It i ilfi' liff lifif it TEMSI-W1.S5 Per Year,) , . TTTvTiTm-vTTTH'VTm -n a rTTTr -xTT-iTT-r-i-m aWn-i- ' ?S Cent for O Month; - in advance. ; A1N INDEPENDENT FAMILY NEWSPAPER. ofor a months. Vol. VII. ' New Bloomfield, Pa., Tuesday, VugiiHt 12, 1873. IV. 32. IS PUBLISHED EVERT TUESDAY MORNING, BY . FRANZ MOETIMES & CO., At Now Bloomfield, Perry Co., Ta. Being provided with Steam Power, and large Cylinder and Job-Presses, ne are prepared to do all kinds of Job-l'rlntlng In . good style and at Low l'rices. . ADVERTISING KATES I TraniUntH Cents per line for one Insertion 18 " " twolnscrtlons 15 ' " three insertions Business Notices In Local Column 10 Cents per line; " .For longer yearly adv'ts terms will be given upon application. . A Murderer's Den. V J"ELL, my boy, to amuso you, I'll toll T T how I paid a hotel bill. I was travelling through Arizona, when my guide Jim sickened and left me. My new guide was a prairio Indian, a little, dirty,sneaking-looking beggar, whose sole object In life seemed to be to get drunk as often and as thoroughly as possible. However, I wasn't likely to want him more than four or live days, and I thought I could do with him that long ; no 1 gave him to understand that, if he behaved him solf, I'd give him as much rum as he could drink, when we got in, and if he didn't I'd send a bullet through him at once ; upon which understanding we started. That day, all went smoothly enough ; but the next morning my evil star made me catch sight of a rare plant on the top' of a pre cipitous bank, thirty feet high ; and I must needs go up after it, while Master Redskin' trudged slowly on with the horses. It was a stiff climb' but I got up at last, and had just collared the vegetable, , whou lo 1 the edge of the bank broke away and down I went ! It was a marvel that I didn't break my neck ; but the briars and fallen earth saved me a bit. However, when I came to, I found my self all bruised and covered with blood, and my watch (which by some miracle wasn't broken) showed me that I'd been lying there a good hour at least. ' But what was worse there wasn't a sign of my worthy esquire or the horses 1 At first I thought be might have got tired of waiting, and struck on ahead ; but when I got to the crown of the pass, and couldn't see him anywhere, I guessed at once that he had bolted. In fact, as I afterwards found out, be had seen me fall, and making sure that I was either dead or too much damaged to look after him, he'd just constituted him self heir to all my property, rifle and sad dlebags included, and made tracks with them. So there I was, left high and dry in the worst part of the Sierra, with four dollars in my pocket, and only my knife if I got into trouble for the lock of my re volver had got broken by the fall. Well, there was nothing to be gained by standing still, and when a thing has got to be done, you must just do it ; so I hob bled along anyhow, and got on pretty well after a bit. Just about sundown I came to a hut, whose only touanta seemed to be a very tall, gaunt, vicious-looking Yankee and just about the ugliest looking nigger I ever saw in my life. . . " Good evening, mate," said I, "can you put a fellow up for to-night t I don't feel like going much further, sonihow." " Kin you pay for it? that's the idee, you know," said my host with a grin, 'Yew don't look as yew he d made . a pile, now that's a fact !" " ' ' It was my weakness in those days to be always riled by that kind of thing. I whip ped out my pouch and shipped it down on the table ; and with all the small change In it, it made a very tolerable jingle. I saw the fellow's eyes light up, and I knew directly I'd done wrong. Good as pork, mister," said he, nod ding at the pouch. " Guess you'll bo for a bite afore goiu' to roost. Just hold on a niinnlt, ond we'll ' fix for supper light away." "All right," answered I, "I'll Just look round outside to see If thero are any plants worth picking up, while you get it ready." This was a bit of diplomacy on my part, for I knew if they meant mischief they'd lay their beads together the moment my back was turned, and I wanted to make sure. As soon as they'd gone into the hut again, I sneaked loimd to the buck, and crouched behind the wood-pile, where I could hoar every word they said. And, sure enough, in