Huntingdon Journal

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ti^lf'^^fimmimdiiimmmmmmiimammiMimilmB^immi
Th
e
J ournal.
VOL. 46.
HUNTINGDON, PA., JANFAKY 2.5, 1871.
NO. 4.
le Huntingdon Journal.
:. urRBOREOW,       -       -       J. A. X.VSU,
I'irUl.lSl'lUns AMI I'ltoriMKTOTtS. ... .1. ('i.. C.iriter of Iltahund Waahtnijlon atrcels.
';i:; l(i-xTiNfino\ Joi'uxA!. is puhH.ihed every l.R.-.!av. I.y .r. li. lliitKoRKinv ami .1. A. N.\sii, .I- thf linn n:uiU> i.f.r. 11. DriinoKiiiiw A Co., at III l.,-r .T.ir.-n:. iv a-ivanci:, or !?2.5U if not paid ill .«;.x ii..iii:li.^ IVi'iii il.itc of ..^ii'.seriiition. and I' not jLiiit ^fitliin the year.
'll p:ir,cr Ji.i'.nintinneil. Hiulcp.- at tile option of imlilishcrs. until all nrronrnscs are paid.
l)VEUTr.<E.MK.\T.S will be inserted at Tk.v :ts j)ci- line for cauh of the first four insertions,
FIVi: i'i;:."TS j.LT line for each subsequent inser-
li....:.! than tlirccjy^ontbs. .e;;uliir iiionilily auil yearly ailvcrtiscmcnts will usertetl at the following rates :
T
O   A D V E R T I S E R S:
i£.o| I'.uo 45J coolucoi 8 00 Gi)o| aoo;ijoo ij "
45O1 000 13 50118 00, Ji " 0 00112 00 IS 00;21001 7 5o'lS00'22 5o'30 0o!lyr
11  ly
Too is'ob 2700 3060
2100 361.0 500018500 :V4 00j50 00 0500 81.110
'SOOo'cOOo'sOOO 1000
[leeial notices will be inserted at twelvk ami ALF ceXTS per Une, nnd local and editorial no- ? at Pi-TKES t'KXTs per Une. II Resolutions of Assjciatiors, Communications uiitcd oriiuliviilual interest, au-i notices of .Mar¬ es aad Ueathi, exceeding livo lines, wiU be •ged TE.V CE.STS per Une.
I'grtI and other notices v.ill be cliarged to the y havinj; them inserU-d.
¦ Ivcrtising Agents niai!t find tlieir commission illc of these ligures
ll itdv
t ,hc odre
ting I
due and   cdlntttble ,ia,;-l,.d.
PIU.VTI.NU I.r every kind, in Plain and vv Color.-, dono with neatness nnd dispatch,— li-bill!. DIuiiks. Cards. I'aniphlets, ic., of every ety an.l style, printed at the shortest notice, everv Ibhig iu tbe Printing liye will be exccu- in the most urtistic manner and at the  lowest
Trayellers' Guide.
¦Winter Arrangement. WESTWAED "~ EASTWAllD^
\  M
') "ll
J
0 30
;
A    M      AH.
li 43;  N.llamilton	
12 52 7 50 Mt.  Union.	
12 lo'.S 0.-! Mill Cieok	
1 32:0 OOTyronc	
1 43! ITfpton	
2 U)|9 MAltoona- „
-"¦n   ¦
T. 11. P.M. ».M.
 '4 00,8 31
10 4614 008 24
  3 46 8 12
 i3 29 7 67
 3 1SI7 47
ig C0!3 00,7 30
p. H. |P.M.jA.lI.
10 Fust Line EastwanJ, loaves A Itoona at 12 43 a arrives at Huntingdon at 1 17 i. u. leCinchmati Express Eastward,  leaves A11(k>ui p. u., and arrives ut Uuntingduu at 7 05 p. M. ciflc Express Eastward, leauts Altooua at C 25 A imsses Huntingdon nt 7 25 a. m. ncLDuati ErpreSs McstTiurd, luavc-^ lluutingiloi A. u., and arrives ut Altoona at 4 5U /   ' ic Fiwt Liuc We.-;tw;ird, pisst , and arrives at Altoona at 8
Iliintitigdun  at
N'TIXGDON AXDBKOADTOP UAILROAD.
Winter Arrangement.
