&I©o (S3 2?WZUIMI£IIIII3&Ss,
Whole No. 2793.
fje-.vistoivn Post Office.
Mails arrive and close at the Lewistown P.
0. as follows;
ARRIVE.
Eastern through, 5 48 a. in.
" through aftd way 4 21 p m.
Western " " " 10 55 a.m.
Bellefonte " " " 2 30p. m.
Northumberland, Tuesdays, Thursdaysand
Saturdays, 6 00 p. in.
CLOSE.
Eastern through 8 00 p. m.
*' " and way 10 00 a. m.
Western " " 315 p. m.
Bellefonte 8 00 "
Northumberland (Sundays, Tueesdays
and Thursdays) 8 00 p. m.
Money can be forwarded through this of
fice in sums from SI to S3O, by the payment
of the following fees: From SI to SlO ten
cents; $lO to S2O fifteen cents; S2O to S3O
twenty eents. (.
Office open from 7 00 a. m. to 8 p. m. On
Sundays from Bto9 am. S. Comfukt, P. M.
Lewistown Station.
Trains leave Lewistown Station as follows:
Westward. Eastward.
Piitsburgh and Erie
Express, 313a. m. 914 p. m.
Baltimore Express, 4 48 a. m.
Philad'a Express, 548a. m. 12 18 a. m.
Fast Line, Glop. m. 526 "
Mail 4 21 "
Fast Mail, 10 55 "
Jlarrisburg Accom'n. 3 44 p. m.
Emigrant, 10 47 a. m.
Through Freight, 10 20 p. in. 120a m. j
East " 350a. m. 930 "
Express " 12 10 p. ni. 12 40 p. m
Stock Express, 500 p. m. 924 "
Coal Train. 1 15 p. m. 11 50 a. m. j
Union Line, 7 30 "
Local Freight, 730a. m. 700 p. m.
&jrOalbraith's Omnibuses convey passengers to
*mi from all the trains, taking up or setting them
down at all points within the borough limits.
W3LLIAM LIND,
has now open
A NEW STOCK
OF
Cloths, Cassimeres
AND
VEST! N C S,
which will be made up to order in the neat
est and most fashionable styles. apl9
AM3ROTYPES
The Gems of the Season.
fJMIIS is no humbug, but a practical truth
JL The pictures takeD by Mr. Burkholder
are unsurpassed for BOLDNESS. TRUTH
FULNESS. BEAUTY OF FINISH, and
DURABILITY. Prices varying according
to size and quality of frames and Cases.
Room over the Express Office.
Lewistown, August 23, 1860.
Kishacoquillas Seminary
NORMAL INSTITUTE.
WILL commence its winter session. OC
It TOBEK 12, 1864, and continue twen
ty weeks. Cost for Board, Furnished Rooms,
and Tuition in English Branches, $75. Fuel,
Light and Washing extra.
For particulars see catalogue.
S. Z. SHARP, Principal.
Kishacoquillas, Sept. 21, 1864.
Academia, Juniata Co., Pa,
C COMMENCES its Summer Term May 4th,
' 1864. For circulars address
Mrs. O. J. FRENCH, Principal, or
ANDREW PATTERSON, Proprietor.
ap6 1864-ly
Real Estate Agent, Collector and
County Surveyor,
LEW IS TOW N, PA.
Ol' FICE in the Court House, opposite the
Commissioners' Office. sepl4-tf
GEO. 7T. SLEEK,
Attorney at Law,
office Market Square, Lewistown, will at
tend to business in Mlttiin. Centre and Hunting
don counties my 26
Look Repairing, Pipe Laying,
Plumbing and White Smithing
r IMIK above branches of business will be
JL promptly attended to on application at
the residence of the undersigned in Main
street. Lewistown.
janlO GEORGE MILLER.
Ci RPEKTEKS.
OELHEIMER'S is the place to buy the best
O and cheapest Hand, Rip. Tennant, Com
pass and Cross Cut Saws; Planes, Bits. Ham
mers, Hatchets, Squares, Rules, Chisels, Au
£urs, Augur Bitts, Drawing Knives, Spoke'
shaves. Bevels, and all other Tuols in your
hoe. The carpenters all buv at
J. B. SELHELMER'S.
Saddlerv Ware.
