l)'c Stnua, ?Nero: iifoomfiei )ai
3
3STEW "YOBK
C O NTIN B NT AL
Life Insurance Company,'
OF NEW YORK,
STRICTLY M UTUAL I
ISSUES all the new forum of Policies, and pre
sent an favorable terms as any company In the
United States.
The Company will make temporary loans on Its
follcles.
Thirty days' grace allowed on each payment, and
the policy held good during tliut time.
Policies issued by this Company aro non-forfeiture.
No extra charges are madefor travoling permits.
Policy-holders share in the annual protlts of the
Company, and have a voice In the elections and
.management of the Company.
No policy or medical fee charged.
, Justus T.awkknce, Pres't.
M. B. WrNKOtH', Vice Pres't.
J. P.ltooEus, Sec'y.
J. F. EATON,
General Agent,
No. 6 North Thlfd Street,
4.29 yl College Block, IJarrlsburg, Fa.
Incorporated by the Court of Common J'lcas, in
109; by the Legislature, in 1871.
The Peiuisjlvniila .
-Central Insurance Company.
OF POTTSVILLE, PA.
Capital and Assets, $156,000.
.Premium Notes J100,000 00
.Promissory Notes 60,000 00
Cash premiums due or col
lected for the year 1871, $2,028 00
'Cash premiums due or col
lectud for the first three
months of 1872, 1,800 00
'Cash from other sourcujt
and agents, " 1,200 00
.Judgment Bonds in Com
pany's office, 1,100 00
Total Cash, ?0,128 00 '
Total cash and note assets,
April 1st, 1873, 156,128 00
J AMES U. GRIER, JOIIN D. HADE8TY,
Secretary. President.
DIRECTORS i
John D. Hadcsty, A. P. Helms, Benjamin
'Teter, A. Sutermelster, James II. Grler, E. F.
Jungkurt. Ellas Miller.
AGENTS :
II. II. Hill, Edward Fox, John A. Kalilo, Ed
ward Wesley, Charles F. Deibert, Win. R,
'Griffith. E. F. JuDgkurt, General Agent.
Arrangements have been made with other
llrst-claBS companses to re-insure risks taken
n the cash plan in such amounts as desired.
Liberal commission allowed agents, and ex
clusive territory, If desired. This Company
confines itself to fire insurance exclusively.
OFFICE)
No. 191 CENTRE BT., POTTSVILLE, PA.
IVOTICIS.
Tbe Home Reserve force of The Penn
sylvania Central Insurance Company of
Pottsville, Pa., will bo in Pon y county in
considerable force, And act an the Com
pany's Agents until a full line of Local
Agents can be appointed when the reserve
forco will be rocallod.
JAMES II. GRIER,
Beo'y of Pa. Central Ins. Co.
, InHiirnnce Notice.
On and after the tenth day of April,
1872, The Home Reserve force of lnsur-
.auce Agents belonging to "The Pennsylva
nia Central Insurance Company" will leave
Pottsville in heavy force, and occupy ton
.different counties of the State, where tbey
will continue to act as the Company's
Agents until a full lino of Local Agents
.can be appointed, when they will be recalled.
As a body of men, I believe they are supe
rior Insurance Agents, and most of them
speak the English, French, Welsh and Ger
man Languages. The City Insurance
.Journals, with all their sneers at Mutual
Companies, and continual cry of Fraud I
Fraud 1 1 &c, can cot muster any better In
surance material 1 Why don't the City In
surance papers tell the public that no Mu
tual Company broke or failed during the
.last ten years? Why don't they tell the
nubliothat more than lmlf the Stock Com-
ftanios 'started within tbe last ten years
lave? It is a. well-known fact that Mutual
Companies cannot fail.
1 JAMES II. GRIER, .
'Secretary of Pennsylvania Central Insur
ance Company. '618
New Carriage Jflaiiiifuotory,
1 On Hion Btkbbt, East or Caklisli St.,
New Bloomfleld, I'cnn'a.