'aAiNS.
¦ou.
M.
5 20
5 28
5 42
5 49
U 03
0 IS
li 25
0 40 B41
? 06
1 10
7 IJ
7 2.-.
r So
r 40
.V. 2
!t
Mab.  I
i        STATIOXS.
A.M.
LE   9 Ooillnntlngaon	
9 OS Long Siding	
il 21
il 30
» 46
10 00
10 08
10 23
10 27
10 43
10 50
UM
11 10
McConhclistown	
Ple:isunt Urove	
Marklesburg	
Coffee Hon	
Roagh and Beady.....
Fiifacrs Snmmit	
Saxton	
Kiddlesburg—	
Ilopcwell	
11 aoPipcrs Run	
11 56iTatcJvUla 	
12 OSJDloodyllQn	
.VE12 12
SH
Mount Dallas	
OUP'S RUN UIIANC
LI 10 55 S«l..n,	
11 lolcoalmont	
11 15 Crawford.	
AB 11 25 Duilley	
BriiaJTop Cilv	
JOHN Ml
i, 1870.
Professional Car
tows
AC0031.
A. M.
An  8 40
8 29
8 13
8 05
7 50
1 35
7 27
7 12
7 06
6 50
t.
.IE   0 41
fl 25
0 -20
LB   6 10
IbLIfS
'ds^~~
Tr.uns.
Mail
P. M.
Aa4 10
4 02
3 46
3 3S
3 23
3 OS
300
2 46
2 41
2 25
2 10
1*8
138
1 IS
1 10
1 06
LilOo
.IB 2 Oil
2 0.-.
2 on
LEKfl
.
IILES ZENTMYER, Attorney-at- Law, Huntingdon; Pa., will attend promptly 11 legal business. Oflice in Cunningham's new Jing. [jan.4,'n.
"    ALLEN  LOVELL,  Attoruey-at-
k.. Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Special attention •n to C0LLECTlo.\s of all kin.l..|; to the settle- t of Eslates, 4c.: and all other Legal Business Clouted wi!h fidelity and dispatch. :i»- Office in room lately occupied by R. Milton =r. Esq. _ Uan.4,'71.
1   W. MYTON, Attorncy-at-Law, Hun-
•    tingdon, Pa.    Office wilh .I. ."^cwell Stewart. [jan.4,'71.
HALL MUSSTiR, Attorney-at-Law,
•    Iluntingdon, Pa.     Office,   secOiid  floor  of Iter's new building. Hill street.        [jan.l,'7I.
P.   W.   JOHNSTON,   Surveyor
k-»    and Scrivener, Huntingdon, Pa. All kinds •riling, drafting, kc, done at short notico. See on Smith street, over Wood." k Williamson's ' 0«ee. [i5ajl2,;C«.
»    M. & M. S.   LYTLE,  Attorneys-
•    at-Law, Huntingiloij, I'a., will attcijd to cinils of legal business entrusted to their care, nice on the south fide of Hill street, fourth door !..f,«milh.   ' [,ian.4.'7I.
SYLVANUS BLAIR, Attorney-at- Law, Huntingdon, Pa.    Office, Hill street, doors west of Smith. [jan.4'71.
A. POLLOCK, Surveyor and Real
• Estate Agent, Huntingdon, I'a.. will attend urvoj-injr in nil its branches. Will also buy. or r.'llt Paring, il.iuse?. and Real Estate of .^v- kind, iu any i.art of the United States. Send a circular. [jan.4'71.
|R. J. A. DEAVER, having located
'    at Franklinville, offers his professional ser- F-to the community. [jon.l.'Tl.
W.   MATTERN,   Attorney-at-Law
•«v and (ieneral Claim .^gent. Huntingdon, Pa., liers* (^iuis..»gain5t the Uovernment for  back y.l«ounty, widows' and invalid pensions attend- o with great care and promptness, ffics on Hill street. [jan.4,'71.
\   SCOTT. S.  T.   DUOW.V. J.   M.   BAH.EV.
COTT,  BROWN  &   BAILEY,   At-
torneys-at-Law. Huntingdon, Pa.    Pension.^, all claims of soldiers and soldiers' heirs against (iovenimeut will be promptlv prosecuteil. ¦fficcon Hill street. [jan.4,'71.
