VOL. 44.
The Huntingdon Journal
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T 1 CALDWELL, Attorney-at-Law, No. 111, Brd street.
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J. A. NASH.
Huntingdon, Pa.
4.1)t )1'63.6' (ntocr.
LTII:s pathetic little poem was recited by Coul
d .ek, at the Walnut Street Theatre, Philadelphia,
some years ago:)
The cottage was a thatehTl one, the outside old
and mean,
Yet every thine within that cot was wondsrous neat
and clean.
The night was dark and stormy, the wind was
howling wild;
A patient mother watched beside the depth-bed of
her child—
A little worn• out creeture—his once-bright eyes
grow dim;
It was the collier's wile and eliiid—they called him
"Little Jim."
And, oh! to see the briny tears fast hurrying down
her cheek,
As she offered up a prayer in thought—she was
afraid to speak,
Lest she might wake one she loved far better than
her life;
For she had all a mother's heart, had that poor
collier's wife.
With hands uplifted, see! she kneels beside the
sufferer's bed,
And prays that Ile will spare her boy and take
herself instead.
She gets her answer from tile child; soft fall these
words from him ;
"Mother, the angels do so smile, and beckon 'Lit
tle Jim !'
I have no pain, dear mother, now, but, oh ! I am
so thy !
Ju: 11101,StC/1 pOor Jim's lips again—and, mother,
don't ye cry."
With gentle, trembling haste she held a tea-cup to
his lip•
Ile smiled to thank he: as he 'AAA three tiny little
sips.
`•Tell fat her, when he comes from work, I said good
night to him
And, roomer, now I'll go to sleep." Alas, poor
' . Little Jan."
She saw tlett he wit, dyine; that the child she loved
so dear
Had tytered the last words that she might ever
hope to hear.
The cottage deer is ofiene.l, the collier's step is
heat d
The lather and the mother mcet, but neither speaks
, a word.
He Wit tlmt all was over; he knew his child was
dead;
He took the candle in his hand and walked to
- ward the bed.
Iris quivering lips gave tok n of the grief he'd
rein conceal;
And see! his wife has joined him; the stricken
couple kneel;
With hearts bowed down with sadness, they hum
bly ask of Him
In heaven once more to meet again their own poor
"Little Jim."
(10000000
-,storg--Etlier.
BELLE OF WOLF RUN.
A company of strolling players in a barn.
/le great space is lighted by lamps of
every description, the most ambitious of
which is a circle of hoops stuck full of
candles. This does the duty as the grand
chandelier, and is quite effective.
Seated near the stage, before which
!wags. a green curtain, are two persons—
a mall and a young girl. whom, even the
unpracticed eye might take as rustic lovers.
He is a tall, fiuely-forrned young fellow,
with a noble head and keen, sparkling blue
eyes. She is the beauty of Wolf Run,
faultless in figure and feature, and with
something in her expression denoting that
she is not quite satisfied with her position,
even as the belle of the village, or her sur•
roundings.
Margaret Lee has never in her life seen
a play, theretbre she was prepared to rea
lize all the emotions of novelty, terror,
wonder, and delight, with whirb a novice
looks on the strut and action of those who
cater to the profoundest emotions.
Of course she forgot where she was; of
course she was dazzled and terribly stirred
at the love scenes, which were, as usual,
exaggerated.
The hero of the drama was a handsome,
worthless rascal, who learned, before the
evening was through, to play at our un
sophisticated little Margaret, reading her
admiration in her eyes, and enjoying the
smiles, the tears, and almost spoken in
tATest, of the beauty of Wolf Run.
'Pretty good, wasn't it ?" said Charlie
Vance, as he held her fleecy red shawl to
wrap about her, at the close of the per
formance.
Margaret had no words, she only gasped :
"Oh, Charlie :" as they gained the door,
and caught at his arm ; for there stood the
hero of the stage, still in his bespangled
velvet finery, and evidently stationed at
that particular place in order to catch a
ghince at her lovely face.
."Confouud his impudence !" Charlie
%ranee muttered between his teeth.
Margaret bhivered a little as they left
the barn.
Everybody was laughing and talking.—
The soft, clear, round moon shed its light
upon a scene of sylvan beauty ; but the
two spoke but few words until they had
reached Margaret's home—a square white
house set back in a garden.
"A little of that goes a great ways,"
said the young farmer, who had evidently
been thinking the matter over.
"They stay here a. week or more. I
don't care to go again, do you ?"