\ LARGE stock of saddlery ware constant
lv on hand, consisting in part of Saddle
trees, Pad Trees. Hames. Buckles, Rings,
Snaps, ferrets. Swivels, Stirrups. Bridle Bits,
lacks, Awls, Needles, Thread, Hair, Patent
Leather, and a variety of other articles, for
Ba,eb y J. B. SELHEIMER.
r Builder* and Farmers
fl AN find anything in their line, such as
Y7 hicks. Screws, Hinges, Bolts, Glass,
uttv. Nails, Spikes, trace, breast, halter, log
an< other Chains, Forks, Shovels, Spades,
"es, and all other goods used in the build
ing and tanning business, for sale at
J. B. SELIIEIMER'S.
THE MINSTREL
TO OXE I MAY SOT NAME.
When in the dreams of spirit-watching slumbers,
There eorae strange visions of ideal seenes,
Unseen when earthly sense the true sight cumbers,
Unknown except the spirit intervenes —
When the soul's longing brings an answering presence
Which haunts our waking hours forevermore—
Teaching the thoughtful mind the spirit's prescience,
Recalling dreams that we have dreamed before—
Then will I come, the clay-life spurning.
And steal among thy visions unawares.
And following my spirit's highest yearning,
My truest thoughts shall mingle with thy prayers.
Then would I have thee look, without emotion,
Into the depths of my unfathomed soul,
For all is calm beneath, as the great ocean,
And thou canst read it as a written Scroll.
We little know how near the angel's hover.
Watching, like noon-day stars, our common way,
Till some great grief our spirit's.eyes uncover,
And we can see beyond tne things of clay.
I see thee move, by angel troops attended,
Led by a hand ttie world can never see—
So much the spirits have thy life befriended
That holy things seem natural to thee.
I see thee live a life of abnegation,
Treading a path which few have ever trod,
Turning aside from every fond relation
Unreconeilable to thee and (jod.
Thus have I watched thee from a higher station,
Tracing thy loveliness in every task.
Daring to love thee with the soul's oblation,
Asking no claim an angel mag not ask.
TA&Ei & MTfiHEJi
JESSIE, THE LAME GIRL.
In all the pretty village of Sit wdon
ville, there was not a prettier or happier
little maiden than Jessie Harris. She
was the only daughter of a poor, hard
working widow, who had lost a husband
and received a son on the same night.
George Harris had been a quarryman in
the large stone works that were a lew
paces Iroui his little house, and had been
killed by a fall down a deep shaft. His
widow heard the news while she was anx
iously waiting his return to bless his new
born son, their only boy. Little Jessie,
then about three years old, and George, the
infant sou, was thus left fatherless. Much
sympathy was shown in Snowdonvilie for
the widow; and the wealthy ladies, Mrs.
Ralston, Mrs. Howitt, and some others,
sent her plain sewing to do, paying her a
a lair price, and thus enabling her to sup
port herself and chindren comfortably.
At the time my story opens, Jessie was
about eleven years old, and George eight.
Jessie was the beauty and pet of the vil
lage school. \\ ith dark, waving hair,
soft hazel eyes, and a rich healthy com
plexion, she had a right to claim the first;
and her talent and industry won her the
last. 'As pretty and smart as Jessie liar
ris,' was quite a saying in the village.
My story opens on a dark, blustering
winter evening, when the snow fell thick
and fast, and the high wind threatened to
shake in the windows of the little cottage
where my heroine lived. Widow Harris
was sitting near the fire sewing; and Jes
sie's nimble fingers kept time with hers as
she put a patch en George's school coat
George, as a special privilege, lay on the
settee, ready for bed, but permitted to stay
with his mother, because the wind made
him feel afraid to go up stairs alone.
'Mother,' said Jessie, 'Miss Miles said
something very ni :e to me to day.'
'What was it?' inquired her mother.
'She said that if I study very hard and
improve as much as 1 have done, I will
be able to take the school, when I am old
enough. She wants to give it up, but
she is so much attached to all the girls
that she wili not do so until some one
can take her place that she can feel con
fidence in. Mother 1 Mother ! what was
that?'
