THE POTTER JOURNAL AND "• no. S. Mann, S. r. Hamilton, ~ 3ST IE'W"S ITEM. fuME XXV, NO. 10. It potter journal NIAVB ITEM. , 1IEI) EVERY WEDNESDAY AT L-ni-r.si'OiiT. PA. I , . ( r. Viin nud Third.) gl.7' FF.UYf.AU IN ADVANCE. I . Maim, S. T. Hamilton. or ' | PEL MCCLARY, M.D-. I TPTSG FHYSICIAN Pi' -VFJ.F.ON s \ A I C J. CURTIS. Inuyaf Law and PMrict Attorney. I n JM/-V AT. imrrthr I'"<t ' COUDERBI"' HIT. I>A • I pretviiiine to l.is profess-®. I AfcTßt-k B. M ISS I 10 HN s MANN A SON. ■ | infwcn, I Arthur B. Ma. r: S. S. GREENMAN, I-OBN t E y AT X.A-W, Tf-R FoBBTVE** ATOKK,) ■ OLMSTED A LARFABEE, H n SETH LEWIS, Hmq at Law ami Insurance Airenl, UiWIsYILLE, i'A. I A. Vi. REYNOLDS, DENTIST, f Taker House, r ,vs \ KF.m t. Propr'. ■ EASI Streets, COUDKHsr* >ET. FK-- N A. atlvution x* 1 !'! t ■ 3li' nv .uvnee an,l I Lewisvilie Hotel. ■ NORTH w tr<-.-t-. ■ ..: :itt . JOHN B. PEARSALL, PAINTER, U'ERSPORT, PA. (, jr.eiz, Grmiuine. < aUdmlning. .. i vli-., <l<>ue .... nromptnes au<l r, b pi all va*s. anl - U.-lß' Tinn zuar ant i e <l. U - r.'TS tcr sale. MP s J. 8. MANN THOMPSON & In ANN. W iLi '• i3l its M tliriiio. Book-. Stationery. s e : • 1/ n iirnl T ir<l S'K. UDER-WRT, PA. S. F HAMILTON. PI £ND JOB PRINTER M in .oid Third.) ! DEI'SPORT, PA. D J. CFOWELL. ■ - M k 3 ".tin - * Uachine. ' -M '•! vitoNlNG.Cameron ce. I'x !'IS HI A(JLE MA CI 11X Eu> ' . "< *U'l General Cost -ID Wor. y wiili WAWAAA.* •i <> u -v u, i iZ ii. TtitTl. pccorativr & Jrcsro PAINTER, c OUDERSPORT, PA. fXb'iM. | PATER HAM.IM' done ntatness and dispatch. r : ' "ii guanuiteid. , lIOI*!-ii: r ' 1!t !''>:yatteniled to. I I>. 1L XEEFE. | Ci RHIAGE FACTORY, LDEUSPORT, PENN'A. . t - c-ii-t,Tnminuizaii'i KtfaUnnjr <i>-i,i i ■* -> aul Jurabilitr. Chirr^ ■U It c. 3FEUNLE. Iv U IJ I> E \V <>lt IV . ( JL'IIERSPORT, PA it 1 "•" "t itieix, sr* m iinifibtit to order, Nor* . 5... v i-- autl *orkuiftiistip y Oil L ' -eterm*. ' " or lelt at ttteolllee of Jorr. fit ' ITK * *;■ rt-eive prompt attetitton- A WIND. Sweet autumn wind, whose breath with whisjier ine flow Visiti-th softly my o'envearied brow; Not the fierce n>>rih, whose frosty truin]>ets blow IVfiance to tlie earth, o'ercoines me now. Thou, like the mists which soften into peace The failing forests, with thy kiss serene (iivest my long shut tears a sweet release. Yet with no voice to ask what tears may mean Gentlest of ail dear Nature's mini-it rants. Who. laden with iniid odors from the sea. Contest at evening to my shadowy haunt, Kustiing as if a spT it stirred the tree And shed its dry leaves softly to the earth. Take grateful thanks from me and sighs more , sweet than mirth. For the Journal & Item. Bread and Milk. Chubby little children. Hair as soft as silk, fitting in the doorway Eating bread and milk. Will grand dinners ever relish Like this bread and milk. In tlie summer gloaming, Tiivd feet and head- Glad the sleep is coming And the quiet bed; And mamma is gently feeding With the iniik and bread. — S>jbody. | "DR. ANTONIO." i;Y MAKGAIIET AUDLEY DOUGLASS. The golden August sun was east ing long slanting rays upon the wheat fields, and evening shadows were gathering about the mountain tops, when a shrill whistle broke the silence of Rivertown. and the even ing train wound its way slowly through tlie eneireling bills and en t, red the tow n. Such a sleepy little place as it usually was! but liow the -treets were filled with women and children and not a few pretty girls, who had sauntered down to see the cars come in. for it was a part of Rivertown life to welcome the train after it> fifty miles' run, as though it had lieen around the world. While the citizens alighted and re turned Hie salutations of their friend-, the freight, consisting entire lv of baskets and bundles ordered by the feminine part of the community, v : - unloaded, ami as the engine be uan to back the crowd turned slowly awav. the sight was over, the railroad di rectoi > had returned to the bosom of their families, and supper was the next qu stiou. Rut this evening their homeward progress was stayed by an unusual >ight. A stranger appealed on the { latforiu of the last car. He was rather short, and aj peared to IK* dreadfully misshapen; this last defect was partially con cealed by a large eloak wrapped around