lisishuss *;bs. WILLIANig ANGLE, ArTOR 3 : E TS-AT-LAW, ToWANDA, PA. Ofnee—Main street, opposite Post Attica. 11. N. WILLIAMS. 161eb82 DA.VIES, it HALL, ArtOWSZTES - AT - L LW t ISOUTEI SIDE OF WARD 1110118 K. Dee 23-71 SAM W. BUCK, ATTORNEY-A w, Nov.lSlt. TOWANDA; PBNAr`,4I,-; - - - 1. Oface—At Tressarers,Office, Court ffOrift. MAPILL & KINNEY, °Mee—Rooms formerly ooeupled . by Y. M. C. A. Reading Room. U. J. tu04.r... -.1.16,80 O. D. xxxxr.T. JOHN W. CODDINGI Arronsty.AT-tar, TowA2qA, PA. Mire over Birbra Prug Store., , t 119*AS E. MICER,:•'O... --, . ~ • • Arcot:NEI . ..AT-LAW, , WYALUSING, PENN'A. , . Particular attention paid to Vastness In the -Or phans' Court and to the settlemcut of estates: ttepternber :5, 1E79. . pECK. dc OVERTON . .‘ ATTODSZYS-AT I.AW, TOWANDA; 1:k. WA. OVEISTON, BENJ. M. PICIGL - - itobsky ; A, MERCUR, r AririojeNEY AT-LAW, *: TOWANDA, PA., Solicitor of Patats. Particular attention paid to ittniiness In thei orptrans Court and to the settle went of estates. - • _ OtHee to 31outanyes Block • 'May 1, '79. 0 VERTOS4:.SANDERSONI ATTORNEY.:AT - L KW , - TOIVA' t SIDA,PA. E, ovEuToN. JR, JOHN F. SAOSTMON. w. IL JE ~.,‘ ~,, ,,t i.i, • , . . ATTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR-AT-LAW, MONTROSE. PA. Judge Jessup hating mingled the practiceof the air ln _ Northern Pennsylvania, will attend to any legal business intrusted to him in Bradford county. Persons wishing to consult him, can call on H. Streeter, Esq., Teivanda,Pa;,whenanappolutment can be made. FIENRY STREETER, . . ArrogNET AND COUNSELLOR-AT-LAW, TOWANDA, PA. . . Feb 27, '79 A L. HILLIS , TOWANDA,. PA. ° Coovll-715 TILKAIki E. BUT. SVRVE TOR. lINISNETAING, ft,t:ItVETIND AND DitAri'lNG. otrwe with G. F. 3fason, over Patch & Tracy Main street, Towanda, Pa. 4.15.80. ELSBILEE & SON, ATTORNET64T-LAW, . TOWANDA, PA. li. C. ELeruss JOHN W. MIX, iTTORNIY-AT-LAW AND I.T. S. COLLMISSIONIR, TOM - AN DA. PA. 0 thee—North able Public Equate. ' . Jan. 1,1875. • j, ANDREW. WILT,' tt • , *TTOR:ixti..‘I4,AW• ()Mee—Meant.' aitc st., over J. L. Rent's a tore, TO7fAa :4 May be consulted le German. (.A pril 12, '76.3 • 1.0 Ntf W• t_ ATTORNEY-A7-LAW, TOWANDA, FA trice—Mereur Mock, Park street, up stairs AIL S. M. WOODBURN, Physi. LI clau and Surgeon. Office at residence, on 14.00 street. first door north of M. E. Church. Tow.m.ta, April 1, 1W.51. WB. BELLY , DENTIST.—OfrIee e over M. K. Ite7.entleld's, Towanda, Pa. Teeth Inserted on Gold, Silver, Rubber, and Al naniuin base. Teeth ex:Meted without pain. Oct.S4-72. ' EsT D. -PAY .NE, - ,":11. D., PHYSICIAN ANI)'SVIIGICON. f:A.O over Montauyes , Store. Office hours from 10 tot: A. Id., and trout 2 to 4 P. IL Special otten — tlon given to DISEASES D ISEASES or and . or." THE ETE ' THE EAR : C L AT.ToL SEIr-AT-LAW, 105 North Franklln-st., Wilkes-Barre, Pa Slieclal attention given to collections to Luzerne Ito,' Lackawanna counties. References: lIon.!P. 1). Morrow : First National Dank, Towanda. Apts. E. J. PERRIGO, __... TEACHER OF PIANO AND ORGAN I,e.sons given la Thorough 'Hui and ilarmany Cultivation of the volre aisperlalty. Located at J. zitate. Su - rer„'- Iteferenre : Holmes l'Assage. Towanda, Pa., March 4, 1880. (1 S. RUSSELL'S GE!: EIIAL INSUR,ANCE AGENCY 4sy2t-70if. . TOW k.',6A . PA. -*, V T I DWILLIAMS , ARD . WILLIAM - '- I . J. • , . . PRACTICAL PLUILDERA: GAS FITTER Place 'of business, a few doors north (/ Post-0111c°. Plumbing, Gas Fitting ,-itepairing P4nips of all kind., and all kinds of (tearing prom-pity attetyled to. All wanting work In his lino sh l uald;give him - a , all. _ 1879. , 1-1 1EIST NATIONAL BANK, TOWANDA, PA. APITAL PAID IN suhrLus FUND... Tith offers unusual jaclllties for this trans of a general bank Ingibuslness. - • BETTS, Cashier 01. YUWELI., President. • 1 - lIEN Rl ' HOUSE, 9itMER, I VAIN WASIIItikTON STREETS FIRST AN"AItD, TOWANDA, P♦ 31•Ials at all hours. 'perms to suit the times. Large stable attached. - ' • W WEN itY, Pttornt rms.. Tw•van-ox, July SI. •10-t AI E A T MARKET! C. M. My E 11, Located In BLOCK, BRIDGX.3TREET Keop on band, FRESH AND SALT MEATS, DRIED BEEF, FISH, POULTRY, GARDEN VEGETABLES AND BERRIES IN THEIR SEASON, ac Sir All goods delivered free of charge r.. 111. 19.1 INSURANCE hi! C. S, RUSSELL, Agent, TOWA.NDL, PA. • FIRE, LIFE, AND:MC_CLDENT POLICIES tutted on the most reasonable terms. Xone but ritiabia,companies represented. Losses saluted and paid here. Towintla, Nov. 11, 979. E. J. AEnt..E. TOWANDA,PA. MARSH & HITCHCOCK. Proprietors. VOLUME XIJI. A. D. DYE & CO. Fall & Winter, 1801. ATTENTION IS INVITED to our first-class Heating Stoves. They are too well knowu to require any, commendation— ew Heela, We also have a line of CIIEAP BASE BISIiNERS, the best of their,elass in To market, and well adapted for supplyiuga demand for an efficient but inexpensive heating stove. WOOD.I,IEATING STOVES in gm variety. READ THIS 14ELsungs 300 -;311 Happy Thought Ranges Sold in Towanda and vicinity by A. D. DYE.. & CO Wood Cook Stoves, CARRIA.GEMAKERS' AND 'HARD WARM. MAIN STRUT, TOWANDA. Timanda, Octobe'r *UI QU4.KER, CITY SAFETY OIL ! Crockery WoIIOQ 99.. a c n E d NT • Crockery •u Store. Improved Headlight. Oil! By the Quart, Gallon or Pound, At the Loitest Market Price's. $125.000 75,000 Chia OIL l'cr • BIITTIS U a on-Explosive P s absoutety clean with a clear light; does not b :nen, crust *lets or smoke, and Is guaranteed to be lunch bet- ter than any - otherpeadllght Oil sold In this market. -- The numerous accidents resulting from the use of common kerosene should awn all to use only bate oils, particularly as , the cost fa but O trifle more. - FRUIT DISIIES LAMP GOODS Burners, Chisnneyk*Vicks by piece.- or yard. New styles of Ilan). ing unit . Student Lairtps at very low- pticos. Towanda, Jan. 2it, IfUtlt WANTED C. M. MYWR ay, Straw and Orals Fot; which we will pay the HIGHEST MARKET PRICE; delivered herik . or at pointiep.L. V. R. R. IEI I - ITaring lour of Dedrlckl Perpetual Pzeiees; With alcapaclty for baling 10 tone per day; we are enpb toreculre largequantillesof hay cud strain updoaty'Ll the principal chipping point* of thle 414 inljolnlog couutlea. We are also agents for !he improved Bale Ties , MAN STRWAT, TOWANDA • P 4. iiffiral mar Patwit k Mears 1.10k0.114,- VX EC ITT'NOTICE.