They were all on their feet with white
faces and trembling figures. A fearful
crash followed by a shriek of agony, had
caused Jessie's exclamation. With trem
bling fingers, Mrs. Harris unlatched the
door. The wind blew it open, and drifted
the falleu snow into the room. Nothing
was heard lor an instant but the howling of
the wind : then came a low moan; and a
voice cried 'Help!'
'Mother, some one has fallen into the
qua ry And Jessie sprang out. 'I know
every step of the way; do not fear for uio.'
Then raising her voice, she cried: 'Cour
age ! I am coming !'
Her mother followed; and, heedless of
the raging storm, Jessie went forward to
find the sufferer.
'Call again ! where are you?'
There was no answer.
'Mother,' she said, turning round, 'run
to the village for help. lam small and
light; I will go down into the quarry.'
'God keep and preserve you !' said her
mother, 'for you go on his errand.' And,
with this blessiug, she left the child alone
in the storm.
Gathering her skirts up around her,
Jessie began to descend into the quarry.
The huge masses of stone, though covered
with snow were uneven enough to afford
her a foothold, and at last she reached the
bottom. It was a large hollow; and for an
instant her courage failed her, asshe thought
of the discouraging task she had underta
ken; then, with a fervent inward prayer,
she began :o leel for the person whom she
had come to seek. The darkness bewild
ered her; her own voice was lost in the noise
of the storm and her heart was sinking with
despair, when voices above reached her ear.
Just then her foot 6truck against some-
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 7, 1864.
thine; she stooped, and feeling, pushed
aside the snow to lay her trembling hand
upon a cold human face. 'Here! here?'
she cried, 'he is here.'
The lanterns gleamed brightly above
her at the mouth of the quarry; but no
one stepped forward to answer Jessie's call.
T he descent which her light feet and small
figure had accomplished was dangerous
ior large, heavy men; and they were delib
erating what to do. A flask of brandy
and a lantern were lowered by ropes; and
Jessie was directed to raise the man's head
and pour some of the spirit down his
throat She did so; and with a great
struggle, consciousness returned to the suf
ferer.
'Mother/ cried Jessie, 'it is young Mr.
Ralston !'
'Ask him, if we lower a chair, if he can
sit in it until we haul him out.'
'Yes, yes!' said the young man hastily.
'I was coming across, and the piece of stone
I stepped upon loosened and rolled down
here. I lost my balance and came after
it.'
This was said in a low, weak voice to
Jessie, who called aloud: 'Lower the
chair '
Slowly along the snowy sides, a chair
fastened by many ropes, was lowered. It
was some time before the stiff, wounded
young man could get into it; hut at last
it was effected. 'How will you get up?'
he said, turning to his brave deliverer.
'I will come alter you/ was the reply, in
a cheerful voice.
Seeing the chair safely on its way up,
she began to climb the stones to go up,
as she had come down. She was nearly at
the top, and those above were watching
with breathless interest, when anotiier stone
gave way, and she fell back. A cry of
horror rose on the air.
'1 aui alive,' she cried; 'Jon't fear,
mother; it has only fallen on my legs;
lower the ropes; I can hold on by my
bands.'
With frantic eagerness, she tried to rise;
but the heavy stone across her limbs held
her pinned fast. Awful visions of dying
there, floated with aw r ul distinctness
through her brain, and, with a wild cry,
she fainted.
Struck with admiration at her heroic
conduct, and horror at the accident, one
of the men placed himself in the chair,
and was lowered to rescue her. When he
a<rain came up, with the small, insensible
figure lying so still and pale in his arms,
there was a unanimous murmur of sympa
thy through the now large crowd. The
squire's son, young Ralston, had fainted
again on reaching the mouth of the quarry,
and had been carried home; all the rough
men and sympathizing women who had
braved the storm to aid the 'man lost in
the quarry' gathered about the little figure.
Gentle hands lifted her from the arms of
her deliverer; and she was carried to the
little cottage. Her mother, chilled and
despairing, laid her upon the little bed;
while George crept from his stool by the
fire to gaze at his sister, whom he had last
seen so full of life and energy, and who
now lay so still and white. The room was
cleared of all but a few sympathizing neigh
bors; aud the doctor bent over the little in
animate form.
