Rates of Advertising. .IS PUBLISHED KTKRY WEDNESDAY, T CfTICB I ROBlKCOTt & BONNER'S Btrajxria ELM STREET) HONEST A, PA. ri incli 'i nnn innortion - 1 )rSoiiarn " one month - -3 0(1 OneHquare " three months 00 10 oo OneHquaro one yenr - Two Square, one year - - 15 do - :) (Hi - 60 00 - 100 00 Quarter uoi Half On (i ii ii ii tZUItO, i.80 TEAR. $( Sitiisirfifiiioh'i reeelved for Lngal notices at established rate. MurriBKO and death notices, gratis. i shorter All bills ler veanv aaveriiHemeiim col lected quarterly, temvorary advertise ment must be paid for in advance. Job work. Cash on Delivery. i ion man three months. ''ol if)()ri(lohoe solleited trom all part bf tin) country. No notice will be taken of VOL, XIV. KO. 20. TIONESTA, PA., SEPT. 21, 1881. $1.50 Per Annum. anonymous communications. I friT fl .a ft! riOA v'f! lf -MY lift (I rfrftflYft .. , N The Doctor's Story. Mrs. Rogers l&y in her bod, Bandaged and blintorod from foot to head, Batvlnqod and blUterod from head to toe, Mrs. Rogers was very low, Bottle and saueor, spoon and enp, On the table stood bravoly np, riiyHlo of high and low degreo; Calomol, oatnip, bonesot tea Everything a body could bear, Excepting light and water and air. I opened tho blinds; the day was bright. And Qod gave Mrs. Rogers some light, I opened the window, the day was fair, And Ood gave Mrs. Rogers some air, Bottlos and blisters, powders and pills, Oatnip, boneset, sirup and squills, brags and medicines, high and low, 1 threw them as far as I could throw. " What are you doing 7" my patiotit cried; " Frightening Death," 1 coolly replied. ' You are crazy I" a visitor said; t flung a bottle at her head. Deacon Rogors hb came to nie; " Wife is a comln' round," said he, " I really think she'll worry through; Bhe scolds me just as she used to do. All the people have poohel and slurred And the neighbors all have had their word, 'TV as bettor to perish, some of 'em say, Than be cured in such an irrogular way." " Your wife," said I, ' had God's good care, And his remedies light and water and air. All the doctors, beyond a doubt, Couldn't have cured Mrs. Rogors without" The deacon smiled and bowed his head; "Then your bill la nothing," he said; "God's be the glory, as you say; God bloss you, doctor, good-day I good-day I" If ever I doctor that woman again, I'll give hor medicine made by men. FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. The fire burns cheerily on the hearth the great logs crackle and flare up the wide chimney, up which it is my wont to say you could drive coach-and-four. I draw my ohair nearer to it., with a shiver. "What a night!" I say. Ih it still snowing ?" asks my wife, who nits opposite to me, her books and work on the table beside her. " Pant. You can scarcely see a yard before you." " Heaven help any poor creature on the moor to-night I" says she. " Who would venture out ? It began snowing before dark, and all the people about know the danger of being be nighted ofl the moor in a snowstorm." Yes. But I have known people frozen to death hereabouts before now." My wife is Scotch, and this pleasant houne in Ihe Highlands is hers. We ae trying a winter in it for the first time, and I find it excessively cold and somewhat dull. Mentally, I decide that in the future we will only grace it with our presence during the shooting season. Presently I go to the" window and look out ; it has ceased snowing and through a rift in the clouds I see a star. " It is beginning to clear," I tell my wife, and also inform her it is half-past 11 o'clock. As she lights her candle at the side-table I hear a whining and scratching at the front door. ' There is Laddie loose again," says she. "Would you let him in, dear?" I did not like facing the cold wind, but could not refuse to let the poor ani mal in. Strangely enough, when I opened the door and called him he wouldn't come. lie runs up to the door and looks into my face with dumb entreaty; then he runs back a few steps, looking round to see if I am fol lowing ; and, finally, he takes my coat in his mouth and tries to draw me out. "Laddie won't come in," I call out to mv wife. "On the contrary, he seems to want me to go out and have a game of snowball with him." She throws a shawl around her and comes to tho door. The collie was here before we were married, and she is almost as fond of him, I tell her, as she is of Jack, our eldest boy. " Laddie, Laddie I" she calls; "come in, sir." He comes obediently at her call, but refuses to enter the house, and pursues the same dumb pantomime he has already tried on me. " I shall shut him out, Jessie," I say "A night in the snow