a Mi Amnumti .m; amC- VESTS' SdS A A A V f F' l Si I 5 1x'clr"1v AN INDEPENDENT FAMILY NEWSPAPER. .. J"J&&!52? yol."yiI.' ' ' ;; New Bloomlleld, Pa., Tuesday, Decomber lO, 1873. No. GO. 18 PUBLISHED KVKKT TUESDAY M0BMN0, BT. . "l: FRANZ MORTIMER & CO., "; A.t New Bloomlleld, rerry Co., Pa. Being provided with Steam Tower, and large Cylinder and Job-Presses, we are prepared to do all kinds of Jnb-1'rlntlng In good style and at Low Prices. . ADVEKTI8INO RATES I " TraiuitntH Cents per lino for one insertion 13 " " ., twoinsortlons ' . " " "three Insertions Business Notices In Local. Column 10 Cents per line. ' " VForlongervearly adv'ts terms will be given upon application. ' Fred. Eckerson's Proposal. "lTISS BECKY NEWTON." jjX "Well, sir." " Will you marry me ?" "No, 1 won't." 5 : ' . : , " Very well then, don't, that's all." Mr. Fred Eckerson drew away hU chair, and putting his feet on the pizza, unfolded a newspaper. Miss Becky Newton bit her lip and went' on with her sewing. ' ' She wondered if that was' going to. be the last of it. She had felt this proposal coming for nearly a month but the scene she had anticipated was not at all like this. , She had intended to refuse him, but it was to be done gracefully. She was ' to ' remain Arm, notwithstanding his most eager en treaties. She was to have told him that, though respecting his manly worth ' and upright character, she could never be more than an appreciating friend, she had intend ed to shed a few tears, perhaps, as he knelt in an agony of supplication at ber feet. But instead, he bad asked the simple question, without any rhetorical embellishments, and on being answered, plunged at once into hia newspaper, as though he had merely inquired the time of day. She could have criod with vexation. "You will never have a better chance," be continued, after a pause, as ha deliber ately turned over to find the latest tele graph reports. "A better chance for what ?" she asked shortly. " A better chance to marry a young good looking man, whose gallantry to the sex is only exceeded by bis bravery 'in their defence." .Fred was quoting from his newspaper, but Miss Newton did not know it. ;.:. ' 1 .- I " And whose egotism is only exceeded by his impudence," retorted the lady sar castically. "Before long,", .continued Fred, "you will be out of the markot. , Your chances, you know,' are getting slimmer every day.' "Sir!" " It won't be a great while before you are ineligible. You will grow old and wrinkled, and " " Such rudeness to a Indy, sir, it is mon strous !" exclaimed Miss Newton rising hastily and flushing to the temples. " I'll give you a final opportunity. Miss Becky. Will you mar " " Not if you were the King of England," interrupted Miss Newton, throwing down her work. "I am not accustomed to such insults, sir." And so saying she passed into the house and slammed the door be hind her. " She is never as handsome as when she is in a rage," thought Fred to himself after she bad gone, as he slowly folded up his paper as he replaced it in his pocket. " I was a fool to goad her so. I shall never win ber In that way. But I'll have her," he exclaimed aloud. " By . heaven ! I'll have her, cost what it may." Very different was the Fred Eckerson of the present, pacing nervously up and down the piazza, from Fred Eckerson of a few moments ago, receiving his dismissal from the woman he loved with such a calm and imperturbable exterior ; for he loved Becky Newton with all bis heart. The real diffi culty in the way, as ho more 'than balf suspectcd, was not so much in himself as in his pocket Becky Newton had as insu perable objection to an empty wallet. The daughter of a wealthy Louisiana planter, reared in luxury, and a reciplentof a weekly allowance of pin money suflicient to pay Fred's bills for a whole month, she had no Immediate Idea of changing her situation for one of less comfort and independence. Besides it bad been intimated to her that a neighboring planter of unusually aristo cratic lineage had looked upon her with covetous eyes. To be sure he was old and ugly, but be was rich ; aud in her present mercenary state of mind, Miss Becky New ton did not desire to allow such a chance of becoming a wealthy widow slip by unim proved. '":.' ' But alas for humaa nature I If Becky was really so indifferent to Fred Eckerson, why did she run up stairs after that inter view, and take the starch all out of her nice, clean pillow-shams by crying herself into hysterics on the bed ? It was not all wrath, not all vexation, not all pique. There was somewhere deep down in Becky Newton's heart, a feeling very much akin to remorse. She was not sure that she would not one day be sorry for what she had done. She had no doubt she could be very happy, as Fred Eckerson's wife, after all. , ., , , j , " But then," she cried growing hot with the recollection, " he was so rude aud so insulting 1 I could never live with such a man nover !" . When Fred Eckerson ' bad . walked off some of hit feolings on the piazza, he con cluded to take a look at the river. The Mississippi, which flowed within S0O yards of the house, was at that time nearly at the height of its regular " spring rise." Its turbid waters rushing swiftly