I spare my readers the details. Five
weeks later Jessie sat upon her little arm
chair with the consciousness tha u that was
her place for the rest of her life. If you
had raised the shawi which covered her
limbs, you would have seen that, both legs
were amputated just below the knee. It
was hard—it was bitter to have all her
young dreams of life end in this. Jessie
murmured loudly. Her mother in vain
tried to check the bitter tears which would
fall from the poor child's eyes. She had
been sitting alone one afternoon, full of
bitter, melancholy forebodings, when a
carriage stopped before the window. A
young man, wrapped in a large cloak, got
out first, then a lady # Jessie knew them.
It was young Louis Ralston and his mother.
Mrs. Ralston had been very kind in sending
her messsages and delicacies during her
illness; but she had not visited her before.
Mrs. Harris was out, she had gone to take
home some sewing; and George was with
her; so the visitors, entering the little kitch
en, found Jessie alone. They cauie to her
chair, and stood, one on each side. For a
moment there was a deep silence, and then,
with a deep cry, Mrs. Ralston bent over
the child. -My child! my child!' she
cried and then she knelt down and buried
her face in Jessie's lap, while her frame
shook with convulsive tlirobs. The young
tnan seemed as powerfully affected, and un
able to speak. At last, bending down, he
said : 'My angel preserver, inay God in
Heaven bless and comfort you ! Oh Jes
sie, that this should be y<_ur reward for
saving my life!'
'Mr. Ralston.' Jessie began
'No, no. call me Louis; we are brother
and sister now; this has made us so. I
should have been here before; but the phy
sicians forbade it. I was somewhat injured
but am well again.'
'Jessie,' said Mrs. Ralston, 'if a moth
er's prayers and gratitude for the saver of
her son's life can comfort you, oh, how truly
they are yours ! But for you I should be
childless. \ r ou will think of this, my
child, and let it comfort you.'
'I will! I will! God forgive me for
complaining when he has let me save a life !'
and for the first time peace shone in the
child's face.
From this day, there was no desire of
Jessie s heart that was not gratified.
Young Ralston himself provided her with
books, pictures and instruction; and his
mother let no day pass without visiting the
cottage. I hey would have been very glad
to have taken the poor child to their own
luxurious home; hut Jessie refused to leave
her mother. The child's whole current of
thought had changed since the Ilalstons
first visited the cottage. With prayer,
with hopeful, loving trust in the Almighty
hand that had seen fit to prostrate her, she
stilled all repinings, and was truly grateful
for love and kindness to her.
Six years passed on ; and again I wish to
take my readers to the little cottage. The
widow is at her sewing still in a chair by
the fireside; opposite to her is seated Jessie,
who looks older than when we last saw her,
and in other respects somewhat changed.
The rich dark hair is gathered off" from her
broad white forehead and falls in soft curls
over her shoulders. Her face is pale but
very beautiful in its soft, loving expression,
and the large soft eyes, shaded by long,
dark lashes, are full of intelligence and
pure holy light. Her small, slight figure
is covered by a thin white shawl, and the
tiny white fingers are busy in knitting
George, a tall manly youth is seated beside
her, bending over a sum.
A low sigh from Jessie made her moth
er look up.
'What is the matter, darling?' said
she.
' I was wishing, mother, that I was of
some use in the world.'
'Why, Jessie, you are of use. Y'ou help
me in my sewing; you draw now most
beautifully, so Mr. Ralston says; and then
you kriit a great deal.'
'Besides helping me with my studies/
chimed in George.
'Y r es/ said Jessie, thoughtfully, 'but I
have a great deal of useless time. Y'ou
know it wearies me to draw or sew for ma
ny hours together, and I was thinking how
I might employ this time, and not be a use
less burden on my dear, kind friends.'
'Jessie!' said her mother, warningly.
'Well, I won't say it again. Now, I
have a proposition to make. \"ou know
that in the village there are many of the
children who are too poor to pay for their
education at the village school, and they
are growing up ignorant, and some of them
vicious. Would it not be a good work to
have them here for a lew hours every day,
and try if I could not instruct them?'