a minute or two they begau " Trapped our b'ar this time oh, old Pomp?" ' " Dat so, sure 'miff. Ho big fool, show money to all man he meet !" ' He's bin an' showed it just onco too often so he has. Guess ho's one of them diggers, who makes a big pilo and then scarecrows and lookiu' down onto tholr luck. But he can't throw dust in my eyes, that's what he can't! Pomp, jist take yure axe and got ahint the door, and when the stranger comes back, fotch him down from behind, while I give him the bowie in front r . ' " Eh, boss, what for such big hurry ? Wait a littlo bit, better do. Gib him a plenty drink he go sleep sound den we do job 1" " " Right yew arc, Pomp gucSs thet's how we'll fix it.; Jist fotch out tho whis key, now,""while I go and see if the stran ger's anywhar' roun'." But I didn't wait for him to come out but went round, and came along towards tho door of the shanty, whistling as jolly as could be, that he might not smell a rat. I knew all I wanted to know ; and, as I was too tired to have any chance of running, I concluded that my best way would be just to kill them both ! At supper, all the time, I was quite jolly with them, and chaffed and told stories till they were fit to crack their sides with laughing ; but I took care to get very sleepy before long, and tho two, who wore watch ing me out of the cornors of tholr eyes, ex changed looks ns they noticed it. ' " Guess yew feol like heviug a big sleep, stranger," said my considerate hont, "so I'll just show yew yure cleariu', and then yew kin take out all the sleep yew hev lost at one pull." He took me up a ladder into a small loft, showed me some straw and a big horse-rug, and marched off. , . , " Here, then, was the situation. Tho lad der was fast to the door, so I couldn't cut off their communications ; and if I showed fight openly they would most likely get the best of it, especially if they had fire arms. The only way was to. trap tUeui but how ? Just at that moment (never tell me again that novel-reading is of no use,) I recollected that bit in the Cloister and the hearth, where Gerard and Denys hold their room in that B.urgundian inn against the . robbers, biding behind the door, and sticking them one by one as they come in. I resolved to try the same dodge, and I set to work to dress up a dummy with the straw and the horso-rug fitting my cap and boots on it to .make it more life-like so as to look as if I were lying asleep at the farther corner.. When , they used to think me a dab at rigging up lay figures for the college theatricals, I little dreamed to what a use I should one day put it. Then, when all was ready I slip ped behiud the door with my bowie knife, and waited. Tho wretches in the room below were as still as death, listening for any sound from above; and iu the dead silence, tho ticking of the old clock pricked my ears like a pin. At lost, just as I was thinking of rushing down upon them, aud having it all over, anyhow, 1 heard the ladder creak creak again, louder creak again, loud er still and then the long, lean wolfish looking face of tho Yankee rose above the door-sill,' and peered about, with a light. Seeing me, as he. thought, fast asleep on the floor, he crawled up, and stepped for ward to strike offering his back fair to wards me. Like a flash, my knife was down on the back of bis neck, with such a lick that the blade came clear out under his chin, and he died without a sound. , I had barely time to drop him 'on the straw when the bigger came tumbling up. I struck htm hurriedly, like a fool, as I was and, of course, hurt instead of killing him.' The next moment he had me fust. Down dropped the knife, and over wo went upon the 1 floor, fighting like wild cats. And then began-us fine a tusscl as ever was fought out lu a louely place at midnight, with life for the stake, a corpse for umpire, and the moon for looker on. Over aud over we rolled, he gnashing his teeth and snarling like a wild beast, while the cold moonlight came streaming through die little 'window upon tho black's savage face, and the trampled straw, and, tho dead man's distorted features and grin ning teeth, gaping wide with the gasp of hi last agony. If Blacky hadn't been weakened by the flowing of blood from his wound he'd have finished me in no time: as it was, he wsS a