VOL. 44.
The Huntingdon Journal.
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July 18, 1879.
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March 14th, 1879-tf.
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April 4, 1879
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h untingdon o
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J A NASII
Huntingdon, Pa.
Riusts' (trWtr.
An Old Methodist's Testimony.
I praise the Lord, my Christian friends, that I am
with you Stilt,
Thou.-11 stantlin' like an old log house upon a west
side hill:
The music has gone out, you know; the timbers
have d,eay e.l;
But f:unshine on em's just as warm as when they
first was laid.
Almost a hundrei years have passed since I was
horn, and then
'Twas only fifteen further on, and I was born
again.
I've seen the forest melt away ; nice houses have
been reared:
The world has quite outstripped the church, and
I'm very much &feared.
Th?y tiqe,l to tell a methodist as far as eye could
sean—
No gewgaws on a woman thEn, no dickey on a
man—
But now our congregations are so much by fashion
They look just like a rainbow wrecked upon a
posy bed.
The circuit riders of them days were not so fine
and grand;
They took d,grees a haulin' logs and clearin' up
the land;
But when one of 'em ruse to preach, I tell you we
could smell
The fragrant flowers of heaven, and the stifling
smoke of hell.
00000000
We bid an "amen corner," too, beside the pulpit
stairs,
And whim he raised his sermon-bents, we lifted
with our prayers;
We threw in many a loud "Thank God!" and
weren't obliged to go,
To give the Lord the glory, to a class room down
below.
The grand old quart'ly-meetin's were to all the
brethren dear,
Just like four green oases in the desert of the
year;
The people flocked from miles around; my wife
would take a score,
And after supper they would pray, and sleep upon
the floor.
I know the world's a niovin' on, as Galileo said,
For now I rent a cushioned pew to hoar an essay
read ;
But when through stained-glass windows the sun
throws blue and gold,
I can not help a-thinkin' bow the glory shone of
old.
They call me an "old fossil," and a "relic of the
past,"
A "fogy" and a "croaker," too; but this won't
always last;
I tread a tremblin' isthmus where two seas of glory
roll,
And soon the past and future bliss will swallow
up the soul.
And when I reach fair Canaan, the Lord will
doubtless see
That mansions in the city will not do for such as
me•
So lie will let me go among the old fashioned
saints, I think.
And praise him neath the trees of life upon the
river's brink.
tort-Etlitr.
THE TERRIBLE TRAGEDY.
A burst of sacred music from the care
fully-trained choir rolled up through the
arches of the magnificent church where
fashion in many guises held sway. Just
as the hymn was about closing, a figure en
tered through one of the small rear doors,
hardly a fit person to mingle with the
"quality" all about her, you would have
said. A coarse, highly-colored shawl was
wrapped about a petite and shrinking form;
a piquant hat, lined with faded blue,
crowned a head of curly, golden hair.—
Though her garb was coarse, it seemed to
set off the wonderful beauty of her face—
the characterizing feature of which was a
pair of large, blue eyes, which seemed to
appeal and pray to whomsoever they gazed
upon. A dry, hacking cough shook her
shivering form every now and then.
As she took her seat in the pew, no
prayer was murmured from her lips. Her
whole attention, immediately on entering
that church, was directed to watching a
couple directly in front of her—a dark
man who would have been strikingly
handsome bad it not been for the wolfish
glare in his black eyes and the sensual
turn of his mouch—a woman who, rather
overdressed, was nevertheless a fashionable
beauty in the highest sense of the
term.
As the poor girl in the back pew looked
with her great glittering orbs at the man
as he beat toward the lovely lady at his
side, it was easy to be seen that something
more than common animated her in rela
tion to him; the agony, jealousy, rage, de
pitted on her countenance, and the tear
drop in her eyes, told a tale of wrong and
woe.
The service was over, and amid a grand
swell of solemn music from the great or.
gan, the fashion devotees filed forth from
the temple of worship. The poor girl was
not seen by the man as he passed her pew;
he was bending low over the grand lady
with him.
As soon as they were past, the girl came
forth from her pew and crept out imme
diately behind him.