'But Jessie/ said Mrs. Harris, 'they are
the very scum of the village. All the de
cent children are at the village school.'
'I know that'
'Some of them swear fearfully,' said
George, 'and I fear that some of them
would he impertinent if anything displeas
ed them.'
'Will you let me try? Ido so long to
be of some use in the world.'
'U hy, Jessie !' said a frank voice at the
door, 'is that you I hear talking in such a
plaintive tone? What is the matter?'
'Oh, Louis ! are you there ?'
'\ r es, halt frozen. It is snowing.'
Jessie started, whispering, 'lt is the an
niversary.'
\Y ith admirable tact, young Ralston
bent over her, saying: 'I left my mother
nraying for the preserver of her sou's
life.'
Jes-ie thanked him with a bright beam
ing smile and then told him her scheme.
At first he shook his head, out, seeing that
her heart was set on the idea, he consented
to act as her ambassador in the village and
collect all the 'little ragamuffins' that were
willing to come.
One week later, Jessie awaited, with a
fast beating heart, the coming of ber first
class. It was very small. One little girl
only had summoned up courage enough to
come. II er report was so favorable that
the next day three little boys and two little
girls came ; and, in the course of a month,
the room was filled each day. There was
something in the pale, pure face and slight
frame of'their teacher that awed the class
at first, then won their respectful love. No
profane word ever fell upon the ears of the
young girl. Errors to correct she found in
plenty; but with a low, sweet voice, and
that indescribable holiness that encircled
her, she drove away all profanity, all impi
ety. Rough boys went home with their
minds filled with a higher ambition than
they had ever felt before. Girls bent to
ber at their departure, with their minds
blessing the sweet gentle teacher who had
won them from ignorance, perhaps from
vice. And sj passed tier life. Trials she
had among her class, but with gentle pa
tience she made rough places smooth.
Bome ingratitude, too, came to trouble her,
but she never failed in her efforts. It is
now thirty years since Jessie Harris fell
down the quarry, and if, in passing through
Soowdonville, you ask who is the most use
ful and best beloved person in the village,
they will point out a little cottage, and tell
you its occupant, Jessie Harris, fills the
place.
Mrs. Harris is dead, George is a law
yer in the South, and Jessie lives alone, ex
cepting her maid, one of her old scholars,
who almost worships her mistress. Gentle,
meek and hopeful, she lives an example
that none are so unfortunate that they ean
be of no use in the world.
seeikhles <ac&sxwx 9
muumumm
A Beautiful Sentiment.
. Clasp the hands meekly over the
still breast—they've no more work to
do; close the weary eyes, they've no
more tears to shed: part the damp locks
—there's no more pain to bear. Closed
alike to love's kind voice and calumny's
stinging whisper.
O, it in that still heart you have
ruthlessly planted a thorn; if from that
pleading eye you have carelessly turn
ed away; if your loving glance and
kindly word, and clasping hand, have
come— nil too lute —then God forgive
you ! No, frown gathers on that mar
ble brow as you gaze—no scorn curls
the chiseled lip—no flush of wounded
feelings mounts to the blue-veined tem
ples. God forgive you! for your feet
too must shrink appalled from death's
cold river—your faltering tongue ask,
'can this be death ?'—your fading eye
linger lovingly on the sunny earth—
your clammy hand feel its fast feeble
flutter.
O. rapacious grave! yet another vic
tim for thy voiceless keeping! What!
no word of greeting from the household
sleepers? No warm welcome from a
sister s loving lips? No throb of pleas
ure from the dear maternal bosom ?
St ent all!
O, if these broken limbs were never
gathered up! If beyond death's swel
ling flood there were no eternal shore!
If for the struggling bark there were
no port of peace! If athwart that
lowering cloud sprang no bright bow
of promise!
Alas for love if this be all,
And naught beyond.
What is life? Darkness and
formless vacancy for a beginning; or
something beyond all beginning; then
next, a dim lotos of human conscious
ness finding itself afloat upon the bo
som of waters without a shore; then a
few sunny smiles and many tears; a
little love and infinite strito; whisper
ings from Paradise, and fierce mocker
ies from the anarchy of chaos; dust
and ashes, and once more darkness cir
cling round as it from the beginning,
and in this way rounding and making
an island of our fantastic existence.