won't hurt him;" and I prepare to close the door. " You will do nothing of the kind 1' she replies, with an anxious look, " but you will rouse the servants at once, and follow him. Some one is lost in the Bnow and Laddie knows it." I laugh. "Really. Jessie, you are absurd. Laddie is a sagacious animal, no doubt, but I cannot believe he is as elaver as that. How can he possibly know whether any one is lost in the nnow or not?" "Because he has found them, and come back to us for help. Look at him now." I cannot but own that the dog seems restless and uneasy, and is evidently endeavoring to coax us to follow him he looks at us with pathetic entreaty in his eloquent eyes. "Why dont you believe me?" he seems to ask. " Come." she continues, " you know you could not rest while there was possibility of a fellow creature wanting vonr assistance. And I am certain Laddie is not deceiving us." What is a poor hen-pecked man to do? I grumble, and resist, and yield; as I have grumbled, and resisted, and Yielded before, and as I doubtless often bhal) again. 'Laddie once found a man in the ti-uw-before, but he was dead," Jennie siys, as she hurries off to fill a flask with brandy, and got ready some blankets for us to take with us. In the meantime I rouse the servants. They are all English, with the excep tion of Donald, the gardener, and I can see that they are scoflingly skeptical of Laddie's sagacity, and inwardly dis gusted at having to turn out of their warm beds and face the bitter winter's blast. " Dinna trouble yoursels," I hear old Donald say. " The mistress is right enough. Auld Laddie is cleverer than mony a Christian, and will find some thing in the snaw this night." " Don't sit up, Jessie," I say, as we start; " we may be out half the night on this wild goose chase." " Follow Laddie closely," is all the answer she makes. The dog springs forward with a joy ous bark, constantly looking back to see if we are following. As we pass through the avenue gates and emerge on the moor the moon struggles for a moment through the driving clouds and lights up with a sickly gleam the snow-clad country before us. " It's like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay, sir," says John, the coachman, confidentially; " to think as we should find anybody on such a night as this. W7hy, in some places the snow is more than a couple o' feet thick, and it goes agin' reason to think that dumb animal would have the sense to come home and ask for help." " Bide a wee, bide a wee," says"old Donald. "I dinna ken what your English dogs can do, but a collie, though it has na been pleasing to Prov idence to give the creature the gift o' speech, can do mony mair things than them wad deride it." " I ain't a deridin' of 'em," says John. " I only says as how if they be so very clever i've never seen it." " Ye wull, though, yewull," says old Donald, as he hurries forward, after Laddie, who has now settled down into a swinging trot, and is taking his way straight across the loneliest part of the bleak moor. The cold wind almost cuts us in two, ttud whirls the snow into our faces, nearly blinding us. My finger tips are be coming numbed, icicles hanging from my mustache and beard, and my feet iud legs are soaking wet, even through mv snooting boots ana stout leatner eggmgs. the moon lias cone in again, ana the crht from the lantern we carry is barelj uflicient to show us the inequalities in e height of the snow, by which we re guessing at our path. I begin to ish I had staid at heme. " L. liomme -ojxwe. mais la feinme dispose," I sigh to invself. ana I begin to consider i hether I may venture to give up the search (which I have undertaken purely to satisfy my wife, for l am HKe jonn, and won't believe in Laddie), when, suddenly. I hear a shout in front of me, nd see Donald, who has all the time been keeping close to Laddie, drop on his knees and begin digging wildly in the snow with his hands. We all rush for ward. Laddie has stopped at what ap pears to be the foot of a stunted tree, and after scratching and whining for moment, sits down and watches, leaving the rest to us. "What is it that appears when we have shoveled away the snow ? A dark object. Is it a bundle of rags? it or. alas I was it a human being t We raise it carefully and tenderly, and wrap it in one of the warm blankets with which mv wnes ioretnougm had provided us. ' Bring me the lantern," 1 say, husK lv. and John holds it over the prostrate form, of not as we might have expeciea. . .... . i some stalwart shepherd of the hills, but over that of a poor, shriveled, wrinkled agged old woman. I try to pour a little brandy down the poor old throat, but the teeth are so firmly clenched that cannot. Get her home as quickly as may be, . 