The Ebensburg Alleghanian. (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1865-1871, March 25, 1869, Image 1

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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
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
at Law, Ebensburg, Pa.
jq- Office opposite the Court House.
B. t. JOHNSTON. augl3 J. K. BCANLAS.
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.
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
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
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.
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
Or Joukstown, Pensa.
aid vr Capital r.O 000 00
. ............... 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
D. J. lldROfTt.
John Dibkrt,
Jacod Lkvkeoood,
James McJJillen.
Jacob M. Cahpbjll, '
Giorge Fmitz.
DANIEL J. MORRELL, rretident.
H. J. Rosekts, Cathicr.
m. Ltovn, rrei't. Jon ilotd, Catlier.
Designated depository of the uni
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.
1 I r PK.n.Kn.M T
VulOe On Ilicrh itrost ne of Pncto.'a TT-
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.
"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
"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
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'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
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
old Captain Oaks and his first mate, Sandy
"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
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
"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
"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
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
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
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
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
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.
"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
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
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,
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