MHSmAWeHA
Artemus on the Draft.
Artenms Ward, Jr.. is again before the
public, ventilating his ideas on the draft :
A grate many people air getting exemp
ted. I kno a ohap who warnted to git ex
empt becoz he had no old widow mother
to support him. Anuther youth said it ho
went to war his mother wood have to stop
taken in washin, as he was the only son she
had to maintain. It's astonishin' wot a
skurcity of male people thar is between 20
and 45 years. Those wot aren't over 45
are under 20. They never git parst 22.
Hardly.
I onct knowd a femail wot was under 20.
She was splendid. Her name was Mariar,
thort much of her. Praps I thort niucher
of her parients' 80 acher farm. But she
was a sweet gal. She had beautiful eyes,
one was crosseyed an' the oHier squinted.
She used to look at me 2 ways at onct.
An' such small feet. Her gators was small
enufl tor me hy stuffing rags into the tose
of 'eui. 1 woo't say anything about her
teeth. She had no teeth to say anything
about.
She was a llairess. That's wot ailed
her. Her Guvner was a Breckinridger. 1
nite he arst me what I wars. "I'm an
Army Contractor," sez I, utelling him a
confounded wopper, but Marier was lookin'
at me J ways and I scarcely nowsd wot I
war sayin. "Wall," sez the ole man, "ef
you are a army contrackter you must be a
Breckinridger, for they get all the contracts
and the Union men dus the fightin." " 2
troo!" sez I. I uiaid Mariar a nomeris
number of presents. I hot her a dollars
worth of joolry, consistin ova gold watch,
a buzziiu pin, an earrings an things—up
wards of severil of the larst.
But she was always morely pleased when
I took her a hunk of yailer Jack It wos
a splendid sight to see her eat yailer Jack.
After kortin her sevril weeks, I thort it
was time to bring things to a climax. 1
nite took her a sooperb big chunk of yailer
Jack, an alter she put herself outside of it
I sez to myself, now is the excepted time,
as the Scriptoors remarks. I had bieu 2
weak* in Jearnin sum big words with which
to a r sk her to be mine, an I got down on
my knees be 4 her to say 'em, when sez
she—
" Gimme another hunk ov that candy
before you begin to pray." This nockt all
the wind out ov me sales, as it were, an I
didn't no wot to say, an cum putty near
saying it. But I wasn't a going to give up
the ship, so to speak. Isq aattid side ov
her, took her alabaster hands in mine, lookt
into her eyes aud faintly articoolated: Ma
riar, I luv you a good bit wuss nor nothin.
Will you walk tbroo life's thorny path with
me? Me heart kept bobbiu up an down
in me buzzini as tho it warnted to break its
bonds an sore away, as the Poick sings.
But I don't think Mariar understood me
New Series-Volume XIX. No. 6.
figurative langwidge, lor aez she, u Not a
walk I don't intend to travii throo ennv
thorny path without I kin ride You're a
old tool, that's wot you ar," an I guess I
was, for I left the damsel without pressirt
me soot As I become wiser L grow older,
an have since lamed that a gal don't mean
all she sez. Not by a harf a dozzin.
When a femail calls a chap a old fool,
she thinks he's a hunky boy, as l>eii Affiek
sais. I pity M iliar. When she found I
didn't cum bac she took up with a love
cove who sported good store close. She
took him lor a gentleman, but alter marry-'
in he turned out to be a dirty Peas man,
which busted tier hart and killed her ded !
Rest (jmet in peace. E poor busted up
Union. I suppose you don't na wot those
Latin means? 1 don't, no too. The right
wing of the rebel army is in Virginia, the
left in New York. An I'm in Washington.
As alurs, A. WARP, JR.
A Curious Similarity,
A remarkable resemblance between fact
and mythology has recently come under
our notice. .Most ot our readers have read
the story of Ccpha'us and Procris. Proo
ris, the wife of Cephalus, was of a suspi
cious and envious disposition. Thinking
her husband loved another, she followed
him when he went to hunt, and heard him
speaking in endearing terms to the wind.