tough customer, I be gan to think I was In for it at last, when suddenly I felt tho knife on the floor be side me. I gave him one tremendous squeeze, just to numb him for a moment, and then soized it. The next moment plug 1 it went clear up to the very handle He gave one choking growl, and lay dead. Having thus accounted for the popu lation, I began to debate whether I was jus tified in making prize of their belongings, in virtue of their recent nefarious attempt and ray own forlorn condition.' In this difficulty, my studios In light literature camo to my aid once more. I recollect how Gaffer Hcxam shut up Rogue Ridorhood by telling him that you can't rob a dead man; fortified by which great authority, I went down stairs, and proceeded to help myself to my late hosts' effects. 1 took what little money I could find, a gun, and some ammunition, filled my haversack with pork and " hard tack," and then lay down before the lire and fell asleep." Well, next morning at sunrise, undor theso improved conditions, I started again. After a bit, I fell In with a digger going West, and we kept together as far as Sac ramento. I didn't say anything about my adventuro, however, and a few days later, I was rather tickled at hearing a man astonishing one of the drinking-bars with a Rtory of how he had found a white man and a nigger rubbed out in one of the shanties on the Digger Trail, and ho guess ed the Injuns as done it hed bin st am pe ed in the middle o' their work, for they hadn't scalped nary ono on 'em, though tho nigger had as fine crop o' wool as ever growed." ' . . So know, my boy, that's how I paid my hotel bill as light a one as I ever came across. Two strokes receipted it only of a knife instead of a pen. An ,. Old-Fasbioned Remedy. (TR8. WHITAKER was much troub. LtJL led about Susan. All summer she had been in a pale, languid, half-alive con dition with no strength, no appetite, no interest in anything. Mrs. Whitaker, having a never suffi ciently gratified passion for doctoring, had at first rather enjoyed this opportunity to trying the virtues of tho various roots and herbs that hung in dry, dusty bundles fioru the garret raftois. Susan's life had been made a burden to her by doses of thorough wort, pennyroyal, tanscy, dandeloin aud burdock. And still Susan lay around the house in au exceedingly limp state, reading novels with a languid interest, and cutting out such scraps of poetry from the newspa pers as dwelt on the , hollowuess of the world, unappreciated loveliness, and early death. . . ' ' Ned Whitaker, Susan's younger brother, was decidedly skeptical on the subject of her illness. " It's enough to make any one sick to do as Sue does," said he energetic ally. " If she'd get up earlier in the morn ing and do a littlo , housowork she'd get well twice as quick an she will now, dosing and coddling." . . , September came, aud yet Susan remain ed in a state of discouraging ubout-the-sameness. Mr. Whituker thought she would drive over and consult Aunt Debbie Dunbar. Aunt Debbie was a woman of vast ex perience in sickness. She had brought a large family of her own successfully through all the mumps, moasles, and other ills infant flesh is heir to, besides acting as adviser general for tho wholo neighbor hood. , What Aunt Debbie didn't know about doctoring was generally considered not worth kuowing at all. "Well, how d'yo all dew at home?" asked Aunt Debbie. , " Pretty woll; thank you, except Susan. I same over partly to see you about her. She don't seem to get along as I should like tq have her." "Miss Haskell was i telliu' me last Sun day" how ailiu' Susan's been this summer. From what Miss Haskell said I should think she's a great deal as my Melissa was five years ago. I cured Melissa with bonesot." , " Susan's been taking that, more or less all glimmer." , , , " Does she cough any ?" "No."' " Because, If she did, colt-foot iia is grand thing.' Ain't she bilious?" " I shouldn't wonder if she wag." " Well, now,' if she was my girl, I should give her a good doie of bluo pill to begin with, and follow it out with a smart eon r so of castor-ile or salts, I should keep l ight on with the boueset three times a day 'tis very strengthen' and , I'd have her take a new raw egg In half a glass of cider every mornin' before breakfast. That's