—Notice . Is hereby giceu that all persodsindebted totbe estate of Dauitl Russell, of Borne township, deceased, must nraku immediate lament, and all pahous baring claims agalaat said estate must pre sent {hem duly at I henUrated f•r , r settlement to - Runle t February 16,'185 L. F. linatrel.l, Kaeurttur. . piscettatteuts. Westminster, Crown Jewell. LAME STOCK 'OF • , ' BLACKSMITHS' SUPPLIES And a general stock. of Offers the Quaker City or Job 14 of „Decoketcd Porcelain At Z 5 cents eachworth ACKLEY & :DEAN, r. DAYS OF GOLD; Oh t how erten, oh I yaw often, To these latterlein, to int Cometh Loth le all Msatm' , • My beloved Arcady Mali Its coming how the fond friends Gather round taa as of old, - .While I hear their sweet, emir voices, -Asia the Days of Gold t. .Just a strain of some song sung by E'en a stranger may restore Oftentimes the joys that vanished • With the saintly days of yore. Just a slighhword. that b spoken • By another who Both hold But a distant friendship for m s s Will bring back the Days of In some inuslng hour erbe we are alone—my soul and . ' And u ever with Its reatless' Wart the wothl goes nothing by. Wen a tiny breeze that bloweth. That the breath ot,Love loth hold, May again bring boa unto lee All the happy Days of Gem, • • No. all, no! Naught brings them to mo Ad they came Idly-gone rears, . With their ever fragrant bilsses Where there came no thought of tears! Only, only in sweet fancy Do I live them o'er and fold T 4 my heart with levintpressuri What, they were—the Days of Gold ! But a pure, deep faith within me Males me feel that, as of yore, In their realnesil and their richness . • They'll come back to me once more ! . For be sweet years that forever "On — God"s fair heightsno'er grow old, One day, for me will nitier In the dear. dear Days of Gold I - -George 11". Lorcjoy tia Boston Transcript THE DEACON'S; STRIKE. BY FRANCIS OAKLBAF. The deacon had struck something at last. 'And, though the secluded gulch- bad been miles away froth the nearest post—though the deacon was never known to have other companion than his ragged, gray little burro-- the news had:spread. Tie wind, ruts fling the green plumes or the spruce above the deacon's head as he bent over the glittering- quartz . !aid bare by his pick, may have whispered it abroad; or' the crested jay, furtively watching him with keen, round eyes from. the spruce's topmost boughs, may have home it afar. At any vate, the deacon's strike was a 'secret no longer. • - Singly, and by twos and threes, the prospectors came, and, following in their footsteps, came the booni. Then, as if by _magic, there. arose Mountain Oity—a city of dug-outs and canvas tents, straggling up and down the narrow gulch and tern:ii- - nating in a nucleus of alfew rudely built log-houses-at its bead. The deacon, wtiose original 'discov ery had called into •e'xistenee this city of a day, was in no WiPe elated at his success, nor, after the fashion of the wayward prospector; given to conviviality thereat - He i.ltered not a tittle of bis ways, but, • silent and self-contained as ever, pursued his daily task of opening lead ivith the same patient endeavor with which he might have followed the plow over the rugged hills of his native New England State. _ Regarding the deacon in _ some sense as its sponsor, the camp had not been unkindly disposed towards the morose old , man. it had made many. friendly and sociable efforts at affiliation, but, being invariably re pulsed, had desisted, as it became tacitly _understood its life and_ his held little in 'common. • For it was e,vident the deacon re garded with - disfavor the recreations of the lively camp. The enticing strains issuing from the dinee-hou - se stirred not his sluggish prise. lie carefully avoided the velvet stroke of the f'tiger's' Raw and 116 f -himself aloof from the allurements of the `Miner's Retreat,' where nightly a coterie of choice spirits met for a genial game of 'freeze-out,' and a so ciable discussion of the affairs of the cu p. . IsTaurally the deacon's self elected isolation drew upon him many corn ments. Many were the wild and im probable conjectures as to his history, but as of this no man kneW one iota, it continued to be wrapt in mystery as inscrutable as th►e deacon's hard favor ea face. A little thrill of excitement ran thrOugh the camp, therefore, when it waa rumored the deacon had sold the 'Green Mountain Bog' .for a mere nominal sum;.';' was it allayed when one morning the deacon packed his little tent upon the gray burro and took his departure:from their midst. . . • . Away from the haunts of man, in the solitude of the hills, the deacon seemed in a mitre congenial element. His tent was finally pitchanear the summit'of- the range on a, - rugged mountain side, scarred and furrowed by the hand of Time, like' the dea con's own harsh countenance. And here daily from sun to sun he prose cuted, in his slow determined way, his sear& for the hidden silver vein beneath. • Seated near his camp fire one eve- I ring, he was quietly resting after the labors of the day, 'distributing, as-was his custom, bits of bread and bacon to the gray burro. Suddenly the burro pricked his long-ears, and the deacon glancing around saw a man approaching slowly from below. As 69 drew near h recognized, with anything but ple asure, a young man who had been the IF iest of the live ly ly camp. His dress, ifferent front that' of the ordinary miner, was stained and torn, and his! face, hag -1 • .rd and sunken, was turned upon fie deacon with eager expectancy. WJM/ famishing,' . he exclaimed, tly, dispensing with any saln toilon. - 'Will you give me.sontething t 0,., eat ?' - , ~ F or reply the deacon silently tno- i tidned to the viands still beside the smoldering fire. The other waited for no more, but set to at once. And as the deacon noticed his tremulous hand and the avidity with which he ate, something like compassion crept over his hard features. . 