1 1 1 .11 1 A. sir; the mistress wiu nnow Detter wnat to do for her nor we do, if so be the poor creature is not past help," says John, turning instinctively, as we all do in sickness or trouble, to woman's aid. So we improvise a sort of hammock of the blankets, and gently and tenderly the men prepare to carry their poor, helpless burden over the snow. . . -i . ?ii . i am airaia your mistress wm ue iu bed," I say, as we begin to retrace our steps. " Never fear, sir," says Donald, with a triumphant glance at John, the mis tress will be up and waiting for us. She kens Laddie dinna bring us out in the snaw for naething." " I'll never say nought about believ ing a dog again," says John, gracefully striking his colors. " lou were right, and I was wrong; but to think there should be such sense in an animal passes me 1" As we reach the avenue gate jl ais- patch one of the men for the doctor, who fortunately lives witnm a stone s throw of us, and hurry on myself to prepare my wife for what is coming. She runs out into the nan to meet me. "Well?" she asks, eagerly. " We have found a poor old woman," 1 sav. "but we do not know whether she is alive or dead." My wife throws her arms around me and gives me a great hug. iiVnn toiM find drv thincs in vonr A. VI J - m dressing-room, dear," shesays.and this is the revenge she takes on me for my skep ticism. The poor old woman is car ried unstairs and placed in a warm bath under my wife s direction, and be fore the doctor arrives she has shown ... some faint symptoms oi nw; so my wife sends me word. Dr. Bruce shakes his hea I when he sees her. "Poor old soul." savs he. " how came ehe out on such a fearful night ? I doubt she haa received a shock which, at her agfej she will not easily get over.' I hey manage, however, to lorce a few spoonfuls of hot brandy and water down her throat; and presently a faint color flickers on her cheek, ana tne poor old eyelids begin to tremble. My wife raises her head ana mases her swallow some cordial which Dr. Bruce has brought with him, and lays her back among the soft, warm pillows. " I think she will rally now," says Dr. Bruce, as her breathing becomes more regular and audible. " Nourish ment and warmth will do tho rest, but she has received a shock from which, I fear, she will never recover." And so saying, he takes leave. Uy-and-bvo I go up to the room, ana find my wife watching alone by the aged sufferer. She looks at me with tears in her eyes. "Poor oia soul, she says, "I am afraid she will not rally from the cold and exposure." I go round to the other side oi the bed and look down upon her. The aged face looks wan and pinched, and the scanty gray locks which lie on the pil low are still wet from the snow. She is a very little woman, as far as I can judge of her in her recumbent position, and I should think had reached her al lotted threescore years and ten. " Who can she bar 1 repeat, won- deringly. "She does not belong to any of the villages hereabouts, or we should know her face, and I cannot imagine what could bring a stranger to the moor on such a night. As I speak a change passes over her face; the eyes unclose, and she looks inquiringly about her. She tries to speak, but is evidently too weak. My wife raises her and gives her a spoonmi of nourishment, while she says, sooth ingly: " Don't try to speak. You are among friends, and when you are better you shall tell me all about your self. Lie still now and try to sleep." The gray head drops back wearily on the pillow, and soon we have the satis faction of hearing, by the regular res piration, that our patient is asleep. You must come to bed now, jes' sie. 1 say. "i snail ring lor luary, . . and she can sit up the remainder of the night." But my wife, who is a tenaer-neartea soul and a born nurse, will not desert her post, so I leave her watching and retire to mv solitary chamber. When we meet in the morning i nna hat the little woman has spoken a few vords. and seems stronger. "Come in with me now," says my wife, "and let us try to find out who she is." We find her propped into a reclining posture with pillows, and Mary beside her, feeding her. "How are you now," asks Jessie, beading over her. " Better, much better, thanK you. good lady." she says, in a voice which trembles from ago as well as weakness; "and very grateful to you for your good noss I hear at once, by the accent, that she is English. " Are you strong enough to tell me how you got lost on the moor, and where you came from, and where vo'i are going ?" continued my wife. " Ah 1 I was going to my lad, my poor lad. and now 1 doubt whether 1 shall ever see him more 1" says the poor soul, with a long sigh of weariness "Where is your lad, and how far have vou come ? "My lad is a soldier at Fort Goorge, and I have come all the way from Liver pool to see him, and give him his old mother's blessing before he goes to the Indies." And then, brokenly, with long pauses of wearinoss, the little old woman tells us her pitiful story. TTor ldfl. nli a tells ns. ia her onlv e maining child. She had six, and the youngest, is the only one who did not die of want during the Lancashire cottoa famine. He grew up a fine, likely boy. the comfort and pride of his mother's heart, and the stay of her de clining years. But a "strike" threw him out of work, and unable to endure the privation and misery, in a fit of des peration he "'listed." His regiment was quarterea at J? on ueorge, ana ne wrote regularly to his mother, his let ters getting more cheerful ana hopemi every day, until suddenly he wrote to sav that his rogiment was ornerea io India, and begging her to send him her blessing, as he had not enough money to carrv him to Liverpool to see her. The agea mother, wiaowea ana cnna- . - ,i n i i i less. save for this one remaining boy, felt that she must look on his lace once moro before she died. She begged from a few ladies, whose kindness had kept her from the workhouse, sufficient money to carry her by tram to Glasgow, and from thence she had made her way, now on foot, now begging a lilt in a passing cart or wagon, to within a few miles of Fort George, when she was caught in the snow-storm, and, wander ing from the road, would have perished in the snow but for Ijauaie, My wife is in tears and Mary is sob bing audibly as the little old woman concludes her touching and simple story, and I walk to the window and look out for a moment before I ask her what her Bon's name is As I tell her we are but a few miles from Fort George, and that I will send over for him, a smile of ex treme content illumines the withered face. " His name is John Salter," she says. "He is a tall, handsome lad. They will know him by that." I hasten downstairs and write a h ort note to Colonel Freeman, whom I know intimately, informing him of the circumstances and begging that he will allow Jchn Salter to come over at ence, and I dispatch my groom in the dog cart that he may bring him back with out luss of time As I retnrn to the house after seeing him start, I meet Dr. Bruce leaving the homse " Poor old soul." he Bars, "her trou bles are nearly over; she is sinking fast. I almost doubt whether Bhe will live tin her son comes." "How she could have accomplished such a journey at her age, I cannot understand," I observe. - .... Ml "Nothing is impossible to a motner, answers Dr. Bruce; "but it has killed her." I go in, but I find I cannot Bettle to mv usual occupations, jny mougnis are with the aged heroine who is dying upstairs, and presently I yield to the fascination that draws me back to her presence. As Dr. Vr liruce says, sue is Binning fast. She lies back on the pillows, her cheeks as ashy gray as her hair. She clasps my wife's hand in hers, but her eyes are wide open, ana have an eager, expectant look in them. - . - . . ill Ml " At what time may we expect them r whispers my wife to me. "Not before four," 1 answer, in tne same tone. " He will be too late. I fear," she says, " she is getting rapidly weaker." But love is stronger than death, and she will not go until her eon comes. All through the winter's day she lies dying, obediently taking what nourishment is given her, but never speaKing excepi io say, "Juy iaa, my iaa i uou is guuu, .no will not let me die till he comes. And at last I hear the dog-cart, t lay my finger on my lip and tell Mary to go and bring John Baiter up very auietlv. But my caution is needless; the mother has heard the sound, and with the last effort of her remaining strength she raises herself and stretches out her arms. " My laa I my iaa i" sne gasps, as with a great sob he springs forward, and mother and son are clasped in each other arms once more, For a moment they remain so. Then the little woman sinks back on my wife's shoulder, and her spirit is look ing down from heaven on the lad she loved so dearly on earth. She lies in our little churcnyara un der a spreading yew tree, and on the stone which marks her resting place are inscribed the words: "Faithful unto death." Our 'Laddie has gained far- spread renown for his gcod works, and as I sit finishing tms suori recora oi a tale of which he is the hero he lies at I.