one of the best things I know of for weakly folks. Is she nervous about slocpin' ?" ' "Yes she is, rather." " There is nothin' so good for narvous ness as hop tea. : Give her some every night, the last thing before she goes to bed, and make her a hop pillow. I guess if you follow hor up thoroughly, you'll bring bor out all right. There's nothin' like being thorough," said Aunt Deb bie, with the emphatic air of long exper ience. Aftor much further advice Mrs. Whita ker set out for home, burning with zeal to "follow up" Susan with all Aunt Dob bio's prescriptions. What the conse quences would havo been to poor Susan ono shudders to think. Fortunately, fate kindly Interposed in hor behalf. A big rut at the foot of the hill over goes the wagon on top of Mrs. Whitaker and Deacon Foskett and his hired man ran down the hill to find Mrs. Whitaker with one log broken, a sprained shoulder, and .any amount of braises and wrench ings. What was to become of the Whltakers, now that the main spoke of the domestic wheel was useless? They "hire a girl, of course, suggests tho intelligent reader. But hiring a girl in Tully was no such trifling matter. . . ... t . Mr. Whitaker devoted a week to driv ing over the hills in different directions in pursuit of various myths of possible girls that vanished into thin air on closer In spection. "I declare," said Mr. Whitaker to Susan as he returned, girlless and dis pirited, " I believe if I wanted a wifo I conld get six easier than I can one girl." " Don't try any moref father," said Su san. "We can get along somehow. Ned and I can do the work." i , " That's so," said Ned. "We'll make a bully team." . , i ;.,;',. . But now a feeble wail was heard from the bed-room where poor Mrs. Whitaker lay, fevered and helpless on hor restloss couch. ; i . , . . '.' You must get a girl, father,'.' she re monstrated, "Susan can't do the work. It will kill her. She isn't strong enough and, besides she don't know how. Ob, dear, if I could only get up and take hold myself 1 I can't be reconciled to lying here whon there's so much to do 1" To soothe his wife, Mr. Whitaker prom ised to try onoe more, and finally ono night drove into the yard in triumph, seated on a small, hair trunk, the owner of the trunk, an actual " girl" in propria ptrtona, band-box in band, sitting in state on the seat behind him. , The new girl's came was Luna. She was tall and bony, wore hor hair cnt short in the nock, and rejoiced in a bass voice that was a perpetual surprise in the family. Luna soon developed way that if not " dark," were decidedly uncomforta ble Under her administration, the appe tites of tho Whitakerg dwindled alarming ly. . Susan who . saw the most of Luna's cookery, lived eutirely on dickers. When Mrs. Whitaker heard that Luna prepared the potatoes for dinner in the wash-hand basin, and put the best toa kniveg soaking in the bottom of the pan while she did the other dishes, tea-knives whose glossy handles were Mrs. Whita ker's ptide, her indignation knew no bounds. . s .. , V I won't have her In the house another minute I' I can't sleep till she Is out of it t Do get her out of the house before she spoils everything in it, and poisons us all!" Luna went Busan cleaned up the house, and prayed, whatever calamity might be iu storo for them, they . might at least be spared another . girl. Susan , was much better now. - Her mother' Illness bad tuken her out of herself, - and obliged ber lo make some exertion. Bha went into housework with a will, equally pleased and surprised to find herself really good for something. Ned helped her all he could, and novel were some of the exper iments of what Ned called the "new girl'." Ono day Ned astonished Sue with bona fidt compliment. n.; "You're growing handsome,' Sue," said he. .. . She thought Ned was making fuu of her, . thereby, for once, doing him an in justice. For there lg uo surer cosmetlo and bcautiflor thau housework, whon not carried to excess. No amount of dumb bolls, flesh-brushes, "constitution" walks aud drives gives the eueigy, the brisk cir culation, the cbeorfnl tone to body and mind that comes from the vigorous, var ied exorolse of housework.' She flew briskly around tho house now singing, as she made beds up-stairs with the frouh morning air sweeping breezily through the