'From the camp?' he asked, at' lengthy-as the other bad somewhat eattsfied his hunger. • !Yes. I left- three days ago. 1' have eaten nothing since' till now. My departure was rather sadden at' =Si TOWANDA,. BRADFORD 001T1iTY, Pit.,- ,TIEURBDAY MORNING, NCH - 2 1882. yoaean judge,' he added,with a forced laugh. The deacon glanced at him inquir ingly. The other avoided his gaze and fixed his eyes in a sullen stare upon the fire. After .a pause he con tinued abruptly r in a tone of.tissumed levity:..- • 'I. was invited to leave for the good of the community by the Vigil lance Committee.' 'Ah I' • exclaimed the deacon, with. a .grim look. 'Yea,' the other continued, never once id-rig his. eyes from the fire, and speaking as though the words were drawn from him forcibly: 'I might tell you that it was a case of Mistaken identity and all that—but I won't. I've got a bad name in the camp, and I don't say but what. I deserve it. My' partner Was strung for stopping the coach, but they couldn't prove K on meow they only told me to skip.' 'They couldn't prove it,' said the deacon, shortly. 'But did you—' 'No, I did not!' "the other broke in fiercely. . have been bad , enough, hut not so bad as that. I told them so, but they wouldn't believe it. I tell you the same - , and I don't expect you to, either. I have eaten and rested, and now I'll go,' he added, in a weary tone as he arose,, trembling partly with excitement, partly with exhaustion. sai4 the deacon; 'where to?' don't know , and I don't .care.' And the utter - hopelessness of his voice went to thS deacon's heart. 'Sit down,' said he, qui&ly, 'and let. inn - 'hie other fell back into his place by the fire and fixed his gaze once more upon it. For a time neither spoke, as the deacon absently con tinued to feed bits tit' brOen bread to the burro. 'Deacon,' the young man • said at length, 'I don't expect any leniency from you. And yet it was kind of you to let the sit here and eat, and I wish you i'ould believe me innocent of this lost.' . • -. 'Why should I not?' the- deacon replied,. as much in self-communion as in answer to the other. Then, 'in his usual harsh . nranner, he added, 'Perhaps you now - see, young man,. the •Tolly . of the life you led over there,' and nodded his head towards the cutup. . 'Don't inoralize, - deacon—not to Me, at least. It is too lite for that now,' the other sullenly replied. 'Too late ! It is never too late said the deacon, w'th energy. -111.'s all very well tar. you to talk that way, deacon,' said the other, de. sgondently ; 'but then, you don't know how hard it is for one to get up after he's been down. ! _ 'No I' said the deacon, in a curi ously interrogatory tone. 'No,' the other replied, growing warmer as he spoke. . ; 'and, then, you don't know what temptations such as myself have either, and you've never had to go through what I have —thrown out to shift for myself, for my mother died when I was a child, and my father—' 'Your father...?' said the deacon, in quiringly, as the other stopped ab fa ,'Do not speak of him I' he said, vehemently, as he arose and walked to and fto. 'lt's little enough I have to thank him for. "Like father, like -son'!" that's what I have to remem- her, him by, for I've heard nothing else about him since I can remember. Ile was bad enough, I suppose. 1 never saw him, and I don't know; maybe, after all, he wasn't as .bad as I was told,' -he added, in a softer tone. r The deacon followed his nervous movements with a-curious gaze, not a Utile surprised at his vehemence. 'l'm not one to judge you, too se verely, young man,' said be, as the other reseated himself. 'What's, your name ?' 'Amos Sethwell,' the other replied, and, 'raising his eyes, saw tilde/L -eon's fixed upon him attemively. And may have been mere fancy on his part, but as the fitful campfire flared up brightly fot a moment, he thought a curious spasm contracted the rigid line of ,the deacon's mouth. It, war ' s only for an instant, for the deacon quickly averted his eyes and turned them upon_ the peaks above glinming softly in the light of the rising moon. . A long silence ensued. The young man gazed despondently in the fire, the deacon absently at the gleaming peaks--so absently that it was plain be saw them not. Far beyond their snowy domes his thoughts bad wan dered back to his native town, and a party of wild young men. And, t h o' it hai been long ago, it seemed but yesterday as he. saw them disperse and followed the footsteps of one re turning home—followed him as be entered the J empty' house, and saw him take up a little note lying open on the table which told him that his wife, driven to despair by his disso lute ways, had left his home forever, And that henceforth their ways lay separate, fur never did she wish Me unborn child brought under his evil I influence: Perhaps it had needed some shock, sharp and . Sudden like this, to check the downward course of his life an] rouse his better instincts. He was not one, however, to steer a middle course—be must be one thing or the other— , and, as be shook the dust of his native place" from his feet, so alio, he cast away-the shackles of his ill spent life, and, became instead a cold, silent man, Shut 'up in his shell of stern self-relintice. And so he re mained through many a weary year, of warelering Ito and fro,-until now . he _Was a lonely and morose old man. Perhaps the sight of this' younger man, already started on the down-; ward path, where he had been before; perhaps his desponding words aid the sullen despair written in his face, or perhaps something more than all these stirred the well °flaying kind ness hidden so deep in the deacon's lugged breast that no sign of it ever' _reached his imPassible face. For, when he had at length spoken, it waa . .in atone -very different from his fist' , al :harsh .one. go Ipto the tent ilnd 110 ORE -:,',.f::::„, EWE INMS I. ' 1 ( . , 1 , . n- , . ' -,/ =mamas ownsMMOILTItoN PRO* ANY WARTS& down on my blankets. will join you presently" • - - 'Deacon,' said .the other, slowly, as he arose l 'I didn't expect any such kindriesafroin you, Of all men. I-4- I think you —= and, breaking off, he hurried into the tent.