Supposing that he was addressing her rival,
Procris groaned. Cephalus, thinking it a
wild boat's grunt, (a supposition not very
complimentary to Procris' voice) fired his
arrow into the thicket, which lodged in the
heart of Procris.
Now to our modern fable: town
-h:p, in Montgomery county, was lavorcd
as tltQ birthplace of Julia Amarinta, a sus
; ceptible rustic damsel, who was wooed and
won by another rustic named John. Hut
after marriage John did not prove the ideal
; of a husband; he did not express sufficient
J interest in the health of the race of doves,
| he smoked too much, he drank not a little,
and worse than all he went continually to
a village where a ladies' hoarding school
j was located. Distrust is of the nature of
1 fire and fuel, suspicion the spark that lit
| the conflagration. Convinced of his infi
delity, Julia followed him to the village,
! he whistling innocently, she watphing eag
erly. Upon coming to the town, he passed
three men standing at a corner, and she
on the other side of the road distinctly
i neard one of them exclaim, 'Going to see
| her, John.* and a general laugh followed.
If she was before suspicious, she was now
! convinced, lie entered a one story buil
j ding. Julia put her ear to the crack, and
! although she could not see, she could hear.
| John—her John—crossed the room, cry
ing out, 'Are you glad to see me, Fanny ?
Shake hands! that's a good girl! yes, you
are a beauty, my love!'
Julia wanted no more, but returned to
her desolate home, shut herself in her
room, and pleasantly eased her trouble by
swallowing a dose of laudaDuui. John, on
returuiug with his new dog Fanny, found
his house desolate, and his wife dead.
| Married ladies, remember, and never be
jealous of your faithful husbands; and if
you must be envious, never commit suicide
on account of a girl, until you are sure she
j is not a quadruped.— /'hila Eo. Tel.
j _
NORRISj STERNE & CO.
DEAL.ERS IN
WATCHES, JEWELRY AND PLATED WARE.
We offer to purchasers throughot the Uni
ted States a large and splendid assortment of
Jewelry, and Plated Ware of every descrip
tion at prices which defy competition.
Articles' sent by Mail
FREE OF CHARGE.
For the benefit of persons wishing a neat;
pretty and useful article at a moderate price,
| we attach the following price list:
Ladies' handsome Neck Chain $1.00; sin
gle stone imitation Diamond Ring $1.00;
Cluster imitation Diamond Ring $2 ; Heavy
i Plated Vest Chain $1.25; Heavy Plain Rings
(will stand the strongest acid) $1; Heavy
Plated black enameled Sleeve Buttons 50 cts.,
gents single stone or cluster imitation Dia,
inond Pins $1; magnificent Bracelets $1.25;
handsomely chased Medallions $1.25; Pen
and Pencil with extension case $1.50; Ladies'
beautiful Revolving Pin (can be worn either
side) $1.25; Ladies' small Jet or Garnet Pin
$1; handsome ladies' set of Pin end Drops
Coral; Carbuncle or Opal sets $1.25; fancy
Watch Keys $1; Ladies' Long Guard and
Chatelaine Chains $1; genuine Gufta Percha
Pins for hair or likeness $1; Seal Rings $1;
red or black Ball Ear Drops 50 cents; chil
dren's handnme Carbuncle or Coral Armleta
$1; Yet-t Hooks, fancy patterns, 50 cents;
i Carbuncle Studs and Sleeve Buttons $1; Sil
ver plated Butter Knives $1.50 per pair; Sil
ver plated Spoons $2.50 per half dozen.
All articles Warranted to give satisfaction
or money refunded.
All orders tilled immediately. A liberal
reductiou in price will be made on order for
a number.of articles at one time.
Address all orders to
NORRIS, STERNE & CO.,
31b Walnut St., Phila., Pa.
Oct. 19 3m.
Cedar and Willow Ware.
Churns, Buckets, Butter Bowls,
A Clothes, Baskets, Market Baskets, &c.!
for sale by J. B. SELHEIMER.
Oils, Paints, &c.
LEAD, Red Lead, Zinc, Venitiaa
■ " Red, and all other kinds of colors. Al
so, Linseed Oil, Fish Oil, Coal Oil, &c., for
' sale at J. B. SELHEIMER'S.