"Oh, I do believe I could go every
night," she said.
"They're a hard set, Maggy," said her
lover, a little malice in his voice.
"How do you know ? Are you sure of
that ?" she asked, eagerly and reprovingly.
"Oh, they're generally thought to be.
Well, good night, Magg,y ;" and be had
gone ten steps before it occured to him
that they had parted without a kiss.
"I don't care," he said, sullenly, half
aloud ; "and that fellow st.,ys at her uncle's
tavern, too. Why should it nettle we so,
anyway r'
Now Margaret and her cousin Anne were
almost as inseparable as sisters. It was
with a quirk beating heart that the former
took her way to the tavern nest day, meet
ing Anne as usual at the private entrance
for the family.
"Oh, Nag cried Anne, her eyes spark
ling, "you've made a conquest."
"What do you mean ?" asked Margaret,
her fair face flushing, her pulses beating
tumultuously.
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"Why, you know, last night. Oh, isn't
he glorious l—exquisite ? And only think
he asked papa who that very lovely girl
was in pink ribbons in the second seat—
and that was you! Papa laughed and told
Lim his niece, and somebody else said
something very handsome about you at the
table, and then papa up and said you wero
engaged to Charlie Vance, which sounded
so ridiculous. And I give you my word
of honor the ger•'^roan turned pale."
"Nonsense !" . Margaret; but the
flattering word.. ! , a accomplished their
work, and it was not hard to persuade her
to stay for dinner, where of course her
lovely blushing face did not a little execu
tion.
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Well, Muggy, what is it to be ?" asked
Charlie Vance, sternly. This was only a
week afterward. All the softness had gone
out of his face as he spoke.
. .
His eyes had lost their gracious, spark
ling beauty. It might be that his cheeks
were a trifle thin, and certainly his dark
face was haggard.
Little Jim.
HUNTINGDON, PA,, FR
"Oh, Charlie I"—she stood on the other
side of the spacious hearth, drooping and
timid, her face very white, and the large
eyes startled in the expression, like those
of a frightened fawn.
"You are changed, Maggy. I don't sity
it alone. God help us both, it's talked
about all over the place. Last night. when
I hear something at Dilleway's, I felt
like going home and blowing my brains
out•"
'Oh, Charlie :" •
The voice was more plaintive, and the
little figure drooped yet lower.
"And it all comes from that infernal
Gillian. It all come of your going balk
and firth to the hotel, and with your cous)b
Aline, to see him."
Margarct lilted her bead with a pitiful
gcsture.
"He is going away to day," she eriqd,A
' r
great pain in her voice.
"And you will see him before he goes??
"Oh, no, no, Charlie. Oh, don't loot
so cruel. I can't see him now, you knoll!
I can't."
"Since you've heard he's got a wife else
where, eh
"Charlie, I don% elm; it, isn't that,"
she answered, chokingly. How could she
add—"it is because I have found him base,
untrue, when he seemed to me like ail
angel of light."
Iler red lips quivered ; the tears stood
large and shining on her lashes, her eyes
were downcast, her hands folded with the
rigid clasp of despair.
"I shall never see hiut again," she
whi-pered, hoarsely; but if you say all is
over between us, why it must be so." ...
"I don't say it need be, mind," he saitli':
looking pitifully down at her. '..1 catf
overlook a good deal, I love you so much'
so much ! God in heaven only knows ho
much I have loved you. But I won't havt
the face of that man between us God t
no ! no l'' and his greht shoulders liftett,
with the scarcely drawn breath, while the
dark red hate smoldered in his usually soft
eyes.
"It shall be just as you say," she mur
mured, meekly, without looking up.
"It shall be just as you say," hejeplied,
quickly. "Do you think you coilld'learn
to love me again, a little ?" file ,t4ked, the
anger all gone. She was so. beautiful. :
o
oi
"Try me, Charlie. You are s 'str4ang
and good, and npble ; I always f` int—
end one can't long like where. 45'l can re
epect, can one ?" Her handS were on his
arm now and the lovely pleading eyes up
lifted to his.
You won't sae him again ?"
"I won't—l swear I won't ! What
should I want to bee bim for now ?" she
sobbed.
"Then we will wait. This troupe goos
to morrow. Don't cry, darling; I dare
say it will all come out right ;" and after
a few low-spoken words the young man
left her, but by no means with peace seated
on his bosom's throne.
"Mamma, if anybody comes, say I'm out
called Margaret, from the top stairs.
