Bradford reporter. (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, March 02, 1882, Image 1

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    lisishuss *;bs.
Ofnee—Main street, opposite Post Attica.
11. N. WILLIAMS. 161eb82
Dee 23-71
Nov.lSlt. TOWANDA; PBNAr`,4I,-; - - - 1.
Oface—At Tressarers,Office, Court ffOrift.
°Mee—Rooms formerly ooeupled . by Y. M. C. A.
Reading Room.
U. J. tu04.r... -.1.16,80 O. D. xxxxr.T.
Arronsty.AT-tar, TowA2qA, PA.
Mire over Birbra Prug Store., ,
t 119*AS E. MICER,:•'O...
--, . ~ • •
Arcot:NEI . ..AT-LAW,
Particular attention paid to Vastness In the -Or
phans' Court and to the settlemcut of estates:
ttepternber :5, 1E79. .
pECK. dc OVERTON . .‘
- -
itobsky ; A, MERCUR,
AririojeNEY AT-LAW, *:
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.
w. IL JE ~.,‘ ~,, ,,t i.i, • , . .
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.
. .
Feb 27, '79
TOWANDA,. PA. ° Coovll-715
otrwe with G. F. 3fason, over Patch & Tracy
Main street, Towanda, Pa. 4.15.80.
li. C. ELeruss
0 thee—North able Public Equate. '
. Jan. 1,1875.
tt • ,
()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_
trice—Mereur Mock, Park street, up stairs
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.
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.,
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
or and . or."
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,
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.
4sy2t-70if. . TOW k.',6A . PA.
'- I .
J. • ,
. .
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.
suhrLus FUND...
Tith offers unusual jaclllties for this trans
of a general bank Ingibuslness. -
BETTS, Cashier
01. YUWELI., President. •
1 -
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
C. M. My E 11,
Located In
Keop on band,
Sir All goods delivered free of charge
r.. 111. 19.1
C. S, RUSSELL, Agent,
tutted on the most reasonable terms.
Xone but ritiabia,companies represented.
Losses saluted and paid here.
Towintla, Nov. 11, 979.
E. J. AEnt..E.
MARSH & HITCHCOCK. Proprietors.
A. D. DYE & CO.
Fall & Winter, 1801.
Heating Stoves.
They are too well knowu to require any,
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.
300 -;311
Happy Thought Ranges
Sold in Towanda and vicinity by
A. D. DYE.. & CO
Wood Cook Stoves,
Timanda, Octobe'r *UI
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.
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. -
Burners, Chisnneyk*Vicks by piece.- or
yard. New styles of Ilan). ing unit
. Student Lairtps at very low- pticos.
Towanda, Jan. 2it, IfUtlt
ay, Straw and Orals
Fot; which we will pay the HIGHEST
MARKET PRICE; delivered herik
. or at pointiep.L. V. R. R.
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 ,
iiffiral mar Patwit k Mears 1.10k0.114,-
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.
Crown Jewell.
• , '
And a general stock. of
Offers the Quaker City or
Job 14 of „Decoketcd Porcelain
At Z 5 cents eachworth
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 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 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'
yoaean judge,' he added,with a forced
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
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
,'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
I. ' 1
. , 1
, .
n- , .
' -,/
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
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•
• 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
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*,
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
'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
'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
.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.
-. • "
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
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..
* ,
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
$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'.
Through dusk and doubt bold to the saving faltbl
—Susan K. Phillips in Tinatey's Magazine.
Sunken Forests.
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 °
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` 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 .
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
HAAMMIO embroideries base leas de
PALL black," for *onset is liked foe
blondes. 1-
BROCADSD wool lakes deb mantles for
spring. '
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.
From of black camera hair, or of the
dress material, will be worn in the spring.
- "Elmramts will be as popular next
son as they are at - present, but flowers
will be associated with them.
LACE over satin of' a bright color ~
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,, 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
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
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
;,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.
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.
ire of