur the misfortunes of the "Two
Orphans." As the plot thickened and the
persecution of the poor blind girl became
wore and more heartrending Polly cried
outright, and great straggling tears welled
up from honest Zcke's noble heart and
coursed down his rugged cheek, and when
the brutal Jacques sprang with a curse
upon his crippled brother and burled him
with violence upon the stage, and then
seized the sightless girl and hissed out his
villainous threat, Zeke, with clenched fist,
bated breath and fiery eyes sprang to his
feet, and declared that flesh and blood
couldn't stand that any longer; but Polly
pulled him back into the seat and molified
him somewhat, until the play took a turn
In the final scene, where the orphans are
reunited, and the interest becomes intense
as the villain seeks to tear them asunder,
and the maimed Pierre springs to the
rescue with an immense knife, the revul
sion of feeling was so complete that Zeke
threw up his hand and yelled out :
"Go it, cripple ! That's the medicine
for the low lived whelp.
And when the soldiers came in and
captured the outlaws, and the mother found
her long lost child, and the lover recovered
his sweetheart, and everything else cul
minated just as they wanted, but little ex
petted ; the young couple never felt happier
or more buoyant in their lives. It had
all been so real to them that for a minute
they could scarcely make out where they
were, but with much reluctance they finally
came down to earth again, and departed
from the place of enchantment. On the
way to their hotel they talked of nothing
else. All the incidents were reviewed and
each individual character discussed, and
through their dreams that night flitted
•fhadows of what they had seen during
their first visit to the theater.
AN old darkey was asked if, in his ex
perience prayer was ever answered, re
plied : "Well, sah.some pra'rs is ansud an'
some isn't—'pends on what ye axes fo.'
Jest arter the wah, when it was mighty
hard seratchin' fo' the culled breddern,
'bsarced dat w'eneber I pway de Lod to
sen' one o' Marse Peyton's fat turkeys fo'
de ole man, dere was no notice took ob de
partition; but when 1 pway dat he would
sen' de ole man ft,' de turkey, de matter
was tended to befo' de nes' mornin dead
sartin."
ELECTRIC lights are beginning to come
in competition with the gas companies of
Paris, and the insurance companies reduce
their rates when they are used.
MEN are content to be laughed at fur
their wit, but not for their fully.
Genius and Poverty,
As we turn over the leaves of the Great
Book of the past, let us pause a moment
to read the names of a few of those brave
souls who have struggled, fought and con
quered, though fettered on all sides by
bitter, stinging poverty.
. .
Homer. '•the blind old man of Scio's
Isle' went begging from door to door,
singing the songs that were in after years
to render his name immortal. It was a
charity student that Spencer entered Cam
bridge. At the age of fourteen Shakes
peare is said to have been obliged to earn
his bread. Goldsmith describes himself
at a certain period of his life as in a garret,
writing Ibr bread, and expecting to be
dunned for a milk score. William Hat
litt once went without food for two days.
Dr. Johnson wrote "Rasseias" in a week
to defray the expenses of his mother's fu
neral. Lamb calls Coleridge the "inspired
charity boy." For thirty-three years
"Elia" himself was tied to the drudgery
of the desk ; and yet, through all these
years of slavery, his quaint, tender humor
never failed. Ta.,so was reduced to the
extremity of borrowing a crown for a
week's subsistence. Having no candle to
see to write his verses, he entreats his cat
to assist him by the lustre of her eyes.
Dryden spent his last years in poverty, and
was obliged to write on distasteful subjects
for daily support.
Cervantes, the genius of Spain, was
thrown into prison for debt; and here, it
is said, the adventures of immortal Don
Quixote were first chronicled. It seemed
hard for Sir Walter Scott to be obliged to
undertake his gigantic task in the evening
of his life, that should have been spent to
peace and quiet; but when we read the
brilliant Waverly Novels, we feel that,
though the victor sank exhausted, the
prize was worthy of the sublime sacrifice.