-- - ... ., , , mv feet, our ever watchful, faithful companion and friend. Chambers' Jour nal. A Big Meteor. The fall of a meteor in the bay near Goat Island, from the description given to a Call reporter by various persons on the water front, must have been a sight seldom witnessed by man. Hearing that an old fisherman had been on the bar near where the aerolite fell, the re porter looked him up ana gottheioiiow ing story: "Yes," said he, "I was near the place when that meteor leu, ana let me sav right here. I don't want to be there when the next one comes down I tell you what, young man, I've been in a good many close places in Cali fornia, fighting gnzziies and standing off Mexicans in '49, but I never said my pravers as manv times in a second as 1 did when that meteor lit for the bav this morning. I was going across the bav to the Oakland flats to set my nets, as I do most every morn mg. well, wnen l got aimosi opposite the island, all of a sudden it got so liflbt that I thought the whole electno light business had exploded right over my head. I pulled for the island as hard as I could, for I always had a holy horror oi making fish-bait of myself. I had not made two strokes when it got all-fired hot, and I looked around and was just in time to see the grandest and terriblost sight these old eyes ever looked upon. Not ten feet from me tho meteor struck the water. It looked as large as a horse, when it struck yon could have heard the hissing almost a mile. I never heard anything like it before. Almost as soon as it went under my boat was over the spot, and the water was bubbling and steaming as though a young volcano had broken out." "Uo you thins you could find the exact place where the meteor struck ? asked the re porter. "I don t know. As Boon as davlicht came I went back to see how things looked, ana louna a numoer oi dead fih floating around. I think it was about two hundred yards from the island, a little east of south. I was so badly scared that I can't say exactly, " How old are you, ana wnat is your name ?" I was born in Maine in IH'Zd, and my name is John Small," answered the lone fisherman. The reporter called nnon Professor Hmks at the btate mining bureau. The professor was out of town, but it has been reported by several parties that the aerolite had been seen by quite a number of persons. Professor Davidson was also called noon, but was out. This is, without doubt, one or the largest aerolites mat 1 . ... i .L.i has visited the earth for some time past. San Francisco Call, The Two Ways. When we pick a person to pieces, ex pose his follies, criticise his manners, Question his motives and condemn his actions, we are making, not the best, but the worst of him. If, on the con' trarv. we search for his good points and bring them to the front, if we make all allowance for his faults and errors, and withdraw them as a uch as possible from the notice of oth , we are making the best of him. both in appearance and realitv. In shielding his reputation we are preserving for him the respect of , others, which goes far toward promot ing his own self respect THE XI1IILISTS. One sf Them Dencribe the Attempt to Blow Up the Czar. The New York Herald con tains a long communication from Leo Hartmann, a Nihilist, now in this country, describing the mining of the Moscow railroad ana the attempt to blow up the czar. In that enterprise he was assisted by oophie Perovsky, who has since been executed; Goldenberg, who committed suicide in the St. Petersburg fortress, and others. The work was prosecuted under many difficulties, and once they barely es caped discovery by the mine caving in in the middle of the Btreet during a heavy rain storm. They were unable to push it as far beyond the track as was neces sary; the supply of dynamite was not as large as it should have been. On the night before the explosion the conspira tors celebrated it with a oouie oi wine. Hartmann describes the scene as fol lows: "The windows of our house are closed and covered by thick draperies, leaving no chink through which a treacherous rav of light might creep. Around tne dining-table eight persons are seated seven men and a young woman, Sophie Perovsky. Two members of the admin istrative council, on their way from the South to the capital, are our gue6ts for to-night. In the middle of the table eight daggers are stuck crosswise into the boards. J!iight revolvers lay unaer neath. By the side of this pile a lurid flame alcohol, with salt burns, casting ghastly, unearthly light on all the pale, emaciated figures sitting around the table. The effect of this flame may truly be called horrible. It