THE subscriber has built a large snd eommodl.
oils Hlmp on High Ht., Kant of Carlisle Hlreet,
-New Bloomrleld, l'a., where he Is prepared to man.
tifovture to order , ,
Gti rr iagos
Ot every description, out of the best material.
Sleighs of every Style, -
built to order, and finished In the most artistic and
durable manner.
Having superior workmen, he Is prepared
to furnish work that will compare favorably with
the best City Work, and much more durable, and
at much more reasonable rates.
4KKPAUtlNO of all kinds neatly and prompt
lydont. A tall Is loUcltsd.
, SAMUEL SMITH,
tut
SUNDAY'IlBADIlTG.
Mysterious Ways.
A hank Of blue yarn tumbled of! thd line,
under which Deb ducked her head, to
gropo in a corner of a certain recess in the
attio for bits for the ragman's bag, and fell
directly into hor great apron.
" Dumb things speak sometimes," mufr
tored Dob. "Now I might ha' forgot how
soon master's socks '11 be worn out only for
that. I'll sot up a pair to-morrow; no, after
tea."
Then she pocketed the yarn, bundled up
the rags and descended.
A woman and child sat in the kitchen,
old Silas Dono's nicco and lior baby. A
year or moro had passed sinco news came
to that woman of her husband's death; and
the horror which had come with it was in
her eyes now. No wondor, for hi the depth
of the rod embers on which hor eyes wore
fixod, she saw that awful picture of a man
crossing the "dead line," and dropping
across it at the flash of a sontinol's mus
kot. A picture that haunted Miriam Eldrcth
sleeping or waking, night and day.
"The ways of Providence is strango,"
said Deb shaking hor head, and poking the
fire; and the woman turned with a Btart,
thinking of the things that had been meted
out to hor in her very girlhood, for she was
not yet twenty. "Awful strange," contin
ued Deb. " It's so curious this yarn should
pitch itself at me when I ought to have
thought of using it up and didn't. '
And a ghost of a smilo crept over Miri
am's faco, and the smile sot tho baby crow
ing, nnd the baby's crowing awakened
brighter smiles on tho mother's face; and
Dob seeing them playing together at last
" two babies, poor things," as she said
to herself, laughing aloud in hor glee,
"Thank the Lord, she's got somo life in
hor yet, when she's roused up," she said to
herself, and set the table singing all the
whilo; and then, hor master not being at
home yet, went out to hunt in bis room for
what she always called " scrabbled paper,"
to wind hor ball of yarn upon. She found
a piece which suited her at last, stiff, yel
lowish, and crackling, and lying in an other
wise empty desk-drawer, and took it back,
crumpled into proper shape, and began to
wind her worsted. She had wound ton
yards or so, when a furious knocking at the
door made her start and break it short off,
and thero was no more thought of tho knit
ting that night, for at the door she found a
group of men who bore a sort of litter
among them, on which, crushed and maim
ed and dying, lay old Silas Done .
A boiler in his factory had burst, and he,
with a dozen poor workmen, had beon hur
ried Into eternity. Ho had but a few mo
ments to live, bnt in them he called his
niece Miriam to him.
"Don't cry, my child," he said, "I shall
be better off than if I lived iongor. Three
score and ten years are enough for man.
The Rible says so. And you are safe.
know I could not trust to John. You aro
comfortable. This house, and enough to
keep you in it, is yours. Dou't part with
Dob; lot her live and dio here. You'll find
the deed of gift "
But there the old man's voice failed, and
he said no more, and in an hour was doad.
Miriam, now that her last friend was
gone, oould only weep and sit holding her
babe upon hor knee, and wishing that they
lay together in the silent peace of death as
tho good old man, who had been so kind to
hor, lay. But Deb, half broken-hearted as
she was, went about the house, putting it
into that shadowed order in which the home
death has viBited must be found; and com
ing at last to the kitchen, where ti un
tested meal was spread, and on the hearth
of which tho fire had smouldered low, pick
ed up her ball of worsted from the floor
and sobbing, "T wont knit master's socks
now," finished winding it, for any disorder
seemed to her an insult to the dead.