"Well, I sues nobody'll be here to dayk
unless it's that actor fellow," was the tel.
sponse. "Don't walk in the sun," she
added, for mother and father_were proaii
of their darli4eauty; aid they recretly
wished for her etter match than even
their neighbor's s. , n.
Deep in the woods she• struck, deter
mined never to see that too fair fatal face
again
"He'll be gone to-morrow," she hall
sobbed, holding her hands hard against
her heart. "I shall never see him again.
God be thankful ! fur, oh, I dare not trust
myself.
The path, slippery with pine leaves, led
to a favoite resting place—a clear spot
through which ran a crystal clear river.
The place combined several distinctively
beautiful features. Here she sat down,
unmindful of the singing stream, the soft
shadows, the sweet murmuring of the
wind in the top of the trees.
A footstep near startled her.
In the river, as a mirror, she saw a
vision that had become all too dear to her
—a graceful figure clad in blank velvet,
the small hat, with its waving plumes, re
flected, with the outstretched hand that
held it, in the blue depths.
She sprang to her feet, a burning flush
spreading over brow and neck, and would
have fled but that he was beside her at a
bound.
"My beauty ! toy darling!! my own !"
"Sir, these words are an insult to me :"
she cried with spirit, striving in vain to
free herself from his caressing arm.
"An insult! I would die before I would
offer you an insult, my beautiful. Come
with me ; I want to show you a lovier spot
than this—come !"
•"I will not, she said, firmly, wresting
herself front him, not daring to look up in
his lace. "How could you follow me—
how dared you?"
"Love will dare anything," he said,
gayly, fastening his powerful eyes on her
thee, and drawing her glance up to his
"Come, I will woo you like Claude Mel
notte." And again he put an arm about
her ; but, like a flash of lightning, the
two were torn asunder, and the man was
thrown headlong with one blow front the
powerful arm of Charlie Vance.
"Go !" he said, sternly, pointing to the
frightened girl. "I can save you from his
insolence, but I cannot promise to save
you from yourself. Go, and think of
your broken promises."
Later in the day Charlie came up to
Margaret's house and asked for her.
"Whatever is the matter with the
child ?" queried the mother. "•I never saw
her in such low spirits."
The young man made no answer, but
went into the cool shady parlor. Presently
Margaret came down white as a HI). There
was an unspoken question in her wide,
tearless eyes.
"No, I didn't kill him, Maggie, though
he deserved it. I don't want the crime of
murder on my soul, even for you, my poor
girl. But I sent him away as subdued
and cooled down a man as ever you seen
Such men are always cowards. And now,
Maggie, you're free. I never should want
to think of the look you gave me while I
held you in my arms, and I should have to
think of it. I've come to say good-bye,
for I'm off for the West, and ill—hello !"
There was a low, broken sob, and on his
chest Margaret lay a dead weight. The
girl had fainted away.
Well, a long sickness followed. Charlie
could not leave her lying there between
life and death, and the first visit after she
could sit up settled the matter. Margaret
had conquered her vanity, which after all . ,
was more touched than her affections, and
found that there was only one image in
the heart that had been, as she thought,
so torn with conflicting struggles—and
that was the frank, honest. blue•eyed
Charlie Vance who had loved her ever
since she was a baby. .
And of course they were married
DAY, FEBRUARY 20, 1880.
elect Pisa Hang.
Letter from the Sucker State.
MT. VERNON , ILLS., /
Feb., 10 BSO
EDITOR Jo URNAL :-Alluw me, through
the columns of your most excellent paper,
to tender thanks to some unknown friend
for a copy of the JOITRNAL. The JOURNAL
was the first newspaper ever real by me,
when it was a regular vizitor at my fath
er's house, in old Sinking Valley, more
than thirty years ago. It comes to us now
as an old friend who has not been met with
for years, and create, afresh in our mem
ory the scenes of bygone years; the days
of boyhood, when we enjoyed our rambles
over the pine-clad hills of the old Key
stone State.
We still find strung ties existing for the
land of our nativity, and are proud of the
old State. We are also proud of the old
H UNTINGDON JOURNAL, one among the
old papers of the State, and one of the bold
defenders of Republican institutions,which,
we dart. say, stood by the old flag when
by traitorous bands it was threatened to
be trampled in the dust. A few years ago
we spent a very pleasant day in old Hun
tingdon, and have been sorry a thousand
times that we did not ell' at the JOURNAL
office.
