THE STAR GE THE NORTH. H'. 1. JiCOBY, Proprietor.] VOLUME 11. rUILISBID BTBBY WKDNEBDAY V VVM. n. JACOBY, Office on lain St., Srd Square below Market, TERMS:—Two Dollars per annum if paid Within six months from the lime of subscrib ing: two dollars and ctß. if not paid with in the year. Nd silbsciiplion taken lor a less period than six months; no discontinuance permitted until all arrearages are paid, un less at the option of the editor. The terms of advti tiling wilt he as follows : One square, twelve lines, three times, Si 00 Every subsequent insertion, 25 One square, tnree months, 3 00 One year, 8 00 Choice poctrQ. FORTY YEARS AGO. I've wandered in the village, Tom—l've sat beneath the tree,— Upon the school l,ouseplaying-ground,which sheltered you and me, But none were there to greet me Tom. and few were leltto know, That played with us upon the green, some forty years ago. The grass is just as green, Tom,—barefooted boys at |>iay, Were sporting just as we did then, with spirits just as gay ; But the mastersleeps upon the hill, which, coated o'er with snow, Afforded us a eliding place, just forty years ago. The old school house is altered now, the benches are replaced By new ones very like the same our pen knives had defaced; But the same old bricks are in the wall, the bell swings to and Iro, Its music's just the same, dear Tom, as for ty years ago. The spring that bubbled 'nealh the hill, close by the spreading beech, Is very low— 'twas once so high that we could almost reach! And kneeling down to get a drink,dear Tom, 1 started so, To see how much that I had changed since forty years ago. Near by the spring, upon the elm, you know , 1 cut yottr name, — Your sweetheart's just beneath it, Tom—and you did mine the same ; Some heartless wretch has pealed the bark, 'twas dying sure but slow, Just as the one whose name we cut some forty years ago. My eyelids had been dry, Tom, but tears came in tny eyes, I thought of her I loved so wed, those early broken ties; I visited the old church-yard, and took some (lowers to strew Upon the graves o( those we loved some for ty years ago. ' And some are in the church yard laid,some \ sleep beneath the sea, _ ! But few are lell of mir old class, excepting ■ you and me ; _ . I And when our time shall come, Tom, and we are chlled to go, I hope they'll lay us where we played just ' forty years ago. Great Speech in the Missouri Lesislature. : Mr. Pill offered the following : Resolved. That the Speaker be authorized to cause to be printed and posted one hund dred, bills, announcing the Blh of January, 1859. Mr. Abney—l move to put that resolution on the table. Mr Pitt—Mr. Speaker, the House passed resolutions, Sir.to celebrate, :n an appropri ate manner, the B'h of January. This is a resolution simply asking that notice be giv en to the public of that day. We declared an intention, and now, when we cotne to publish it, some gentleman is suddenly seized with the -'retrenchment gripes,-' and squirms around like a long red worm on a pin hook. (Laughter) Gentlemen keep continually talking about economy. I my-1 sell, do not believe in tying the public purse with cobweb strings, but when retrenchment comes in contact with patriotism, it assumes the form of "smallness" Such economy is like that of Old Skinflint, had a pair of boots made for his Utile boy, without soles, that they might last the longer.— (Laughter.) I reverence the "day we celebrate." It is Iraught with reminiscences the most stir ring ; it brings to mind one of the greatest j events ever recorded in letters ol living fire npon the walls of the temple of fame by the strong right arm # of the god of war! On ; such occasions we should rise above party lines and political distinctions I never fought under the banner of Old Hickory, j but ' by the E'ernal" I wish I had. tor and applauscj) If the old war horse , was here now, he would not know his < own children from the side of Joseph's coat j "of many colors—Whigs, Know Nothings, ' | 'Democrats, hard, soft, boiled, scrambled,and j -, tried ; Lincolnites, Douglasites, and biath- j jgyskites ! I belong to no party ; lam free, J jjjßbridled, and unsaddled, in the jbature. Like a bod-tailed boll in fly time, ! flggjiaiffla around in the high grass and fight flies f Great laughter.) GflMeiDen, let us show our liberality on patriSHp occasions. Why, some men have no mffi|ptttrioiism than you could stuff in the eye ofSikniuing needle. Let us not squeeze n3S Cents till the eagle on it squeals like a locomotive or an old maid. Let us print the bill?and inform the country that we are as lull aa are lllionis swamps of tadpoß (Laughter.) I don't believe in doing tgR by halvea. Permit me, Mr. Speaker, (Rube a poetical quota tion Irom one of authors : "I love to see the the red May rosßs. I love to see an old gray horse Jffor when he goes he OOZSKS !" (Convulsive laughter.) Alter the above speech the TTrWhifeind to lay the resolution on the table BLOOMSBURG, COLUMBIA WEDNESDAY. MARCH 30. 