After that there came for both women
only hushed watching beside the dead un
til the day of the funoral.
The day brought John Dene, a grim,
hard-fistod, middlo-aged man, who had not
time to visit his father for fifteen years.
He behaved decorously enough, and was
crisp and shiny in new mourning; but, as
soou as decency permitted, ho began to set
tle affairs with such gusto that it was evi
dent that nothing else had been in his mind
from the first.
" It appoars that thero is no will," said
he, sitting with his elbows on the parlor
table the day after the funoral, " so I have
nothing to do but take possession. How
soon '11 . you be able to move, Cousin Mi
riam "
Miriam looked at old Deb. ,
"I suppose I shall not move at all," she
said. " Uncle Silas gave me this house,
and enough, he said, to keep me iu it.".
John grunted.
.'"Oh, bo did, eh?" he said. " Well,
you'll let us look ' at the deed of gift, or
whatever it is, wont you? I'ni a business
man, you know."
Miriam looked at Deb again. "'''
"Deb beard him," she said. "He told
me so on his death-bed, and yes he said
something of a deed of gift. There must
be one. But that can't make much diff er
ence, Cousin John.' You will do what he
wished, I know." ' ' .,,
Cousin John stared at the speaker bland
ly.
, V If there is anything to prove it, I'm
suro I shall,'! ho said. "But a statement
from tho party interested don't stand In
law. . Of course you know whore ho kept
his papers." ' ' ' ' ' ' 1
And Miriam Indicating tho library; tho
man of business and the legal gentleman
who had been summoned to tho spot 'pro
ceeded to make search, but found nothing.
In fact, before long it seemed quito Certain
that old Silas Dono must havo been wan
dering in his mind when ho spoke of a deed
of gift. At least his son John said so. '
So you see," said John to his poor
cousin, " so you see, Cousin Miriam, we'vo
dono our best. There's no such document.
You'll have to work for your liviu' like oth
er poor women, I suppose. And as you
can't work hero you'd better go to the city.
I'vo got some rooms I can let you cheap
in a tcnemont-houso, and I'll recommend
you to a tailor I know for slop-work.
You'll get on very well. There's women
working for him that make as much as
twelve shillings a week, I'm told,"
And in despair Miriam took her cousin's
advice, and Dob went with her.
" At least you'd have a home, honey,"
she said. "He'd never turn you out of
doors, mean critter as he is." But Miriam
had no such faith in her cousin.
It was a hidious place enough a rickety
building with wooden Btairs, and two fain.
ilies on a floor; and the back room at the
top of tho house, with the dark bedroom
attached, the apartments destined for Miri
am. John had gonorously , permitted her to
bring with her a chair or two, a table bed
and bedding, and her boy's cradle, and she
furnished the desolate place .with them,
wondoring, with her country ideas of
houses, at the "large wardrobe," until Dob
said: "Blossyou, missis, you don't, know
the city. That's meant to sleep in. It'll
do very woll for mo."
Dob did sleep in the dark closet, nnd tho
mistress with her babo, iu the room out
side, slept in spito of the noise beneath-
the wake in one Irish domicilo, the " party"
in another; the explosion of a paraffin lamp
in one room, and the wife-beating perform
ances in another: slopt bocause of their fa
tigue But there came nights when thero
was no sleop for them for the noiso and for
wondoring how they wero to live. Miriam
made her needle fly, and Deb knit stockings
to sell, but the rent swallowed up most of
the money, and food was very dear. Even
the baby loft off crowing ond began to pine,
and at last was taken ill; and then tho moth.
er could only sit and nurse it, whilo Dob
worked for both. Sho was a marvellous
knitter, and her great egg-shaped balls
dwindled away under her needles at a rapid
rate. But never quito to an end. Always
upon the hard roll of yellow paper remain
ed a ball about the size of a large egg,,
" I wound that for master's stockings,"
she used to say. "Just there the yarn
broke when they came knocking at the door
carrying him homo. I shan't never knit
that off; jus leave it so to remember him
by always."