While in that county, four years ago,
there seemed to be a great depression of
business. I saw, or thought I did at least,
that, financially, the old Keystone had got
doWn to bed-rock, and the time w:s near.
int , e' when there must be a reaction lam
glad to learn from the JOURNAL that her
prospects Ibr the future are brightening,
and that once .more her Furnaces are go
ing into blast, and the chances are that the
"good time coming" has reached you.
We of the West, having less of public
works, did not so sensibly feel the pees
sure of bard times, and our country is now
financially very comfortably circumstanced.
While riding through the beautiful Ju
niata Valley, .and noting how thickly your
country was peopled, and how small the
farms seemed to be, I could but wish that
a portion of your people at least could have
been settled on our broad prairies of the
Mississippi Valley. A great many from
old Pennsylvania have gone to the West
in quest of homes, but a great many are go
ing too far west. It seems we are below
where the tide of emigration passes
through, consequently one of the very
finest farming countries in the West is en
tirely overlooked. We have the advan
tages of a very fine market, beine. c' distant
only 76 milees from St. Louis. Our cli
mate is mild, pleasant and healthful, and
our society is goad, while our church and
school privileges are first class. . , The great
money crop of this section of couotry is
Winter wheat, of which we raise an
abundant yield of a very superior quality.
Gladly would we welcome any of our Penn•
sylvania friends to our beautiful country.
where they can secure au excellent farm,
at prices ranging from $lO to $3O an acre,
the latter with fine improvements, abun
dance of fruit, We will be_glad to
correspond with any one wha may think
of moving westward.
With many kind wishes fur the Joint
NAL, I remain,
Respectfully, Yours,
14.,8. BUCK.
- -
How Animals Play.
Small birds. chase each other about in
phiy, but perhaps the conduct of the crane
and the trumpeter is most extraordinary.
The latter stands on one leg, bops about
in the most Eccentric manner, and throws
somersaults. The Americans call it the
mad-bird on account of these singularities
Water birds, such as ducks and geese, dive
after each other, and clear the surface of
the water with outstretched neck and
flappinc , wings, throwing abundant spray
around.' Deer often engage in sham bat
tle, or trial of strength, by twisting their
horns together and pushing fur the mas
tery._. . .
_ _
An animals pretending violence in their
play stop short of exercising it; the dog
takes the greatest precaution not to injure
by his bite ; • and the orani outang, in
wrestling with his keeper, pretends to
throw him, and makes feints 'biting him.
Some animals carry out in their play the
semblance of catching their prey. Young
cats, fbr instance, leap after every small
anti moving object, even the leaves strewed
by the autumn wind. They crouch and
steal forward, ready for the spring, the
body quivering and the tail vibrating with
emotion; they bound on the moving leaf
and again spring forward to • another.—
Bouger saw young jaguars and congers
playing with round substances, like kit
tens. Birds of the magpie kind are the
analogues of .monkeys, full of mischief,
play, and mimicry. There is a story of a
tame m agpie that was seen busily employe3
in a garden gathering pebbles, and with
much solemnity and a studied air burying
them in a hale made to receive a post.—
After dropping each stone it cried 'cur
ack" triumphotly, and set off for another.
On examine dhe spot a poor toad was found
in the hole, which the magpie was stoning
for his amutfement.
The Lost of Railway Cars.
Under examination by the New York
State Committee on Railway Affairs, a
leading member of one of our largest car
building companies, Mr. Gilbert testified
that the average price of box cars is from
$4OO to $450 In 1572 they were as high
as $1,200. A milli:car costs about $lOO
morn than an orditfary box freight car,
that is, when tbe..Vox is not changed. A
baggage car trunk and a passenger car
truck are aim - oft - the same. The price of a
baggage car varies from $2,000 to $2,500.
The cheapest style of Wagner's drawing
room cars . may be made f r $8,000; the
usual price is $12,000. This includes all
the furnishing. The cheaper drawing
room cars, four wiwels, are made for $lO,
000 The ordinary mail car costs from
$2,000 to 83,000 ; distributing cars more.
Cars for the New York Elevated Railroad'
cost from $2,500 to $3,000. The last or
dinary passengers cars built cost $1,200;
the last built for the Hudson river road
cost $5.400, including a beater and some
extra fixtures. Small cars for carrying
rre cost $2OO. Mr. Gilbert had never
made coal cars or tank cars for oil.