1859. I DOWN HILL. A LIFE PICTURE. BT BYLVANUB COBB, JR. I Not long since 1 had occasion to visit one of our courts, and while conversing with a legal friend I heard the name of John An derson called. "There is a hard case," remarked my friend. I looked upon the man in the prisoner's dock. He was standing up, and he plead guilty of Theft. He was a man, but bent and infirm, though not old. His garb was torn, sparse, and filthy; his face all bloated and bloodshot; hair matted with dirt; and his bowed form quivering wilh delirium. Cer tainly, I never saw a more pitable objeel— Surely that man was nut born a villain. I moved my place to obtain a fairer view of his head. He gazed upon me a single in stant, and then, covering his face with nis hands, he sank powerless into his seat. "Good God !" I involuntarily ejaculated, starting forward. "Will " I had half spoken his first name when he quickly raised his head and cast upon me a look of such imploring agony that my ton* gue was tied at once. Then he covered his face again, i asked my legal companion if ihe prisoner had counsel. He said no. I then told him to do all in his power for the poor fellow's benefit,! would pay him. He promised, and I left. I could not remain and see that man tried. Terfrs came to my eyes as I gazed upon him, and it was not until I had gained the street and walked i some distance that [ could breathe freely. ' John Anderson ! Alas! he was ashamed to be known as his mother's son! That was not his name ; but you shall know him by no oilier. I will call him by (he name that now stands upon the records of the court. John Anderson was inv school-mate; and it was not many years ago—not over twen ty—that we left our academy together—he lo return to the home of wealthy parents; 1 to sit down in the dingy sanctum of a newspaper office for a few years, and then wander off across the ocean. I was gone some four years, ar.d when 1 returned, I found John a married man. His father was dead and had left his only son a princely fortune. "Ah, C he said to me, as he met me at the railway station, "you shall see what a bird 1 have caged. My Ellen is a lark—a robin—a very princess of all birds that ever looked beautiful or sang sweetlv." He was enthusiastic, but not mistaken, for I found his wife all he had Baid, simply omitting the poetry. She was truly one of the most beautiful women I ever saw. And so good, too—so loving and so kind. Aye— she so loved John that she really loved all his friends. What a lucky lellow to find such a wife. And what a lucky woman to find such a husband, for John Anderson was as handsome as she. Tall, strait, manly,high browed, with rich chestnut curls, and a face as faultlessly noble and beautiful as ever artist copied And he was good, too ; and kind,generous and true. I spent a week with them, and I was happy all the while, John's mother lived with them—a fine old lady as ever breath ed, and making herself constant joy and pride in doating upon her "Darling Boy," as she always called him. I her an account of my adventures by sea and land in foreign climes, and she kissed me when 1 left. She said she kissed me because I loved her "darling " I did not see John again for four years. 1 reached his house in the evening. He was not in, but his wife arid mother were there to receive me, and two cutley headed boys were at play about Ellen's chair. 