Defoe, the author of more than 200 books
and pamphlets, died insolvent. He thus
sums up his checkered career :
"No man has tasted different fortunes more;
And thirteen times I have been rich and poor."
"Salmagundi," and "Knickerbocker's
New York," were written for recreation,
but later in life, failing in business, Wash
ington Irvin began to write, to live. Jean
Paul Ritcher's life was one long struggle
with poverty. The great desire of his
heart was to see the ocean; but he, the
mighty genius, who had written so much
and so grandly, never satisfied his longing
eyes until there rolled before him the ocean
of Eternity.
Had Burns walked the sunny side of fate
we should never have had that sweetest of
all home pictures, ''The Cotter's Saturday
Night;" nor could we pluck, save in pov
erty's rude uncultivated garden, such a
delicate wild flower as the "modest, crim
son tipped" Mountain Daisy.
There is no sadder picture in all litera
ture than Milton, deserted in his poverty,
old and blind. Yet the eyes of his spirit
only saw more clearly the glories of that
beautiful lost Paradise that he paints in
such grand colors.
Despair not, then, 0 struggling youth !
Though in thy dwelling abides the goddess
of poverty, cheer up ! for to her are due
all the greatest and most beautiful things
that are done in the world It is she who
has strengthened the arm to achieve great
conquests ; it is she who has taught such
cunning skill to the fingers, that from the
cold, dead marble, they have brought rich,
glowing life ; it is she who has filled the
brain with pictures so divine, melody so
wondrous that all the world have paused
to look and listen.
Is Gaslight Injurious ?
The Prussian Government has for some
time past been making a series of close
and exhaustive researches on the effects of
gaslight upon the eyes of those who use
it. A belief has long prevailed, that un
der certain conditions the eyesight is im
paired when gas is continually used as an
illuminator, and it was to decide this ques
tion that the experiments were instituted.
The conclu-iioLs re ached indicate very de
cidedly that where arrangements are
adopted to protect the eye against the di
rect rays of the light, no harm can possibly
result. Shades and globes are, as a rule.
found to answer this purpose. It was also
ascertained that dark, opaque shales are
more injurious than useful, and in nearly
every instance where complaint is made,
it was found the difficulty was attributable
to this kind of shade or protection. Where
such are used the eye remains in the dark,
but looks upon a highly illuminated sur
face and the sight is dazzled and irritated,
causing harmful effects. The whitish or
milk glass globes are found to be free
from the defects of the darker shades.—
The dazzling light thrown out by the gas
jets is partially absorbed and diffused by
them, and reaches the pupil of the eye in
a condition that leaves it incapable of do
ing harm Care must also be taken to
keep at a proper distance from the gas jet,
which, from its emitting a very consider
able degree of heat, is capable from that
cause of producing headaches and even
congestion of the brain ; but these can also
be guarded against by any plan that de
creases the intensity of the heat, or by re
moving to a greater distance from the jet.
Mourning Costumes.
The ancients had queer ideas about
mourning for the dead. The Egyptian wo
men ran through the streets crying, with
their bosom© exposed and their hair disord
ered. The Lycians regarded mourning as
unmanly, and compelled men who went in
to mourning to put on female garments. In
Greece, when a popular General died, the
whole army cut off their hair and the manes
of their horses At the present day, the
Arabian women stain ther hands and feet
with indigo, which they suffer to remain
eight days. They also carefully abstain
from milk during this time, on the ground
that its white color does nut accord with
the gloom of their minds. In China, the
mourning color is white. Mourning for a
parent or husband is required there by
law, under a penalty of 60 blows and one
year's baniQhwent. When the Emper,,r
dies, all his subjects let their hair grow
for 100 days. in the Feejee Islands
on the tenth day of mourning, the women
scourge all the men except the highest
chiefs Another fashionable custom there
requires the friends and relatives to assem
ble on the fourth day after the funeral
and picture to themselves the amount of
corruption the corpse has sustained by
that time. In the :-andwieh Islands per
sons desirous of going into mourning paint
the lower part of their faces black, and
knock out their front teeth. No doubt
this causes a very sincere kind of mourn
ing for the time.