It was a dark, December night ; large
drops of rain were pattering down on the
flag stones about the church steps. The
lady and gentleman evidently expected a
carriage, for they stood in the vesti
bule some moments before entering the
street.
r... •
.T 7
S
ft
0
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I.:
- ▪
tv
0
At last be sztid:
"I am afraid we will have to walk."
She linked her arm in his, and, raising
his umbrella, they started forth.
The poor girl crept on behind them—
slinking into the shadows cast by the street
lamps whenever possible.
Square after square was passed, and still
the small, shrinking figure was there, ai
ways in the same relative position. Once,
as she crept under a street lamp. he looked
back and seemed to recognize her—for he
started and muttered something to him
self.
r t
0
U;
P
E
The lady with him looked back several
times, and at last said :
"Howard, I am sure that woman behind
us is following our footsteps ; she has been
lidlowing us since we started from the
church."
~ i :~
~m
ii ,
7' , o ci.. 1
"Oh, no, I think not," he answered,
striving to speak carelessly.
Another square was passed and still the
girl was ther , . Again the lady turned
and said to her escort :
"I am sure she is following us."
The man muttered some unintelligible
reply, and nervously quickened his pace.
It was but a short time ere they reached
their destination. He rang the bell of a
brown stone mansion.
Thp doer bad just closed ou him when
be issued forth alune.
BY PHIL .1. BULL.
HUNTINGDON, PA:, FRIDAY, MARCH 12, 1880.
The poor girl was leaning against a tree
in the shadow, on the opposite side of the
way. He evidently saw her, but took no
notice, and walked quickly down the street.
She followed. When he came to a cross
ing he came to the side of the street sbe
was on, just a few paces in front of her.
He turned down a side street, and soon
slackened his pace and waited for the girl
to come up with him.
She was within a few paces of him, when
he stopped short, put a cigar in his mouth,
and struck a m uch against the side of a
dark factory building standing there, and
then, just as she came up to him, he
turned and cast the lighted match in her
face. It was the action of a brute; but
the laugh which accompanied it was that
of a human fiend—such a harsh, fiendish
enjoyment was mingled with it.
The girl shrunk back but uttered no
sound.
"So you jade, this is the reward for all
my kindness !" he hissed forth. "After
I furnished you with a good home. every
thing any girl could wish, I find you dog
ging me around in this fashion. A pretty
return for my magnanimity and affec
Lion."
Still the girl, leaning against a tree, ut
tered no sound, save a few low spoken
words.
Howard, are you not my husband ?
Do you think you have killed all the wom
an in me, all that is human, that I should
hear your marriage with that lady you
were walking with discussed, and not feel
for her, for you, for myself, a shame at
what may be in store for us ?"
"How often shall I have to inform you
that our marriage was a mere farce, gotten
up for the occasion ?"
"So you have said before; but I believe
that, before the Great Judge of all, we are
man and wife."
"Why don't you say it again ?-=why
don't you say it again ?" he returned, in
a voice of suppressed passion, while his
woldsh eyes glared with rage. "Come
home with me !" he cried, grasping her
by the arm.
The girl made no reply, but followed
him quietly. They turned up another
side street, and were soon lost to view in
the depths of the great city.
It was to be the great wedding of the
year—Howard S. Ranson to Miss Minnie
Ford. It was to be in church in the eve
ning. Only a few select guests were to
be present at the ceremony, though there
was to be a great reception at Mr. Ford's
afterward. Every one was discussing the
strangeness of having a ceremony in the
evening, in church, and only a few guests
present, but such was the wish of the
bride, and her betrothed seemed very will
ing to consent to it.
The music of the noble organ was again
pealing through the arches of the church.
Only a few candles were lit about the
chancel—the rest of the church was in
darkness. It was the wish of the bride,
who was not accustomed to have anything
denied her.
It was a lovely sight to see the ladies,
in their snowy dresses, marching up the
aisle with the ghostly shadows of the great
church thrown upon them. Not a dozen
in all, including the gentlemen—yet a
striking sight in the noble edifice.
The little assembly was soon grouped
about the chancel rail ; and the deep,
grave voice of the aged minister was heard
resounding through the empty church,
and echoing through the wide range of
deserted seats :
"Into this holy estate these two persons
present COl .13C now to be joined. If any
man can show just cause why they may
not be lawfully joined together, let him
now speak, or else hereafter hold his
peace !"