1 knew at once they were my friend's children Everything seemed pleasant until the little ones were a-bed and asleep, and then I could see that Ellen became troubled. She tried to hide it, but a lace so used to the sunshine of smiles could not wear a cloud concealed. Ai length John came. His face was flush ed, and his eye looked inflamed. He grasp ed my hand with a happy laugh—called me '"Old Fellow," "Old Dog,"—said I must come and live with him, and many other extravagant things. His wife tried to hide her tears, while his mother shook her head and said— "He'll sow these wild oats soon. My darling never can be a mad man." "God grant it," I thought to myself; and I know the same prayer was upon Ellen's lips. It wa9 late when we retired, and we might not have done so even then had uot John fallen asleep in his chair. On the following morning I walked out with my friend. I told him I was sorry to see him as I saw him the night belore. "Oh," said he, with a laugh, -'that was nothing. Only a little wine party. We had a glorious time. 1 wish you had been there." At first I thought 1 would say no more ; but was it not my duty ? I knew his nature better than he knew it himself. His appe tite and pleasures bounded his own vision I knew how kind and generous he was— alas! too kind— too generous I "John, could you have seen Ellen's face last evening you would have trembled Can you make her unhappy 1" He stop ped me with— "Don't be a fool! Why should the be unhappy I" "Because she fears you are going doton hill," I told him. "Did she ay go?" he asked, wilh a (lush ing face. "No—l read it in her looks." 'Perhaps a reflection of your own thoughts,' he suggested. " I surely thought so when you came home," I replied. Never can I forget the look he gave me then—so full of reproof, or surprise, and of pain. "C^—, I forgive you, for I know you to be my friend : but never speak to me again I like iliat. 1 going down hill I You know |my own power. 1 know my own wants My mother knows me belter than Ellen does." I Ah—had that mother been as wise as she was loving, she would have seen that the 'wild oats' which her son was sowing, would surely grow up and ripen only to furnish seed for re-sowing ! But, afie loveJ him— loved him,almost too well—or I should say 100 blindly. 1 only prayed that God would guard him; and then we conversed upon other subjects. I could spend but one day with him, but we promised to correspond often. "lhree years more passed, during which John Anderson wrole to me at least once a month and sometimes oftener; but at the end of that time his letters ceased coming, and I received no more for two years, when I aaaiu found myself in Itis native town It was early in the afternoon when I arrived, and I took dinner at the hotel. f had finished my meal and was lounging in front of the hotel, when 1 saw a fuueral procession winding into a distant church yard. I asked the landlord whose funeral it was. "Mrs. Anderson's" he said, and as he spoke, I noticed a slight dropping of the bead, as though it cut him to say so. "What—John Anderson's wife?" "No," he replied. "It is his mother;" and as he said this he turned away; but a gentleman who stood near, and had over heard our conversation, at once took up the theme. "Our host don't seem inclined to con verse upon that subject," he remarked, wilh a shrug of the shoulders. " Did you ever know John Anderson ? " "He was my schoolmate in boyhood, and my bosom lrier.d in youth," I said. He led me one side and spoke as follows : "Poor John! He was the pride of this town six years ago. This man opened his hotel at that time, and sought custom by giing wine suppers. John was present at most of thetn—the gayest of the gay, and the most generous of the party. In fact he paid for nearly every one ol them. Then he began to go down hill. And he has been going down ever since. At limes true friends have prevailed upon him to stop; but his slops were of short duration. A short sea son of sunshine would gleam upon his home and then the niaht caire more dark and drear than belore. He said he would never be drunk again;—yet he would lake a glasi of wine with a friend I That glass of wine was but the gate that let in the flood. Six years ago he was worth sixty thousand dollars. Yesterday he borrowed fifty dol lars to pay his mother's funeral expenses ! That poor mo her bore up as long as she could. She saw her son—her "Darling Boy," she always called hiin-broughl home drunk many times, and sheevrn bote I lows from html But she's at rest now ! Her "Darling" wore her life away, and brought her gray hairs in sorrow to the grave! I hope this may re form him!" I "But his wife?" I asked. "Her heavenly love has held her up thus far, but she is only a shadow of the wife that blessed his home six years ago." My iutormant was deeply affected, and so was I, and 1 asked no more. During the remainder of the afternoon I debated with myself whether to call