i:iiu. 11 i> face was hiddi nby his hat. This much the crowd saw lie paused, with a nervous glanca aroumi him.tlier limped down a side street. An uniiiir ol "\\ ho i> he'" ; swept through the crowd, which question was answered by the eon j ductor. who addressed himself to the magnate ol the town. Mr. Ar nold. •tie got on at the I'oint. sir. and kinder looked as if lie didn't want no one to see him; lie >at in the last ear. all bundled up in his cloak, and when lie paid his fair he asked me to send his trunk to a ho ; tel." \\ itb thai the man touched his hat and stepped back, while a buzz of excitement rose UJKJH the air. He i brought u trunk, that meant he was "■oin" to stay; lie lend his fare, that ocJ 7 1 proved he was not poor! What lent additional interest to this h.st item was that the greater part • f the populace were deadheads, and the remainder too impeeuneous to ride—they had actually taken a fare! After a little idle speculation upon the stranger the crowd dispersed, and not a few sauntered slowly—by accident ol" course—down the path he had taken. Among those who went in an opposite direction were Mr. Arnold and two young girls, his daughter and niece, lsoth pretty, but strikingly unlike. Lydia Grey was the shorter of the two, a brunette with great dancing brown eyes and a merry, laughing face, pretty iu spite of her decidedly irregular features. The other, Rosalind Arnold, was like another Rosalind. **niore than common tall," with a pair of clear, w ide-opeii gray eyes, and a quantity of golden-brow n hair, that was drawn back from her broad white forehead, and fell iu a shower of curls over her shoulders; features so regular as to >ccin almost cold until she smiled or sjHjke. when you saw what a lovely face it r ally was. She was Mr. Ar nold's only child, and had been his housekeeper since she was fifteen. COUDERSPORT, PA., WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 1873. As the trio turned into a narrow lane. a gentleman raised his hat and stood aside to let them pass. .Mr. Arnold returned the salute and they passed on. but not until Rosalind had met the stranger's eyes, which were fixed earnestly on her face. With the color deepening ou her cheeks, she turned her own away, and aferhe was out of hearing, Lydia exclaimed: "That is the gentleman who came up on the train this afternoon. Don't you think he is awfully handsome. Rosalind? I'm sure he is some one!" "Evidently he is. He certainly is is not a ghost." "That is just like you! You know I mean some one great—some one of importance." "In his own opinion, Liddie? No doubt he is." said Mr. Arnold, laugh ing. "No. in mine. You'll see if I'm not right in the end. Did you notice he was lame, and how he was muffled up in his cloak, exactly like a ban dit ? Of course he is a great general on some important secret business." "What a jumble! A bandit and a great general! But, Liddie, your im agination is vivid if you can conjure up 'business, secret and important' in Rivertown."* "A general is lie, Liddie? Then all 1 say is. he has made a conquest —not military!" said Mr. Arnold, piuehing the girl's cheek mischiev ouslv as they entered the house. Riverstown discovered the next day that the stranger was not only lame, but terribly deformed; still his face was splendidly handsome, and several young ladies would have given a good deal to obtain an intro duction. but no one knew even his name—he gave none at his hotel. Rosalind and Lydia met him sev eral times while out walking; but. after a quick glance, he would let his eyes fall and limp rapidly away. I.ydia's romance went out like a hash when she discovered that he was deformed, and she shuddered and turned her eves away v hen they chanced to meet. Meanwnile. L>r. Mulet, surgeon and uews-gatherer-iu geiieral, resolved to call on this stranger; he was out, but the doctor settled himself in the gentleman's I rivate parlor to w .tit his return. There was little in the room U-side the usual furniture; the doctor's eager eves saw nothing but an odd glove, a volume of Ovid, and a copy of Jeru>::lt m Delivered; this last he pounced on, and a card tell to the :hor; picking it up he read I'r. .l/i --j ,'onio 0 . then followed several . mysterious stars. I>r. Mulct's lace grew luminous with a great idea—so gnat that it {demanded utterance; "Antonio H— um! An Italian name—an Italian , ; n appearance—reads Italian ami I there's war in Italy!" A solemn pause, and llu-n—"lie's crippled— \erv good!" Rather an inhuman conclusion. "And does not want to IK.