And there was a sort of romance in the
fancy, though old Deb did not know it. '
Knit, knit, knit all day and half tho
night, but after all there was nothing to
spare after bread, was bought.
Cousin John collected his rents himself,
and called in vain for many a day. ' He was
patient at first, thinking the baby must
die soon. But it lived to wail and moan,
and keep his money from its mother; and
by-and-by John grew angry.
"Think what taxes I pay," be pleaded.
" Now you're quito a prosperous woman, if
you choose to be. There's Solomon '11 give
you as many shirts as you can niako at
throe-pence halfpenny apiece, if you'll take
em. .
You ought to pay such a low rent as
this."
And ho frowned on Miriam, who only
looked down upon hor poor baby and long
ed for the only home for which the poor
are charged nothing the quiet resting
place of the grave. '
And matters grew worso and worse with
her, so bad that there was no small fire
upon the hearth and no leaf upon the tablo.
Deb's last pair of stockings had produced
money enough to buy the medicine the
child needod and no more, and there was
nothing left save a great hank of yarn,
which, since an old gentleman had prom
ised to buy tho stockings, might save-them
from starvation.
In that hope tho old woman hud made
ready to wind the ball again, when the
short, sharp knock they knew so well start
led them both, and in walked John Dene,
buttoned to the chin in his warm overcoat.
" Well," he said, " ready for me now ?"
Miriam shook her head. . , .
" Ready?' cried Deb; "why there's
neither fire noc victuals here and that
poor child's worso thun ever. Where to
get mouthful I don't know. If you were
a man you would put your hand in your
pocket and let us know."
" Don't beg from him?" cried Miriam,
"I ain't begging," said Dob. "He's
your cousin, and ' he's robbed ' you. He
knows that the house is yours, and the
ground and all. He knows you didn't tell
a lie about what old master said. He
cheats you because he doesn't know."
John blushed scarlet. ' ' ' "' )'
'ye given you house-rent free for ' two
months," ho said, " and theso are my thanks.
See here now. I've ' a tenant for theso
rooms and tho sooner you're out the bet
tor." ' ' . " ';
" You mean to turn us out?' asked Deb.
" I moan to liavo rent for my rooms,"
said John, avoiding Miriam's eye as . he
spoke. " You soo I'm not so rich as peoplo
think." ' '
Deb aroso and stood before him, flaunt
ing her bull, with its protruding paper, in
his faco.
" You sco that, Mastor John," sho said;
" that was wound to knit your poor pa's
socks. I'vo kept it so over since; just so
much was wound when the worsted broke,
and I ran to open the door. It seems to
me as if ho knowed I keep it so long o' my
love for him. I wound it the very night
your pa on his death-bed gave that house
and ground, and enough to keep hor and
me and tho child, to tho mistress, Miss Mi
riam. I heard him say it; and I believe he
can hoar me tell you so at this moment.
I'd scorn to say it, Mastor John, if it
weren't overy word true, and you know
it." ' '
"I don't know what you'd do, woman."
cried John Dene. "What I require is evi
dence ; give me that, and I ask no moro.
But you haven't got it; and what has all
that rubbish about a ball of yarn to do
with it ? I know my fathor wore stockings-i-I
don't care who knit 'cm, or when. Don't
flourish that in my faco, you old fool."
And so speaking ho pushed the old wo
man whose attitudo was actually some
what threatening aside, and in doing so
knocked tho ball from her. hand. 'She
caught it but only held the worsted: nudas
it unwound in blue-gray coils, tho founda
tion of its greatness foil unloosed at Miriam's
feet, she . Btoopcd and picked it up. Some
thing arrested hor glanco. . -
"This is parchment," sho criod.' "It is
a docuinont of some kind. Where did you
got it, Dob?" .. .