\R. D. P.  MILLER, Office on  Hill
•^ street, in the room formerly occupied by Juhn M'Cullueh, Huntingdon, Pa., would res- tfully offer his professional services to the citi- 9 of Huntingdon and vicinity. [jan.4,'71.
"    R. PATTON, Druggist and Apoth-
• ec;iry, oi'posite the Exchange Hotel, Ilun- ,;don. Pa. Prescriptions accurately compounded, •c Liquors for Medicinal purjioscs,    [nov.2.1,*70.
^RTXXlBRUmJAI^H, oiierd lii's
-^ . professional serrices tu the community. mice on AVashington street, one door cast of the holie Parsonage. [jan.4,'71.
THE     HUNTINGDON     .lOURNAL.
PUBLISHED
EVERY   AVEDNESDAY   MORNING
BY
J. R. DURBORROW & J. A. NASH.
Office corner of W.ishington and Bath St.«!., HUNTINGDON, PA.
THE BEST ADVERTISING MEDIUM
CENTRAL PENNSYLVANIA.
CIRCULATION 15()0.
HOME AND FOREIGN ADVERTISE¬ MENTS INSERTED ON REA¬ SONABLE   TERMS.
A    FIRST     CLASS    NEWSPAPER.
TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION:
82.00 per    annum    in    .idvance.    $2.50
within six months.    $."5.00 if not
paid within the jear.
^    J. GREENE, Dentist.    Office  re-
i«    moved to Leister's new building. Hill street ntingdon. [jan.4,'71.
>    ALLISON MILLER, -L'entist, has
• •    removed to the Brick Row, opposite the irt House. [jan.4,*7I.
''XCHANGE   HOTEL,   Huntingdon,
i    Pa. .lOIIN S. .MILLEU, Piopried.r.
anuary 4. 1871.
^OR ALL, KINPS OF
•'"''¦ 'JOB WORK,
toTiiE JoLP.NAL Buibnixo, corner of Washing- ^and Bath streets. Our ]>reps.)s and typo are new, nnd work is executed in the best .style.
JOB PRINTING: ALL KINDS OF JOB WORK DONE
WITH
NEATNESS AND DISPATCH,
AND  IN   THE
LATEST   AND   MOST   IMPROVED STYLE,
SUCH AS
POSTERS OF ANY SIZE, CIRCULARS,
BUSINESS CARDS, WEDDING AND VISITING CARDS, BALL TICKETS.
I'ROGRAMMES,
CONCERT TICKETS, ORDER BOOKS, SEGAR LABELS,
RECEIPTS,
LEGAL BLANKS, PHOTOGRAPHER'S C.VRDS. BILL HEADS,
LETTER HEADS,
PAMPHLETS; PAPER BOOKS, ETC., ETC.. ETC., ETC., ETC.,
Our facilities for doing all kinds of Job Printing superior to any other establish¬ ment in the county. Orders by mail promptly filled. All letters should be ad¬ dressed,
J. R. DURBORROW & CO.
ife? ^nm^' §mtK,
The Days of Long Ago.
0 Time, upon whose viewless wing Tlie fleeting seasons come and go,
Inslriict my truant Muse lo sing The better days of long ago.
The present may, percliauce, beguile .My passions wliilc its luomcnls last;
lint fortune's best and dearest smilo Is buried in the silent past.
And I wotilil gladly now resign AH tliat tlie future has for uie,
To spend one hour of sweet lung syac. Dear M.iry, with the past and tliee.
But that, alas I can never be
The fate of Fancy's helpless son ;
And unrelenting Destiny,
"With cruel finger, beckons on.
1 see tlie future, dnrk and dim,
Before my mortal vision rise; Tlic years, like banished seraphim. Are marching by mc ia disguise.
All, all is dark and cheerless now. Since time cannot reverse its flight;
Oblivion's baud is on my brow.
And beckons down the fall of night.
¦V'ct sometimes iu these d.arkcr hours I dream of better days in trust;
But when I reach to pluck the flowers Of youth, they turn to senseless dust I
New England ! on thy glorious bills I stand iu thought, a moment free;
I hear the uinsic of thy rills— Nature's low notes of liberty!
Ard when my long lost love reclines, In welcome shade I kneel to woo,
And Nature's lyre of mountain pines Breathes soft us it was wont to do.
