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CrrnKEUrTGdltor and Proprietor.
i Sn illITCUINSOJI, Publisher,
W,T OF POST OFFICES.
Steven L. Evans, Carroll.
roil Jiaiicr - -
A. Q. Crooks,
J; M. Christy,
Wn Tiley, Jr.,
I. E. Chandler,
Andrew J Ferral, Susq'ban.
George Berkey, .
George B. VTike,
J. K. Shrjock,
. . nrilFS, MINISTERS, &C.
- tlitv. T. M. Wilbok, Pastor.
ly" ' " Sabbath morning at 10J
'"Zl'kVSZASZlnX at 7 o'clock. Sab-
l rcAnni t 9 o'clock, A. M. Prayer meet-
. pverv Thursday evening at 6 o'clock.
ZLtFpisccplChurch-llv. A. Baker,
- . u--. TlPV. J. FKRSHING. A8
,;tt4nt. rreacuiuji '-j
Sabbath School at 9
-irwng.ai a - pverv Wednes-
: clock, A
at 7 o'clock.
V,lch Independent xuu. 1
Wtica " Qft,hftth mornme at
W.-Z"'"-r at 6 o'clock.
' i' o clock. nu " . , w
,bath Sckool at 1 o'clocK, r. . J
- ffi:ine on the ""'J"
rMtot.-Tmb6 every Sabbath evening at
7 and 6 o'clock. Strain uw. -
V Prayer meeting every Friday evening,
at 7 o'clock. Society eTery iu"j C1 VL""&
it 7 o'clock.
DucipletKzr. . Lloyd, rswr.-t cu
'r every Sabbath morning at 10 o'clock.
Particular jiapiiti rv.. un.-
Tiior. I'reacning every ca.uua.tu
j o'clock. Sabbath School at at I o'clock, P. M.
dtholic IUv. R. C. Uhristy, rasw.
I Vvices every Sabbath morning at 10 J o'clock
; Vespers at 4 o'clock in the evening.
.... a K ft 'aiaaIj- A f
u;em, daily, it '""'i
(Tesiern, 44 at o ciock r. ai.
MAILS CLOSE. :
I&stern, daily, at 8 o ciock, r. m.
Testern, " at 8 o'clock, P. M.
Thfl mnila from Newman's Mill, Car-
n-lltown. &c, arrive on Monday, Wednesday
ui Friday of each week, at 3 o clock, r. a.
Leave Ebensbarg on Taeodaye, Tbursdays
'iud Saturdays, at 9 o'clock, A.M.
West Bait. Express leaves at
9.13 A. M.
9.55 A. M.
10.33 P. M.
9.03 P. M.
7.48 A. M.
4.32 P. M.
8.31 P. M.
2.21 A. M.
6.43 A. M.
1.11 P. M.
5.21 P. M
12.30 A. M.
" Pitts. Erie Ml
" Altoona Accom.
East Phila. Express
" Fast Line
" Day Express
" Cincinnati Ex.
JuJjft cf the Cor( President Hon. Geo.
Taylor, Huntingdon; Associates, Georgo W.
lasley, Henry C. Devine.
Prothonotary Geo. C. K. Zahm.
Fsgitter and Recorder James Griffin.
Sutrif James Myers.
Dittriet Attorney. John F. Barnes.
t'vunty Commiiontr John Campbell, Ed
ward Glass, E. R. Dunncgan.
Clerk to Commisioner$ William II. Sech
Tnaturer Isaac Wike.
Clni to Treasurer John Lloyd.
Poor Houte Directors George M'Cullough,
George Orris, Joseph Dailey.
Poor Houte Treasurer George C. K. Zabm.
Auiitort Fran. P. Tierney, Jco. A. Ken
aedy, tmanuAl Brallier.
County Surveyor. Henry Scanlan.
Coroner. ..William Flattery.
Mercantile. Appraiser John Cox. '. .
Sup't. of Common Schools J. F. Condon.
EBEXSlirilG IXOR. OFFICERS.
Justices of the Pear a....... v;nv
Edmund J. Water3.
Burgess Q. T. Roberts.
School Directors Philip S. Noon, AHel
Lloyd, David J. Jones, Hugh Jones, Wm.
Joaeg, R. Jones, Jr.