"fr's well enough for you to name your
boy Elias," said Aunt Ilepzihah, "but for
gracious goodness sake don't name him
Alias, 'cause the Aliases are always a cut
tin' up bad. Here's Alias Jones, Alias
Brown, Alias Thompson, Alias One-Eyed
Jack, all been took up for robbin' and
stealiu'. ";
ONLY Philadelphia has "temperance
doughnut parties."
A Bonanza King's Palace
ONE OF THE MOST ELEGANT PRIVATE RES.
IDENCES IN THE WORLD.
Col. James C. Flood, one of the famous
Bonanza quartet or James C. Flood, W. S.
O'Brien, John W. Mackey and James
Fair, owns a palatial summer residence at
Menlo Park, situated in the valley stretch
ing along by the bay between San Fran
eisco and San Jose. The house and lot
contains a trite over 15,000 acres. Nature
is left unadorned, but the place is being
dotted all over with artificial lakes, ter
pentine walks, drives which wind about
here and there and everywhere, game,
preserves, labyrinths, fountains, terrace
walks, bronz.s, statuary. and flower gar
dens fit for fairies to dwell in. Leaving
the lot just as Edison's electric light
changes the whole seence into fairy land,
we will examine the house thereon.
THE HOUSE-EXTERIOR AND INTERIOR.
It is of irregular proportions, the facades
being 129 and 230 fcet respectively, with
an observatory 150 feet high. There arc
turrets and towers, bay windows and oriel
windows, a fine port rochere, a grand and
still a grander Entrance, verandas 20 feet
wide—in fact, everything which arti,ts
could suggest to contribute to the grandeur
of the building. Examining the interior
arrangements, they prove as excellent as
those of the exterior, and on the same
grand scale. The basement floor is divided
into wine cellars, larders, fuel rooms,' and
has also the heating and ventilating appa
ratus. The ground flour contains the grand
halls and staircases, the library,-dining and
billiard rooms, conservatory of music, danc
ing rooms, reception and drawing rooms,
smoking rooms, a butler's pantry twenty .
feet square, smaller pantries, servants' of
flees, etc. When on fete niglets, the en
tire floor is thrown into one room (as, with
the exception of pantries and servants' of
flees, it can be) the spectacle will be mag
nificent indeed.
The picture gallery is on the second
floor. This room is lighted by handsomely.
designed ceiling lights of stained glass
The remainder of the second floor is di .
vided into boudoirs, guest chambers, fam
ily rooms, dressing apartments, and bath
rooms, where one may luxuriate in the
Turkish or Russian process.
The third floor is designed to furnish
room for the small army of servants neces
sary to keep the wheels of this flue estab
lishment greased and in running order.
Slowly descending from the hights, the
mosaic work of the floors, the mantels of
various colored marbles, inlaid with onyx.
malachite and other costly stones; the fres
coing of the ceilings, the variety of 6.3
woods used, the handsome carving and ar
tistic finish of the entire building, is noted.
Passinc , out through the kitchen, which is
formelin one lofty story, open to and ven
tilated at the roof, the maftnificent con
servatory is next visited. This is on as
grand a scale as the house, and will always
furnish choice flowers in sufficient. quanti
ties to decorate all the apartments of the
apartments of the mansion.
Crossing a lawn to some distance in the
rear, snd . to the right of the liot — ii6, the
stables appear. They might be mistaken
for residences, but they are occupied by
aristocratic horses, which would snuff the
air contemptuously at sight of the steady
going family horse which goes regularly
to mill on week days and to meeting on
Sunday. There are sixteen boxes and
stalls, with all the modern appliances for
the comfort of the occupants.
Private gas and water works supply the
entire establishment, and every detail has
been carefully looked after, making this
one of the most elegant private residences
in the world
What Have You to Show for It ?
This is the question propounded by some
newspaper correspondent, who proceeds to
elucidate in this wise :
A young man commences at the age of
20 years to drink, and from 20 to 23 drinks
but one glass of beer a day, worth 5 cents
a glass ; at 23 he will have spent $54.75 ;
from 23 to 25, two glasses a day, be will
have spent $73; from 25 to 30, three
glasses a day, $273.73;
from 30 to 35,
four glasses a day, $356.25. By this time
he will hare spent in all the sum cf $l",-
222.75.
Now, if another young man coainiences
at 20, and instead of spending the money
named fur beer each year, put it out at 7
per cent interest, without any savings but
this beer money, be would be worth at the
age of 40 years, $2,280, having saved his
money, his character, his health, and per
haps his soul.