- known. 1 have it! lie is a famous I refugee; the great"—a step in the : hail reduced the doctor to silence. At that moment tie stranger en tered. He paused a second on th- I threshold, with an annoyed look; I then waited quietly lor his visitor to announce his business. Dr. Mulet | launched forth, and in a grandilo quent manner bid him welcome: the stranger listened to ti is oration im patiently. and at its close, thanked him grimly. At length, like all other ill, it had its end: the doctor rose to take his leave; "Hood morn ing. for the present. Dr. Antonio," he began, when he was interrupted by— "Excuse me, but you mistake my name. It is— "l understand —I understand, my dear sir; vour name is not Antonio, but—" the doctor paused, with a solemn nod. "My name is—" again attempted Dr. Antonio. "Antonio, for the present. t ou r secret is safe with me; the incognito shall be strictly preserved." -But. Dr. Mulet—" "You can trust me sir. I will in troduce you as Dr. Antonio. Me mean to make you at home among us."' With that.he left. Dr. Antonio stood motionless for at least ten minutes, his face an odd mixture of anger, consternation and 4 amusement. Dr. Mulet was as good as his word—nay. better! That afternoon he introduced a uuraberof citizens to his protege, who shrank strangely from all intercourse with people; perhaps it was his deformity—Dr. Mulet attributed it to weightier rea sons. But whether he would or not,' he found himself in the centre of so cietv; there was left but flight or J i rs submission; he, for some reason, chose the tatter. Old Mr. Arnold and the young doctor were soon firm friends, but the latter always avoided being introduced to the ladies of the 1 o isthold, making his visits wheu they were senatb. About two mouths passed in this way, and their end found Dr. Antonio domesticated in Mi. Arnold's house; he had at length accepted an often-re|>eated invitation, with a mixture of eagerness and unwillingness that greatly puzzled his lioat. The evening he arrived Rosalind and Lydia waited on the piazza to receive hiin. As he limiied up the steps leaning on Mr. Arnold's arm. Lydia gave a little gasp of di-may and shrank behind her cousin. The doctor saw the action, and his face flushed half from mortificaton, half from auger. As he raised his large, brown eyes to Rosalind upon being introduced, there w as in them a kind of angry scorn, as though their own er asked neither pity nor kindness because of his misfortune. Meeting hers they softener!, for there was nothing in her face but a pleasant welcome for her father's guest. Toward the close of the evening Lydia had recovered sufficiently to listen to Dr. Antonio's brilliant con versation, and watch how his face, lit up by his own eloquence, lost the loek that Usually characterized it—a look morbidly restless, as though he were trying to forget something that refused to be forgotten. One evening, a short time after his arrival, there was quite a lage party gathered in the library. Lydia made some jest about the town, calling it "Sleepy Hollow." "I think after a jhtsou once comes here he is like tlie lotus-eaters who lost 'all jKiwer, all ambit on to pro ceed*—the air must do it. I defy any one to account in any other way for the nuinler of people who bury themselves in what Miss Lydia ha yd. pt'Sleepy Hollow!'" joined in a young barrister. "1 can, Mr. Holt!" a number of laughing faces were turned upon Rosa-iii 1 a- she spoke. "Whenever an unwary mortal puts his foot in Rivertown, a select delegation wait on him and elects him railroad direc tor. Alter that resistance is vain; • the tailroad ei.circles liiui, so to speak, like a monstrous cobra against which nothing can prevail!" After the laugh which this hit caused had subsided, Dr. Mulet said— "You inav laugh at our road, Rc - din i. nut you cannot And a better. Wh\. we never have an accident and just the other da\ there was a total • J • -masli-up at Cappee." "Talking of accidents, that was a fearful one at Bayou Christian last week," said an old gentleman. "Bad management, sir. Let me see, it was a!