J if J ppi TT a TtVEY BICI£XiEII, l, ''orrk'tor.] NEW SERIES, IJflrlij irinifli Bmorrah A weekly Democratic ■ pajier, devoted to Pol- f tics, News, the Arts w jL-AZlt-l' j-- 1 and Sciences Ac. Pub- y r ' day, at Tunkhannock, Jj Wyoming County, Pa. y V x!fl3B fJ J'' BY HARVEY SiCKLER. Terms —1 copy 1 year, (in advance) *1.50. if not pain within six months, 62.00 will be charged AuvEnTisirua. 10 lines orl , less, make three four tiro three si.r one one square iceeks\iceeks mo'th mo'thtao I th year 1 Square l,ooj 1,25; 2,25; 2.87 3,00< 5.00 2 do. 2,00? 2.50; 3,25 3.505 4.50; 6.00 3 do. 3,00 3.75J 4,75 5,50 7,00 9.00 i Column. 4.00' 4,50; 6.51 V 9,00 10,00 15,00 do. 6,00' 7.00, 10.00 12.00 17.00 25.00 do. ROO 9,50 14.00? 13,00 25.00 35,00 1 do. 10,00 i 12,00 17,00? 22,00. 23,00 40,00 Business Cards of one square, with paper, S3. JOB WORK of all kinds neatly executed, and at prices to suit the times. business JTotirrs. BACON STAND.—Nicholson, Pa. C L JACKSON, Proprietor. [vln49tf] V R.fcS. W, LITTLE A1 rORNEY'S AT, i. LAW, Office on Tioga street, Tunkhannoek Pa. T V. SMITH, M D , PHYSICIAN ,t SFRGEON, •J . Office on Bridge Street, next door to the Demo crat Office, Tunkhannoek, Pa. HS. COOPER, PHYSICIAN A SURGEON . Newton Centre, Luzerne County I'a. llt. .1. CL BECKER & Co., PHYSICIANS & SURGEONS, Would respectfully announce to the citizen* of V . ming that they have located at Tunkhannoek ivher hey will promptly attend to till calls' in the line of neir profession. May be found at his Drug Staro when not professionally absent. T M. CAREY, 31, I).— (Graduate of the 3 •J . M. Institute, Cincinnati) would respectfully announce to the citizens of Wyoming and Luzerne Counties, that he c mtinues his regular practice in the various departments of his profession. May r>e found at his office or residence, when uot professionally ab ent ViP* Parti -ular attention given to the treatment Chronic Diseas. entreuioreland, Wyoming Co. Pa.—v2u2 WALL'S HOTEL, LATE AMERICAII HOUSE/ TUN KHAN NOCK, WYOMING CO., PA. THIS establishment has recently been refitted and furnished in the latest style. Every attention will be given to the comfort and convenience of those wao patronize the House. T. B. WALL, Owner nnd Proprietor. Tunkhannoek, September 1!, 1861. MAVNARO'S HOTEL, TIJNKHANNOCI4, WYOMING COUNTY, FENNA. JOHN MA Y X ARI) , Proprietor. HAVING taken the Hotel, in the Borough of Tunkhaunuek, recently occupied by Kilcy Warner, the proprietor respectfully solicits a share of public patronage. The House has been thoroughly repaired, and the comforts and accomodations of a first class Hotel, will be found by all who may favor t with their custom. September 11, IS6I. fiOBTH BTIAmH HOTEL, MESHOPPEN, WYOMING COUNTY, PA Wm. H. CORTRIGHT, Prop'r HAVING resumed the proprietorship of the ahovo Hotel, the undersigned will spare no effort to reader the house an agreeable place of sojourn for all who may favor it with their custom. Wm. 11. CCRTRIIIHT. June, 3rd, 1863 ftas Ihflrl. TOWANTDA, 3?A. D- B. BARTLET, [Late of the BBRAINAKD HOUSE, ELMIUA, N. Y.J PROPRIETOR. The MEANS HOTEL, L one of the LARGEST and BEST ARRANGED Houses in the country—lt is fitted up in the mo6t modern ami improved style, and no pains are spared to make it a pleasant and agreeable stopping-place for all, v 3, n2l, ly M. OILMAN, DENTIST, MGILMAN, has permanently located in Tunk • hannot k Borough, and respectfully tenders his professional services to the citirens of this place and urrounding country. ALL WORK WARRANTED, TO GIVE SATIS FACTION. Office over Tntton's Law Office, near the Pos Office. Dec. 11, IS6I. TO NERVOUS SUFFERERS OF BOTH SEXES. A REVERENT GENTLEMAN HAVING BEEN restored to health in a few days, after undergoing all the usual routine and irregular expensive modes of treatment without success, considers it his sacred du ty to communicate to his afflicted fellow creatures the means of cure. Hence, on the receipt of an ad dressed envelope, he will send (free) a copy of the fcrescription used. Direct to Dr JOHN M. DAGNALL, Fulton Street, Brooklyn, New York. v2n24ly pott's Corner. WATCHING. Watching when the morning breaketh O'er the mountains cold and gray j Watching when the evening fadeth In the last long flush of day; Watching when the stars look gladly Over all the moonlit ss i, When the night is siler t round us Love, for thee Holy memories steal o'er me Of the far distant past; Fairest visions float before me, All too bright, too sweet to last. Watching in the midnight dreary, Longirg thy dear face to see ; Watching till the heart grows weary, Love, for thee Ceaselessly against the window Beats the dismal plashing rain, Telling stories weird and wretched Of what ne'er can come again ; And the night-lamp burreth