gives to the face a livid hue as that oi a corpse, vve had naturally suffered much by our mining work. Our faces were deeply furrowed with wrinkles the sleepless nights, the constant anxiety and sus pense had left their mams on us. Ana now, in that ghastly light, the table seemed to be surrounded, not by living men, but by corpses who had risen from the grave for a midnight festival. The instruments of death before us, the deathly hue of our faces all this spoke of the grave; only the eyes gleamed and glittered with a greenish light, perhaps still more ghastly to iook at man tne immovable corpse-like paleness of the faces. " The flame burned unsteadily, sending long, dancing shadows on the walls and ceilings, and this aaaea buu to me erhastliness of the picture. I shut my eyes and aistortea my iace into me same horrible, convulsive grimace I had seen on the face of my friend Usmsky and three others whose hanging I had witnessed. " ' That is how I will look, then !' I exclaimed. ' Stop that r cried my neighbor, clenching my arm. It is too horrible.' ' Seeing what impression our ghastly ' experiments produced on the others, I was involuntarily caught myself by the same feeling. The wine was poured out into the glasses, we drank to the success of our plan and began in a subdued voice our beautiful revolutionary hymn matchless in its simple passion, in its glowing feeling for liberty, in its deep sorrow for the people s sunerings. The work of firing the mine was leit to one whose name he does not divulge, while Sophie Perovsky gave the signal. In the confusion that ensued they oowi left the house and repaired to quarters in another part of the city prepared for them. The same night they took the night express for St. Petersburg and witnessed the arrival oi tne czar at tue capital. Of Nihilism and mihiusts iiarimann says: "Solovieff, the author of the third at tempt against tho life of Alexander 11 was unable to see an animal Kiiieu. ne was an uncommonly good and delicately organized man. And yet he surmounted his almost unconquerable aversion to bloodshed in order to kill the czar. For mvself I mav say that, though a good shot, 1 have always naa an mseparauie aversion lo shooting other than wild . - - . 1 1 V1- animals, such as wolves, vultures, mad dogs and such like. But I would calmly and cheerfully kill a man who treaas under his execrable foot 90,000,000 of . . . -i human beings, bathing in their blood, For I consider such a man a thousand times worse and more darigerous than a wolf or a maa aog. An am mal can kill five, ten, perhaps twentv men. while our barbarous des potism has destroyed tnousanas ana - - , thousands of lives and stifles the spark nf libertv and intelligence out of DO, 000,000 of other lives. But I hear the moral and virtuous reader remark, in your attempt to blow up the czar many innocent people might have suffered. That is true. But to this we have to answer first, that as in all warfare so in our struggle against czardom, those who Berve our foe are our enemies too; and Beoondly, that even if a few inno cent lives should perish, this is a ne cessity which no great war, no great movement for the freedom of mankind can escape. We deeply regret this necessity. But we are deeply and gratefully conscious of the fact that until now the Russian revolution has cost much less innocent victims than other similar movements. We remem ber that during the great war which the American nation waged for the abolition of slavery, General Sherman was com pelled, by the stern necessity of war, to sack the city of Atlanta, whereby hun dreds of women and children perished indiscriminately. We consider ourselves happy that the Russian revolution has heretofore r-ot been stained by one single drop of a woman's or a child's innocent blood. " And vet. in the eves of many of my readers I shall nevertheless remain a criminal. Those readers are exceed ingly moral persons. They ehed tears over the dreadful fate of Alexander II., and pass whistling and humming a merry tune beside the misery of 90,000, 000 bathed in their own blood by the monster in human shape they mourn over. They consider every attempt of a people to shake off a dastardly yoke criminal. "Be it so. But to those for whom liberty is the true, the supreme goddess of their life, whose hearts tnroD ior, tne suffering, the struggle and the heroism of other nations to "those true and best men, who are the honor, the strength and the hope of every people, let me address these parting words: What we Nihilists want is liberty for our people. As soon as our struggle shall have re sulted in a republic