>out a year and a half ago that they almost had what would have been the most horrible ou rec ord. You remember the one, Arnold; it was tlie old stoiy. -onie ties loose, a rail gone, a steep embankment and a train at full s]H-ed." remarked Dr. Mulet. "You mean the time that doctor was killed in warning them?" asked Mr. Holt. "Y'es; his first name began with A. his last, I remember, was Gauion ti. it was the noblest thing on rec ord. He saved the train but lost his own life," said Dr. Mulet. Dr. An tonio paused suddenly to listen. "No, sir. he was not killed but ter ribly. completely crushed. I heard,' said Rosalind, whose cheeks had flushed as the recital of any noble deed always made them. "Y'es, I remember now, and he dis appeared suddenly as soon as he Could lie moved; his admirers say to escape being thanked, I say to lie pe culiar," added Dr. Mulet. "/ think it was very noble, Dr. Malct. and the world would be bet ter if there was a little more q-ovul iarity' of that kind.'' said Rosalind, warmly. Mr. Arnold looked across at his daughter with a smile she 25 j cquld not understand while Dr. An- \ tonio leanetl back in his chair, his handsome face very white ami stern. ■ Shortly after both gentlemen left the i room. The next day when Dr. Antonio entered the breakfast-room the girls i were discussing a croquet party; he -tationed himself beside Lydia and | they fell into a conversation, while Rosalind and her father watched them very earnestly. She had half fallen into the habit of doing this lately; watching them with sorrowful perplexity in her gray eyes. 1 >r. A iitonio did not talk much to his young hostess but he would watch her while she talked with oth er-. his eyes softening strangely and then changing quickly as they met her eyes. After he and Mr. Arnold j left the house that morning Lydia began abruptly, "I like that man and yet I dread being near him. Poor fellow, no woman would ever marry him." ■ "And yet—Lydia—" Rosalind's voice sank into a whisper. "I—think he loves you." "Me! Goodness! I hope not. Dear me. Rose, you do conjure up dread ful things! Now if you have any thing else of that stamp to say just let me know and I'll stop up my ears," she returned, j>ettishly. but Rosalind said nothing more. That afternoon Rosalind. Lydia and Dr. Antonio stood ou the piazza after the rest had started down to the la AMI. "I must go. Are you not coming, Doctor? Of course you can't play but you had better come look ou. Rosalind will follow suit, she is a heathen and despises croquet. Au rtcoir. if you won't come," and nod ding good-bye she ran down the steps. Dr. Antonio winced at her heed less words, then said abruptly— "Do not let me detain you. Your cousin is right—l cannot j day, but that must not keep you." "I am going to stay here with you if you will let me," -he said, quietly seating herself en the step below him. adding, "This i- my reward for my day's work, a little quiet before all those people come up." she sighed a little wearily, and his eyes that had followed hers now came back to her face pityingly, as he said hurriedly: "Rewaid! You are not weak , enough to exjieet reward on this I earth, 1 trust! You may sacrifice yourself 'to the bitter end,' and at that end no one will recognize the sacrifice. Tlu only time 1 struggled ; to do a duty that God placed before me duty and sacrifice proved synon ymous and these my reward. Were not they worth striving f<-r. Miss j Rosalind?" He looked mockingly at his crutches; the gill's face was white as his own as lie went on bit terly: "And yet they tell us that God i- merciful. He lias been so to me. and I—l suppose 1 am thankful ihat He made ine an eye-sore—a thing, not a man, without one single hope, one single tiling to live for." When the mocking voice ceased Rosalind rose pale and trembling, a groat fear coining into her face. He raised his eyes to her. saying quietly; "1 am not mad. Miss Rosalind, but there comes a time in every one's life when he cannot !<e silent, he m u.