Now, if you have been paying out your
money for beer—what have you to show
for it ? Are you any better, richer, hap
pier for it ? Are you any healthier than
your total abstaining friends? Has your
beer drinking given you any better posi
tion in society ? Are you any better off for
it in any way ? Does your drinking help
you to lay up anything of any sort to offset
the bank account you would have bad if
you had paid your beer money to the
cashier T Or do you expect by means of
beer-drinking to lay up anything for your
self or your family in the future ? If so,
what is it?
When you make a bargain, there are al
ways two values You pay your money for
a pair of shoes and you have the shoes to
show for it, and you can wear them while
you are earning money to buy more ; but
when you have paid your money for a
glass of beer, and swallowed it, what have
yon to show for it ? Ten chances to one
it makes you thirsty for another glass, anti
another, and you get the headache or ti
stupid feeling tha , does not help your
work, and perhaps some other bad things—
not worth paying for; but if you have any
good thing to show fbr it, what is it ?
Perhaps you have not yet drank enough
to count up much; if so, now is your time
to forestall the cost and make your bar
gain. Will you pay out your money for
beer and loose, or will you lay it out so
that you have something to show for it
•Wherefore do ye spend your money for
that which is not bread, and your labor for
that which satisfieth not ?"
A VENERABLE Irish lady in Taunton,
Mass , went into the telegraph office, the
other evening, and stated her wish to send
a message to her son in a neighboring city.
Whereupon the obliging operator asked
if be should write it fin. her, to which she
hesitatingly responded, "Av ye glaze,
Mister, I'll do it inesilf, for James knows
my hand-writing."
-~-~----
"I STAND upon the soil of freedom !"
cried a stump orator. "No," exclaimed
his shoemaker; "you stand in a pair of
boots that have never been paid fbr."
SUBSORIBN for the JOURNAL.
Now and Then.
1880 CO3IPARED WITH ITS HALF CENTURY
BROTHER, 1830.
In the single department of traveling
fd-ilities, what a vast change is experienc
ed'. Then merchants depended upon the
Concsfotta wagon, with its six stout horses,
each with its arch of bells, its feed box,
tar pot and ugly looking dog that trotted
by a clan between the hind wheels. All
alowz Market street they would stand to
receive their freight, and when supplied
would start out over the Market street
bridge f the West. On the right shaft
horse sat the teamster, dressed in his
brownish home-spun, and under a peculiar
broad im hat, and wielding a whip of
extensive lash, which enabled him to com
municate with each member of his team
without dismounting. Out the old Lan
caster pike—op the Alleghenies—over and
down again on the western side. Week
by week he would trudge along, making
the roadside melodious with the jingle of
his bells.
Then we bad a State canal line, with its
snail like motion—a slight advance upon
the . Cont.stoga. The boats carried passen
gers as well as freight. A trip to Alle
gheny occupied about four days. If you
wialled to extend y oar trip still urther,
you had to apply to the Ohio river boats
This had no guarantee as to time. Some
times the water was low. You are likely
to Mick now and then—and a stick some
times cost you a day or more. If your ill
fortune landed you suddenly on "Dead
Man's Shoal," or on "Shallow Bar," and
no welcome steamer of lighter draft to
help you out, you might content yourself
until Heaven in its kindneas, should send
a fresh supply of fluid to fl mat you on your
journey. In the meantime you might be
called upon to help at the windlass. Your
consolation would be, that the charge for
the trip would be the same, if it took all
summer. People were not in such a hurry
then. Our last trip of this kind from
Pittsburgh to - Wellsville, 50 miles took
just two; days and a half.
To vary your trip, you could take a Del
aware boat to Baltimore by the Delaware
and Chesapeake Canal, which took a day.
Putting up there at a hotel for the night,
you stared in the morning by rail for Cum
berland. From here you stage it over the
great National Road across the mountains,
and arrive in Pitt-burgh at the end of
about three days or over.
Then the Pennsylvania Railroad ended
at Lancaster. No New York and Erie ;
no Lake Shore and Western ; no Baltimore
and Ohio, and no need of that vast net
wo r k o f I ro n rails out to Chicago, to Min
neapolis, New Orleans, Texas and the Pa
cific Coast. Chicago is scarcely so old as
half a century, and Texas civilization was
scarcely thought of. California ran wild
with savage Indians, and it was not known
that gold lay hidden there.