But ah ! the witching vision flics, And facts are sterner thingilhan dreams:
Sweet Mary's dark and solemn eyes No longer watch thy purling streams ;
But in that fairer clime above— The climax of the dreams of this—
They wear the same old look of love, And gaze upon the streams of bliss.
©lie fl;0r^-^.?llev.
"the" WEST FARM MYSraRYr
'There's no use trying any longer to suit Isaac Parson's," muttered the fore- named individual's better-half, as site sat in her corner of tho farm kitchen, rapidly divesting a chicken of its f&athcrs; '-I've worked and shivcd myself to death for his !ind his'n, and all the thanks I've h.nd for tho last fifteen years has been short words and general growlin' and fault finding, until uow I'm just determined to stand out and have my own way, and he'll find after all, Melissa Talcott has got some spirit in her, that can't be crushed out by all his abusin' and aggravation."
To think ho should have the heart to refuse a new carpet after he has had such jood luck with his wheat crop, and I just slaved myself through harvesting and got along with one girl."
"The more that man gets, the stingier he grows, an i there isn't a wom.an among all my acquaintances that would stand such treatment, and I won't. I'll put my foot down from this moment," setting down most emphatically that solid mem¬ ber of her comely person on the kitchen floor: ''if Isaac Parson won't come to terms, I'll quit him, thtit's all!"
It was a still, serene morning in the early autumn. The kitchen windows wero open, and through them came, like gold¬ en wings, the sunshine, to linger and laugh on the white kitchen floor, and flash along the ceiling, and brighten everything into picturesque beauty in that old farm house kitchen. The song ofthe birds in their nests among the old bell pear trees, came along through the windows in sweet ed¬ dies and jets of music, aud so did all those ripe, fragrant, spicy scents which belo.ig to autumn, and which h.ave also alwtiys a whisper of the tropics, with their still, stately splendor, their groves of balm, and forests odorous with gems, and beautiful with all strange and gorgeous blooms.
But better than all this, that autumn morning was one to brim the heart with gratitude to God, the giver of perfect beau¬ ty, to culm the soul into peace, and trust in the wisdom and love whieh had ordain¬ ed that day a high priest to man, and its robe was like the robe of Aaron's ephod, all of blue, and its bells were the merry winds ringing to and fro in the still air, and on the forehead of the morning was written, so that all eyes might read—"All his works do praise him."
But Mrs. Jlelissa Parson heard und saw none of these things. Down among the fogs and darkncs.'; of her own narrow fret¬ ful cares and anxieties, sho walked with warded vision and angry thoughts, Avhieh seethed and flashed into rebellion and ha¬ tred. For her there was no beauty iu that autumn day, no token of God's love and care for man in its sweet face—no voice calling her to prayer and to praise, in the whisper of the winds or songs of the birds.
Mrs. Jlelissa Parson had been a re¬ markable pretty girl in her youth—and thirty-seven years had made her a f;iir and comely woman.
Her husband was a .somewhat phlegmat¬ ic man, stubborn und opinionated, and as his early life and social atmosphere had not enlarged nor softened his character, the hardest and most disagreeable part of it expanded with his years. He loved money, and as tho sesthetic part of his nature had never been cultivated, he re¬ garded it as wastcfullness aud extrava¬ gance to indulge in much grace or beauty of surroundings.
Still, there was another side to the man; his aftections were deep and tender, and a judicious and loving woman could have reached and influenced him to almost any degree through these. But Mrs. Melissa Parson never understood her husband; she was an impulsive, high spirited, and real warm hearted woman, with a great deal of petty, social ambition, and she and her husband were constantly jarring each other.
His obstinacy always inflamed her an¬ ger, while her imperious temper only hardened him iuto fresh stubbornness, anjl so the current of their lives ran  most in-
hamioniou.sly, and was constantly inter¬ rupted by jars and bickerings, and alterca¬ tions. That ono fair lilly of tenderness, v.hoso grace and beauty filled her youth with fragrance, east its leaves, and at last only the root was lofl; and what dews or sunshine wo'jld nourish it iu souls that were overgrown witli thistles, and rank and poison wceils ?