B-nough Treasurer Geo. W. Oatman.
nitaiiV Afnrri. P.
- j a t a. t.
Huehes. Evan Griffith,
Wm. D. Davis, Maj. John
Sr'IliChard R' Tibbott' Robrt v.
Ju of Election Daniel O. Evans.
water J. a. Moore.
r WKST WARD.
's Council Isaac Crawford, James P.
OttSa' Wm KUte11' IL Kinkeadi Oeorge W.
tyntors. Robert Evans, Jno. E. Scanlan.
f Election. John D. Thomas.
euor Capt. Murray. ,
tZ Summit Lodge No. 312 A. Y. M.
fc-.;l Masonic Hall, Ebensburg, on the
uesaay of each month, at 7 J o'clock,
F.- Highland Lodee No. 428 I. O.
El P ft a !i fi.14 r,nllnn. ti-h ti
'7 ednesday evening.
T.tn&r- Highland Diyision No. 84 Sons of
CvPtfance meets in Temperance Hall, Eb
cvery Saturday evening.
' THE ALLEGHANIAN ."
$2.00 IN ADVANCE,
' , . OR
" 00 IF NOT PAID IN ADVANCE.
EBENSBURG, PA., THURSDAY, JANUARY 25, 1866.
Little Jerry, tile Miller.
Beneath the hill you may see the mill,
Of wasting wood and crumbling stone ;
The wheel is dripping and clattering still,
But Jerry, the miller, is dead and gone.
Year after year, early and late, ' ;
Alike in summer and winter weather, '
He pecked the stones and talked the gate,
And mill and miller grew old together.
"Little Jerry 1" 'twas all the same
They loved him well who called him so ;
And whether he'd ever another name,
Nobody ever seemed to know.
Twas "Little Jerry, come grind my rye
And "Little Jerry, come grind my wheat;"
And "Little Jerry" was still the cry.
From matron bold and maiden sweet.
'Twas "Little Jerry" on every tongue,
And thus the simple truth was told ;
For Jerry was little when he was young, '
And Jerry was little when he was old.
But what in size he chanced to lack,
That Jerry made up in being strong ;
I've seen a sack upon his back
-As thick as the miller, and quite as long.
Alway3 busy and always merry,
Always doing his very best,
A notable wag waa little Jerry,
Who uttered well his standing jest
"When will you grind my corn, I say ?"
. "Nay," quoth Jerry, "you need't scold ;
Just leave your grist for half a day,
And never fear but you'll be tolled."
How Jerry lived i3 known to fame, .
But how he died there's none may know ;
One autumn day the rumor came
"The brook and Jerry are very low."
And then 'twas whispered mournfully
The leech had come and he was dead ;
And all the neighbors flocked to see :
"Poor Little Jerry !" was all they said.
-They laid him in his earthy bed
His miller's coat his only shroud
'Dust to dust" the parson said,
And all the people wept aloud.
For he had shunned the deadly sin,
And not a grain of over-toll - -. "!"
Had ever dropped into his bin, "
To weigh upon his parting soul.'
Beneath the hill there stands the mill, '"
Of wasting wood and crumbling stone;
The wheel is dripping and clattering still,
But Jerry, the miller, is dead and gone.
From the New-York Observer.
THE PURITAN OF 1863.
It was ia the early part of October,
, that the llev. Mr. Allan started to
walk to Farmer Owen's over the hilU
He had to cross two low spurs of the Green
Mountains, and as he climbed to the top
of the second, the rich valley of the Otter
Creek lay spread out before him. At any
other time he would have stopped to ad
mire its gentle undulations ; its great
flower garden of forest trees, rich in every
color and hue; its silver threads winding
their way to the waters of the Chaniplain,
and the glorious autumn light which lay
like a golden mantle over them all. lint
this alternoon he seemed oppressed by
the beauty which surroundetbim. lie
looked upon it with eyes misty ?rom tears.
There was a dull, heavy weight upon his
heart a weight which even the Ion
ferveut prayers that he had uttered so un
ceasingly since noon had failed to move.