No telegraph nor telephones, nor gas
h !nor street passenger cars, nor cheap
postage, nor great city park—and still
mere, there were uo political rings in our
city government. Oar city was under
Whig rule. Our best merchants sat in the
Council chamber—William Morris, J.
Price Wetherill, and more of that stamp.
Our public carpenter then was old Enoch
Thorn. The best evidence of his honesty
was in one fact, that, after serving half a
lifetime in public positions he died worth
a couple of thousand dollars.
We have grown wonderfully in fifty
years ; have learned much good and bud.
What a pity some security has not been
discovered by which Government could be
carried on with less corruption and less
taxation. Is the lesson yet to be learned?
Shall we yet be able to perfect our system
of government by a just civil service as to
escape threatening dangers in the future?—
Philadelphia Record.
Dogs in a Storm.
The recent storm upon the plains was,
perhaps, one of the most severe ever known.
On the morning of the storm, two freight
ers, Mr. James McDermott and compan
ion, started from Camp Robinson for Sid
ney with their teams. They soon were lost
and became separated, and Mr McDermott
was found under the fdlowiog circum
stance : He had wandered for twelve days,
accompanied by two dogs, without food of
any kind, exposed to the storm day and
night, sleeping without shelter or covering
on the cold ground, and had wasted away
to a mere skeleton. To add to his suffer
ings, one day he saw near him some cow
boys, but was too weak to call loud enough
to attract their attention, and like a ship
wrecked seaman who sees a sail approach,
but before it comes within hailing dis
tance bears away again and disappears, he
saw them pass from him. But a few days
later those same cow boys heard a faint
barking or yelping like that of dogs, and
following the sound, they come to them.
The dogs were also reduced to skeletons,
and scarcely had strength to stand, being
in the last stages of starvation. The cow
boys threw them s')me meat, but instead
of eating it themselves, they picked it up
in their mouths, got on their trembling
limbs, and tried to carry it to their master.
And thus he was found. The fact that
the dogs refused to eat the meat given
them, although they were dying of starva
tion, but attempted to carry it to their
famishing master, is testified to by men of
unimpeachable varacity.
Wet Feet.
The season of the year has arrived when
wet feet are usual, to say the least, result
ing in various forms of disease. Indeed,
it is pr,bable that more colds are produced
front told and wet feet after the debilitat
ing iulluences of the extremes of cold and
beat, than front any two other causes com
bine.l. This results from the unusual ex
posure of our children in their favorite
amusements on the ice and snow. These
are often so active and violent as to pro
duce I .erspiratiou and consequent weak
ness, predisposing to colds. The dis
comforts which might ordinarily be ob
served, and heeded, under these exciting
circumstances, are often unnoticed. The
danger is when in the quiet of home, when
fatigue has prepared the way. and when in
a hot room, the body in perspiration, when
these cold and wet feet disturb the circu
lation and the equal temperature of the
body. And when we remember that the
foundation of consumption are laid in the
thoughtless days of youth, the more alarm
ing symptoms appearing with girls, from
seventeen to twenty five, it becomes the
duty of a mother to see that her daughter
looks after her feet on returing from
skating, etc., securing comfort.
For. a young woman to begin to plait
lint off a young man's coat collar" is said
to be the first symptom that the young
man in peril.
A Long Nap.
For more than t.venty years the extra
ordinary case of Susan S. Godsey, better
known as the "Sleeping Beauty," has puz
zled the most eminent physicians of this
country and Europe. She was born in
Obion county, Tenn., just across the State
line, and about six miles from Hickman,
Kentucky. Her pareuts were extremely
Foot and lived in a small log house con
taining only one room. Until eight years
of age the girl was strong enough and
healthy, and seemed in no wise remarka
ble. At that age, however, she was
stricken with fever, and was attended by
an experienced physician, who soon check
ed the disease. The girl sunk into a
slumber which lasted an unusual long
time, and finally awoke weak, but well
To the surprise of the family and physi
cian, she remained awake but a few min
utes, when she again went to sleep. From
that time forward, a period of twenty one
years' she has never been awake more than
three minutes at a time.