Yet r.ll these year.s the barns and store¬ house, tho liind and gold of Isaac Parson iiiereated, and GoJ sent children—two boys and a girl—to softest the hearts of the father and mother, and to be to them angels of a no'.v covenant of household peace and tenderness. But, alas! the sweet faces, and ull the beautiful minis¬ trations of childhood never accomplished their mission, and with hearts and tem¬ pers fretted and soured, and worn, Mr. and 3Irs Parson counted the years going over them, and both felt that their mar¬ riage had been a mistake and a misery, and with blue eyes that would not under- •staiul, each blamed the otlier, and mutual recrimination only produced fresh bitter¬ ness.
At last a crisis eauio. !Mrs. Parson had set her heart on a new parlor carpet, which was in no wise unreasonable, and in which her husband ought to have indulged her, but the manner of her re¬ quest which was in reality a command, at once aroused the inherent stubbornness of tlic man, aud he as flatly refused her. Then followed passionate words and angry retorts till the husband and wife separated with mutual bitterness and rage.
But :;s Mrs. Parson took up her denu¬ ded chicken and plunged it into a pan of hot water, her eyes glanced on a weekly paper which lay on the table, and they settled upon this passage, which completed a short sketch—'-Who when he was reviled, re¬ viled not again, but coniniittod his cause tt) Him that judgeth righteous'.y."
Again these words stole, in a still, se¬ rene, rebuking voice, through the soul of Mrs. Parson. She had read them innu¬ merable times before, :ind they had for her no special message nor meaning, but now God had sent his angel fo drop them in her lieart. and in a moment something of the real sin and the wrong of her life rose up and confronted her.
She sat down in a low chair by her kitchen table, and rested her forehead on her hand. The harsh, fretful, angry look went out from her face, and v.-as succeed¬ ed by a soft thoughtful expression, and the sunshine hovered in yearning, golden, shifty beauty about her.
And the years of M rs. I'arson's life rose up like pale, sorrowful faces of the dead, and looked reproachfully upon hor, and suddenly in sharp, clear, strong features, stood revealed to her roused conscience, the heavy part she had borne in all the sin and misery that had blasted her mar¬ ried life.
And then the woman's memory went back to her first acquaintance with Isaac Parson—he had chosen^ her from a score of others who envied her that good for¬ tune, and how those early days of their courtship came over the softened heart of the woman, as the first winds of spring came up from the south, and go s:ftly over the bare, despairing earth. Then she saw herself once more, a shy, tremu¬ lous, joyous bride at the altar, leaning on the strong ;irm and tender heart, to whom sho gave herself gladly and trustingly as a woman should.
And she remembered that morning, a little later, when her proud and happy young husband brought her to the house which had been her father's, and how for a little while the thought of her bei:ig mistress of the farm house f«irly frighten¬ ed the wits out of hor.
She went to make a sweet and happy home for Isaac Parsons. She remember¬ ed as though it all happened yesterday, the little plans and contrivances she had made for his surprise, and their mutual comfort. But the quarrel came. How well she remembered it, and how clearly she saw how the foolish and sinful part she had borne in that 1 If sho had of controlled her temper then—if she had ouly been gentle aud patient, forbearing and forgiving, instead ofbeing proud aud passionate, fretful and stubborn ' If she had only borne her woman's duties! Here tho wife and mother broke do-,vn, she bur¬ ied her face iu her apron and wept like a child.
Mrs. Parson was an energetic deter¬ mined woman, and when she had once made up her mind on any course of action, she would not shrink from it. What v.'eut on in the softened woman's heart on that morning, as she sat with hor apron at her eyes, and the sobs in her rocking chair, and the sweet restless suii.shine all about her—what went on in the softened wo¬ man's heart, only God and the angels knew.
"Are you tired Isa.ic?" The fanner was wiping his face and hands on the brown crash towel, which hung near the window. He was a tall, stalwart man, sun-browned and weather- beaten, yet he had keen, kindly eyes, and the hard featurcj had an honest, intelli¬ gent expression. Mrs. Parson was cut¬ ting a loaf of rye bread at the kitclien ta¬ ble. Her husbantl turned and looked at her a moment, as though he was half doubtful whether he had hoard her right. His wife's face was bent over the board, and he could not see it; but the words came a second time: "Are you tired Isaac'!" It was a long time siuce Mr. Parson had heard that soft, quiet voice. It stole over his heart like a wind from the land of his youth.
"AVell, yes, I do feel kind of tuckered out. It's hard work to get in all that with only one hand besides Rogers."