toward the sea, bad nearly filled the banks, and in many places had broken through the levees and flooded the low lands for many miles. A crevaBse of this description had been made in the farther bank, nearly op posite the house, and the windows of the Newtou mansion commanded a view of a vast and ' glittering inland sea, not laid down on the map. The : current of the stream bore upon the coffee-colored bosom an enormous mass of floating timber, which was dashed along in the boiling flood, ren dering navigation wholly impossible. The waters were still .rising, and the frequent crashes far and near told of the undermin ing power of the current, as sections of the sandy banks succumbed aud disappeared, carrying with them the trees which over hung the stream. Now it happened that, by a curious co incident, Miss Newton also resolved to look at the river. She dried her tears, and put ting on her hat, slipped out by the back door to avoid Fred, and soon found herself at the foot of a huge cottonwood tree on the bank bolow the house. ' Throwing her self upon the grass, and lulled by the rapid flood beneath she soon fell asleep. Had she possessed any power of foreseeing the future, it would have been the last thing she would have done ; for, although it was very pleasant dropping sleep there in the shade, . with the soft sunlight Altering through tho leaves overhead, the awaken ing was not. at all to her mind. A terrible ciash made chaos to her dreams ; the tall cottonwood toppled and fell ; and Miss Becky Newton found hersolf immersed in the cold flood, with ber mouth full of muddy water. In a moment more some body's arms was around her and she felt herself lifted tip and placed in the sunshine, though precisely where, she was as yet too bewildered to know. . Getting ber eyes open at last, she found Fred Eckei son's whisker's nearly touching ber face. "Well!" " Well 1" ' " Whore am I ?" ' asked Becky, shiver ing and looking around her. " You are in the middle of the Mississip pi," replied Fred, "and you are in the fork of a cottonwood tree, aud you are voyaging towar ds the Qulf of Mexico just as fast as the freshet can carry you.", " IIow came you here ?" " " In the same conveyance with yourself Miss Becky. In fact, you and I and the tree all came together, to say nothing of a portion of your father's plantation, which I fear is lost to blm forever." Becky was silent. She was thinking, not of the accident or their perilous posi tion, but of her appearauce when she was lying asleep ou the grass. " How long were you there before this happened ?" she asked. " As long as you were. I was up in the tree when you came I" , " You had no right to be up there," she said, coloring, " a spy upon my move ments." " Nonsense !" he replied, "You intrud ed on my privacy, and while you slept I watched over you like the sweet little cherub that sits up aloft." " Thank you for the service, I'm sure," she said, bridling. " You snored awfully." " Mr. Eckerson, remove your arm from my waist." ( . " Then put your's around my neck." "Indeed, I shall do no such thing." "You will full into the river if you do not." Becky was silent for a few moments, while the unwieldy raft whirled along in the current, rolling from side to side, and threatening every instant to turn com pletely over and tip them off. At last she said : "What are we to do?". " I think, now that I am started, I shall go on to New Orleans," he replied. " To New Orleans ?" exclaimed Becky. "It is a hundred miles 1" "Yes, and a chance of a free ride for a long distance is not to bo neglected. . You can go ashore if you prefer." She burst into tears. "You arecruol,". she said, "to treat me so." "Cruel," exclaimed Fred, drawing her closer to him, quickly " cruel to you?" There was no help for it, and she again relapsed into silence, quite content, ap parently, ' to remain in . Fred's arms, and evincing now no disposition to rebel. For once in . her life she was dependent on a man. ' ' " I want to go to New Orleans," con tinued Fred, after a pause, " because there is a young lady of my acquaintance residing there, whom I have an intention of inviting into this neighborhood." ' "Oh!" "If we don't go to New Orleans, and if we get safe out of this scrape, I shall write for her to come anyway." "Ah !" : '" ! ' " " I shall obtain board for her in St. Jean, which will be convenient for mo as long as I remain your father's guest. I can ride over after breakfast every morn ing you see.'' "She is an intimate friend, then," said Becky. ' ' - 1 ' ' " I expect to marry ber before long," he replied.1 ' ' 1 ' " Marry her J Why you you proposed to me this morning." " Yes, but you refused me. I told you then yon would ' never have another chance." Becky was silent again. It is a matter of some doubt whether, had Fred at that moment, sitting astride that cottonwood log, with his feet in the water and his arm around her waist, proposed to her a second time, she would have accepted him or not. To be sure a marvelous change had come over Becky's feelings since her tumble in the river. She felt that one strong arm, like that which supported her, was worth a thousand old and decrepit planters, and she recognized the fact that a man who could talk so coolly and uncon cernedly in a situation of such extreme peril,' was of no ordinary courage. But she was not yet quite pr epared to give np her golden dreams. The dross was not quite washed out of ber soul, and she did not yet know how much she loved Fred Eckerson. Besides the did not half be lieve him. ' Their clumsy vessel floated on, now root first, now sideways, and now half submerged beneath the boiling current. Their precarious hold became more uncer tain as their ' frames became chilled by the cold water, and every plunge of the log threatened to cast them once more into the river. In vain Fred endeavored to attract the attention of some one on the shore. The cottonwood retained a course nearly in the middle of the stream, too far from either bank to render their out cries of much avail. As it grew dark their situation seemed more and more hopeless, aud to Becky there apppeared to be no escape from certain death, either by drowning in the darkness, or by exhaus tion before daybreak. Yet to die in this man's arms seemed not wholly a terror. She could hardly think, if death must come, of any way in which she would rather meet it. Was It possible she loved him, aud must need be brought within the valley of the shad ow before she could know her own heart? Had she loved him all along ? While she was thinking about it, chilled by the night air,1 she fell asleep. When she awoke the stars were out, but she was warns and comfortable. Raising hef head, she found herself enveloped in Fred's coat. . ' 1 ' i "Fred!" "Well!" " You have robbed yourself to keep me warm. You are freezing." ' ' " No, I ain't. I took It off because it was so awful hot," aud, taking out his handkerchief with his disengaged band be made a pretense of wiping the perspira tion from his brow. "How long have I been asleep?" "About throe hours, We are drifting ashore now." "Shall we be saved?" " I don't know. Put your arms around my neck, for I am going to take mine away." Becky did this timo as she was bid. She did not only throw her arms quick ly around his nock, but laid her bead up on his breast without the slightest hesita tion. In the darkness Fred did not know that she imprinted a kiss upon his shirt bosom, " Hold fast, now I" bo cried. " Hold on for dear life 1" The log bad been gradually nearing the shore for some time, and it now shot suddenly under a large sycamore which overhung the bank and trailed its branch es in the brown flood. Quick as thought Fred seized the limb above his head and pulled with all his might. , The headlong course of the cottonwood was checked, it plunged heavily and partly turned over Us top became entangled in the syca more, and a terrific crackling of limbs ensued. . With a sudden spring Fred gain ed the projecting branch, dragging his clinging burden after Lira. In another instant the cottonwood had broken away and continued its voyage down the river, while the bent sycamore regained its shape with such a quick bound that the two trav elers were very nearly preoipitated into the stream again. Fred, half supporting half dragging Becky, worked his way to the trunk by a series of gymnastics that would have done no discredit to Blondin, and in a moment more both had reached the ground in safety. "That is a business we are well out of," he said, when he had regained his breath. "Now where are we ?" He looked about. A light was glim mering from a habitation behind them, a short distance from where they stood. Becky could not walk without great pain, and Fred lifted her lightly in his arms and started for the house. It proved to be the dwelling of a small planter, who was not lacking in hospitality. Here their wants were quickly attended to, and under the cheering influence of warmth and shelter Becky was soon herself again. ' They drove home on the following day, Fred haviug procured the loan of the planters horse and chaise for that purpose promising to return them . by Mr. New ton's servants the day after. The morn ing ' was bright and clear, and the fra grance of the orange groves was in the air. Becky, who had maintained almost utter silence since their escape from the cottonwood, was no less silent now. Fred himself did not appear particularly com municative, and many miles of the long ride were ' taken without a remark from either. It was Becky who spoke first. "Fred," she said "Yes!" . " You have saved my life, have you not?" " Happy to do it any day," he remarked, not knowing exactly what else to say. " I thank you very much." " Quito welcome, I'm sure." There was another long silence, broken only by the sound of the horse's hoofs upon the road. Fred himself seemed to have lost some of his habitual ease, for he kept his whip in constant motion, and held the reins nervously. "Fred!" " Yes !" " Are you going to write to that young lady in New Orleans ?" "I s'pose so.'.' " Hadn't you better try again before you before you write ?" He turned his eyes full upon hor, and opened them wide. " Try again j try what ?" " I've been thinking through the night," said ' Becky, bending low to hide her face, and carefully separating the fringe of her mantilla, "that perhaps if you asked me again the same question that you did yesterday morning I might an swer a little different." ' ' Becky's head went against Fred's shoul der, 4id her face became Immediately lost to view. " You darling !" be exclaimed, "I never intended to do otherwise. The young lady in New Orleans was wholly a myth. But when, may I ask, did you change your mind?" "I have never changed it," she mur mured. " I have loved you all the time but I never knew it until last night." ' And to this day, when Mr. Becky Eckereon is asked whore it was that she fell in love with her husband, she answers "on a log." tW Why does the ,' girl of the period' make the best housekeeper? Because the makes so much bustle about a little waist. Foiling Leaves. MANY persons think that when leaves turn red and yellow in the Fall it is because they have been killed by the frost. ' But a little observation will bIiow that such is not the case, and that the Autumns when the leaves are the mott beautiful are those in which the frost is the latest. This has been notably the case this year. A severe frost kills the leaves at once, and they soon fall, brown and withered. To be brilliant they must ripen naturally, and our hot September and October midday suns have probably much to do with it. In England where the Falls are apt to be damp and cloudy, the leaves are not se bright, and American artists, who strivo to paint our maples and dog-woods as they see them, are unjustly accused of over-coloring. The leaves fall because thoy are ripe and have performed the services that was al lotted them. The leaf is the laboratory or the plant, and in it are performed most of the operations essential to its giowth. It. takos the crude materials gathered by the roots, refines them, rejecting all that is not essential to the plant, and out of the re mainder construct - the highly complex bodies that are found in other parts of the-" plant. These rejeoted parts consist mainly of earthy matter that was in solution in the water taken by the roots, and it is depos ited in the cells of the loaf. This is shown by tbo fact that the leaf contains far rnoro ash than any other part of the plant. ' In some plants the ash of the leaf amounts to over 20 per cent., while that of the wood rarely exceeds two or three. When tho cells become completely dogged up with this matter, the leaf can no longer perform its functions, and so ripens and falls off. Provision has already been made for this separation. If the foot-stalks of most leaves be examined, it will be found a kind of joint exists near the body of the plant, even whon the leaf is quite young ; as it grows older this joint becomes marked, and Anally when it is ripe a gentle breeze will shake it off, and no wound is left, noth ing but the scar ; the wound was healed . even before it was mado. The same is also true of fruits, which by botanists are regarded as nothing but developed leaves ; a joint may generally be found in the stem, at which it separates readily. This is very marked in the grape ; it is situated at a little swelling that is to be found on the stem. A slight bond will ' separate the stem at this point, while it takes a strong pull to sever it above or below. Even on the evergreen trees, which apparently never shed their leaves, the leaves exist at most but two or three years, when they are replaced by new ones, the old falling away as thoy become unfit for aotive duty ; but the leaves in this case being shed most ly in the Spring, we do not miss them. Freaks of a St. Paul Cow. A ludicrous performance occurred on Fourth street yestorday afternoon, the scene being laid near the Metropolitan Hotel, and the principal figure being a oow of mild aspect, but not remarkably hand some. Tho front door had been left open, and the lady of tho house hearing a tremen dous clatter of hoofs on the stairway load ing to the upper story of her domicil, started hurriedly to ascertain tho cause of the phenomenon. She arrived in time to see a cow's tail swinging aloft at the head of the stairs, and soon the animal had found hor way into a small closet in the vicinity, and at once became profoundly interested in a sack of meal, or some other pleasant object stored therein. The lady failing to appreciate the transformation of her tidy apartment Into a common stable, at once inaugurated battle against the tres passer, and by the use of signs, movements any) pass-words, which ouly a lady can re oall on such an occasion, undertook to eject the oow from the premises. Bossy failed to see the signs and did not seem to care a cob about the lady's wishes. The lady shook her apron at the cow and reached out her hand carefully for a more effective weapon of warfare. The cow comprehend ed the situation at last, aud hor head was ' lowered, her tail was Aung iu tho air, and her back was curved majestically. The lady concluded the air in her stairway was not conducive to health and rushed out doors calling for help. It came in aj short time, and the cow was eventually ejected, but not nntil some threatening demonstra tions had been mado on the levies or rein forcements operating against her within the fortress. St. Paul Prttt. tW The worst of all heresies, is a bad heart and an uncharitable tongue.