EVERY angry man thinks he is right,
and nine out of ten can see that they were
wrong when anger cools. The tenth man
is a fool.
A Silver Argument.
BY PHILLIPS THOMPSON
"Well, neighbor, what's the news, to-day ? I see
you've got your papers."
"Them Congressmen in Washington are cutting up
their capers ;
They've gone and passed the silver bill; 'twill
ruinate the nation f
They're going in for robbery and bare-faced spolia
tion."
"Well, I don't know, friend Judson—seems to me
the thing to do—
Of course, I don't own atocksand bonds, and mort
gages like you;
I go for plenty money, but I s'poae you wont
agree,
Because it is your interest to keep it scarce, you
see."
"Why, man, it's downright infamous—a national
disgrace ;
I wonder you can say such things, and look me in
the face ;
Because you find it hard to pay your store bills
and your rent,
Say, is ?hat any reason you should shave me ten
per cent ?"
"Nay, keep your temper, neighbor, and don't get
mad, I beg;
When you talk of shaving, sure, the boot's upon
the other 100,
But I'm no reps diator, though my bread it's hard
to get,
And I'll never favor going back upon an honest
debt.
When you go home, look up the bonds that in your
safe you hold,
You'll find they're payable in coin, but Rot a word
of gold ;
And coin is what we'll give you, as the nation has
agreed."
"A miserable quibble, sir, to talk of coin indeed !
'Tie true, in law, coin payment in fulfillment would
suffice ;
But that would never satisfy a sense of honor nice ;
'Tie justice, not the letter of the law, should be the
rule,"
"See here, my coupon cuttint friend, don't take
me for a fool !
If from the law you make appeal to equity and
right,
You might as well cave in at once, and own you've
got so sight;
For the question which arises, if on that you base
your claim,
Is the first consideration you have given f , ,,r the
same.
Was it gold. or was it silver; was it coin of any
kind ?"
"You know right well it wasn't; for I well can call
to mind,
when gold was up a-kiting, say a hundred
above par,
You bought your bonds for greenbacks, like the
sly old coon you are.
You've paid some fifty dollars on each hundred
that you hold,
Yet you've the cheek to whine because you won't
be paid in gold."
"But a bargain is a bargain still, whoever gets the
best;
I claim fulfillment of the terms on which I did in
vest."
"Exactly—that, and nothing more—so, let the
contract hold;
But neither law nor equity can make that 'coin'
real 'gold.",
The Hearts of the Lowly.
One day three or four weeks ago, a
gamin, who seemed to have no friends in
the world, was run over by a vehicle on
Gratiot avenue, Detriot, and fatally in
jured. After he had been in the hospital
fir a week a boy about his own age and
size, called to ask about him and leave an
orange. He seemed much embarrassed,
and would answer no questions. After
that he came daily, always bringing some
thing, if no more than an apple. Last week
when the nurse told him that Billy had
no chance to get well, the strange boy
waited around longer than usual, and
finally asked if he could go in. Ho bad
been invited to many times before, but al
ways refused. Billy, pale and weak and
emaciated, opened his eyes in wonder at
the sight of the boy, and before be realized
who it was the stranger bent close to his
face and sobbed :
"Billy, can ye forgive a feller ? We
was allue fightin' and I was allus too mach
for ye, but I'm sorry ! 'Fore ye die wont
ye tell me ye haven't any grudge agin
me ?"
The young lad, then almost in the
shadow or death, reached up his thin white
arms, clasped them around the other's
neck and replied :
"Don't cry Bob—don't feel bad ! I was
ugly and mean, and I was heaving a stone
at ye when the wagon hit me. If yell
forgive me I'll forgive ye, and I'll pray
fur both of us."
Bob was half an hour late the morning
Billy died. When the nurse took him to
the shrouded corpse he kissed the pale
face tenderly and gasped :
"ID did he say anything about--about
me?"
"He spoke of you just before he died
—asked if you were here," replied the
nurse.