His words had scarce ceased to resound
through the empty church, when a white•
robed figure, heretofore unseen, rose from
a pew, mid way back, stretched her arms
imploringly to heaven, like some suppli
elting angel, and said, in a voice heard
distinctly through the echoing church .
"I am his wife ! I am his wi—"
The blood gushed from her lips, and she
fell forwar 1 across the pew—dead !
It is an intensely cold night in January ;
snow lies on the ground ; the carriage
wheels grinding over it sing a slow music
of their own. The night express is flying
over the frozen rails. •
Who is this sitting in the seat in the
corner ? Howard Ransom ! That man
there ! how a few hours have changed
him!
He throws up the window and leans far
out into the night.
Faster and faster flies the iron steed
over the cold steel rails. Faster and
faster—on, still on, with thunder and
crash—yet never fast enough to deaden
the heart pangs of the wretched man who
see his past misdeeds rise up before him as
he had never seen thew till now.
He at last closes the window and falls
asleep in his seat. But not to rest. Like
some dark phantasmagoria of the past, his
crimes pass in vivid array before his ex
cited mental vision One can see from
the clutching of his hands and the twitch
ing of the muscles of his face the agony
he is suffering.
Hours have passed. Still grind, grind,
grind ; still on, on flies the through ex
press.
The man is awake again. He throws
up the window. It is almost morning. A
faint light appears far off on the horizin.
Day is about breaking:. The deathly cold
breezes fan his fevered brow, and play
wildly with his locks of curly black hair.
But be does not seem to feel it ; yet he is
trembling like a leaf.
Sitting there in the cool gloaming of
the breaking morn, let us hope he feels
the coming events, and is thinking of the
days of early youth,• when his soul was
white and guiltless
The train at last slows up. Ile goes to
the platform to disembark.
"Look out, sir !" cries the brakeman,
warningly.
It is too late. One wild shriek from
the passing express, and a man is twisted
and ground to atoms beneath the cruel
wheels.
A gray haired woman is gazing from
the porch of a beautiful country house
down across a wide, sloping lawn, to where
the sunset glows iu crimson splendor.—
Minnie Ford is an old woman, who has
never recovered entirely from the excite
ment of her early years. Yet her lite is
not entirely unblessed. Her nieces and
nephews neither think her sedate nor
thoughtless, and every one looks to Aunt
Minnie as the one to seek when in trouble
of any kind.
Only those of riper years know of the
terrible tragedy which defaced her 3oung
and glowing life.
cittt Visttliang.
JAMES G. BLAINE.
"That Leader of Leaders."
SPEECH OF ROBERT G. INGERSOLL, OF IL
LINOIS, IN TIIE REPUBLICAN CONVEN
TION OF 1876.
The Ropublieans of the United States
demand as their leader in the great contest
of 1876 a man of intelligence, a man of
integrity, a man of well known and ap
proved political opinions. They demand
a statesman. They demand a refbrmer after,
as well as before the election. The de
mand a politician in the highest, broadest,
and best sense—a man of superb moral
courage. They demand a man acquainted
with public affairs, with the wants of the
people, with not only the requirements of
the hour, but with the demands of the fu
ture. They demand a man broad enough
to comprehend the relations' of this Gov
ernment to the other nations of the earth.
They demand a man well versed in the
powers, duties, and prerogatives of each
and every department of the Government.
They demand a man who will sacredly
preserve the financial honor of the United
States; one who knows enough to know
that the national debt must be paid through
the prosperity of this people; one who
knows enough to know that all the finan
cial theories in the world cannot redeem
a single dollar ; one who knows enough to
know that all the money must be made,
not by law, but by labor ; one who knows
enough to know that the people of the
United ,totes have the industry to make
the money and the honor to pay it over
just as fait as they make it.
The Republicans of the United States
demand a man who knows that prosperity
and resumption, when they wine, must
come together ; that when they come they
will come hand in band through the gold
en harvest fields ; hand in hand by the
whirling spindks and the turning wheels;
band in hand past the open furnace doors ;
hand in hand by the flaming forges; band
in hand by the chimneys filled with eager
fire, greeted and grasped by the countless
sons of toil.
* *
This money has to be (lag out of the
earth. You cannot make it by passing
resolutions in a political convention.