upon John at all. But finally I resolved to go, though I waited till after tea I found John and his wife alone. They had both been weeping, though I could see at a glance that Ellen's face was beaming with love and hope. Rut oh ! she was changed—sad ly, painfully so. They were glad to see me. and my hand was shakeu warmly. "Dear C-——, don't say a word of the past," John urged, lakiug my hand a second lime. "I know you tpoke the truth to mo five years ago. 1 was going down hill I But I've gone as far as I can. 1 stop here at the foot. Everything is gone but my wife. I have sworn, and my oath shall be kept. Ellen and I are going to be happy now." The poor fellow bursted into tears here His wile followed suit; and I kept them compapy. I could not help crying like a child. My God what a sight! The once noble, true man so fallen—become a mere broken glass, the last fragment only reflect ing the image it at once bore—a poor sup pliant at the feet of Hope, begging a grain ol warmth for the hearts of himself a<>d wife I And bow 1 had honored and loved that man—and how I loved him still—Oh ! how I hoped—aye more than hoped—l be lieveu he would be saved. And as I gazed upon that wife—so trusting so loving, so true, and so hopeful still, even in the midst of living death—l prayed more fervently than I ever prayed before that God would hold bim up—lead him back to the top of the hilll In the morning I saw the children—grown to two intelligent boys now—and though they looked pale and wan, yet they smiled and seemed happy when their father kissed them. When John took me by the hand, and the laat words he said, where— "Trust me. Believe me now. I will be Trill ill Bight Mt lit oar Coaatrj. a MAS henceforth while life lasts I" A little over two years more had passed, when I read in a newsprint the death of El len Anderson. I started for the town where they had lived as soon as possible, for I might help— tome onel A fearful present ment had possessed my mind. I stopped at the stately house where they had dwelt, but strangers occupied it. "Where is John Anderson?" I asked. "Don't know, I'm sure. He's been gone these three months. His wife died in the mad-hous* last week ! "And the children ?" ' O—they both died before she did!" I staggered back, and hurried from the place. I hardly knew what way I went, but instinct led me to the church yard. I found four graves which had been made in three ysars. . The mcuhfr, the wife, and two children slept in tftem "THE DEMON OF THE WINE TABLE !"—But this was not all the work. No, no The next 1 saw—o, God ! —was far more ter rible ? I saw it in the city court-room.— But that was not the last—not the last. I saw my legal friend on the day follow ing the trial. He said Anderson was in pris on. I hastened to see him. The turnkey conducted me to his cell—the key turned in the huge lock—the ponderous door swung wilh a sharp creak upon its hinges—and I saw—a dead body suspended by the neck from a grating of the window ! I looked at the horritile face—l could see nothing of John Anderson there—but the face I had seen in Ihe court-room was sufficient to con ned the two; and 1 knew that this was all that was left ol him whom I had loved BO well ! And this was ail onhe" Demon's work— the last act in Ihe terrinble drama ! Ah— from the first sparkle of the red wine it had been down—down—down—until the foot of the hill had been finally reached ! When I returned away from that cell and once more walked amid the flashing saloons and revel-halls, I wished lhat my voice had power to thunder the life story of which I had been a witness into the ears of all liv ing men ! ADVENTURE WITH BIFF ALOES. Mr. Cumming thus describes one of his encounters with this animal, by himself and Ruyter, a Bushman, a favorite servant. On the forenoon of the 26th, I rode to huut. accompanied by Ruyter; we held West, skirting the wooded stony mountains. The natives had here many years, belore waged successful war with elephants, four of whose skulls I found. Presently 1 came across two sassasnybies, one of which I knocked over; but while! was loading he regained his legs and made off. We cross ed a level stretch of forest, holding a north erly course for un opposite range ot green, well wooded hills and valleys. Here I came upon a troop of six fine old bull buf faloes, into which I stalked, and wounded one princely fellow behind the shoulder, bringing blood from his mouth; he, however