"And may I go—go to the funeral ?"
"You may." -
_
And he did. He was the only meurner.
His heart was the only one that oohed.—
No tears were shed by others, and they
left him sitting by the new-made grace
with a heart so big that he could not speak.
If, under the crusts of vice and igno
rance, there are such springs of pure
feeling and true nobility, who shalt grow
weary of doing good.—Detroit Free Pres.,.
The Stinging Tree.
Though the tropical schrubs of Queens-
land are very luxuriant and beautiful, they
are not without their dangerous drawbacks,
for there is one plant growing there that
is really deadly in its effects—that is to
say, deadly in the same way that one would
apply the term to fire, as if a certain pro
portion of any one's body is burnt by the
stinging tree, death will be the result. It
would be as safe to pass through fire as to
fall into one of these trees. They are
found growing from two to three inches
high, to ten and fifteen feet; in the old
ones the stem is whitish and red berries
usually grow on the top. It emits a peen.
liar and disagreeable smell; but it is best
known by its leaf, which is nearly round,
and having a point at the top, is jagged
all round the edge, like the nettle. All
the leaves are large--larger than a saucer.
`Sometimes," says a traveler, "while
shooting turkeys in the schrubs. I have
entirely forgotten the stinging tree, till
warned of its close proximity by its smell,
and have louncl myself in a little forest of
them, I was only once stung, and that
very slightly. Its effects are curious ; it
leaves no mark, but the pain is maddening,
and for months afterward the pas, when
touched is tender, when raining or when
it gets wet in washing. I have seen a man
who treats ordinary pain lightly, roll on
the ground in agony, after being stung,
and I have known a horse so completely
mad that he rushed open•monthed at
everyone who approached him, 'and had
to be shot in the schrub. Dogs, when
stung, will rush about, whining piteously,
biting pieces from the affected part. The
small sting trees, a few inches high, are
as dangerous as any. being so hard to see,
and seriously imperiling one's ankles.—
This schrub is usually found growing
among palm trees.
WHEN you see a man trying to clean a
paper collar with a piece of rubber, you can
make up your mind that he has been hit
by the hard
The Sin of Poverty.
If we analyze the character of the socie•
ty of our own day, we find that it is gen•
erally tolerant to a fault. But there is one
thing which it will not tolerate—and one
thing which it regards as a deeply
dyed sin, in fact the only sin that is mor
tal and utterly unpardonable. Need we
say that this crime for which there is no
forgiveness, this iniquity which deserves
the very innermost circle of the Inferno,
is poverty ? ' Almost every other vice, fol
ly or error may be excused under the head
of "Indiscretion," but no such sanctuary
exists for this vice of poverty. The form
of this vice which society most keenly re
sents is "genteel poverty," and by this ex•
pression we mean the impoverished condi
tion of those who were once rich. But,
beside these offenders, there is a class of
human beings who have been, as it were,
born in sin.
How sad it is to contemplate this wick
ed race, the unholy company of "poor re
lations. Why they were ever called into
existence is, to their wealthy brethren, an
unexplained mystery. Poor relations are
thorns in the sides of purse proud men.
What is the use of Crcesus getting his own
clothes at Poole's and his wife's at Worth's
if his relations insist on coming to his ban
quets in the very reverse of wedding gar
ments ? For what purpose does be buy
carriages of the latest models, if his cous
ins continue to drive up to the door of his
house with the shabbiest of carriages and
liveries, but of colors identical with his
Own ? To say "not at home," under such
conditions is surely the whitest of lies.
It may be said that not only does the
application of the magic wand of poverty
produce sin where an old-fashioned moral
ist would least expect to find it, bat its
withdrawal renders action harmless which
a prejudiced person might imagine vicious.