faintly On the table cheerlessly, And uiv heart is weary, watching. Love, for thee. Watching for the lightest footstep While my soul is deeply stirr'J By a mufauir 'neath the easement, By a softly spoken word ; And I gaze into the darkness, Rain and darkness, dreamily Watching, longing, longing, watching, Love for thee. Oh ! the day succeeds the night-time With its floods of rosy light; Following the gloomy winter Comes the summer warm and bright. The light comes to the flowers, And the leaflet to the tree, And all is gay in spring-time, Love, but me. The iris will mate them gladly When the year s in its prime ; The flowers will smell the sweetest In the happy summer-time, I, sad, alone, will watch it— The wide, the cruel sea— While its billows bear thee tarther, Love, Irom me. Watching all the hap; y summer, When the days are long and bright; Watching while the autumn noontide Fadeth slowly into night: Watching through the dreary winter, When the spring's lirst buds I see ; Watching till the heart grows weary, Love, for thee. Sklttt Stars, itmr BV HARRIET W. STIM.MAN. "Cousin Stella, I promised, some davs ago, to tell you a story. Everybody is gone to night; we have the house all to ourselves. Come with me to the bay-window in the par 1 >r—llo, don't bring any lamps, Stella; this mellow moon-light is all the light we need. Sit there Stella,and I'll lake this ottoman opposite you. Now for my story, ma belle Stella;it is about—myself." Stella started. Horace inwardly smiled, but remained out wardly expressionless. He, however, drew his seat a trifle nearer his companion, that he might more narrowly observe, though all un seemingly, the effect his narration might pro duce. His face was in the shadow— he had no wish to be himself observed. Stella ap parently did not notice this slight movement, but she drew instinctively back into the deeper shadows of the white rose hush that drapericd the outside of the window, thus escaping the full flood of moonlight which fell upon her face. Horace had done better to have kept his first position. "The story I was going to tell J'ou," he continued, '' is about myself. Though we were nominally couins, and I have been now these three weeks a favored guest in the house of my uncle, your step-father, yet we are almost wholly strangers, and you know comparatively nothing of my life. This much you and your family know, that I am and have been, for years, alone in the world. Not a known relative have I except this kind old gentleman, my uncle, to whose hospitable doors chance, or rather, kind Providence, at length brought me. My tather died when I was an infant, so of him I have no remem brance. My mother—blessings on her mem ory—lived to guard and guide me til! my thirteenth year, then she too died. How vividly do I remember her death-scene—the heavenly smile that irradiated her pale, sweet countenance —the last gentle pressure of her hand npon my head—her faintly-uttered words, the last to me, My loved son, be good, love God. He will be to vou father, mother, friend- He will"— And thus she died. Ever since then, when sin has beckoned toe forth to the luring path way of destruction, that gentle hand and voice have interposed. When the full tide of desolation has swept over my soul, her mild, sweet smile has come back to cheer me, and to make me forget that I am alone.—This blessed memory ol my mother, this constant spiritual companion, if I may so call it, has been the great, effectual barrier between me and vice, while among dissolute companions -JIOJ 9uojndod AQT NI enopi JO 'JOOIJOS "TO SPEAK lIIS THOUGHTS IS EVERY FREEMAN'S RIGHT. "—Thomas Jefferson. TUNKHANNOCIv, PA., WEDNESDAY, JAN. 27, 1864. jug to acquire the education necessary to ffil honoably and usefully the place 1 had marked out for myself in life—that of a physician. My toils and studies I will not detail to you. It is, perhaps, enough, t) say that, with God's blessing, and the little heritage uiy parents left me, which was barely enough, with constant economy, to feed and clothe and educate me, 1 have suc ceeded even beyond my most sanguine hopes. Now, while 1 am firmly treading the high road to fortune, I walk, also, in a path of use fulness. When 1 die, Stella, God keeping me, it shall not be said I have lived in vain— that tlie world is no better for my having lived in it. "In many, in most respects, n.y life has been an uneventful one. Yet there is a por tion of it may interest you. 1 have been, as I before told you, alone since my mother's death—shut out from all those social bonds that link families and hearts together.