; " Out of the mastor's room tho . night he
died," said Deb solemnly.
And Miriam, holding it tight, cast hor
eyes over the lines written upon its surface
and signed with her dead uncle's name
" Deborah, it is the deed of gift," she
cried. . i
And Miriam spoke the truth. Tho little
document which so ordered things that she
need waut no longer, had beon with them
through all their tribulation and starvation,
under Deb's ball of worsted! i , . ..
"I've took care of it so long without
known' of it," said Dob, " and I'll keop it
safe now, and nobody don't get it from me."
And it may bo doubtful whether Deb
slept in her anxiety until the paper was in
proper hands, and Miriam and her little
one restored to their old home with ample
provision for their comfort.
Thore they live now, and if you visit
them old Dob will toll you the story, adding
byway of climax, "The ways .of Provi
dence are mysterious. If that worsted had
not tumbled into my lap I shouldn't have
wound it; and if I hadn't wound it I
shouldn't have got that deod of gift I
thought was scrabbled paper; and if I
hadn't kept it, where should we have been
now ? The dear Lord only knows."
And so Dob ascribes their salvation from
starving to the ways of that mysterious
Providence that is around and about us
ever.
AN INTERESTING INCIDENT.
A SHORT, little, square-built, dark-
JLJl skinod twinkled-eyod young fellow,
was known the regiment over as " Little
Potior." The name came from his trade
before war times, and from the fact that he
was always talking shop, and examining
clays with all the enthusiasm of a geolo
gist. He had the faculty of becoming in
terested in anything that any other man
was doing. Standing near the picket fire,
though uncomfortahlo, he could always
Buggest a way in which to make the coffee
boil, and would gather up little splinters
and pile under or about ' tho little kettle
with tho keenest enjoyment, although the
coffee belonged to the most taciturn man
in the company. He shewed this kindly
interest in every man's affairs, and of
course was universally liked.
At Shiloli, in the midst of the second'
day's battlo, Little Potter left the company
for the purpose of getting water for himself
and several of his companions. A quick
chaugo of position, a new line of battle
formation, aftor his departure, and Little
Potter was seon no more for several ' days.
After the rebels retreated, he was acting
as nurse in the brigade hospital. , He
could't find the regiment on his return, but
found the hospital, and the division sur
geon ordered him on duty, and discovering
his excellence as a nurse, would notj lot
him return to tho company. ,
Thore was a quarrel between the cap
tain and surgeon, tho former seeing . Little
Potter as a skulker, and the latter seeing
him as a useful man who had tnado a mis
take through no fault of his own. The cap
tain reported Potter absent without leave,
and he was court-niartialed. The sentence
was that ho should forfeit six mouth's pay.
The men of the company were very indig
nant, but Potter said 1 nothing. The 1 stop
page of six month's pay told sorely on him,
but he weathered the storm, and came out
as serene as though, he had never been
court-martialed. ' '''' ' ' ' i 1
Much clothing was lost at Shiloli, and a
list was made out of .clothing lost In : the
battlo.
The sergeant would ask :
'Well Blame, wlmtf did , yon lose at
Shiloh?"
Answer ; An overcoat and knapsack."
" What did you lose at Shiloli, Potter?"
With indescribable drollery, Potter said
wlth.a sort of lisp that was .characteristic :
" I lotht thoveuty-eight dollarth :"
This was was tho only reference ho made
to tho court-martial and the six month's
pay until tho, morning of the terrible De
cember 81, at Stone River. In the hurry
of the company formation for battle, Little
Potter was the first man in place, after the' '
ordorly, and though the shortest man' iu
tho company, ho held his place there in
face of the rule to the contrary. There was
a sweeping charge That company loft
thoir dead further to tho ' front than any
other regiment in action that day. Thoy
were cruelly crushed, relentlessly driven.