If a rich man is a bad husband, or a gam •
bier or a glutton, the world is charitable
enough to say that in his position the gen
eral tone of his surroundings is such that
temptations beset him on every aide, and
it is quite a marvel that he is; as well be.
hayed as he is. How beautiful a thing is
charity ! Bat is the same rule applied in
the case of a convicted pickpocket whoshas
been brought up to his profession from his
early childhood ? The rich are said to sow
wild oats. Do we hear much of this talk
in police courts ? We believe it is there un
known. Even the clergy make excuses for
the slips of great folks. They say that temp
tations of the rich are very great; that it
is their duty to live up to their positions in
society; and therefore, we must. not judge
them harshly if they are extravagant; that
they are obliged to be hospitable,which is an
excuse for their epicurean tendencies; and
that, as they have always been brought up
to take ,s good deal of wine, their habit of
"uipping" is neither surprising nor particu
larly pernicious. If their morals are some
what lax, they were at any rate better than
were their social equals who lived in former
days; so we ought to feel thankful for the
ameliorated condition of society. Indeed,
despite his "indiscretions," the rich man
can buy a reputation 3n wonderfully cheap
terms. If be walks through a hospital he
is a saint; if he spends a thirtieth part of
his income on charities, be is a paragon of
liberality. If his wife haunts places of
worship, rather from want of other occupa
tion than from devotion, she is "such a
religions woman ;" while the poor who put
themselves to inconvenience to go to church
once a week ace thought neglectors of
means of grace.
It is only fair to say that there are more
plausible grounds for this seemingly
strange prejudice against poverty than
may appear at first sight. For instance,
it is certain that when poverty suddenly
succeeds riches weak characters are apt to
lose self-respect, not the foolish pride
which they placed in their riches before
losing them. The dangers of such a con
dition of mind are obvious, as it is well
known that the absence of self-respect is
one of the commonest traits in the charac
ter of criminals. Humiliation leads to
despair and despair to crime. Again, the
sort of social outlawry to which those are
subjected who, having once been rich, are
reduced to poverty, is very demoralizing.
To such as these, bubble companies and
the like offer serious temptations. The
agony of seeing their children brought up
at schools where their associates are vulgar
and ill-mannered, leads some men to make
frantic efforts to make money, independ
ently of all scruples. Having no previous
acquaintance with business, they become
entangled with sharpers, and on finding
themselves in a scrape, they struggle wildly
to escape, sink deeper and deeper into the
mire, and finally perhaps do something in
despair which is an infringment of the law.
There is a cruel saying that "an empty bag
cannot stand upright ;" and though not
quite true, is too nearly true to be easily
gainsaid. It is self evident that poverty
in itself is not the only sin, nor a sin at all ;
but in the unwritten code of social law it
is not only regarded as a sin, but the parent,
of all others.
Crabs.
The crab is like too many oid fogies in
this world—they are always traveling back
wards. They are topics of the anti pro
gressive ideas which should move the age
in which they live
The crab clings to anything which is
thrust at him with a grip that nothing can
sever, and the human crab sticks to old ex
ploded theories and notions which ought
to have been forgotten long ago They
can see nothing good in the present, noth
ing is done as it should be done in these
degenerate days !
The crab is pugnacious ; ho will fight
upon the slightest provocation. There is
something peculiarly funny in watching a
fight between two of these species. They
walk up to each other tail first, like a pair
of kicking mules, and pitch in.
But if the animal crab is warlike, the
human crab is doubly so. lie will not for
a moment endure a wrong to his cherished
theories All the gentility, eloquence,
manners, everything, are things of the
past. They are like some of the lauded
men of the past, prosy and dull, but no
matter.
Tell the human crab so and he will at
once swell up and puff himself like bis
namesake. His face is of the same color,
and launches at your head Patrick Henry,
Washington, (who never told a lie), be
cause—but no matter, he is dead now ;
Jefferson, Joyce, Heth Bunker Hill, Bob
Morris and Hail Columbia, and if you are
the man you are taken to be, he beats you.
"My father never did so," is an un
answerable argument. .
These crabs never seem to think that
new principles are being evolved day by
day, and it is running the head against
atone walls to try to convince them.
You can eat the animal crab, but the
other kind are too tough for masticatioe.
NO. 15.