Between him and that landscape, we might
almost say, between him and tbe mercy
seat, there moved a slight, tall boy, with
a laughing blue eye, clustering brown hair,
and lips always ready with a merry, plea
sant word. To-day, there was Benny,
nutting under the bare, brawny arms of
the butternut tree ; throwing his line into
the little brooks, that cams babbling down
from the steep mountain side; driving his
cows along the narrow foot-path j stand
ing with Blossom under the bright maple,
and shouting with pride and joy as she
wreathed her pretty face in the gay leaves.
"Ob, Bonnie! Bennie!". Mr. Allan
hardly knew . he . was calling . the name,
until it came back to him . with such an
empty mocking sound, from the heartless
echo; "almost" Mr. Allan' thought,
startling himself by the seeming impiety
of the words " almost as if there were
no great, kind Father over us all.". - (
As he came near Farmer Owen's house,
he saw his oxen yoked to the plough. He
knew they had been there since the tele
graph came. Mr. Owen had read it in
the field, gone to the house and forgotten
them, and no one had dared to put them
up. He was a man fully capable of taking
care of his own affairs under any circum
stances, never having been known before
to forget. '
Mr. Allan beckoned to an Irishman who
was passing, and asked him to-take caro
of them. The man came with an awed
look upon his face,". as' if. even there he
stood in the presence of a great sorrow,
and without the least noise obeyed. -j
Mr. Allan walked on 6lowly toward the
house. He had known Mr. Owen for
many years, and he knew him well,.: In
deed there was a peouliar bond of sympa
thy between the two meq. In all his
larger parish, there was not one upon whom
the minister, relied as he did upon this
I WOULD RATHER BE RIGHT.THAN PRESIDENT. Hisrt Clat. 'I r
strong, sturdy larmer. Many and many
an hour he had walked by his side when
he was upturning the brown earth,' and
naa aiscoursea witn mm on. topics wnicn
would have sounded harsh and repulsive
to conjmon ears, but which were fraught
with deep and vital interest to them. Mr,
Owen was a direct descendant of the Pu
ritans, and every drop of blood in. his
veins was tinged with as strong and true
a " blue," as if he himself had landed in
the Mayflower. . ; He took naturally to the
sterner doctrines of religion, while, Mri
Allen, versed in all the modern lore, ques
tioned -and doubted. The key-stone of
Mr. Owen's theology was the sovereignty
of God; "Shall not the- Judge of. all
the earth do right ? This was the man
upon whom God had now laid his hand
so heavily; and Mr. APan felt that if the
trial brought, no murmur, no .rebellion
against that mighty Sovereign, the stern
old faith were indeed a rich one in which
to live and die. ; He knew that : one ele
ment in this war was Puritan. Sons of
the Roundheads filled up the ranks of the
Northern army. They marched to battle
to strains of the old tunes that had lin
gered in . the nursary and the sanctuary
from the day that (Jromwell and; his sol
diers chanted them on Mars ton Moor.
All down the aisles of Time came tramp
ing to tbe music mailed men, bearing on
their shields the two words, Liberty, and
Equality. Tbey trembled on Mr. Owen's
. i ' a? ii ; l
lips wun 1113 parting messing 10 ms Doy.
Would -he remember them, and would
they comfort and give him strength 71010
Where, there is affliction. in a house,
the minister is at home. Mr. Allan en
tered without knocking, and made. his
way to the large, old-fashioned, kitchen' in
which he wassure of finding Jhe. family.
There, by a table, with his arms folded
and laid heavily upon it, sat Mr. Owen.
His wife was in a small rocking-chair by
the fire, and Blossom, a young girl, sat
. Mr. Oweu rose to welcome him : so did
Blossom; but the wile did not: notice
him, the sat still, rocking herself to and
fro, lookiug at the blazing wood. ? r
Mr. Allan put a hand in the; brawny
one that was held toward hirn,. and laid
the other on Mr. Owen's great heaving
breast. 7 f My friend," be said, " how ia
it with the decrees ot God ( , ':-
" Just and,true are. all thy ways, thou
King of Saints," faltered out the man.. ;
There was somethiug , strange in this
voice, 7a thin, , womanly sound, so unlike
the deeo. stentorian tones in which he
had always . spoken -before.. ' Mr. Allan,
when he heard it,; almost; felt as if it had
dealt him a blow. . . ; :, '
. "Thank Gok ! lie has not, then, for
saken you, .and. from the depths of this
deep trouble you can still say, 'The Ma
ker of all doeth welt" -
Yes, yes'' and for an instant there
glimmered from his dull eye a spark ol
the oliontroversial ,,fire " you don't
suppose x nave neia ou 10 mat ancnor
when the skies were cloudles, and the.
little waves just rocked my bark, to let
alone of.it now now, when the great
waves - and billows are going over me, do
you? I've planted it firm, and it don't
yield ; no it don't yield, but the strain is
terrible. God send it may carry me iuto
port; ob, Mr. Allan, say it. will. ,It has
seemed co me to-day so dark, so wonder
ful, so inscrutable, that he my Bennie!