— More acutely have I felt this desolation when in the midst of a crowded city. Where all around me seemed to have friends or kindred. I had none. You Stella, blessed as you have been by the common, yet sacred associations of home, cannot imagine the desolate isolation from my ki: d that for years has darkened my life.— But the human soul, however .-oli tary, will find fcr itself companions. Mine, at first solely, and always in greater or less degree, were books. But a time came when my heart took 'o itself another companion.— What human heart has not done so in some period of its existence?" Did Horace perceive the nervous tremor that, tor a moment, only, agitated his audi tor? Perhaps not, for he did not pause or hesitate in his narration. "While I was pursuing my studies with Dr. Stowe, 111 the city. I used daily to see a fair, young school-girl pu-s my window.— That she was a school-gill I kuew by the hours in which she regularly passed up and down the street, by her books, some of which she always had with her, and bv the gay companions that often went back and forth with her. I knew nothing ah ut who she was, what her name, or where her home f scarcely cared to know—at first. It was enough to know that in the morning and in the afternoon, like a stray ray of sunshine, she would flit by my window—enough to re vel in my dreams of this new divinity, at whose shrine my very soul bowed to do hom age. It was my mother's smile in her face that so riveted my gaxe on that morning wlenl first beheld her; and each day as I watched for her advent, she seemed to me the visible embodyment of my n. other's gen tle sp'iit. Do you wonder, rftella, that I thought of her only in vague, wild.dreams?— that the fair apparition was never spoken of to those around me? that I never took any steps to ascertain aught concerning her, but dreamed n blindly, like one enchanted? If you wonder, you have never dreamed." Stella drew back still further ir.to the shadowy I-c**es of the window, but neither sigh nor sulied sob escaped her. Ilad Hor ace's listener been a spirit she could not have been more noiseless. "At length my divinity came no more. I watched tor her mornings—she might be !r.te to school. Late or early she never came. 1 watched for tier afternoons—possibly [ had missed her in the crowd that jostled by my window. Ah, no—she was in the crowd no more. Slowly, reluctantly, I admitted the fact— she was gone. I might never see her again. Then the light went out of my heart From that time, I was like the father of Gin erva, wandering as in search of something I could not find. I, indeed pursued my stud ies and made ray daily round of calls ou va rious patieuts, but thro'all this T was rather like an automaton than a living sentient being ''Rut my sun rose again. Oh what a glo rious morning was that to my lonely, stricken heart! This was the manner of its dawning. Dr. Stowe changed his office to a more cen tral portion of the city : for convenience, I too, changed my lodging to a place near his new office. One day T had occasion to return to my room at in hour when usually I was engaged at the office, and as 1 approached the front entrance, my divinity issued therefrom There was the same sinile upon her lip, the same unspeakable expression in her eye that had graced my mother's when she used to caress me, her child, with looks a.id words of tenderness. I started grew almost dizzy with emotion as the vision flitted by me, and was lost among the crowd; then I rushed forward through the door-way and up to my room utterly overwhelmed with the new thoughts that struggled in my heart. Did she really live within the same dwelling that sheltered me ? Was it possible that I was breathing the same atmosphere with her ? that one roof nightly covered us both ? Oh, what blessedness was in the thought! Who could propecy what full fruition of earthly hopes the boundless future should not bring tome 1 Aye, even to poor lonely, desolate me." " Again for weeks I did not see her. The house in which I hired a solitary room was leased to seperate tenants of whom I knew nothing. If she dwelt there I never chanced to meet her in door or on stairway. If she lived elsewhere, and only visited here occa ionally, it was only while I was absent,— There was a mysterious lady who sometimes sang and played on a piano in the next room. 1 met her on the stairs occasionally, and sometimes I caught sight of her floating dra pery just.disappearing in her dooorway.