open windows, now swooping the sitting room, now kneading dough, now out In tho garden for vegetables, nil this varied work brings every muscle into play the more healthy, because not done deliberate ly and with " malice aforo-thought." ' " How do you feel to-day, Busan ?" in quired Mrs. Whitaker, anxiously. " I really don't know, mother," replied Susan laughingly. "I haven't had time to think." And so Suo had grown plump and rosy, had a buoyaut stop, a light and sparkle in her eyes, the radiance in looks and spirit that comes from a sound mind in a sound body. One Monday, Suo was in the clothesyard trying to hang out the clothes. She was short and the line high up, the wind blow ing a gale: It certainly was a provoking wind.. It blow Sue's sun bonnet off, and her curly brown hair into all sorts of wild tangles and touscls and, the table-cloth she was trying to hang up kept flapping back all over her. She stood on tiptoe, Btraining her arms up, and struggling in vain with the refractory table-cloth. "Lot me holp you, Susan," said a plea sant manly voice: .. 81 ic extricated herself from the mazes of the table cloth to find Charlie Good man beside her. Charlie was working in his south lot, which joined the Whitakors' garden, and seeing his neighbor's distress bad come to the rescue, like the kind hearted fellow he was. "Oh, thank you, Charlie," said Sue, with : perhaps more color iu her cheeks than the wind was solely responsible for. It was so vexatious to be caught looking so. And Sue hastened to roll down ber sleeves and conceal her blushes under ber sunbonnet, while Charlie hung up the table-cloth and let the line down within--her reach. '. ..,'. It was as pleasant for woman to be helped as for a man to help. She felt quite aglow of gratitude to Charlie. ' " How nice it is to bo tall !" she said. " I'm evej' so much obliged to you." - " Not at all. I'm glad to do it. - A lit tle body like you ought always to- have sV tall man around Bomewhere handy teke)p her," said Charlie, looking admiringly down at the flushed face and tangled brown ourls undor the sunbonnet. .'." "Nonsense, Charlie 1" laughed Sue, slyly stooping to pick up a clothespin. Charlie went back to bis work, won dering he bad never noticed before wliat pretty girl Sue Whitaker was. - Somehow, Charlie found a great deal to do in the south lot that fall. The interest Charlie took in Mis. Whit aker's health was truly touching. Ho call ed so often to Inquire for her, and listen ed so politoly to all her symptoms that Mrs. Whitaker took a great fancy to him. and was always telling every ouo what remarkably nice young man Charlie Good man was; on which occasions Sue gener ally discovered she had an errand in tho kitchen, or anywhere out of the room. In short, Charlie, not only loved his neigh bor as himself, but a great doal better. ' As for Sue, she came to fool such an in terest In Charlie's prosperity, that, rather than have him waste so much time, sbe consented,' in the Bpring, to move perma nently over to the Goodman house. She made as brisk aud blooming a matron as one often sees, and " they lived happy for ever afterward;" as happy, at all events, as is possible iu a world which sometimes has sharp trials for even the most loving and united hearts. , If any one still ask what cured Susan I shall reply by quoting Miss Alcott " Love and labor, two beautiful old fash ions that began long ago with the first pair in Eden." . , , . , Sandal-Wood. You have doubtless seen the swect srnelhng sandal-wood fun or fine boxes made of this wood. This fragrant wood comes from, the saudal-wood tree, which grows iu many parts of the Indies. It it shipped in logs, and is exported in large quantities to China, where it is employed to burn in the temples. Its use, however, is not snored to the gods, for wealthy Chi-; namen burn saudal-wood on their hearths. for the sake of iu delightful odor. Don't you think It Is a pity to burn it up in tbiu way? The beautiful yellow wood rotalns its fragrance for yoarg, and the best use to which sandal-wood is put Is carving St into pretty and usoful things whloh long delight their owners. One of the most beautiful things I ever saw made of saudal-wood was a writing-desk which came from Bombay.
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