made off with his comrades, and the ground being very rough, we tailed to overtake him. They held for the Ngotwani. After fol owing the spoor for a couple of miles, we dropped it, as it had led right away Irom camp. Returning from this chase, we had an adventure with another old bull buffalo, which shows the extreme danger ol hunt ing buffaloes, without dogs. *We started him in a green hollow among the hills, and his course inclining for camp, I gave him chase. He crossed the leve broad strath and made for the opposite densely wooded range of mountains. Along the base of these we followed him sometime in view, sometimes on the spoor, keeping the old fellow at a pace which made him pant. At lenght finding himself much distressed, he had recourse to a singular stratagem. Doub ling round some thick bushes which obscur ed him from our view, he found himself besides a small pool of rain water, just deep enough to cover his body; into this he walk ed, and facing about, lay gently down and awaited our on coming, with nothing but his old grey face and massive horns above the water, and these concealed from our view by rank overhanging herbage. Our attention was entirely engrossed with the spoor, and we thus rode boldly on until within a few feet of him, when springing to his feet, he made a desperate charge af ter Ruyter, uttering a low, stifling roar, pe culiar to buffaloes, (somewhat similar to the growl of a lion.) and hurled horse and rider to the ground with fearful violence. His horns laid the poor horse's haunches open to the bone, making the most fearlul rugged wound. In an instant Ruyter regained his feet and ran for his life which the buffalo ob serving, gave chase, but most fortunately came down with a trememlious somersault in the mud, his feet slipping from under him ; thus the Bushmen escaped certain destruction. The buffalo rose much dis comfited, and the wounded horse first catch ing his eye, he went a second time at him, but he got off the way. At this moment I managed to send one of my patent pacifi cating pills into hisshoulcer, when he in stantly quitted the scene of action and sought shelter in a dense cover on the mountain side, whither I deemed it impru dent to follow him. "SAT, POMP, you nigger, where you get dat new hat!" "Why, at de shop, ob course."— - ' What is the price of such an article as dat V " I don't know, nigger— I don't know— dttkop kteper wun'tdar." From Ihe Home Journal. COME TO ME IN CHERRY TIME. BT GEORGE P. MORRIS. —— # Come to me in cherry-time, And. as twilight closes, We will have a merry time, Here amntg the roses ! When the breezes crisp the tide, And the lindens quiver, In our bark we'll safely glide Down the rocky river! When the stars, with qniel ray, All the hill tops brighten, Cherry ripe we'll sing and play Where the cherries ripen ! Then come to me in cherry-time, And. as twilight closes, We will have a meiry time Here among the roses. The Dnty of Owning Books. WR HFNRY WARD BSKCHP.R. We form judgments of men from little things about their houses, of which the owner, perhaps, never think*. In earlier years, when traveling in the West, where taverns were either scarce, or, in other pla ces, unknown, and every settler's house was a house of ''entertainment," it was a matter of some importance and some ex perience to select wise>y where you would put up And we always looked for flowers. If there were no trees for shade, no patch of flowers in the yard, we were suspicious of the place. But, no matter how rude the cabin, or rough the surroundings, if we saw that the window held a little trough for flow ers, arid that some vines twined about Btrings let down from Ihe eaves, we were confident that there was some taste and carefulness in the .'og cabin. In a new country, where people have lo tug for a liv ing, no one will take the trouble to rear flowers, unless the love of them is pretty strong—and this taste blossoming out of plain and uncultivated people is, itself, like a clump of hare tells growing out ol the seams of a rock VVe were seldom misled. A patch of flowers came to signify kind people, clean beds and good bread. But, other signs are mnre significant in other stales of society. Flowers about a rich man's house may signify only that lie has a good gardener, or that ne has refined neighbors, and does what he sees them do. But men are not accustomed to buy books unless they want them. If, on visiting the dwelling ot a