The Republicans of the United States
want a man who knows that this Govern
went should protect every citizen at home
and abroad ; who knows that any govern
ment that will not defend its defenders,
dad protect its protectors, is a disgrace to
the map of the world. They demand a
am who believes in the eternal separation
rind divorcement of church and school.
/hey demand a man whose political repn
tliti,)n is spotless as a star ; but they do not
demand that their candidate shall have a
certificate of model character signed by a
Confederate congresl. The man who has,
is tun, heaped, and rounded measure, ail
fhcise sph:ndid gnalitleations, is the present
grand and gallant leader of the Republi
can party—James G. Blaine.
Oar country, crowned with the vast and
marvellous achievements of its first cen
tury, asks for a man worthy of the past
and prephetic of her future; asks for a
man who has the audacity of genius ; asks
tor a man who has the grandest combing
tion of heart, conscience and brain be
neath her flag—such a man is James G.
Blaine.
For the Republican host, led by this
intrepid man, there can be no defect.
This is a grand year—a year filled with
the recollections of the Revolution ; filled
with proud and tender memories of the
past ; with the sacred legends of liberty—
a year in which the slits of freedom will
drink from the fountains of enthusiasm—
a year in which the people call for a man
who has preserved in Congress what our
s , ildiers won upon the field—a year in
which they call for a man who has torn
fr,•m the throat of 14 - Ander; for the man
who has snatched the mask of Democracy
from the hideous face of rebellion ; fur the
man who, like an intellectual athlete, has
stood in the arena of debate and challeng.
ed all comers, and who is stilt a total
stranger to defeat.
Like an armed warrior, like a plumed
knight, James G. Rhine marched down
the halls of the American Congress and
threw his shining lance full and fair against
the brazen foreheads of the defamers of his
country and the malignurs of his honor
For the Republican party to desert this
gallant leader now is as though an army
should desert their general upon the field
of battle.
G Blaine is now, and has been
for years, the bearer of the sacred stand
ard of the Republican party I call it
sacred, because no human being can stand
beneath its folds without becoming and
without remaining free.
Gentlemen of the Convention : In the
name of the great Republic, the only Re.
public that ever existed on this earth; in
the name of all her defenders and of all
her supporters ; in the name of all her
soldiers living; in the name of all her sol
diers dead upon the field of battle, and in
the name of those who perished in the
skeleton clutch of famine at Andenonville
and Libby, whose sufferings he so vividly
remembers. Illinois—lllinois nominates
for the next President of this country that
prince of parliamentarians, that leader of
leaders. James G. Blaine.
More Uses of the Lemon.
We have already given many uses of the
lemon; here are more : Lemonade is one
of the best and safest drinks for any per
son, whether in health or not. It is suit
able to all stomachic diseases, is excellent
iu sickness—in eatiks of jaundice, gravel,
liver complaint , inflammation of the bow
els, and fevets. It is a specific against
worms and skin c , )mplaiuts. The pippins,
crushed, may also be used wit water and
sugar and used as a drink. Lemon juice
is the best anti scrobutic remedy known.
It not only cures the disease, but prevents
it. Sailors make a .daily use of it for this
purpose. A physician suggests rubbing
of the gums daily with lemon juice to keep
them in health. The hands and nails are
kept clean, white, soft, and supple by the
daily use of lemon instead of soap. It also
prevents chilblains. Lemon is used in in
tertnittent fevers mixed with strong, hot,
black tea or coffee, without sugar. Neu
ralgia may be cored by rubbinc , the part
affected with lemon. It is valuable also
to cure warts, and to destroy dandruff on
the head by rubbing the roots with it. In
fact its uses are manifold, and the more we
employ it externally the better we shall
find ourselves
A WISCONSIN minister was dismissed
from an othodox pulpit because he built a
fire under a balky horse.
Headquarters.
The other day a young gentleman who
has been enamored of one of the fairest
daughters of West Monroe street, Chicago,
but who has met with scant courtesy from
her parents, suddenly hit upon the great
discovery that asking a girl's father's con
sent was an idle tOrnia!ity. "By Jove "
he said, after thinking the matter over in
all its varied avects, "its the old woman
who is the power behind the throne. Once
you get her on your side you are all right.
and besides, you are saved from any an
noyance from your mother-in law, for she
can't go and say to your wife, 'if you had
taken my advice," or, "I told you so."