— One day I chanced to hear her speak of her music schollars to another lady that stood with her upon the landing as I passed;— Then 1 thought this mysterious lady might be her teacher. Perhaps, could I be there at tiie right hour, I might even catch the sil very tones of her voice—might possibly meet her and find some way of her acquaintance. I feigned illness for a few davs. I need scarcely have feigned it, for the mental wear of the last few months had made me quite thin and sallow. I found my conjectures correct. She came at regular in tervals, and I enjoyed the supreme blessed ness oflistening to her sweet, half childish voice. What plans 1 laid to meet and speak with her. What air castles I built on the sunny future. Hut they were built alas on no tangible foundation. Ere I bail completed any of my schemes the mysterious lady re moved, the voice of my beloved wis beard no more, and a new tenant occupied the next room. I sought my angel, as 1 fondly called her, all over the city, but I found her no where. From thencforth. Stella, 1 was chang ed. 1 gave up useless visions of love and sympathy, and—her. Hopelessly, as to the joys of this life, yet earnest in the labor that should tell upon the life to coins, I resolute ly set myself at work to become a proficient in my calliog, that thus I might the better help to lessen the sufferings of humanity. I Have made my m ither s last words the watch word of my life. And, .Stella, even in mv comparatively joyless life, I have been bless ed. But, why are you leaving me so hastily, my cousin? Stay a few moments. Is my story, then, so tiresome !" Stella had risen suddenly, and,like a spirit, was gliding from the room. The last words recalled her. Sue sunk down silently' upon her seat. Il she was agitated, peahaps the shadows concealed it. If she was pale and trembling, how should Horace see it. Should she betray thefolly in which she had uncon ciously Jfailen ! Shou Id, she in her weakness allow the stranger to comprehend what she herself had nut until to-night—that she loved him ? No ! she could, she wouid command both word and ma nner—would stay anil hear all, thougli each new sentence struck like a blow upon her heart. Why had she dared to hope a.-d what had she dared to hope for? Poor child, she had not known her heart un til now—now when it was to late. Horace resumed his seat. J here lias been another era in in)* life, Stella. Since coming to this place I have seen that sv.eet einbodyment of my dreams ; aye, have spoken with her—have learned to call her friend. 1 have fonn 1 her all inv heart could dream of—loveliness. Again such hopes as 1 had believed were utterly dead within me have sprung up into new life; but are these new hopes also doomed to die? must hey be trodden in the dust ? Stelia. do you know what it is to give life for life? love ior love, lite for lile? Nothing loss do 1 seek. This friend of yours and mine, Stel la, seems to lcve me. I believe that it is but to ask and she ;s miue. But will her whole heatt be mine—mine aione ? \\ ill •>};,* give mo love for love—life for life ? Of tms I have ocen in doubt. \ou have H woman's tact, Stella, will you sound her heart forme? Will you " ihis passionate appeal was suddenly bro ken off, for Stella pressing a hand against her forehead with a quick convulsive movemen:, rushed out of the room. Horace lingered a moment, then went to seek her. She was not in the sitting-room nor yet in the library- She had not taken the way to her own room, lie turned his steps toward the garden, In a retired corner, beneath the thickly over arching trees, was Stella's favorite resort—a beautiful summer house. As Horace noise lessly approached hidden by the dense foliage heavy, hall-suppressed sobs reached bis ear —then Stella's own voice, exclaiming. " Oh, this blow—this last bitter blow could he not rot have spared me that?" " Dearest Stella have I struck you ? Do you, then, love me wholly ? Do you love me Stella ? Yon alone have been the day star of my life. It was you, and you only, that I BO long, so blindly worshipped. Forgive me for wounding yon thus. I was selfish, Stella. I would know whether you could be happy without me." Horace had flung himself at the feet of the weeping fugitive. Again she would have ficd from him, but his strong arm detained her, his low voice breathing words of tender ness. From that night Horace, the orphan was no longer alone, and unloved. STEPHEN GIRARD'S RULE. —That merchant prince and eminently sucsessful millionaire. Stephen Girard, in speaking of the agents which contributed principally to his success, said : " I have always considered advertis ing liberally and long to be the great medi um of success in business and prelude to wealth. And I have made it an invariable rule, too, to advertise in the dullest times, long experience having taught me that money thus spent is well laid out as by keeping my business continually before the public, it has secured me many sales that I would other wise have lost." Miscellaneous. AN AFFECTING INCIDENT. Some three years ago a housshold in our sister city Covington was thrown into com motion by the