Mr. Allan, there is a good, wise purpose
behind it ali. - Can you see it ?"
"To bring you nearer the kingdom,"
said the minister!
" Oh, don't tell me that; I can't bear
it. God is too wise; He knows a hun
dred such souls as mine are not worth one
of my Bennie's. I can suffer if I am too
great a sinner for God's grace to save, but
Bennie ! Bennie ! ! I have sat here all
day, since the'' news came, : wondering,
he was so good a son,"- and Mr. Owen's
voice grew almost inarticulate in is emo
tion, . such a dear, precious, noble boy I
I thought, when I gave him to his coun
try, that net a father in all this broad land
made so precious a gift, no, not one.
God forgive me if my grief is a sin. Mr.
Allan, the dear boy only slept a ' minute,
just ohe little minute, at his post; I know
that waa all, for Bennie never dozed over
a duty. - How protnpt and reliable he was 1"
and Mr. Owen's eye - wandered out over
the brown - fields, with' such a perplexed,
wondering.: look. : "I know he only fell
off for one little second ; he was so young;
and not strong, that boy of mine ! ;Why,
he was' as tall as I, and only eighteen !
and now they shoot him because he was
found asleep when, doing sentinel duty '
Mr. Owen repeated these words very slow
ly, as if endeavoring to find out their true
meaning : . Twenty-four hours, the teler
graph;' said, only twenty-four hours,
j Where ia Bennie now V -"
" We will : hope, with! his Heavenly
Father," said Mr. Allan-,, soothingly. ,
"Yes, yes, let us hope; God is very
merciful, and Bennie was so good I 'do
not mean holy,"-he said, correcting him
self sharply ; " there is none holy no,
not one, but Jesus died for sinners. Mr.
Allan, tell me that. Ob, Bennie I Ben
nie 1" .. - v. ; . ; ' -v ; -,
The mother raised herself as Bhe'heard
his name called, and. turning, said with, a
Bmilo : " Don't call so bud, father. Ben
nie is not far off ; he will come soon."
." God laid his hand on them both, you
Bee," eaid Mr. -Owen, pointing to her,
without making, any direct reply. " She '
has not been justly herself since.. It is a
merciful : thing she is sort of stunned, it
Seems to me; she makes no wail. Poor
mother 1 if my heart was not broken it
Would, almost kill me to see her so. Ben
nie was her ido!.. ; I told her often, God
had said, ' Thou shalt have no gods be
Mr. Allan" looked in astonishment; at
the bowed man as he came now and ttood
before him' ' These few ' hours had done
the work of years. The sinewy frame
was tottering, the eyes were dimmed, and
the sudden sorrow had written itself in
deep wrinkles all over his manly face. '.T' He
recognized the power of the great, kind
heart, simple and almost childlike in its
innocent, clinging . affection ; how could
this be reconciled with the stern, strong
head the head that to com mou observers
butlined the character of the man? "God
have mercy on you; lie is trying you. in
a furnace seven times heated, ne ex
claimed, almost involuntary. !
"'I should be ashamed father I he
said when 1 am a man, to think l never
used this" great right arm,' and he held
it out so proudly before me, 'for my
country, when it needed it. - Palsy it,
rather, than keep it at the plough.
" ' Go,; Bennie, then go, my boy, I said.
'and God keep you.' God has kept him,
I think, Mr-' Allan !" and the farmer re
peated these words slowly, as if, in spite
of his head, his heart doubted them.
" Like the apple of his ye, Mr. Owen,
doubt it not I"
Blossom had sat near them listening,
with blanched cheek. She had not shed
a tear to-day, and the terror in her face
had been so very still no one had noticed
it. She had occupied herself mechanic-
allv in the household, cares, which her
mother's condition devolved entirely upon
her. Now. she answered a . gentle tap at
the kitchen door, opening it to receive
a letter. " Is is from Aim," was all she
'Twas like a .message from the dead.
Mr. Owen could not break the seal for his
trembling fingers, and held it toward Mr
Allan, with the helplessness of a child.
' The minister . opened it, and, obedient
to a motion from the lather, read as lol
"Dear Father : When thi3 reaches you,
will be in eternity. At Srst, it seemed awful
to me; but I have thought about it so much
now. that it, has no terror. They say they
will not bind me, nor bund me, but that
may meet my death like a man. I thought,
fAther, it might have been ou the battle-field,
for my country, and that,: when. I fell, it
would be fighting gloriously ; but to be shot
down like a dog for nearly betraying it, to
die for neglect" of duty ! oh, father, I won
der the very thought does not kill me. But
I shall not disgrace you. I am going to write
you all about it, and, when I am gone, you
may tell my comrades. I can't now.
"You know, I promised Jemmy, Carrs
mother, I would look after her boy, and when
he fell sick, I did all I could for him. He
was ' not strong, - when he Was ordered back
into the ranks, and the' day before that night
I carried all his luggage, -beside my owfl, on
our march. Toward night we went in on
double quick, and though the luggage began
to feel very heavy, everybody else was tired
too, and as for Jemmy, if I had not lent him
an arm, now. arid then., he would have drop
ped by the way. I wa3 all tired out when we
came into, camp, and then it wa3 Jemmy's
turn to be sentry, and I would take his place
but I was too tired, father. I could not hare
kept awake if I had a gun at my head, but I
did not know it until well, until it was too
"God be thanked," interrupted Mr
Owen reverently, "I knew Beanie was not
the boy to sleep carelessly at his post.
"They tell me to-day that I have a short
reprieve, given to me by circumstances, 'time
to write to you,' our good Colonel says. For
give htm, father, be only does his duty ; he
would gladly save me, it ne could, and don t
lay my death up against Jemmy.. The poor
boy is broken hearted, and does nothing but
- . . . . . i 1 ? 3
beg and entreat tnem 10 lei mm aie in my
- "I can't bear to think of mother and Bios
somP Comfort them, father!: Tell them
die as a brave boy should, and that when the
war 13 over, they will not be ashamed ot me
as they must be now. God help me, it is very
hard to bear. ' Goodhye, father, God seems
near and dear to me, not at all as if He wish
ed me to perish forever, but as if He felt
sorry for hi3 poor, sinful, broken hearted
child.' and would take him to be with Him
and my Saviour, in a better, better life."
A great sob burst from Mr. Owen's
heart. "Amen I" he said solemnly.
"Amen !". : '
.: "To-night in the early twilight I shall see
the cows all coming home irom pasture.
Daisy, and Brindle, and Bet , old Billy, too
will neigh to me from his stall, and precious
little Blossom stand on the back stoop 'wait-.
intr for me but I shall never never come
God bless you all ; forgive your poor
Lato . that night the door of the "back
stoop" opened softly and a little figure gli
ded out and down the footpath that led to
the road bv the mill. She seemed rather
flying than' walking,' turning her head
neither to tho right nor' the left; starting
not, ' as the full moon stretched queer,
fantastic shapes all around her, looking
only now and then to Heaven, and loldm
her hands, as if iu prayer. -
Two hours later, the same young gir
stood at the Mill Depot, watching tho
coming of the night train, and the con
ductor. as he reached down to lift her in
wondered at the sweet, tear-stained face
that was upturned toward the dim lantern
he held in his hand.
A few questions and ready answers told
him all, and no father could have cared
more tenderly for his only child, than he
or our little Ulossom.
She was on her wav to Washington, to
ask President Lincoln for her hrothpr'a
ife. She. had 6tolen away, leaving only
a note to tell her father where, and why.
sne naa gone, bbe had brought Bennie a
etter with her; no good, kind heart like
the President's could refuse to be melted
The next morning they -reached New
York, and the conductor found suitable
company for Blossom, and hurried her ou
to Washington Lvery minute now might
oe a year in her brother s life. ,
And so, .in an. incredibly short time.
Blossom reached the Capital and was hur-
ri3d at once to the White House.