-( sj>eak. And I have ended now; it only remains t< say that to the num ber of my sins 1 have added that of loving." With a sudden groau he j bowed his head upon his hands, mut tering: "God! my burden is greater J than I can bear." Rosalind, standing there with the sunlight streaming over her and the gay voices from the lawn mingled with the buzz of locusts sounding on the still air. forgot herself and her own sharp sorrow in a tender pity for this man's suffering. With a steady voice she began: "You have not told her; perhaps Lvdia—" "Lydia! Y'ou do not know—you have not guessed whom I love? Not Lydia. but yourself. I have da ml to love you. Are you not proud tf your conquest?" Then there fell a silenee like death; the world seemed to swim before Rosaiand's eyes, a strange jumble of earth, trees and sky. By and by with crimson cheeks she knelt softly at his side, saying: "Dear friend, 1 love you. Will you take me?" He raised his head with a great start and seizing her hands looked in the face turned toward him in a kind of delirium of doubt and joy. j For a minute they looked into each other's faces without speaking, then a change came over his fat* and loos ening her hands he pushed her from him almost rudely as he groaned: "God forgive me—l did not mean to speak ! Y'ou pity me, you could not love me, and I am not wretch enough to take advantage of that and sacrifice you. J will go now. God bless you and youi pity, forget what I said. 1 was mad. and now— good-bye."' He reached down to pick up his crutches but she held out her hands to him saying, simply: "I do not pity you. I love you dearly. Please do not send me from you." Well—it w as only a very old story repeated, and then the twilight fell upon two people as happy as jieople are permitted to be on this planet! Rivertown w as crestfallen and Dr. Mulet felt ill-used! They had fondly imagined that they had among them the great A G (we suppress the name for reasons private and po litical, and especially out of regard for Dr. Mulet) they now discovered their mistake and naturally the towu and surgeon felt cross. "Dr. Anto nio" turned out to Ik- "Dr. Antonio Gamonti" who. morbidly sensitive after the noble act that had crippled him for life, had sought a place w here he was unknown and might be alone. Chance sent him to Rivertown and threw in Dr. Mulet's hands a card hastily written bearing the young doctor's tir-t name and the initial <f his la-t: upon this Mulet built lii noble -tructure. Mr. Arnold had known the truth all along and toward the end Dr. Gamonti discovered to what rank they had raised him. No doubt he would have undeceived them had not that necessitated tell inff who he really w as: besides about that time he fell desperately in love, and the Rivertownian- were left t<> enact, undi-turbe-1, their Comedy of Errors. By and by the dor-tor and the town became pacified when they discovered that the stranger was a hero, if not a refugee, and smiled upon him once more. Of this we are sure. Ib salind did not love "Dr. Antanio" u v.liit less for the discovery. Kr"in ih- ladrpnidvat. "Not One Woman Saved." Four hundred men saved, but not one woman! One boy saved, but not one woman! While we look for some silver lining we are confronted with this fringe of intenser blackne-s to the "Atlantic" horror. Others may draw their more übvi ous morals from the disaster. It may l>e that a vessel whose length is ten or twelve times it- breadth is too slender for strength. We only know that the disaster proves nothing on the subject; for a Spanish galleon would go to pieces if driven at un slacked speed against a sharp ledge. We only know that for speed and for comfort at sea tin- larger vessel is the the 1 letter. It may Is- that the cap tain was careless and reckless, tin nigh we have s*n no absolute evidence of it as yet. It may lie that the vessel was sect to sea with a short supply of coal and provisions, although this is denied; and the possibility of put ting into Halifax at any time for supplies, as some steamers regularly do. should not IK- overlooked in as signing blame. We suspect that contractors failed to supply a full amount at the present high price of coal in England, and that the officers of tlie company did not discover the failure. It must lx-. and this only seems the certain cause of the acci dent. that there was some fatal error in the reckoning and that the officer in charge, now passed