sudden disappearance of a daughter twelve years of age. She was tracked to the ferry-boat, but whether she had passed safely over or had been drowned was not discovered. Patient and anxious waiting brought no tidings of her. The fren" zied and unhappy father, although in moder ate circumstances, sought the newspaper offi cers and advertised a reward of $1)000 to whoever should return his missing child. All proved unavailing. Some time after ward the corpse of a young lady was found in the river near Vevay, about forty miles below here and hearing of it, he went there but it was not his daughter. Time wore on, and no tidings came of the lost child. She was dead to them but they could uot visit her grave. About twelve rnorths since the stricken family moved to Mexico, and took up their abode in a country foreign in language and customs, in features and in habits from that in which they had met with their great loss. It might wear away their thoughts from sadly ruminating on the past, and enable them, in a region devoted to religious duties, to look more hopefully to ward the great future. There they still are. About a week since a steamer arriving from Memphis was crowded with passengers who were upon the guards straining their-eyes to gather into one look the multudinous ob jects which throng the public landing. One, however a young girl buddfng into woman hood, sought the outer rail and looked wist fully over the naked shore of Covington, to wh ere, hid away under a clump of trees, was the cottage of her childhood, hoping in vain to see the curling smoke announce to her a warm welcome within.—Quickly she passed over the ferry, where long since she had dis appeared; no one noted or knew her, and she went without interruption to the door of her father's house. It answered not her knocks, woods had grown up rrnk and rough where she had left flowers, and no signs of human life were to be fouud there. It was the turn of the wayward child to weep and when by inquiry, she found how far and almost hopelessly she was separated from her parents, she began to feel desolate. Piqued at some chiding or some punishment of mother, she had gone upon a steamboat; where a female passenger hired her to go with her as a nurse. After a little while the war broke out, stopped all intercourse with the South by the river, and though she soon fhuud that untried friends but seldom prove steadfast in trouble, and that the harshnsss of a parent is melting kindness beside that of a stranger, yet she was unable until lately to return. A kind lady of Covington has given shelter to the wanderer until her re turn is made known to her parents.—Cincin nati Enquirer. A GIFTED FAMILY.—A religious friend in Ohio writes : A few years ago there dwelt in one of the wealthiest sections of the state a host of rich relatives by the name of Brown—all, or nearly all oi whom belonged to the church.— They were among the most prominent and influential, if not the most exemplary mem bers of the congregation, and at prayer meetings they generally monopolized the "privileges." They were all "gifted" in pray er, and consequently did the most of it. On one occasion, however, the class-leader be thought himself of a poor but worthy brother who was present, and whom he had never called upon to pray before, and the following dialogue took place: Class Leader —"f see Brother Smith is here. Brother Smith, will you lead in prayer?" Brother Smith —"l'm not gifted ; excuse me. Lei another one of the Browns pray!" The congregation all saw tho point, and the rebuke was so just that it effectually put an end to the Brown monopoly of privileges in|that congregation. A HUMOROUS DRIVER A veritable Jehu, who drives one of the stages of that line that runs up to High Bridge, perpetrated a dry joke the other day. A middle aged female passenger requested to be left at Forty-ninth street, and so, when Forty-ninth street was reaehe d, Jehu reigned in his horses and stop ped . The old lady got out, and staring wildly up at the driver's perch exclaimed : " Well, now, I would like to know why in the name of goodness you have carried me a mile beyond where I wanted to stop ? " " You told me, madam, to leave you at Forty-ninth street." " Well, I meant Twenty-ninth stroet and, any way, you might have known where I live, for I ride up here every week, in your '• busses." " Madam," said Jehu, with Napoleonic composure, "I've druv stage on this line about ten years or less, and I never yet miss ed leaving a passenger where he or she direct ed me to leave him or her; and madam, if you don't know where you live, you\l better move TBRMS: 81.80 PEH ANSTCTM; WANTS A WIFE. The following appears in a St. Louis pa per: WANTED.— I have lived solitary long enough. 