"By Jove, I'll go right for the old wn
wan?' So, dressing himself in his gay at
tire, the young Iran went up, and, after
explaining matter to his sweetheart, in
duced her to call down her mother. Her
father had gone to Des Moines on busi
nes.
"Well, sir," said the old lady, with icy
coldness, "what do you wish to soy to the ?"
"I come, madam," said the heroic youth.
"to demand the hand of your lovely (laugh
ter in marriage ?"
"Demand a fiddlestick !" said the old
lady, with asperity ; "Amanda is too young
to be married yet, and if she wasn't and
there wasn't but one husband in the world,
and you were he, I would say "Na aw !"
Do you understand that ?" •
"In a measure I apprehend your mean
ing," said the young lover, while Amanda,
who was listening behind the folding
doors, whispered to herself that ma was
real mean, and felt her heart sink into her
slippers; "and I was prepared for it. I
had already seen your husband."
"You had, eh ! Do you mean to say
that that chuckle headed clam had con
sented-?"
"No, madame, not precisely. In fact
he said he would be—a hemmed first. But
as in such matters as these it is always best
to deal with the principals, I thought I
would see you, although your husband said
"No," and gut his foot down, that was an
end to matters in his house. I wanted to
be allowed to plead my case before you,
because the sympathies of a beautiful,
clever woman still young in heart as she
is in looks—but alas! he told me it would
do no good—that you was prejudiced
against me, and if you favored my suit
your humblest solicitation could not move
him."
"When did my husband tell You all this?
Was he sober—quite sober ? lie put his
foot down indeed !"
"About noon on Tuesday, and never
seen him more collected and rational. He
was unusually mild and pensive, and when
I told him of my desire to be married, he
said, "better not, if you know what's good
for you—don't. I dare say my daughter
is very handsome, and all that kind of
thing, but she takes after he. mother I
really doing you a kindness in refusing
tuy consent."
"The snub nosed traitor I" said the old
lady, warmly ; "well, now, I want you to
understand one thing ; I am the pazriarch
of this household, and when my husband
leaves me out of the calculation it is equiv
alent to the omission of the sabt.rahend,
&nominator, qutier.t, divisor, multiplier
and the one you carry. You understand
me ?"
"Yes'ni, but your husband doesn't think
so."
"Well, when he gets back I'll just put
in sowe of my humblest solicitation—l
believe that is what he calls them—and
he'll understand me: And I'll prove it to
you, too. Amanda, come here. This is
your future husband, and, if I know my
self, you will be married to him inside of
three weeks Just make a list of the things
you want, and I'll see that you get them
Young man ewk'ace your betrothed bride
Bless you, my children. I want this thing
settled once for ail."
It was almost to good to be true, and
the lovers had to hug each other several
times during the evening (which they
spent on the same chair) to be sure it was
not all a dreaui. Nevertheless the fair
Amanda felt several qualms and fears when
she thought of her stern father's return,
and the possibility that the game would
be up then But it wasn't. The o;d man
got back home from Des Haines late on
Thursday night. He shpt on the sofa, and
looked visibly older at breakfast the next
morning, having a startled expres,ion in
his eyes. When the meal was concluded
he took his daughter aside and asked her
if she was really sure she loved the young
man and when sho replied that he could
gamble on it (or words to that effect), he
could no longer withhold his consent—her
happiness was more to him than the spec
tacle of vindicated authority.
"Oh, pa, how good and kind you are I"
sobbed the beautiful girl, falling upon his
neck.
"Amanda, my 10ve.," said the author of
her being, "that't all right, and I do not
bear your lover any malice, but I don't
want you, my dear girl, to think that your
pa is a three ply, double and twist liar, for
I never said anything of the sort. But
it would do me no good to ueny it ; no
not if' I sued him for perjury, and the
jurors brought in a verdict of guilty with
out leaving the box "
His Last Dollar.
Recently a stranger might have been
noticed standing in the rear of the Mint,
in Carson, watching an old woman pick up
sticks. She west have been about eighty
years of age. Iler old calico dress was fall
of holes, her face was as wrinkled as tripe
and as brown as leather. Every time she
stooped to pick up a stick she was obliged
to do so w'th painful effort She raked
over the dry leaves with palsied hands,
and all the w,a-thless little trinkets went
into her basket. A heap of garbage and
ashes occupied her attention for some ten
minutes. The man who was watching her
finally walked up behind her, dropped a
dollar into her basket and then stole softly
away unnoticed. An attache of the 'Mint,
who was near, hailed him as he passed.
"I say, did you give a dollar to that old
lady ?" "Yes, indeed, although it was
about the last I had I cAn't bear to see
poverty and old age combined. I had a
mother once almost as old as her and as
weak and palsied. I feel for an old wo
man like that. and by thunder she can
have a dollar from mo if its the last I've
got." "Do von see that block over there ?"
"Yes." "With houses on it ?'"-Yes "
wihe houses and lot. belong to her" "No!"
This was all the stranger had to offer as he
turned away and walked rapidly up Car.
son street. It was his last dollar.
A LITTLE girl, reading the "History of
England" with her mother, and coming to
the statement that Henry I, never laugh
ed after the death of his son, looked up
and said : '‘What did he do when he was
tickled ?"
Poems of the Week.
SUNDAY.
Lie still and rest, in that serene repose
That on this holy morning comes to those
Who have been buried with the cares that make
The sad heart weary and the tired heart ache.
Lie still and rest—
God's day of all is best.
MONDAY
Awake ! arise! Cast off thy drowsy dreams !
Red in the east, behold the morning gleams.
"As onday goes, so goes the week," dames say.
Refreshed, relieved, use well the initial day;
And see ! thy neighbor
Already seeks his labor.
TUESDAY.
Another morning's banners are unfurled—
Another day looks smiling on the world;
It beholds new laurels for thy soul to win;
Mar not its grace by slothfulness or sin,
Nor sad, away
Send it to yesterday.
WEDNESDAY
half-way unto the end—the week's high noon.
The morning hours do speed away so soon'
And when the noon is reached, however bright,
Instinctively we look toward the night.
The glow is lost
Once the meridian croft.
THURSDAY.
So well the week hag sped, haat thou a friend
Go spend an hour in converse. It will lend
New beauty to thy labors and thy life
To pause a little sometimes in the strife.
Toil soon seems rule
That has no interlude,
FRIDAY,
From feasts abstain ; he temperate, and pray :
Fist if thou wilt; and yet, throughout the day,
Neglect no labor and no duty shirk;
For many hours aro left thee for thy work—
And it were meet
Till all should be complete.
SATURDAY,
Now with the almost finished task make haste;
So near the night, thou hast no time to waste.
Post up accounts, and lot thy soul's eyes look
For flaws and errors in life's ledger-book.
When labars cease,
How sweet the sense of peace !
—Ella Wheeler, in Chicago Tribune,
A Scrap of History.
The death of Zach Chandler constrained
a writer to give a very interesting chapter
of heretofore hidden history. The writer
says : "I happened to be in Washington
when the first Bull Run battle was fought.
and when the Northern troops, routed and
disorganized rushed co the capital. Ail
was dismay and confusion, and I have not
a shadow of doubt but, had Beauregard
pursued, he could have captured Wash
ington. Well, during the time of con
sternation, while walking on the avenue,
whom should I meet but Senator Zach
Chandler We had for twenty years been
warm personal friends, though antagonistic
politically. Chandler was intensely excited
;At the defeat of the Union forces, and, like
Uncle Toby's army, swore terribly. 'By
G—d,' said he, 'let's go right up. and see
Lincoln. Something has got to be done
ur the country's gone to 11-1 Come right
along.' I a.seuted to his suggestion,
and in five minutes we were in the White
House. Chandler stood upon no formali
ties, and quickly we were in the Blue
Room, where we found Mr. and Mrs. Lin
coin. The former had been weeping, his
eyes were red and swollen, and he was
walking up and down the apartment with
rapid strides. Turning upon us the MO -
went -l ive entered the room, and recogniz
ing the Senator, be advanced and bell out
his hand, exclaiming, 'My God, Chandler,
I'm glad to see you! Oh, we arc ruined I
ruined I What shall be done ?"Done ?'
and walking up to the desk where lay pen,
ink and paper, 'Write out your proclama
tion at once, immediately calling out three
million men. It will give confidence to
the Nation. If you don't, we will all be
in anarchy before a week." Lincoln ex
postulated,•and said he had not yet had a
Cabinet meeting on the subject; that it
would meet that evening, etc. But Chand
ler was inexorable, and spoke up still more
excitedly : Presi&nt, 1 want the
proclamation immediately ; not a moment
should be lost Come, draw it up now—
right away, and I will take it to the As
sociateu Press office, and I to that of a
Washington newspaper Now, I often ask
myself what would have happened to tit:•
country if Chandler had not visited Lin
coln that afternoon.--Cincinnati Enquirer.