beyond our judgment, somehow mistook the lights. Nor can we fail to deplore that the point was not probably pro tected by a lighthouse. But all ibis does not explain why $1.15 A YEAR four hundred men were saved and not one woman. We do not believe, as a correspondent has charged, that the hatches were closed on the women of the steerage. Certainly one of them got into the rigging. Being in the stern, which sunk first,they hard ly had time to escape. But this was : not true of the women in the cabin. They had the same chance of life as the men. Taey came on deck, or might have done so. They were lashed to the rigging. For some of them everything was clone that de votion could do, ami one man died beside her rather than leave his bride, I though entreated by her to save hia : own life. To us this awful catastrophe sug gests a lesson of direr import than any one man's carelessness or anv one company's recklessness. Our women are brought up to IK? physic ally feeble and incapable. There is no reason why a woman should I*- sicklier than a man. Her different organization is no excuse for it. In deed. of the two. the female J asses ses the strongest vitality in plants, among the lower animals and in in fancy. A vigorous pine tree will produce a redundance of the pistil late cones; a depauperate one can nourish only the staminate catkins Statistics of three countries prove that lioys gnecutnb to disc. se> more readily than girls during their child hood. We have never heard that among savages the women are loss hardy or healthy than the men. Hoes any one believe that among a cabin full of Esquimaux or Modocs there would have been "not one woman saved "? It is one of the saddest blunders of our modern civilization that it dis criminates against woman's health, while assuming to spare them. J: should be the aim in the culture of the human race to secure to our men all the best qualities of women and to our women all the best qualities of men. Physical strength is one of the grandest possessions of man, because it is the foundation of mental and moral power. The education which oisparages it in women is radically wrong. Our ltoys are growing up to Ij>e athletes and our girls to be in valids. A young man who cannot, march from twenty to forty miles in a day i> regarded with disdain. A 1 young woman who can do it is a prodigy. These things ought not so to le. The trouble is in a vicious public sentiment, which thinks it de grading for a girl to run batefoot, like a boy, to be colored by the sun. to ride ami shoot and fi>h and siir.. | in short, to live out of doors and feel as friends the wind and the rain, the : sunshine and the fro-t. Unless the present vicious cultuie of gills lie corrected we shall have in a genera tion or two, if we have it not already, in the civilized variety of the human race, the "delicate" health of its fe males developed as a genuine instance of what Darwin calls secondary sex ual characters, us constant us the mane in the male lion or the penciled , feathers in the female Hamburgh fowl. The strength of women at the crisis i of their life depends on their phy>i ■ cal culture while children. Let pa- I rents lx* no more ashamed of their ! girls* brown faces and lists than of their boys*. Let them train. and i clothe them so that the\ can run ami I cliinb and care for and protect them selves. Let them take tlieni with their brothers into the harvest field. A boy is not ashamed of work: no more should be a girl. The refine ment that shuts a girl out of God's j sunshine and allows her no rough* r woik in-doors than to embroider worsteds, or tap ivory keys, or du-fc a marble mantel, is refining lur oti the face of the earth to give place to the daughters of the servauts in the kitchen. Their coarse work is heal thy and honorable. We honor it; and among our occasional contribu tors there is hardly one of whom we feel more proud than of a woman—a lady-—who is not ashamed to earn her living as cook and housemaid, working for month's wages. Nature s Lessens Tliere Is a lesson ill each ftuwer, A story in each stream ami bower; Are written word* which, rightly read. Will lead us from earth's fragrant sod. To bo"*- and holiness and God.
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