1 want some one to talk at quarrel with—then kiss and make up again. There fore, I am ready to receive communications from young ladies and blooming widows of more than average respectability, tolerably tame in disposition, and hair of any color. As nearly as I can judge of myself, I am not over eighty nor under twenty-five years of age. lam five feet eight or eight feet five, I forget which. Weigh 135,315 or 531 pounds, one of the three, recollect each figure per fectly well, but as to their true arrangement lam somewhat puzzled. Have a whole suit of hair dyed by nature and free from dan druff. Eyes buttermilk-brndle tinged with pea green. Nose blont, according to the Tonic order of architecture, with a touch of the composite, and a meuth between a cat fish's and alligator's—made especially for oratory and large oysters. Ears palpalmated, long and elegantly shaped. My whiskers are a combination of dog's hair, moss and briar bush—weH behaved fearfully luxuriant. I am sound in limb and on the negro question. Wear boots No. 9 when corns are tronhle some, and can write poetry by the mile, with double rhyme on both edges—to read back ward, forward, crosswise and diagonally Can plav thejewsbarp and bass drum, and whistle Yankee Poodle in Spanish. Am very correct in my morals, and first rate at ten pins; have a regard for the Sabbath and only drink when invited. Am a domestic animal, and perfectly do cile when towels are clean and 6hirt buttons all right, If I possess a predominating vir tue it is that of forgiving every enemy whom T deem it hazardous to handle. I say my prayers every night, musqitoes permitting ; as to whether I snore in my sleep, T want somebody to tell me. Money is no object, as T never was troubled with any never ex pect to be. 1 should like some lady who is perfectly able to support a husband, or if she could introduce me to some family where re ligious example would be considered suffi cient compensation for board, it would do just as well. Address X. 22, St. Louis P. Q. —Luzerne Union. Taking the Starch oat. A capital example, writes a reader, of what is often termed "taking the starch out," hap pened recently in a country bank in New England. A pompous, well-dressed individ ual entered the bank, and addressing the tell er, who is somethiug of wag, inquired} "Is the cashier iu?" "No, sir," was the reply, "l\eli, 1 am dealing in pens, supplying the New England banks pretty largely, and I suppose it will be proper for me to deal with the cashier." "I suppose it will,,' said the teller. "Very well; I will wait." Tbe pen-peddler took a chair, and sat com posedly for a full hour, waiting for the cash ier. By that time he began to grow uneasy, but sat twisting in his chair for about tweu ty minutes, and seeing no prospect of a change in his circumstances, asked the teller how soon the cashier would be iu. "Well, I don't know exactly," said the waggish teller, "but I expect him in about eight weeks. lie has just gone to Lake Su perior, and told me ho thought he should come back iu that time." Peddler thought he would not wa't. "Oh, stay if you wish," said the teller— very blandly. "We have no objection to your sitting here in the day time, and you can probably find some place in town whero they will be glad to keep you nights." The pompous peddler disappeared without another word. A SETTLEMENT— A correspondent writes. Having occasion not long since to ride in the Mount Auburn cars, I could not help hearing a part of the conversation carried on by a la dy and gentleman who entered near Mount Auburn. They had evidently been in search of a "lot," and although too grave a subject to excite one's ristabilities, yet the business style in which the gentleman spoke of the " City of the Dead," will excuse me for fur nishing you with one of his observations. " Ah, " said he. "I didn't go up that ave nue which the agent wished to 6how me; didnt thiuk it worth my while. The fact is, the man was anxious to begin a settlement there." No harm in this; only the idea of "begin ning a settlement" in such a place struck me as decidedly original. VF.RV NATURAL THOUGHT A native of the green isle of Erin called at one of oor drug stores, the other day, with a prescrip tion, the putting up of which he watobed with great curiosity. "What's that' ony way?" asked the customer. "This," said the obliging apothecary, •' is tincture oemi cit&ga racemosa and liniment of saponis, cantharides and opii." A look of bewilder ment changed to one of grave concern as the Irishman inquired, "And what is the price?" "Thirty-seven cents," was the reply. "By jabers," said pat, "I thought two such names as that would cost uic at laste a dollar aud a half." . . J 4 * " ' 1 • VOL. 3, NO. 24