man of slender means, I find the reason why he has cheap carpet, and very plain furniture, to be that he may pur chase books, he rises at once in my esteem. Books are not made lor furniture, but there is nothing else that so beautifully furnishes a house. The plainest row of books that cloth or paper ever covered is more signifi cant of refinement than the most elaborate ly carved etagere, or side board. Give me a house furnished with books rather than furniture! Both, if-yon can, but bonks at any rate! To spend several days in a friend's house, and hunger for something to read, while you are treading upon costly carpet, and sitting upon luxu rious chairs, and sleeping upon down, is as if one were bribing your body for the sake of cheating your mind. Is it not pitiable to see a man growing rich, and beginning to augment the comforts of home, and lavishing money on ostenta tious upholste-y upon the table, upon every thing but what the soul needs? We know o( many ami many a rich man's house where it would not be sale to ask for the commonest English classics. A few garish annuals on the table, a lew pictorial monstrosities, together with the slock of re ligious books of his "persuasion," and that is all! No range of poets, no essayists, nq selection of historians, no travels or biogra phies—no select fictions or curious legend ary iore : but then, the walls have paper on which cost three dollars a roll, and the floors have carpe s that cost four dollars a yard! Books are the windows through which the soul look out. A house without books is like a room without windows No man has a right to bring up his children without surrounding them with books, if he has the means to buy them. It is a wrong to his family. He cheats them! Children learn to read by being in the pieseuce of books. The love of knowledge comes with reading, and grows upon it. And the love of knowledge, iri a young mind, is almost a warrant against the inferior excitement of passions and vices. Lei us pity those poor rich men who live barrenly in great bookless houses. Let us congratulate the poor that, in our day, books are so cheap that a man may every year add a hundred volumes to his library for the price of what his tobacco and beer would cost him. Among the earliest ambi tions to be excited in clerks, workmen, jotinuymen, and, indeed among all that are strangling up in life from nothing to some thing, i thnt of owning, ar.d constantly adding to, library of good books. A little library growing*larger every year is an hon orable part of a young man's history. It is a man's duty to have books, if library is not a luxury, but one of the necessaries of life. 835 PAYS for a Course of Instruction at the Iron City College of Pittsburgh, Pa. Young men graduating at this Institution are guar antied to be capable to manage the books of any business concern and qualified to earn from 8500 to $lOOO per year. ''Mr. Schoolmailtr. do you know alge bra!" Algebra! No, but 1 know his father, Colonel Bray, and the girls too." This is a cousin to the man who didn't konw mathematics, bat knew Jim Matios like a book. Township Officer*. We have gathered from the returns the following names of the officers elected in the several townships, of this county on last Friday, and give them publicity as a matter of local news. We will not vouch for the correctness of these names, but hope they are all right. Bloom—Supervisors,Jno J. Berkley Sam uel Shaffer, Eli Barton; Overseers of the Poor, Geo. W. Foster, John B. Pursel; Judge, Caleb Barton; Constables, Gordon Goff.John M. Barton; School Directors, Palemon John, John R. Moyer; Assessor, John M. Cham berlin ; Inspectors, Richard Menagh, Wra. Snyder; Auditor, A. J. Sloan. Briarcreek—Justices ot the Peace, Adam Suit, Wm Lamnn, Constables, Morris Ed wards, Silas E. Moyer: Judge, Joseph Kes ter; Inspectors, D. W. Martz, Isaac Bower; Auditors, Henry Lamnn, Pefer Traugh, Jno. H. Smith; Supervisors, Reuben Bower, An drew Fowler; Assessor, William Erwine; School Directors, Samuel Dietterick, Geo M. Bower, Chas. Reed, David Miller, Enos Fowler; Overseers of the Poor, Henry Diet terick, Henry Rittenhouse. Beaver—Supervisors. John Wininger, Sol omon Swank; Constable, Charles B Tray; Judge, Stephen Lehr; Assessor, A M Mann; Auditor, Andrew Shitman; Inspectors, Dan iel Rehner, Joal Breadhaner; Town Clerk, Amos Johnson; School Directors, Daniel Gearhart, Moses Schlicher, John Smith. Benton—Constable