such as the one we find here in the United States, we shall be the first to weloome it. We shall be unspeakably happy to be at least able not to hate the chief of the State, our President. A republic in its present form does not, it it true, give every citi zen the full produce of his labor, does not banish social as well as political in justice and inequality. But it teaches every man to think for himself ; raises him from the degraded state of a slavish brute to that of a self-conscious, liberty- proud citizen." A Philanthropist's Mail. Mrs. Elizabeth Thompson, the well- known philanthropist of New York, is constantly beset by applications ior as sistance from all parts of the country and for a bewildering Variety of ob jects. In an interview with a New York reporter, she thus describes one morning s man : xms i mjr morn ing's mail, you see, and the first letter I opened was a request to buy a bell for a church not a hundred miles away. I am daily appealed to for money to build churches, buy bells and organs, or assist clergymen to means ior a tew months' vacation, or to increase their meager salaries, till I am lost in amaze- ment. I wonder wny tnere are not moro communions in one, why so many , creeds, why bo many empty pews and so few practical advantages 1 Now I believe in churches and the sacraments; I believe in all that is essential to the growth and exaltation of humanity, but I cannot for my life comprehend the necessity of bo many different ways of worshiping and honoring our Maker, and the necessity of so many different routes to heaven.- I believe that greater good on earth and honor to His holy name wouia oe attamea u some of these numerous churches were turned into school-houses or workshops. Just look over the pile of letters ana yoa will find applications for means to accomplish ail sorts oi tnings. xiere io an application for a contribution to build a church iu Arkansas costing 30,000, which, if I grant, I am prom ised Hhat the name and the amount given are to be engraved on a tablet and placed in the church. 'J. his is a solicitation for money to publish a medical book, which the writer says is a " gigantio benevolent work. Ibis is from the financial agent of a Western college. He says : " I desire you to en joy with us the luxury of building up and sustaining it. We need a larger endowment and new building would like the pleasure of giving you a promi nent place in the history of the college." This letter is from a woman asking for 200 in cash, or, if she cannot have that amount, 26, to enable her hus band to join the Odd Fellows, when, if he gets sick, he will receive benefits. A man in Chicago writes and says that he wants 84,000 to buy a grocery with, and that if he had such a start he could ' ' manage to support himself and family." This one is from Missouri. A physician with a family and an income of $1,200 is in need of surgical instruments, and requests me to send them at once. He incloses me a long list of articles that I never heard of before. Here is one from a temperance lecturer, who invites me to aid him in the broad field of philanthropy, by sending him about $75 worth of illustrated views. And a married lady from city, in this State, writes to ask, "wouldlbeso kind in my gracious goodness to provide her with pocket money, as her husband is one of those kind of men who thinks more of his money than of his familv, consequently keeps a tight hold upon hispu: se-strings." Then here are a dozen or more solicitations for money to start or sustain newspapers, etc., ad infinitum et ad nauseam. These letter applicants are easily disposed of by filing their letters. Not so with those who are within personal reach of me. They come. And if by chance I am induced to give aid or even audience to one of those who have a request or a scheme to benefit mankind, I am at once possessed of an affliction worse to get rid of than the neuralgia. To give, to assist, to investigate and then refuse to continue, is to be just like a woman whatever that means. But after all said and done, to become disgusted with trying to do good, because the object benefited is unworthy is to reuder charity a worldly calculation, and not the impulse of a grateful heart. That a fellow-creature suffers is suf ficient reason for us to try to aid him, and the remembrance of that act is, I believe, ample recompense. Little rush baskets take the place of shopping bags. They are open, worked and lined with fine ruby, peacock blue or olive cashmere or silk, with a deep bag top drawn together by ribbon strings.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers