u u imwiwmw ii , mm j.. iiipii.m m li 111 i.ii I i ii ill I mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm I lull . .". " " """"'J ." J ,. .1 '.!' : . .' ' ' . 11,11 i i .. j i I in - in ! in . . , - J. T. IICTCIIINSOI, 1 EDiTORS. VOLUME 9. VfTlLLlAM KITTELL, Attorney at YV ' Law, Ebensburg, Pa. August 13, 1868. JOHN FENLON, Attorney at Law, Ebensburg, Pa. ' jgjr Office on High street. &ugl3 EORGE M. READE, Attorney at Law, Ebensburg, Pa. jgg- Office in Colonnade Row. augl3 ILLIAM H. SECHLER, Attor- nev at Law, Ebensburg, Pa. Xgg Office'in Colonnade Row. augzo GEORGE W. OATMAN, 'Attorney at Law and Claim Agent, and United States Commissioner for Cambria county, Eb ensburg, F- Cpg13 JOHNSTON k SCANLAN, Attorneys at Law, Ebensburg, Pa. jq- Office opposite the Court House. B. t. JOHNSTON. augl3 J. K. BCANLAS. SAMUEL SINGLETON, Attorney at Law, EbenBburg, Ta. rgr Office on High street, west of Fos ters Hotel. - auglS JAMES C. EASLY, Attorney at Law, Carroiltown, Cambria county, Pa. Architectural Drawings and Specifi cations made. fau813 T? J. WATERS, Justice of tbo Peace TV. and Scrivener. Office adjoining dwelling, on High St., Ebensburg, Fa. LauK EA. SHOEMAKER, Attorney at Law, Ebensburg, Pa. Particular attention paid to collections. Jfir-Office on High street, west of the Di amond. augl3 a. KOPItlK, T yr- DICK, Johnttovn. Ebtwburg. KOPEL1N & DICK, Attorneys at Law, Ebensburg, Pa. Sc" Office in Colonade Row, with Wm. Kittell, Esq. Oct. 22. JOSEPH S. STRAYER, JTustice of the Peace, Johnstown, Pa. jpgy Office on Market street, corner of Lo cust street extended, and one door south of the late office of Wm. M'Kee. aug!3 RDEVEREAUX, M. D., Physician a and Surgeon, Summit, Pa. 55T Office east of ilans'on House, on Rail road street. Night calls promptly attcndeJ U, at his office. fug13 TTJR. DE WITT ZEIGLER I 03"er9 bis profetsional serrices to the citizens of Ebensburg and vicinity. He will visit Ebensburg the Becond Tuesday of each month, to remain one week. Teeth extracted, without pain, with Aitrous Oxide, or Lauahina Gat. Rooms adioiuinz G. Huntley's store High street. augl3 TENTISTRY. I The undersigned. Graduate of the Bal limore College of Dental Surgery, respectfully offers his professional services to the citizens of Ebensburg. He has spared no means to .... " thoroughly acquaint nimsell wun every im provtnicnt in his art. To many years of per sonal experience, he has sought to add th, Imn.n-tpd cYncrince of the hierhest authoritie ia Dental Science. He simply asks that an opportunity may be given for his work to peak its own praise. SAMUEL BELFORD. D. D. S. 3" Will be at Ebensburg on the fourth Monday of each montn, to stay one wje. August 13, 1863. LLOYD & CO., Bankers Ebensbub.6, Ta. EGo!d. Silver. Government Loans and other Securities bought and sold. Interest flowed on Time Deposits. Collections maae on all accessible points in the United States, 'a & General Uanking liusiuess iransacteu August 13, 18C8. Ar M. LLOYD & Co., Banker M Altoona, Pa Draf;sca tho principal cities, and Silver "a Uoll for sale. Collections maae. zion TJ received on deposit, payable on demand, without interest, or upon time, with interest at fair rates. agl3 TfIE FIRST NATIONAL DANK Or Joukstown, Pensa. aid vr Capital r.O 000 00 Pr . ............... v j 'IVLiCe to inrrrnm tn 1 ff C.CC DO ne ouy na sell Inland and Foreign JJratts, Gold and Silver, and all classes of Govern ment Securities ; make collections at home od abroad; receive deposits; loan money, and do a general Banking business. All tuincss entrusted to ub will receive prompt attention and care, at moderate prices. Give is a trial. J - " V- W v W W J V W V w Dirtctori: D. J. lldROfTt. John Dibkrt, Jacod Lkvkeoood, James McJJillen. Jacob M. Cahpbjll, ' Giorge Fmitz. DANIEL J. MORRELL, rretident. H. J. Rosekts, Cathicr. sep3ly m. Ltovn, rrei't. Jon ilotd, Catlier. "CURST NATIONAL DANK i? OF ALTOONA. GO VERNMENT A (JENCY, ASD Designated depository of the uni ted STATES. 65-Corner Virginia and Annie sts., North ard, Altoona, Pa. AtTnoRiziD Capital $300,0C0 00 "Asa Capital Paid in 150,000 00 All business pertaining to Ranking done on favorable terms. Iifernal Revenue Stamps of all denomina tions always on hand. To purchasers of Stamp?, percentage, in .amps, win be allowed, as follows : $50 to a - ) vciii. j iuv, iu o per veuL.j ana upwards, 4 per cent. aug!3 SAMUEL SINGLETON, Notary Pub 1 I r PK.n.Kn.M T VulOe On Ilicrh itrost ne of Pncto.'a TT- aug!3 Bill and Joe Come, dear old comrade, yon and I Will steal an hour from days gone by The shining days when life was new, And all was bright with morning dew The lusty days of long ago, When you were Bill and I was Joe. Your name may flaunt a titled trail, Proud as the cockerel's rainbow tail J And mine a brief appendix wear As Tam O'Shanter's luckless mare ; To-day, old friend, remember still That I am Joe and you are Bill. You won the great world's envied prize, And grand you look in people's eyea With HON. and LL.D. In big brave letters, fair to see Your Ost, old fellow ! off they go 1 How are you, Bill ? How are you, Joe ? You'vo worn the Judge's ermined robe ; You've taught your name to half the globe You've sung mankind a deathless strain; iou've made the dead past live again ; The world may call you what it will, But you are Joe and I am Bill. The chaffing young folks stare and say, "See those old buffers, bent and gray They talK like fellows in their teens ! Mad poor old boys ! That what it means." And shake their heads : they little know The throbbing hearts of Bill and Joe. How Bill forgets his hour of pride, While Joe sits smiling at his side ; How Joe, ia spite of time's disguise, Finds the old schoolmate in his eyes Those calm, Btern eyes that melt and fill As Joe looks fondly up at Bill. Ah, pensive scholar, what is fame ? A fitful tongue of leaping flame; A giddy whirlwind's fickle gust, That lifts a pinch ot mortal dust ; A few swift years and who can show Which dust was Bill and which was Joe. A weary idol takes bis etand, Holds out his bruised and aching hand, While gaping thousands come and go How vain it seems, this empty show I Till all at once his pulses thrill ; 'Tis poor old Joe's "God bless you Bill." And shall we breathe in happier spheres The names that pleased our mortal ears, In some sweet lull of harp and song, For earth-born spirits none too long, Just whispering of the world below Where this was Bill, and that was Joe. No matter ; while our home is here No sounding name is half so dear ; When lades at length our lingering day, Who cares what pompous tombstones say? Read on the hearts that love us still, JHc jacct Joe. Hie Jaeet Bill. A LIGHT INJHE WIKDOW. "I'll keep a light in the window, Sandy, till ye come back." "Never mind, mother," said the boy, standing at the door in an uncertain, slouching kind of a way, "I I might be late." "It's dark along the lane," said the mother, "and a bit of candle light would be ill-spared, if you got a tumble by it. I'll keep the candle burning till you come back." She was a very hard featured Scotch woman, healthy and active, though no longer young, and, as she talked, she worked on, ironing the linen she had washed and starched, and heaping it like a snow drift, in a great basket beside her. lour other children were in the room, girls and boys, too young to do much for themselves, j et Sandy was eighteen, a tall, handsome fellew, with ripe lips and checks and dancing eyes. "If Sandy only would have been a little steadier," the mother often sighed ; but to be "steady," was not Sandy's forte. On, ever and always, to the river side, where other lounging boys watched the boats come in at the ferry, or plunged stones into the water for the vil- age pet, the great Newfoundland, "Whis kers," by name, to "fecch." No harm in that, the mother thought, if the boys had all been good ; but evenings at the store, they were worse: and the decent washer woman shivered as she listened for her boy's home-coming steps at nights, lest some day he should copy Squire Peeler's boys and drink too much. Peeler's boys were her terror, though they were the sons of the richest man in the neighborhood. But now as Sandy stood in the door, so tall and fair, and bony, the mother's heart grew light. He d be sure to settle down and help her with the bairns some day," she said. No doubt of that ; he was a bit of a boy now; and she ironed on until her work was done, and then put the candle into the window to light the boy along the lane at his home coming. The candle burnt it3elf away and sunk into the socket, and the very wick smouldered out, leaving only smell and smoke behind it, and still lit no Sandy across the threshold of his humble home, for that night Sandy ran away.' The life at home was too hard for him. The restraints of his mother's watchful eye irked him. To do his own will, to have his own way, Sandy left his home behind him, but he had grace enough to remember with a pang, these words J I WOULD RATHER BE RIGHT EBENSBURG, PA., THURSDAY, MARCH 25, 1869 "I'll keep the light burning till ye come back, Sandy." Some vague hope of being rich and doing great things for those at home, was in his mind, or he believed so, but a sel fish desire to escape the drudgery and the restraint gave the actual impulse to his steps. He shipped as a sailor the next day, and began in earnest a wild and reckless sailor's life. It suited him. Now and then when the storm was at its height, and far in the distance the lamps of some tall light-house shone like a great red eye, the tiny flicker of that window sheltered candlo would dawn upon his memory, and he would hear his mother's voice saying, "I'll keep it burning till ye come, Sandy." Now and then amidst the yarns and songs of the forecastle merry nialing, he heard the crooming of the tunes she used to sing over her work old Scottish ballads, or perhaps some hymn handed down from the time when the old Convenanters worshipped God and defied man amongst the purple heather. They never lured him home to her though. The years rolled on, and even this one sting of conscience ceased its paining. In those days there were no such beings as sober sailors, nor captains of temperance principles. Hard drinkers were most old salts, and most young ones. Sandy drank with the rest. He grew broad and stout. His cheeks were bronzed, his light hair changed its tint, his voice grew deep and coarse. He was in no way a good man, but he was a good sailor. As the years passed, he came to be an officer first mate of the Agamemnon. His pockets were full enough for all his purposes. The sea was better than land to him, and when on shore he led that sort of life that drives the thought of mother from men's very souls. He had friends, at least he thought so, men who knew when his pay jingled in his pocket, women who did not blush to receive the lavish gifts of the jovial sailor. lie was not niggardly, nay once he emptied his last remaining dollar into a beggar's hand. It happened to be a prettyish beggar girl, and he had gone on a year's cruise, shoeless, and during ship wreck, or when the Agamemnon found a sister vessel in distress, Sandy was bravest of the brave ; but he had never been gen erous enough nor brave enough to go back to the eastward seaport, where his mother had left the candle burning for him in the window never, never. Five years were gone, and ten, and fif teen and twenty. A man nearly forty years of age stood in Sandy Cameron's shoes a man who led the wildest life un der the moon ashore, a man to whom fiery brandy was as water to a child ; a man who remembered God only in his oaths ; when tho Agamemnon came after a long and stormy voyage just within sight ot the coast within sight of its light house, at least, for in the darkness of a stormy night nothing else was visible. Dattered with storms already, bruised by the waves, wounded by rocks, still tho Agamemnon fought her way homeward ; by the morrow eve sound earth would be beneath the feet of the wave weary mariners for once at least all longed for it, even wild Sandy Cameron, lie was clad. He watched the towering lamps with joy, and swore that they were pleasant sights. Before he slept he stood awhile leaning over the taf- frail, smoking and thinking, if he ever thought. It was an evil lingering for the Agamemnon. A spark from the cigar held in unsteady hands, regarded by eyes no brighter lor recent draughts of brandy, makes its way somehow, wind-borne, or demon-borne, into the places where the cargo of the vessel had been stored away, and at the dead of night they of the mid watch saw stealing through the plauks be neath them red and yellow tongues of flame. The vessel was on fire I "Fire ! fire ! fire I" the word rang its way to Heaven, shouted by every tongue on board. The scene that followed beggars descrip tion. None who lived to remember could ever forget it. There was no hope from the first, none, save in the boats. They were filled at once. Who could forget it ? Oh, who can forget it ? The old man pointing to the lights on shore and crying: "I wanted to see the children once be fore I died. " The captain was deathly pale, showing that strange bravery which sailors only pos sess at such a time. Changing from a dictatorial old hard drinker to a very hero ; clinging in roman tic fondness to his ship j and while he did his best for every soul on board, forget ting himself, and vowing to sink with her. The young passenger and his bride she clinging to him ; the mother with her babe bound to her breast praying ou her knees amid the tumult. The orphan child going home to its grand parents, wonder stricken, and yet scarcely conscious of its danger. The sailors changed like the captain into heroes. Who could forget all this ? Amidst them all, gigantic in his strength, sobered at last by the awful scenes around him, toiled Sandy Cameron. They remembered him well whose lives he saved. The bronzed man with light hair, and the grip of Hercules. So all the boats and rafts some to live, some to diewere all afloat. All gone into the darkness, and struggling forms had vanished from the waves, and alone together, the flames ap proaching them like dancing demons, stood THAN PRESIDENT. -H she y Cut. old Captain Oaks and his first mate, Sandy Cameron. "Captain," said Sandy, "it's most over." "Aye, aye, lad," said the captain, "Give us your fist. We've sailed together a good while now. We seem bound for the long voyage now. . Lord help us, Sandy." "There's a chance yet, maybe," said the first mato. "Try for it, captain." "No," said the sailor, "I go with her. No wife waits for me, no child. She's my wife and chilrden, all in one. Try you, I go down with her." -" That was the last that Sandy Cameron sawjor heard of the captain. ' A rush and roar-rVcni below, where spirits were stored, ended the words. Then came blindness and silence and the time passed for him. SjC sjt jc JyS 9jc 3f( At last there was a sound again. The sound of waters. Light, the red lamps of the light house. Feeling, that the wet sand against his face. Some strange pro vidence had saved Sandy Cameron's life. Bruised and weak, he lay motionless for a long while. Bruised and weak, still he staggered to his feet at last. Above him his sailor eye used to re member such things towered well known rocks kissed by the struggling moonlight. The sea had flun him into the arms of his native seaport ; and up above, a man wandering along the shore, watching the light house signals, perhaps, was singing a Methodist hymn, "There's a light in the window for thee brother. There's a light in a window for thee ;" and then the tears rolled down the sailor's cheeks, and his softened heart yearned for the mother who had said, "I'll keep a light till ye come back, Sandy." Twenty years ago, and she was nearly fifty then. Probably she was dead ; but some one might be in the house, yet who could tell him of her. And so, in the mid night darkness the sailor staggered up the river path through the changed streets and, ied by the compass of his heart, to the lane where his boyhood home had been so long before. ' The lane was no more a street of houses now but at its end, or he dreampt, San dy saw a candle gleam. He drew near. No fancy misled him. Yes, between the curtains stood a candle, in very truth ; and in the window of his old home. He stag gered on, his heart beating wildly. lie struck the door with his hand. He wait ed trembling; and the door opened; at it stood an old, old "woman, with white hair his mother. He knew her stern strong features and her blue eyes still. "What's this?" she said, in her Scot tish accent; and he answered. . "A poor sailor, shipwrecked and needing shelter." "Come in," she said, "come in and warm ye. It's a bitter night. The candle led you . here, no doubt. It's burnt these twenty years, a boy once, burns for him. 1 e wonder at that ? I'd He left me. The candle I've a fancy it will wile him back, yet; and I've gone without bread many a time to keep it burnin. The others are all dead ; but I'll not be lieve he's gone: and I said I'll keep a light till ye come back Sandy and I will." And then he flung himself upon his knees before her, she knew that Sandy had come back, indeed. He never again forsook her. A better son and a better man than Sandy came to be, those of the seaport say they may never see him again. And if you go thither, they will point you out the little cottage window at which, strong in her faith for his return, Captain Cameron's mother kept a light burning for all the nights of twenty years that, and the mansion where, with her son, now married and Captain of an ocean steamer, she yet lives to bles3 him. Turningr tlae Tables. A California paper tells the following story : "Halt I Your money or your life ! Throw up your hands !" exclaimed a stran ger, stepping out from the shadow, while accompanying the words might plainly be heard the sharp click of a pistol. The person addressed was a weary newspaper man wending his lonely way homeward in the city about three o'clock the other morning. "Oh, yes, certainly. I'm in no hurry. Only walking for exercise. Just as soon hold up my hands as not. I'm not armed. Please turn that pistol a little to one side. It makes me nervous." "Hand over your cash 1" "Haven't nary red with me. You see, they took that all away from me when they entered my name upon the books." "Where did they take your money from you : "Why, at the pest-house. You see, I'm a small-pox patient, just out for exercise. Thev wouldn t let me walk about in aay Mfrhi. with mv face in this condition, so I have to go it after dark and late at night, when the street are empty. JJy tne way, stranger, the. wind is rather in your direc tion, and, unless you ain't particular about it, it might be just as well to stand on the other side. I've got my old silver watch, thouo-h. If vou like it. come and take it. You're at perfect liberty to search me, if: J a tl. -r-viufcM frtia way it's uncomfortable. D'ye want tho watch?" ' ' . 'No thank you," said th robber, back' . " 1 mg away and around toward the other side; "I couldn't take anything from a man as unfortunate as you are. Here there's half a dollar for you, poor fellow. Go and get something to drink," and he threw the coin toward him, still backing off. "As you're only walking for exercise it won't incommode vou " "Oh, not a particle, I'd just walk with you if you desire it. way, though, it's all the same Thank you for your half. Won't me and drink to m v recoverv ?" as soon Either to me. you join "Well, you go round the block the oth er way, as I haven't hurt you, say nothing about having met me. I gueoa I'll go thi3 way," and t hen watching till the supposed small-pox patient turned the corner, he started off on a full run in the opposite di rection. Mr. Newspaper man proceeded on home ward undisturbed, and slept the pleep of one who enjoys the consciousness of having done a good thing, and four bits better off for having met a highwayman. About .School Teachers. Wilmore, March 20, 1SG9. To the Editor of The Alleghanian : With reluctance I take up a subject which is fraught with interest to the peo ple of this county, and more especially to those residing in the rural districts. The subject is that of Public Education. My reluctance arises from a belief in my disa bility to do the subject the justice it de mands, while at the same time I feel conscious that four-fifths of the inhabitants of the county will agree with me and en dorse what I shall say. In glancing over the reports of the Su perintendents of Common Schools for the past few years, many are led to believe that our schools are in a flourishing con dition that the "spirit cf the law" is carried out to the fullest extent that public education is looking upward. You, with durable and commodious school houses, and well paid and experienced teachers, can fully realize the blessings and advantages of our common school system. But alas for the children in the rural dis tricts the children of the honest and in dustrious farmers ! Must they be left to grovel in ignorance, for the only reason that they live in the country and wear homespun ? Must there be a disparity between town and country ? It would seem so. Many of the teachers, both male and female, in the rural districts are bet ter qualified for picking wool in the Johns town factory, or gathering blackberries in the neighborhood of Portage station, than for teaching the young idea how to shoot. The young miss who has arrived at the advanced age of fourteen comes to the conclusion that she is qualified to take charge of a "country school." She pro cures a long dress, arranges her hair into an enormous waterfall, rubs a little of the "bloom of youth" on her baby-face, and, with the additional aid of a few pounds of cotton, suddenly transmogrifies herself into a young woman. She attends one or two examinations, becomes familiar with the lingo, and finally presents herself as a candidate. Hip ! hurrah ! The trying ordeal is over, and success has crowned her efforts. One week before, her tiny hands clasped a doll-baby ; now, a certifi cate to teach school fills its place. She exhibits the certificate to anxious friends unfamiliar with the two rows of figures on its face, and informs them, in a highfalu tin manner, that the figures 4 and 5 mean four-fifths, and that one-fifth more would make five-fifths, or a first-class certificate. Foolish child ! Foolish parents, to sanc tion such deception ! The young boy throws his top and ball aside, procures a watcu-chain from a play mate, fancies he can detect a few strag gling hairs protruding from his upper lip, places a penny cigar in his mouth, and pompously announces himself a candidate for a country school. Like the young miss, he too is successful, a certificate is forthcoming, and he is a learned and in telligent pedagogue. From such material are the majority of our county teachers formed. Youth, ignorance, and inexperi ence are the main requisites, and we won der much that the demand exceeds the supply. By some ntrange coincidence, tho De cember number of the Teachers' Advora'e is before me. In it I find much to assist and instruct the practical teacher. The editor is an accomplished writer, and, I understand, a successful teacher. Yet I find that, like myself, he has a very poor opinion of his copartners in general. In a leading editorial, after dilating on the success of the Advocate, appears a para graph which should bring the blush of shame to the face of every one-horso teacher. lie informs his patrons that one column will in the future be devoted to teachers, their marriages, deaths, remo vals, &c. He wants the teachers to send him the items, and informs them that mistakes in orthography, or grammatical inaccuracies, will be corrected. What an avowal! Those we hire and pay to in struct our children in the rudiments of orthography cannot spell the simple words necessary to convey to the editor a mar riage or, obituary notice! We imagine ours?lvo.s in the office of the editor of the Advocate. The devil (not old Nick) ad-1 ranees and hands him a letter enclosed in a-EinalJ, neat, and well-scanted letter, look-1 I $2.00 II ADTAKCS. NUMBER m. ing much like "the dear one of heart" was wont to writer matly years ago. He hurriedly breaks tlxe scab, and- a smile brightens his serene countenance.- W. glance over his shoulder and get a fac simile of tho missive :- "Bob's Crick Sciidle District. v Su- "larcn tne second 18 "hundred anf G'S1 "blamed on yesterdav week Miss- san Jane Di'ngly for many years-a schula Teacher in this district To "Rpniamin frankliu swope Who just' finished the 6humaker trade, By reverend Jeremiah Lowdcnflicker. Oh 1 Saaau Jane we'll miss you mutch' At Institute next yeer -You used to talk sich bully Dutch Yure married O afnt it queer I' "Pleas correct and publish. "Yures, "Amanda Ann Brown, "bchule teacher." And this is a school teacher in thV nineteenth century. Return, oh happy day, when such men as R. A. McCoy, K. L. Johnston, John Thomas, Ed. Evans, and such women- as Mrs. Landis, the; Misses Nesbit, and many others, graced the profession ! With the few good teachers- in the profession, public educa tion may be said to be looking upward1. But if the present state of affair contin ues, in a few years we might as well turn our school-houses into ball-roonisy o? better yet, dispose of them to the highest bidder and apply the proceeds toward the liqui dation of the National debt. Many imagine that teachers institutes are destined to work wonders m the ad vancement of our schools. Not so. I re gard them as a first-class humbug. A majority of the teachers attend them mere ly for pleasure, business, or recreation, and to indulge in a little flirtation. An ora tion or lecture delivered by such men as Singleton, Burtt, Kerr, and Dick would be equivalent to "casting pearls before swine, simply because many ot the teach ers could not comprehend the beauties of an exordium or the sublimity of a perora tion. Teachers' institutes are about as advantageous to the "knights of the birch" as the ice in the vicinity of Alaska is- to the citizens of New York, or a prayer meeting in the dance-house of the "Wick edest Man" to the "Wickedest Man" iim self. ' Before I close this imperfect yet truth- ful account, I would urge upon the author--ities-that-be the necessity of remodeling" our common school system. Look, fo instance, at despotic Prussia Of all tte? nations of Europe, she was reduced to htf greatest extremity by the wars of Napole on. The system of confiscation went so-' far that even the revenue from the endow ment of schools and poor-houses, and fhe fund for widows and orphans, were diver ted into the treasury of France. Foreign, loans were made to meet the exorbitant claims of the conqueror. An army must be created, ruined fortifications in every quarter repaired, and so great Was- the public extremity that the Prussian ladies, with noble generosity, sent their ornaments and jewels to supply the royal treasury. iving a crosses and other ornaments, of cast iron, were Kiven in return to all who made this sacrifice. They bore the inscrip tion "Ick gab gelt urn eiscn" (I gave gold for iron). Such jewels are much treasured at this day by their possessors and fami lies. This state of things lasted till after the War of Liberation, in 1813. But it is the pride of Prussia that in the days cf her greatest humiliation and distress she never for a moment lost sight of the great work she had begun in the improvement of her schools. If under such circumstan ces the people of & monarchical govern ment sustained their schools and sent forth learned and experienced teachers, how much more should we the citizens of a free and enlightened republic, accomplish. Something must be done, or the system will go down and become a relic of the past. In conclusion, I would say that this ar ticle is not aimed at the teachers in gener al, but at a certain class who infest the country schools, whose forte, as the lamen ted Ward would say, is not "teaching schule."- Macbeth.. -Scene in a printing office which ad vertised for girls to set type ; Enter young woman "Do you want to employ any one to print, sir? I saw your advertise ment." "Cart you set up well, ma'am ?" Young lady blushes ; says she hadn't had a beau yet, but expects that she oould, if it was necessary. "Friend Jones, prepare yourself to hear bad news." "My gracious speak, what is it ?" "Your wife is dead 1" "Oh, dear, how you frightened me ; I thought my house was burnt down." Not having heard from the debating societies in relation to the conundrum, "Why do hens always lay eggs in tho day time ?" a cotemporary answers, "Because at night they are roosters." Great men direct the events of their time, wise men take advantage of them. A rare mind Mind your own business- Reading mattor on every page, i i t : i ' t TO
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