The President had but just seated him
self to his morning's task of overlooking
and signing important papers, when, with
out one word ot announcement, the door
softly , opened, and Blossom, with eyes
downcast and tolded hands, stood before
"Well, my. child," he said, in his pleas
ant, cheery tones, " w hat do you want so
bright and early in tne morning V.' ,
"Isennie s lile, please, sir, laltered out
Blossom. " ; . r
'Bennie ? Who is Bennie ?"
''My brother, sir. . They are going to
shoot him for 'sleeping at his post."
"Uh, yes, and Mr. Lincoln ran his eve
oyer. the papers betore him. "1 remem
ber. It -was a fatal sleep, xou see,
child, it wa? a time of special danger.
Thousands of lives might have been lost
for his culpable negligence.
"bo my father said." said Blossom
gravely, "but poor Bennie was so tired,
sir,- and Jemmy so weak. lie. did the
work of two, fir, '.and it was Jemmy's
night, not his, but Jeinmy was too tired,
and Bennie never thought about himself.
that he was too tired." "
"What is this you say, child? 'come
here, I don't understand," and the kind
man caught . eagerly, as ever, at what
seemed to be a justification of an offence.
Blossom went to him; he put his
hand tenderly On her shoulder and turned
up the pale, anxious face towards his.
How- tall he seemed, and he was President
of the United States, too ! A dim
thought of this kind, passed for a moment
through Blossom's miud, but she told her
story now simply and straightforward", and
handed Mr; Lincoln Bennie's letter to
read.'- ' ' '; " ' ;
He read it carefully, then taking up his
pen wrote a few hasty lines, and rang his
bell. ' .
- Blossom heard this order given : "Send
TniS DISPATCH AT OXCE. -
The President then turned to the girl
and said : "Go home, my child, and tell
that father of yours, who could approve
his country's sentence, .even when it took
the life of a child like that, that Abra
ham Lincoln thinks the life far too pre
cious to be lost. Go back, or wait un
til to-morrow ; Bennie will need change
after "he has so bravely faced death, he
shall go with you."
"God bless you, sir,". said Blossom;
and who shall doubt that God heard and
registered the request. .
Two days after this interview the young
soldier came to the White House with his
little sister. He was called into the
President's private room, acd a strap fas
tened " upon bis shoulder," Mr. Lincoln
said, " that could carry a sick comrade's
baggage and die for the good act. so un
complainingly." Then Bennie and Blos
som took their way to their Green Moun
tain home, and a crowd gathered at the
Mill Depot to welcome them back, and
farmer Owen's tall head towered above
them all, and as his hand grasped that of
his boy, Mr. A.llan heard him say fervent
ly, as the holiest blessing he could pro
nounce upon his child: " Just and true
are all thy ways, thou King of . Saints."
That night, Daiy and Brindle and Bet
came lowing home from pasture, for they
hear a well-known voice calling them at
the gate; and Bennie as he pat? his old
pets and looks lovingly in their great
brown eyes, catches through the sliU even-
air His I'uritan latners voice as ne
repeats to his happy mother these jubilaut
words: "Fear not, for I am with thee; I
will bring thy seed from tho East, aud
gather thee from the West; I will say to
the North- give, aud to the South, keep
not back ; briug my sons from far, aud
my daughters from the ends of the earth,
every one that is called by toy name, for
I have created him for ray glory ; I have
formed him, yea, I have made him."' :
" . m m m ..
JK A Western farmer who wished to
invest the accumulations of his industry
in United States securities, went to Jay
Cooke's office to procure the treasury
notes. The clerk inquired what denomi
nation he would have them in ? Having
never heard the word used excepting to
distinguish the religious sects, he, after a
little deliberation, replied, " Well, you
may, give me part in Old School Presby
terian to please the old lady, but give me
the? heft ou'i in Free Will Baptist."
J6Sf A youngster, while perusing a
chapter in Genesis, turning to his moth
er, inquired if the people in those days
used to do sums on the ground? It
was discovered that he had been reading
the passage : ." And the sons of man mul
tiplied upon the face of the earth."
3.00 PEK AXXUM.
OO IX ADVANCE.
Prepared for The Alleghanian.'