- Long atter the camp-fire had burnt to ashes, the deacon still sat beside it, with his head in his bands and his eyes fixed on nothing. The gray burro once or twice nibbled softly at his sleeve but l elleiting no attention, grazed slowly off. Then upon his reverie broke the hurried breathing of - the sleeper in thotent, Glancing in. he saw him lying on the bare ground with one arm under his head and his face half covered by one slim hand. Moved by a sudden impulse, the deacon arose, raised the sleeping head and placed his pillow under fi l l and - covered him with a blanket with with a touch so gentle that he never stirred in his deep repose. It was late when the tired sPeaker felt a hand i.ipon his shoulder the next morning, and, starthig up, saw the deacon bent over him. 'I you have rested well. Come, now, and have som'e breakfast,' he said, in a kindly voice. Their meal being concluded, the deacon again addressed him, speak ing slowly as If in pursuance of some preconceived purpose. 'A mos, mine "is and hai - been a lonely life fot many a year. It is a hard life,: also; but such as it is I will ask you. to share it with me.'"'• ,Do you really; mean to givens a show, deacon P asked she other, with a brightening tam. do,' said the deacon, simply. 'Here's my hand upon it,' arid, ex ;tending his hand, he held the slim one of the young man in an earnest grasp. From that day forward the twain worked together on the rugged hill side. The deacon never alluded to the cause of their meeting, but, day by day, set the force of an example of patient, perserviug labor—an ex ample' the other was not slow to fol low. The deacon noted this with silent satisfaction, and noted- also how the healthful exercise in the bracing mountain air filled -out the hollows in the younger _face, and erased its marks of dissitlatiori. Gradually the two waye drawn to gether by a strong bond of affection— all the stronger perhaps, from its quiet undemonstrativeness, for the young man became imbued with the silent ways of the solitary old man, and pnconsciously fell into them him• self.. • Yet there were times when, -sit ting at night by the fire before the little tent the two spoke 'of the re sults of their labors and their hopes of "striking it," and of how, in that event, their future Hies should be shaped. For it was tacitly under stood that they were to be spent: to gether. At such times, too, the young — man often spoke of his past, dwelling with a pertinacity upon the father whom he had never seen, and always ending by paying in a soft voice 'Re mighten't. have been so bad-after To 'these restrospec tions the deaCon always' listened in .silence, sitting before the fire in his old musing way, and - falling into fits of abstraction which lasted, Jong after the other bad ceased speaking. 'Amos,' said the deacon one even ing, am einecting the final pay= meat on the ‘Gieen Mountain Boy.' ft ought to come on the conch day after to-morrow,-and as we are run ning short in the grub line, suppose we go to the city, get the money, and lay in a new supply P - 'As you will, deacon,' the other re plied. And so in the morning they_set: out, driving the burro before them. Towards evening,as they drew newt 'the city,' Amos begun to betray signs of uneasiness. 'Deacon,' said he, at lengtb,,,yoti have never thought it. might get us both into trouble if I was seen in the city after—svhht.t to!ti yob the Brat night, you remember - . 'True, boy,' the deacon 'replied, as be stopped still.. .1 had forgotten about it.' ' ..., 'lt would be best, I think,' Amoi continued, indicating the spot with; his hand as he spoke, 'for me to camp to-night in this little gulch off the, trail. You can go on to'the city and . I will await your return , in the worn ir.' , • i So they seperated and the deacon went on alone. It was late when he arrived ; the express.oftlee was stilt °Oen, however, pending ' the arrival' of the coach, then due. After haV ing waited vainly for its coming far same little time, he walked away and 44104 lodging for the night. The next morning he found the city. . in excitement The incoming coach had been 'held up' the night before by a single road agent, and the treas ure bax rifled. of its contents, and parties were even now in search of the. depredator. Hurrying to the expresso office, the deacon learned that it 'was true, andlearned also his expected package had been taken with the 'rest. 7 The loss bore bard upon the deal con, for it had been all he bad akeept the little pow in his possession: This", hosie.ver,. be bad expended in provisions, land, packing ,tho burro'; set out to rejoin his companion. Arrived at the spot where the two had. parted he found no one. Vain ly he shouted and waited ; there was no response. - .. - 'He has got tired of waiting, and returned alone to the tent,' thought the deacon, and so thinking,_ hurried 'onward to the tent also. But he' was again - disapriointed—there pas no one there. - . !dee anteall . y the deacon drew o ff li r the pac and released`` - the burro to graze. Then, for the first time, he began to connect the robbery of the coach, with his partner's disappear ance. ; - _ille tiould not do it-he wouldnot ?' muttered the deacon, as be walked to and fro, shouting at intervals and listening vainly tons reply. . And yet for iill hies protestations ' the. thought would obtrilde itself,- Wising biro to R4oi ithout. hi Agit*, MEM ME * Eal EINEMEM ME tion and inritter again i►nd again, 'He could not=—he would not !' And still he wu more shocked than stir.. prised, when at nightfall a party came up t,he little trail with his part ner in their midst. • 'Denison: said the spokesman,. as they gathered around the little tent, 'we brought him_here at his last re queso.-for it's , a clear case against him. He was caught, skulking ibout the , trail this morning, and we found this on him,' and the speaker extended a package. Mechanically the deacon took it and saw It was still sealed, and also that it was the package he bad been expecting. Then in a _dazed way he looked at his partner standing with his-eyes fixed on the ground, and theeitiksullen look on his face. Raising his eyes be met the deacon's for an instant, and read the i horror , in his face. 