"Girls" and "Young Ladies."
Benjamin F. Taylor, the poet, has writ
ten a letter to a young girl at the Low
villa (N Y) Academy, in which he mixes
up poetry and good advice in equal doses
most charmingly. What Mr. Taylor says
will bear repetition :
I call you a girl, but it is not the fashion
any more. The girls are gone, and there
i. nobody left but young ladies. I like
girls best There used to be a flock of
Carolines in Lowville, and as fair a flock
as ever wore muslin. There were Caro
line Collins, Caroline Northrup, Caroline
Davan, and ever so many more. There
were Coruelias, Janes, lilizabeths, Marys
and Paulines. They were all girls, and
they never scorned the title Now they
would be Carries, Nellies, Lizzies, Marries,
Jennies and Comics, and young ladies
with all, every daughter of them. Let us
not end our names in "ie." Let us not
forget that affectation is the art of being
a fool by rule. Let us learn to work
worsted cats of impossible pink, if we must,
but let us know how to make Indian pud
ding and a golden loaf of corn bread as
well. Let us talk French, if we can, but
let us avoid "slang" as we would pestilence
and famine. Pure and undefiled English
never sounds so musically as it does from
the unadulterated lips of a genuine girl.
Let us learn the exquisite art of keeping
young You read of Roman ruins. I
think I have heard Tyre, Tadmor and
Thebes mentioned once or twice, but there
is nothing so ancient in all the world as
the old dilapidated heart. It is every
body's duty, especially every girl's to keep
young.
A Shoeblack's Sermon.
A 'little shoebhick called at the residence
of a clergyman of this city and solicited a
piece of bread and some water. The ser
vant was directed to give the child bread
from the crumb basket, and as the little
fellow was walking slowly away and shift
ing the gift between his fingers for a piece
large enough to chew, the minister called
him back and asked him if he had ever
learned to pray. On receiving a negative
answer he directed him to say, "Our fa
.ther," but he could not answer the fami
liarity. "Is it our father—your father—
my father ?" "Why, certainly !" The
boy looked at him for awhile and com
menced crying, and at the-same time hold
ing up his crust of bread, and exclaiming
braween his sobs : "You say that your
father is my father, aren't you ashamed
to give your little brother such stuff to
eat when you have got so many good things
for yourself?"—Xew Orleans Democrat.
SUBSCRIBE for tile JOVIXAL.
Curiosities of the Conscience Fund.
At irregular intervals, says the Wash
ington Star, a paragraph appears announc•
ing the receipt by the Treasury Depart
ment of a contribution to the "conscience
fund "These contributions now•a days vary
from one dollar to between one and two
hundred. A few years ago they were much
larger. The money comes from all parts of
the country, Philadelphia and New York
leading in the number of contributions. A
member of Congress from New York, when
Mr. Bristow was in the Treasury, referring
to this fact, remarked that it showed con
clusively that New York and Pennsylva
nia were the most religious states in the
Union Mr. Bristow replied that in his
opinion it only showed that these two States
had dune the most stealing The money
that comes in from conscience stricken
people is on account of frauds on the ens
toms, frauds under the old income tax law,
or on the revenue The income tax hav
ing been abolished some years ago, con
tributions on its account are very few now.
The first record of money received by
the government from repentance defraud.
ers was in 1863. When General Spinner
was treasurer he kept the account separate.
ly, but the practice was discontinued. The
money now, as it has been for the greater
number of years since 1863, when the con
tributions began, is turned into the Treas
ury as miscellaneous receipts. Repeated
attempts have been made by membeis of
Congress to secure appropriations to be
paid out of the conscience fund. If the
money goes into the Treasury as miscella
neous receipts, it ceases to be a separate
fund, and cannot be drawn upon. It is
not known how much the conscience mon
ey now amounts to. The total amount
from December 1, 1863, to June 30, 1874,
as given in the Treasurer's report for the
latter year was $162,914. Since then no
account of the contributions has been kept.