Compulsory Attendance. -By the
report of the State Superintendent for the
pchool year ending iu June of the past
year, it appears that the whole number of
children in attendance in the various pub
lic schools of the State is 029,587, being
a decrease of over 8,000 from the number
attending during the preceding year.
The percentage of attendance of these 629,
587 school children is 628-thousandths.
In other words, nearly four of every ten
pupils whose names were on the school
rolls for 1805 were constantly at homo.
According to the United States census
report for 1860, the number of persons ia
the State between five and twenty years of
age was one million thirty-three tlumsatld
and foe hundred. Subtracting from this
amount one-half of those between fifteen
and twenty years of age, and there remain
about eijht hundred and sixty-eight ' thous
and seven hundred and fifty children be
tween five and seventeen and a half years
of age, exclusive of those in the city and
county of Philadelphia. TLo actual av
erage attendance throughout the . past
school ryeat waa, somewhat less than
.400,000. .That is, of. tho children over
five and under seventeen and a half years
of age, there were 35,000 less than one
half in attendance at our schools. The
average cost of each pupil to the State,
inclusive 01 all expenses, was sixtyreight
cents, of which thirty-four cents were
thrown away by the absence of one-half
and more of the children ot such ages as
those who are usually found in echool.
Four, million seven hundred and seventy
five thousaud dollars were last year ex
pended in support of the schools, of which
one-half was lavished on children away
from school some necessarily, some in at
tendance at . private institutions, and oth
ers ueedlesslj through the inattention,
downright neglect, or obstinacy of parents
on girls lounging about home, 00 boys
roaming in the street, or hanging around
taverns, not to mention other places of
resort incomparably worse. .
This statement is made, as we have said
of the last school year, but is just as true
of the one previous, and will bo of tho
present, as of the year ending in Juno
last. The figures"are not new, but old,
and fatniliaT to those conversant with our
system of instruction. It will startle no
or.n who at all notices the annuel reports
of our State Superintendent to say that
from one-third to one-half our labor and
money are expended in vain. That to
which we propose to call attention is not
tho waste of toil and treasure, but the
That -it would be in contrast with that
freedom from restraint to which we havo
been long used, and excite the opposition
of many, does not admit of dispute, yet
the question that goes to the root of the
whole matter is, why it would not be the
policy of wisdom to compel parents,' and
guardians to send to school during a cer
tain portion of each year the youth under
their chargo between six and sixteen
years of age, stipulating at the same time
for an equally certain percentage of at
tendance, save only in cases of sickness.
It is alike the dictate of reason and law,
that he who assumes the responsibility of
fatherhood shall suitably provide for those
to whom he has given existence a fair op
portunity of leading vseful and virtuous
lives. Maintenance, Protection, acid Ed
ucation, the law has through time imme
morial recognized as the three grand da
ties of parents to children. And we ap
prehend that the same authority which
can rightfully require that the indenture
of every apprentice shall make provision
for his education, may go one step fur
ther aud require the same boon on behalf
of every child in the commonwealth. Not
only the necessity of education, but tho
right ot the State to demand it, is agaiu
recognized in the taxation of the property
of every citizen for the support, of our
free-school system. As long as allegiance
is claimed from every person born on tho
soil of our country,; every person so born
must be considered as," belonging in part
to the State, in whom the State has an
interest, by whom she is to.be honored or
dishonored, and lor whom she has an un
ceasing atd tender regard. Bat if the
State looks for allegiance from all her
sons, for a performanca of the duties of
citizenship lrom all, then, by every dic
tate of reason and justice is she bound to
see that everyone of her children is fitted
for the proper discharge of the duties im
posed on him. If the law discerns1 that a
child is destitute of necessary food, or rai
ment, through the cruelty of the parent,
or is a sufferer from needlessly severe
punishment, it will not only rescue the
sufferer, but also punish the guilty. Why
not have as great a care for the mind as
for the body 't .
. lie who is unwiUing or too negligent to
see to the proper education of his own
progeny, is himself totally unfit to exerciso
the high privileges of membership in the
commonwealth,-and as a penalty for
his neglect, .should be deprived of his
voice by ballot for at least twice the years
of his sin and shame. In case of his
failure to give security for the perform
ance of his duty in subsequent years,;
the care of his offspring should bo taken,
from him until such time as he would
faithfully discharge his duties.