'I see you, too, have Judged me,' ' he said, a voice so' low as to be nearly inaudible: 'Well, so be -it; I can but die like a man and an in nocent one, too ; for, deacon,' and he faced the old Latin with a ~steady look. 6 1 found that.package 'lying in the trail this morning. I had got tired orlwaiting and started' toward the camp to meet you. When pick ed it up I knew something was wrong, and it flashed upon me to keep out of sight, especially after what had happened before. I -asked them, to bring me here that I might tell' you the truth, and tell you . alro 'l' appreciated—your kindness. I have nothing, more to say,' he • added, wearily 4 but his despondent face fell once more upon his breast. • Still the deacon nuver looked at biro; but covered his face with a hand that trembled in spite of himself. 'Well, deakin,' at length said the bluff voice of the spokesman 'you see how it is—a likely story ; but then, of course, he wouldn't confess it. This is the second time, too. The Prat we let him off easy, but noi-- 1 and the speaker paused .ominously. A low but determined murmur of ansent mine from the others. The deacon heard it, and his hand fell from his face and grasped the breast of his•flannel shirt convulsively, as he turned and faced them. , 'Now,' he said, in a low, firm voice, `you know me. You know - that never once have I left the straight and narrow path to join in the abomi nations over there,' pointing to the camp. 'That's so, deakin,' the spokes man, a little taken back at this ab rUpt address. 'l%re ,all know you have followed the straight trail, and that your ways wasn't !exactly our ways.' 1, 'Yes,' - said the deac o n ;your • ways were not my ways. 'For, men, I saw the folly of it all,-and had long ago found out life was not given us to be frittered away like that ; that it was a terrible, earnest' thing to be fought and-conquered, and trampled under foot, and be made subservient to the end.' - - Iter twenty odd years,' the deacon continued, as the ethers were - silent.= 'for twenty odd years I have walk• ed as straight as it was in me- to do, keepiv steadily -on without 'friend or companion until—be came. Then saw what a wreck he had made o life and thought I might set him right and stand his . frierai, and may be in time rmight.—h e might at least be a friend to me.' The deacon's steady -voice tremlb. led slightly , as he paused, and his auditors still kept silence, held not by any eloquence in his speech, but by the grim earnestuest of his. man ner. Still facing them, he ixib4d to the young man's side and laid his hand on his shoulder. 'is innocent,' he said, in the same steady voice, `‘l feel it,— 'I 15 1 'nolvi it, and you shall , not harm him. But if he were not'— and the deacon threw one arm arout him and shielded him with broad breast—qf he were guilty .of all you say, you should not harm him while I draw the breath of life ; for, men, Lam his father ;For an instant his auditors gazed at thq deacon's gaunt figure upraised before the other. Then a bluff voice Said softly, 'Boys, we'd better git t and the two were left alone_ * * Half way down the mountain side the leader of the little j 'party sudden ly stopped.. , 1 'Boys,' he exclaimed . abrupilY, 'what will the camp- say to all this 7' There was a moments' silence ere one replied, uneasily, 'th'ey will sat we are a lot of—soft hearted fools!' 'Let them I' dellantely said the Wulf voice of the, leader. 'Lek them Fay .what they please, for, boys, there ain't any of this crowd going to part them two now; - , 3 But the camp didn't say' so - at all. The camp instead worked' , itself up into such a state of enthusiasm over the deacon's pluck, and , drank- so many and such hearty healtha to the deacon and hii newly-foar4 'son, that th.p resources of the IMinerit Retreat' were well nigh exhausted. For, upon their return, the real prit had aea captured and his ; last confession revealed , the truth 5:; ' * - * Magically, -Mountain City had sprung into existance—like magic it faded away. The 'Green MOuntain Boy' had proved to be a 'blind lead' the mines had failed, and the camp was 'abandoned. The tents _ have long since vanished, with their ten. ants, and only the mouldering, log houses, their dirt roofs fallen in, mark the site of the once pros - porous camp. Witt the rest the little tent upon the mountain side' has disappeared, and its inmates - have gone, no one knows whither, moat likely _t t oo follow the beacon light of fortune Westward over the mountain tops. But, though the silver vein hidden in the mountain's breast, was tined never to be discovered, yet the deacoa was richer by , far. Fur, in the reverent affection of the si g n he had saved and'reclaimed, he had strueira e vein of pure gold. yieldiug more and more abundantly, and never to be Outuited. El -. • " • _„ Alaska SUPerstitiom • - Those - who Attended • the: meeting of the. Woman% Board of - MISMODO at the Presbyterian rooms yesterday were grieved and astonishe4 when they listened to- the reading of a very sensational letter from Miss Maggie J. Dunbar, a Presbyterian missionary, atatipned at present Fort Wrangell, ; Alaska.. Thiough the letter the author described the terrible sufferings of several families. old men and young chiltiren, recent ly tortured to death for the alleged crime of witchcraft; The victims, in• eluding persona of , various ages, from four to seventy years, were tried by the heathen tribunals of thei place, and sentenced to death. At Lock, a portion of Alaska, were the 'ancient population of the, place predominates and- enforces ' their unwritten law, which consistsof all the superstitions their, ancestors found , leisure to de- vise and hand down to their posteri ty, a family found' guilty: of being spiritual jugglers, of a type supposed to bola league with the,devil, were taken out and tied to trees. The grandmother of the family was: tied a large forest tree and left to starve. After giving her salt water when ever she ask that her thirst might