Little Potter was a giant in doing. Ho
kept his place next to the . orderly when
the company was broken and scattered,
with a precision that would under other
circumstances have beon droll, he formed
on the orderly whenever a chargo was
made, aud whilo it was every man for him
self. As he was ramming home a load, a
ball struck him in the fleshy part of the
leg, .cutting a great gash and tearing his
clothes. . He wns advised to go to tho rear.
The reply was : . , , , ,
" I will show them who is a coward." ,
A shot struck hiin in the loft shoulder,
and he became : deadly pale. Still with
tocth and right hand he managed to load
his gun and fire. Another shot struck him
in the thigh, and he full. Ho was dragged
to a stump and placed so that the raking
fire would not touch him. Ho deliberately
crawled around and placed himself so as to
face the rebels, and as the company gave
back in one of those hand-to-hand fights,
little Potter kissed his hand to the men
nearest him and nestled down with a sigh
of relief. ,
Days afterwards the sergeant found a pair
of black eyes glistening from festoons of
white sheets, in a hospital at Murfreesboro.
They belonged to Little Potter, broken
leggod, broken-armed and bandaged. He
could not move and hardly speak. But as
the tearful men bent over him, he lisped:
" We waxthd them, didn't we?" ,
The rebels found him braced against tho
stump punching at them with his gun held
in one hand, as they ran by. He was taken
to the hospital, and here, day after day,
went his old comrades to see him. ' They
did more; they wrote to General Rosecrans,
telling the simple story. They carried the
letter along the red tape lino, from brigade
quarters to division, from division to corps,
from corps to army headquarters, and re
turned with an order from Rosecrans him
self, directing that the six month's pay be
returned to Little Potter, that all charges
on record be erased, aud that an order com
plimenting his gallantry be read on dress
parade, and 'that a copy be sent to the
man who behaved so nobly. The order
was read on dress parado, and the docu
ment with all its array of endorsements and
old Rosa's letter' was 'carried to Little
Potter,' by men who could scarcely speak.
Ho seemed like one transfigured, as one of
his old-time friends read and re-read the
order letter. He had it held down to his
eyes so he could see the, red lines and of
ficial signatures. Then camo his first tears.
' " Now, boys, I don't ' care to got well.
It's all wiped out, ain't it? I was deter
mined to got well to wipe it out, you know.
But now torn up as I am, it is better to
die." " " ' . ; '
And the next morning, with tho' order
and old Rosa's letter on his breast, Little
Potter died. And still we can hear the griz
zly old surgoon's words, as he came totho
cot " Dead ? Why God bless the, boy,"
1 i' Extreme Cold. . ..-.
Dr. ICano, in one of the expedition In
search of Sir John Frankiu, records that
"on the 5th of February, 1854, the alcholie
thermometers indicated the terrible tem
perature of seventy-five degrees below the
freezing point of water, At such tempera
ture cholorio ether became solid aud care
fully prepared chloroform exhibited a
granular pellicle on its surface. ' ' Spirit of
naptha froze at fifty- four degrees, and oil
of sassafras at forty-nine, degrees below
zero. The exhalations of insensible pers
piration from the surface of the body in
vested the exposed or partially clad parts
with a wreath of vapor. The air1 had a
perceptible pungency upon inspiration and
when breathed for any length . of time it
imparted a sensation of dryness to the air
passages,1 inducing the men to' breathe
guardodly and with Hps compressed.1
tSTA story Is told of an editor who
died, went to heaven, and was denied ; ad
mittance, lest he should meet some delin
quent subscriber, and bad feelings ' would
be engendered in that peaceful clime. Hav
ing to go somewhere, the edltoV" next ap
peared in regions of darkness, but was pos
itively rofuwd admittance, as the 'place was
full of delinquent subscribers. ' Wearily
the editor turned back to the celestial city,
and was met Vy the watohman of 'the port
als with a smile, who said I " 1 'was mis
taken, you oan enter ; there is no delinquent
subscriber in heaven." I" ' t t