The lethargic state invariably lasts a
certain number of hours. She awakes at
six o'clock in the morning and at three
o'clock and at eight o'clock each night,
never varying a half minute from
the regular time. She takes but
very little nourishment, and that only
twice in twenty four hours. During the
time in which she sleeps she does not ap
pear to breathe, and a mirror held against
her nostrils remains untarnished. Her
breathing, if indeed she breathes at all, is
not sufficient to stir the slightest down
suspended against her nostrils by a silken
thread. When her remarkable condition
became known, physicians &eked from all
parts of the country to see her. None
were able satisfactorily to account for the
phenomenon, although many theories
were advanced. The true cause has never
to this day been determined, although the
woman may still be alternatively sleeping
and waking with the regularity of clock
work. One physician who visited her con
tinually for sixteen years, fiankly con
fessed that he could form no opinion re
garding the cause.
She is described rather under medium
size, and with the exception that she is
sometimes troubled when awake with neu
ralgic pains in her head and neck, and
that one arm is slightly paralyze 1, enjoys,
as far as she can enjoy anything, good
health. One remarkable feature of the
case is, that while her hair has grown to
a great length her finger nails have not.
grown any since she was first stricken.
Far from anything repugnant in her ap
pearance, even while animation is sus
pended, she would be considered a pretty
lady by those unacquainted with her con
dition. She retains what knowledge she
possessed at eight years of age, but has
not been awake enough since then to
learn anything more. She knows her re
latives and friends, and converses with
them in her conscious moments. Before
falling asleep. a slight hiccough or chok
ing sound proceeds appartently from her
throat. She then so quickly becomes in
sensible that she is sometimes unable to
finish a seutaaaarcrr even a word while
talking. A short time since a committee
of five physicians were appointed to watch
the subject, and found the case just as it
was represented to be.
Five Cents for a Wife.
John Bombel, a fidgety, short, dark
haired German, shuddered as he confront
ed 'his wife Lena at the bar of the Jeffer
son Market police court. Lena had a
black eye and a determination to send
John to State prison. John was silent
and sad.
"He platy my eye, chap, nod of I
don't cull der bolice, I vas /Rudy soon der
viodow ond," said Lena, after kissing the
bible.
"Dot's not so. She's not mine vile,"
said John.
"Vot ! Mein Gut, yust hear vot he
says, chuge."
"Nein, chuge, I solt dot voman two
veeks ago."
"Sold ber," ezelaimed his honor in
amazement. "And how much did you get
for her ?"
"Fife tends, and dot's a goot price for
de kint of aricie she V 03."
"Who bought her ?
-"lust vaitund I tolt you. Mein frient,
Fred Beyer, meets me py a saloon nut
say, 'How you vos, Chou ?' I says 'poody
veil,' nod he says, 'how is your vile?' und
I said, 'she vas healdby, vould you like to
pought mine vile Lena." Beef you fife
tends for Lena,' he says, und I solt her.
Now she can sday mit him."
"Did he quarrel withlier ?"
"Veil, I don't know boud dat, but she
makes dings so poody hot dat he prings
her pack py me in vone veek and says he
vents his fife cends. cause her brice vas
doo high."
"Well, what would you like we to do
now ?
"Led' me gone and py deed blace."
"Go "
John started and Lena after him, bid
he was two blocks away when she reached
the door.
Editing a Newspaper.
There are people who think it an easy
matter to edit a newspaper; there are those
who think any man of education can sue•
Ceed in the profession. But the truth is,
there are comparatively few men who suc
ceed in it, and for the reason that they do
not regard it as a profession, requiring
study and preparation. It is also a labor
ious profession when pursued with index
try sufficient to insure success The Bos
ton Post furnishes a paragraph which gives
a great Seal of truth in a few lines: "A good
editor, a competent newspaper conductor,
is, like a general or a poet, born, not made.
On the London daily papers, all the great
historians, novelists, poets, essayists, and
writers of travels have been tried, and
nearly all have failed. We might say all,
for, after a display of brilliancy, brief, but
grand, they died out, literally. Their re
sources were exhausted. "I can," said a
late editor of the Times to Moore, "find any
number of men of genius to write for me,
but very seldom one of common sense."—
The "Thunderers" in the Times, therefore
have, so far as we know, been men ofcan
mon sense. Nearly all successful editors
have been men of this description. Camp.
bell, Carlyle, Bulwer, and Disraeli failed ;
Barnes, Sterling and Phillips succeeded.
A good editor seldom writes fur his paper;
he reads, judges, selects, dictates, alters
and combines, and to do this well, he has
but little time for composition To write
for a paper is one thing, to edit a paper is
another.
A PAR. - IF of meo are digging for gold at
Bridgeport. They've struck a rich vein of
quartz—but it's quarts of water.
NO. 8.