be quenched; the demons about the tree finally hacked- her to death with knives. The balance of the family succeeded in breaking away from their captors, and escaped by, plung ing intoa dark, and to all 'appearan ces, impenetrable forest filled with wild beasts. These perseented peo pie wandered about through the dark recesses-of this wildertess, cold ,and hungry until they could stand their sufferings no longer, when they con cluded to cross the enemy's country under cover of darkness, and reach if possible, Fort Wrangell, where they kirew they would be safe in the presence of a United States man-of war. They reached the ocean and took a canoe. In this :frail bark they pursued their journey, hugging the coast as closely as possible Anti' they arrived at the fort, almost _dead and scarcely able-to talk. The mis sionary, who was walking on the beach on the evening of their arrival, saw the canoe land ; the craft con tained an . old man and two children, who related their frightful adventur es and asked for protection. The children were taken in themission ary home of the.tort ; the two girls, the letter states, looked rather odd walking to the hqme along the beach robed in blankets tattered and torn. A little girl whom the missionary ealls Georgia, only five years of age and an orphan, resided with an aunt. This aunt fell sick : one day, when the child was accused of bewitching 'her and "making her bad medicine." As soon as this accusation was made, the unfortunate little creature was rocked up in a room, where she was kept' three days , withtut food or wa ter, and whipped unmercifully until her body was literally covered with discolored marks. The chief of the Christianized communities heard of the outrage and reported the matter to the military authorities of the fort, who" onenight visited the place where the child was cohfined, mimed her and took her to the missionary' home. Both the cases described have been reported to the captain of the man of-war stationed at the fort, and the savages it is thought will-ultimately be punished. "This week," says the writer, "Mrs. McFarland took in* two inter esting young girls who had fled from Cape. Foi village, where some of their friends had- been killed, for I witchcraft." _The.-people of Alaska -,have witchcraft as far back in the past as their traditions carry them. If a native doctor is calledupon to administer medicine to a patient and the patient fails to recover with great suddeness, he ac cuses the nurse or some other de fenseless person with being a Witch -and tampering with his herbs and roots.' The person so accused is promptly taken out and tied_ to a tree. He is' starved for some time, fed on salt water and then roasted to death or '.backed in pieces with knives. . When an epidemic or any other calamity prevails, all Abe old woman and defenceless children, that can be caught before they have time to take to the woods are mur dered, according to the regular forms approved by the traditionary les non scripta of the country. There is certainly a great demand for mis sionary work iii,such a country. In fact, in any country where old, gray haired women and little children are starved, whipped, roasted alive and fed on salt water, there is plenty work that ought to be accomplish-' ed ia the interest of humanity. The witcheraitoutrages in Alaska, it is a strangetact, are spasmodic, and oc curr onlY in periods. When'ona one-per r' son is accused, the chances are that alleged witches will be discovered in great number all over the country. -Natiltem: nonsense rather," asked Johnny, "what is a log?" "3 log, my son," replied Brown, stealing a hasty glance at Mrs. Brown to see if she was listening for his answer, "a log, my son, is a big piece of wood or timber. Why do you ask. Johnny ?" "It tells in this story about heaving the log, and it says the , ship went fourteen knots ati — licrar. What does it mean by knots, father?" "Knots, Johnny knots? Why, have you men a log—almost always covered with knots:—haven't you? Well, that's what it means—fourteen of them—the ship got by fourteen of them in an hour. That's all, Johnny," said Brown, -- with a sigh of relief that he had got out of it so easily,—Boston Tra script.. i * , A FULL crop of it : Desiring to show our distinguished visitor some attention, a very small man with a large moustache, representing an alleged morning paper of thiweity, sidled up to General 'Sherman this morning as he was viewing the cot ton patch near the Expobition Grounds. "General," yawped the little man, • "do you think cotton can be successfully rais ed cn such soil as that?" " Humph !" remarked the General, "yes I think it cAn." " What else can - be raised mit ?" asked the little reporter, smiling on Wil liam Tecumseh' in a. genial sort of way. " What else ?" replied the General. "Oh, anyything can be raised there. Wby, I rained 11-11 on this very spot myielf sev enteen years. ago l"—AllantaT'Past-dp. Wicsan people can Awl consolation in the thought that they'll have no sidewalks to clean or livery bills to settle in thl 6 ""g VnttraCKlnf NMI $1.50 per Annuni In Advance. Where do they go—the ungranted-prayers," The baffled hope, lost love, and wasted yearsdng;. The sweet 'rain dreams, the patient slighted cares, Cad on the tireless tide that has notundog ? The sleepless nights, the weary, anxious days, • The eager joy that blossoms but for blighting; The mocking gleams that glitter on our ways, To vanish In one moment of delighting? Are they stored up In'some great solemn bank, Where Time holds for Pternity the key? As the rich hues, that In the westward sank, Slay sleep, enshrined beneath the sleeping sea I , Or do they, blended In agracioni breath. Pervade the atmosphere of common life, Softening the terror of the doom of death, • Lulling the fret and fever of the strife ? no knows, who Ituirws? Our ditiings• from us . Imploring clasp and passlonate.prayei ire vain ; Our trust betrayed, missed aim, or shattered pride, The great dumb river sweeps them to the main• And yet, for something every gift is given, Through age on age, so priest and poet with. Cling