Samuel Kline, Asses sor, Jacob Welliver; Overseers of the Poor, Hendnck Bangs, L. H. Priest; School Direc tors Richard Sti'es. Samuel Hess; Auditor, J K Ikeler; Judge R. L. F. Collev; Super-1 visors, Peter Kase. Samuel McHenry; In spectors Adam Lntz, Moses Yocum, Cattnwissia—Constable, Peter G. Camp bell; Justice of the Peace, Lewis Yetter; Su periors, Lewis Melz, Jno. Sco't; Overseers of the Poor, Solomon D. Rinard, Levi Keiler; School Di-ectors.l S.Monroe,J S.McNinch, Nelson John ; Auditor, George Long; In spectors. George Long, Francis Dean; Judge. Daniel Kriegh; Assessor, W. H. Kerr. Centre—Justice of the Peace, Lindley W. Wooley: Constable, Charles H. Deitterick, Judge, Samuel Bower; Inspectors, Jos. P. Conner, Jno. Litler; Over-eers of the Poor, Geo. Hidlay, Etlwood Hughes; Supervisors, William Hess, Richard Shannon; Assessor. Solomon Neyhard; School Directors, Nath aniel Campbell, Gilbert H Fowler, William Shaffer; Auditor, Ellwood Hughes. Conyngham—Justice ol the Peace, Silas Davis; Constable Patrick Burke; Supervisors Reuben Masser, William L. Kline; Assessor Patrick Burke; Judge, D T. McKurnan; In spectors, Richard Hughe", Andrew Hanner; Auditors, I. L Beadle. George Scott; School Directors, I. L. Beadle, Ab. Womer, I. C. Deener; Overseers of the Poor, Reuben Wasser Jno. R. Jones. Fisliingcreek—Constable, J. C. Rimyan; Judge, Nathan Fleckensiine, Assessor. Dan iel McHenry; Auditor, M. A. Ammermari; School Directors. Jonas Doty, Phi'ip Apple man, R. B. Bright; Inspectors, Hiram Bit lenbender, David Savage; Overseers of the Poor, John Dresher, A. VV. Robbins; Super visors, Thos J. Hutchinson, John Wenner. Franklin—Constable, Ths Hower; Judge, Daniel Knittie; Inspectors, Dan'l Zarr, Clin ton Mendenhall; Assessor, Aaron Lamber son; Supervisors, Jesse Cleaver, Samuel Lorman; Overseers of the Poor, Solomon Arlley, William Mensch; School directors, John Lawrence, Soloman Arlley, Joseph Hartman; Auditor, Abraham Lillie. Greenwood—Constable, Jacob Berlin; Su pervisors, Clark Merrill, William Robbins; Poor Overseers. Elisha Hayman, Wm. M. McMichael; School Directors, Johnson H. Ikeler, John Slaley; Auditors, John Staley, Wilson M. Eaves, John P. Kester; Judge, Joseph R. Patton; Inspectors, Enos Hay cock, Jacob Evans. Hemlock—Constable, Dan'l Neyhard; Su pervi-ors, Reuben T. Folk, Franklin Mc- Bride; Poor Overseers, Geo L, Shoemaker, T J. Vanderslice; School directors. Jacob Harris, James Emmitl, Mathins Appleman; Assessor, John H Fanst; Judue George W. Hetlle: Inspectors, Hugh A. Hartman, Ma thias Girton. Hugh D Mcßride. Jackson—Constable. Jeremiah H. Yocum; Supervisors John Savage. Michael Remley; Poor Overseers, Hiram Baker, Elisha Rob bins; School Directors, James W. Kitchen, Jeremiah Kline; Assessor, James Yocum: Judge, John Savage; Inspectors, Jno. Pousl, Alvin McHenry; Auditor, John T, Derr. Locust—Justice of the Peace, P. K. Her bine; Constable, Solomon FetteTman; Su pervisors, Mayberry Snyder, Charles Fetter man; Poor Overseers, Jacob Helwig, Jacob S'ine; School Directors Benj. Wagner, Jacob Stine; Assessor, Isaac Fahrisiger; Judge, William Goodman; Inspectors. David Hel wig Cyrus ShafTer; Auditor, Isaac Rhodes. Mifflin—Constable, Lewis Eckroat; Su pervisors, John B Angle, Phenis Smith; Poor Overseers, E. B. Brown, S. H. Swank; School directors. Abraham Schweppenheis er Stephen Gearhart; Assessor, Lawrence Wat ers; Judge John Michael, jr.; Inspec tors, Charles Werkheiser, W. F. Keller: Auditor, Abraham Smith. Maine—Justice of the Peace, William L. Shuman; Constable, Rudolph Shuman; Su pervisors, Jno Nuss, Henry Bowman; Sch'l Directors, Isaao Yelters, Jno. Harman, Hen ry Hartsel; Poor Overseers, Daniel Yeiler, H. G. C John; Assessor, Jesse John; Judge, Michael Grover; Supervisors Jesse Nuss, Daniel Miller; Auditor, John Kelchner. Montour—Constable, Even Welliver; Su pervisors, John Deitterick, David W. Clark! Overseers of the Poor, Joseph Mouser, Peter Heimbach; School Directors, Joaiah Roberts, Lewis Roat; Judge, I. M. Evans; Inspectors, [Two follan per AnnM. NUMBER 12. James Barton, David W. Clark; Anditor, J. G. Quirk; Assessor, Cadwalader Roberts. Madison—•Constable. Milton Cox; Judge, Elias Bogart; Assessor, Conrad Kreamer; Supervisors, Isaae Wagner, Wm. B. Welli ver; School Directors, Joseph Correll, O. P. Hunyan; Overseers of Ibe Poor, Samuel Brugler, Samuel Himby, Inspectors, Silas VVelliver, Erastus Hendershot; Auditor, J. B. Mills. Mount Plea