Treasurer Gilfillan, however, estimates that
the money now foots up $250,000.
The contributions, as a rule, come by
mail with a note saying for what purpree
the money is forwarded. Very frequently
a penitential explanation is included. Some
of these explanations are very curious and
some very laughable. The ladies contrib
ute a good deal. They repent principally
ever false returns made under the income
tax and for having evaded the duties upon
articles of dress.
A lady visited this country in 1864
from England. She smuggled in while
here a silk dress pattern. A short time
ago she wrote confessing the evasion of
custom duties and sending $l5 to clear
her conscience. She gave the value of the
dress, and wanted the balance sent back to
her if the duties did not amount to $l5.
The custom division of the Treasury made
a computation based upon the duties charg
ed in 1864, and found that the lady owed
exactly $7.50. The balance was remitted.
Ministers of the gospel are very frequent
ly the medium through which the money
is refunded. While administering spirit.
ual consolation, the confession of defraud
ing the government is made, and a resti
tution follows. The clergy transmit the
money without mentioning names. The
largest amount ever received at one con
tribution was $15,000 in United Sates 7.30
notes This contribution was announced
in the newspapers. Many and ingenious
attempts were made to get this money out
of the Treasury. One man said that his
father made the contribution, and that he
was crazy The contributor of it bad care
fully cut out the numbers of the notes so
as to make it impossible to discover from
the books who had sent them.
The Printer and His Types.
Beojawan F. Taylor, the printer poet
says : _
Perhaps there is no department or en
terprise whose details are less understood,
by intelligent people, than the "art pre
servative," the achievements of the types.
Every day, their life long, people are
accustomed to read the newspaper and find
fault with its statements, its arrangments;
its looks, to plume themselves upon the
discovery of some rougish acrobatic type
that gets into a frolic and stands upon its
head, or of some waste letter or two in it ;
but of the process by which the newspaper
is made, or the myriad of mills and the
thousands of pieces necessary to its com
position, they know little and generally
think less
The imagine they discourse of a wonder
indeed, when they speak of the fair white
carpet, woven fur thought to walk on rags
that fluttered on the back of the beggar
yesterday.
But there is something more wonderful
still. When we look at the hundred and
fifty two little boxes, somewhat shaded
with the touch of inky figers that compose
printers "case" noiseless except the click
or the type ; as one by one they take their
place in the growing line- a —we think we
have found the marvel of art.
We think how many fancies in fragments
there are in these little boxes, how many
atoms of poetry and eloquence the printer
can mak<• here and there, if he had only a
little chart to work by ; how many facts
in a small "handful," how much truth in
a chaos.
Now he picks up the scattered elements,
until he holds in his hand a stanza of
"Gray's Elegy," or a monody on "Grimes
ail Buttoeed up Before." Now be sets
'•Puppy Missing," and now "Paradise
Lost," he arrays a bride in "Small Caps,"
and a sonnet in nonpareil, he announces
the languishing 'live" in nne sentence—
transposes the word and deplores the days
that are few and "evil" in the next.
A poor jest ticks its way slowly into the
printer's hand, like a clock just running
down, and its strain of eloquence marches
into line letter by letter. We fancy we
can tell the difference by hearing by the
ear, but perhaps not.
The types that told a wedding yester
day announces a burial tomorrow—per
haps the same letters.
They are the elements to make a world
of. Those type are a world with something
in it as beautiful as spring, as rich as eum•
mer and as imperishable as autumn flowers
frost cannot wilt—fruit that shall ripen
for all time.
lIE entered a car door. When the brake
man came inside and took a key out of his
pocket, unlocked the stove, put in some
wood, and locked the door again, he asked
him what he locked the stove door for.
The brakeman shut his left eye, and said
he locked the door se the fire couldn't get
oat.
A BOY who had been taught that time
is money appeared at the bank the other
day, and remarked that be had an hour
given him, and he would like to spend a
quarter of an hour, and would take the
change for the other three•quarters.
NO. 11.