fast, fond hands ; look up, true eyes, to Ilene'. en; Through dusk and doubt bold to the saving faltbl —Susan K. Phillips in Tinatey's Magazine. Sunken Forests. TUE ANCIENT CEDARS BURIED BE- NEATU NEW JERSEY SOIL: Dennisville, four . miles south of Woodbine, the latter on the West Jersey Railway, is a sprawling, dingy township of 3,000 inhabitants, with its. central group of houses on a causeway between two great swamps. The wet Janda around are covered partly by solid growths of white ce dar, partly by thick water weeds, and partly by stumps and fallen logs of immense size. These are only the surface indications of the wealth be- The swamps, covering ten %Tire miles, are underlaid with sunken forests, which ,grew hundreds, and perhaps thousands, of years ago. These seeming worse than barren wastes, for which the. sharpest of Yankee farmers world deem fifty cents an acre, a swindling price, have been worth by the acre their hun dreds of dollars. They have turned their own desolatiod into a hive of industry, built up a lively village, and made an addition, hs ° lecritimate as it unique, to the wealth of the country. - The huge trees which lie under the swamp to unkncwn depths are of the white cedar, -an evergreen,. known scientifically as the cupressus thyoi des. They' grew years ago in the resh water, which ill necessary for heir sustenance,-and when in time, Eether by a subsidence of the land or sc of - the seas, the salt water reach ed them, they died in great numbers. But many of them, ere they died; fell over as living trees, and were covered, slowly:by the deposits of muck and peat *tell fill the swamp. These trees that fell over by the roots care known as windfalls to distinguish them • from the breakdowns. The trees which broke off are the ones most sought for.commercial uses, and they are found and worked as follows : The , log-cligger enters the swamp with a_ sharpened iron rod. Ile probes in the soft soil until he strikes a tree,.probably two or three feet below the- surface. In a few minutes he finds the length of the trunk, how much still remains firm wood, and at What place the' first knots; which Will stop the straight split necessary- fo shingles, begin. Still using his prod like the divining rod of a magician he manages to se cure a chip, and by the smell knows whether the tree is a windfall or breskdown. Then he inserts in the mud a saw, like that used by ice cutters, and saws through the roots and muck until the log is reached, The top and roots are thus sawn off, a ditch dug over the tree, the trunk loosened, and soon the great stick, sometimes five or six feet thick, rises and floats , offs water, which quick ly fills theilitch , almost to the - sur face. The log is .next sawn into lengths two fee, long, whiCh are split by hand and worked into shingles, as well as into the staves_used for pails and tabs. The wood . has a coarse grain and splits straight as'an arrow. The shingles made from it last from sixty to seventy. years, are eagerly sought for by builders in southern New Jersey, and command in the market a„ muchhigher price than the ordinary shingles made of pine or chestnut.. In colorthe wood of the;white cedar is a delicate pink,- and it has a strong flavor; resembling that of the red cedar used in making lead pencils. The trees once fairly buried under the swamp never be came waterlogged, as is shown by their floating in the ditches as soon as they are pried up, and, what is more singular, as soon as they rise they - turn invariably underside upper most. These two Nets are mysteries which science. has tins far left so The men who dig the logs up and spliit them earn their money. The work is hard, exacting, requiring lusty manual labe4, skill and experi ence. Owing to the fact that the swamps are soft and treacherous, no machinery can be used, and long stretches of mud and water must be covered with boughs and bark *fore the shingles can reach the village and elyilization. The number of the tree which lie below the outface of the -ten square miles of .sw..mp` is almost countless. In "many places the% probe wilt be sunk many. times liefore it fails to strike a log. Ac the workmen only dig for those near the ' surface, and none but the best trees are selected, it is certain that only a small fraction of the logs have been exhumed since " 1812, when the indus try first sprang - up. The sunken forests lie in all shapes. Sometimes the trees are found parallel, as tho' a wind blowing from one quarter had felled them, but' usually they Ho pointing in every= direction, and when, as occasionally happens, the wet soil sink or dries, the mighty trunks are seen piled upon each other as in a Maine , log jam. What are seen, too, are ' but ' the uppermost strata of piles upon piles unseen be low.—florthweidern Lumberman. Taw Newark (N. J.) Sunday• Call slyr: One of our Cincinnati exchanges cites the caw of Mr. traldethan of Vie Loulsville,Courier.Journat, who was cur. ed of rheumatisin by St. Jacobs Oil. _ . /Ms wife was cured of neuralgia by the same article, and every member. of his family of BOUM Pain Or ache by the 4r Oreat Ger man Remedel . NUMBER 40 UNGRANTED. Fashion NoUsi. Blum Buttons Rte Lstumononto gibbous sirg MM. !Taw butte& sr* beil Osped. A kiraw‘ ruche bordeii , Wm* Wm& /mum bowies ars on ispriarArmiss. Tom= borders trim gingham 4NIIIIOI. CANVAS shoes are imported for susessa. • BROCADED flounces adtni • sprh4; cow tomes. HAAMMIO embroideries base leas de signs. PALL black," for *onset is liked foe blondes. 1- BROCADSD wool lakes deb mantles for spring. ' Dram. the-valley. Barrautae are fashionable , for enigige ; meet rings: V PIALLTINGS for the leek have become very narrow. RIBBED Jersey cloth is imported for spring wraps. CARDS are festooned on the bogus of cloth dreessei., • New satins come in primary - can; red and yellow. Sninalin white Borah eheadaettaa axe in new dresses. --- Lbri - English heels are now need on la dies' walking dresses --k great change for the better. A ammo; to the great popularity of polka dots is imminent. Frimmts of exaggerated size are on mull squares for the neck. LARGE buttons on the back of coats mark them as old-fashioned. DOTTED Spinish lice thelididalllF made in Pompadour squares. GARNET Scotch grizeuunk checked with blue, "make pretty. summer dresses. A3fEllthAN pearls are cut in grotesque designs.for gentlemen's scarf pins. ATAILTIAN peasant hats will continue in favor for the spring and summer. - Guave kid, with patent leather foxing, is the fashionable shoe for the street. CIII7BIIID roses without leaves are mass ed as side panels or borders, en the tulle. dresses. From of black camera hair, or of the dress material, will be worn in the spring. - "Elmramts will be as popular next son son as they are at - present, but flowers will be associated with them. LACE over satin of' a bright color ~ re quires festoon effects embellished with clusters of flowers... WILD clematis and hollyhocks are em. broidered in silver and white upon tea going of pale laurel-pink cashmere. Fisitits, birds, flower garlands, fern leaves, arabesques, moon; and, odd geo metrical and heraldic figures, are seen upon some of the new spring dreamt gcoda. Km bodices, with 'bands to trim the drew of the same rmitrial, fans; sandals and gloves, all rich band-embroidered or band-painted, are growing In favor. GAYLY colored umbrellas tit match the costume are now, in vogue—royal blue, plum color, sage.green, seal baowo, olive, and scarlet. STYLISIT-LOOSENG Mother Hubbard ev ening dresses, designed. alone for tail, slender young ladies, are made of White' surah trimmcd with large 'bows and long flowing ends of broad-white satin ribbon. VERY fashionable ladies who adopt sleeved evening dresses, wear their brue lets above the elbow. Fun, Fact and Facet*. , This world belongs to the energetic. TIIOSE are thimost honorable who are the most useful. • WHAT has been unjustly gained cannot be justly kepL W. THE man who never excites envy never excites admiration.. THE science of life may be thus epitis. mized : To know well the price of tithe; the value of things and the worth of pea . IF it is your - purpose in life to make your 'face yoUr fortune you must look well to it or it will turn out to be your misfor tune. THEY say that money door' not bring happiness. This is an experiinent, how ever, which every One wisha to try for himself. 'a CQNUNDRUM , for Amateur Violinist Whit ie the most important point inama, tour violin playing? Stopping I—Vanity Fair Retie. • KENTUCKIANS are actually praying for train. That in that State should ask for water in any form it• really sur prising.—",owelt Couvier. Tins Turild Winter "O, Pat I" "What, sor ?" " Did ler iver see? a winter loike this?" "Tim. sor." "Whin ?" "Last summer, sor."—New Orisaus 'Picayune. - " LOREICA " writes to know if we have a "Poet's Corner" to the Boomerang. Yes, Loiena, the " Poet Corner" is the moo, noticeable feature of • this,. paper.— Bill Nye. PROFESSOR in hydrostatics : "If you had purchased a crown ofgold and thought part of it was silver, what would von do ? Junior: 'Take"it back."- - Niagara Index. He T's picture of Niagara' sold for $lO,OOO the other day. -The purchaser - thought it cheaper to buy the picture at the price than to visit the Falls and.drive around in a back.—Phtiadelphia News. "3IAKE Somebody (lath" urges a re cent poem. Hundreds of young ,men can dimply With this request simply by bid ding her good-night two or three - hours earlier oil Sunday nights. , 7 -Nerristourn IfOriztd. ;,PERFECTLY water-proof : Preacher (ar riving drenched) " What shall I do, Mrs - . McGregor? lam wet through and Ilarough." - Old Scotchwoman. "Get 'into the pulpit as suns as ye can. Yell rbe dhry eno' there."—Anton. , "As testhetic discourse," said the Lady Athea to her husband as they rode home from church. "`Right-. you are," said Lord Algernon—who had found a soft place on the pew-rail for the repose of his lordly heal. "It was anesthetic." _ JEALOUSY in a woman is bad "enough, but when displayed in what, anybody would naturally suppose was a man, It is even more contemptible. An *donate description of such a hunlan being is ut terly impossible—for the "simple reason, there isn't anything mean enough to com pare him to. ScrucE and sympathy : "Mrs. t siz found one morning in one of he r a cold little slimy snake, one of six sent the day before to her scientific spouse and carefully set aside by him.for safety under the bed. She screamed : "There is a snake in my slipper t" The savant leaped from his couch crying : "A snake ! Good heavens, where are the oth er live?" • , . EDITOR in chief :—" What are yon writing about there, Scratchem?" Scratchem—" Why, sir, rm getting up an article for Sunday, pitching into Judas Iscariot. It will please our-readers." Ed. in C.—" 0, no, Scratchem, that'll never do. Oct another-subject by all means. Don't understand me as apolo gizing for Mr. Iscariot—not at all--only it it a nll of this paper to never speak ill of the dead." And Judas, bowies floats over into the waste basket.-Loniiiille Courier-Journal. - TrIAT awful Jimmy Tttffboy "Say, ma, tell me, is there Any truly ghosts ?" asked -young Smallfaeo. last evening. " Why no, my child, there are are no tru ly ghosts." Well, Jimmy Tnffboy says lib's seen 'cm, and they were all dressed in white." "Jimmy Tlafib o .l 115 * Te had boy to fill your head.with such stn . .I don't want to) bear any more about gboits. My graolons I , What's that? John l John ! 0-h-h-b," and the woman screamed at the top of her voice. Jimmy Tuffboy had just appeared at her window on stilts with a sheet wrapped around him.—New Ha gen Itsgistar. - • - SCIPIO, N. Y., Dec. 1, 1879. . Tarn as Pastor of the Baptist Churc h here, and an educated physician. I am not iu practice. but - am my sole family physic an, and advise in many chronic cases. Over a year ago I recommended your hop Bitters to my invalid wife, who has been under treatment of di of Alba- Alstlg best physicians several years. Eine has become thoroughly cured her Vari ous' "Macaws ICY , their use. Wo both recommend them boar friends, *deny of whom have also-been 'mired .of their various ailments by them. , - Aar. B. R. WaUltiN. U Ea ire of Mil