"I recokoned   so; and I   thought   I'd
broil the chicken for tea, and bake the sweet potatoes, as you relish them best so."
Mr. Parson did not say a v.'ord; he sat down and took tie weekly paper out of his pocket, but his thoughts .were too bu.>iy to let him read ono word. lie knew very well his wile's aversion to broiled chicken, and as the kitchen w.is her undisputed territory, he was obliged to submit and Ilis chicken .-itewoJ an i his potatoes served ap in sauce, notwithstanding she was per¬ fectly aware that he preferred the fonrer broiled and the latter baked; and thii un¬ usual deference to taste fairly struck the farn;cr dumb with astonishment, and he tat htill and watched his wife as she hur¬ ried fi\.ui tho pautry to the table, in her preparations for tea ; and then came across him the memory of some of the harsh, an¬ gry words he had spoken that morning, the words smote the man's heart. !
And whilst 3Irs. Parson was in the midst of taking up the broiled chicken, two boys anda girl buistintothekitchen."
•'Hush, hush, children." wound in among the obstreperous mirth like a silver chime, the soft voice ofthe mother, "fath¬ er's bu.sy reading the p.tpcr and you'll dis- tuib him.''
Tho ch.ldicn were silenced at once, not in fear of reproof, but in wonder at it, for the wife ;is seldom consulted her hus¬ band's taste and convenience in the small everyday matters which make the happi¬ ness or irritation of our lives.
Tn a few minutes the hungry family gathered around the tabic. There was little spoken ut the meal, but a softer, kindlier atiiiosphero seemed to pervade the room. The children felt, though they did not speak of it.
"Are you going out this evening, Isaac?"
"AVell. yes, I thought I'd step 'round to tho town nioetiug. A\'^ant anything at the .store?" continued Mr. Par.son, as he tried to button his collar before the old- fashioned looking-glass, whoso mahogany frame was mounted with boughs of ever¬ greens, tiround which scarlet berries hnng their charms cf rubies.
But the man's large fingers were clum¬ sy, aud al\er several inofl'ectual attempts to accouiplish his purpose 5Ir. Parson dropped his hand with an u*iy grunt "that the thing would not work."
"Let ras try, father."
Jlrs. Parson stepped quickly to her hus¬ band's side, and in a moment had manag¬ ed the refractory button.
Then sho smoothed down a lock'or two of black hair, which had strayed over the sunburt forehead, anil the foueb of those soft fingers felt very jileasant tibout the farmer's brow, and woke np iu his heart, old sweet memories of times when ho used to feel them fluttering like a dream through his httir.
He looked on his wife with a softness in his face, and a softness in hi keen eye, which he little suspected. And the soft¬ ness and the smile stirred a fouuttiiu warm and tend r in Mrs. Parson's heart, which not for years yielded one drop of its sweot waters. She reached up her lips impul¬ sively, and kissed his check. Any oue who had witnessed that little domestic scene wotild scarcely h.ave suspected that the married life of Isaac Parson and his wife counted threc-<iuartcrs of score of years.
The woiuiin's comely face was a^ full of shy blu.shcs as a girl of sixteen, and Isaac Parson seized his hat and plunged out of the house without speaking a word, but with a mixture of amazement and some¬ thing deeper in his f:ice not easily descri¬ bed.
But at last he cleared his throat, and muttered to himself, "Melissy shan't re¬ pent that act—I say she shant I" and when Isaac ]\arsou said a thing, everybody knew he meant it.
The suntet of another autumn day was rolling its vestures of purple and gold about the mountains, when the wagon of Isaac Parson rolled into the farm-yard ; he had been absent all day in the city, and supper had been awaiting him nearly an hour, and the children had sii'own hungry and impatient.
"Oh, fulhc", what have you got there ?" tl'.cy all clamored, as he came iuto the house, tugging along an immense bundle tied with cords.
"It is something for mother, children," was the rather uns.itisfaetory answer.
At this moment 3Ir. Parson entered the kitchen. Her husband snapped the cords and a breadth of ingrain rolled upon the floor, through whose dark green groundwork trailed a russet and golden leaves- a most ta.steful pattern.
Isaac Parson turned to his amazed wife—"There, ^Melissa, there's the parlor carpet you asked me for yesterday morn¬ ing. I reckon there ain't many that will beat it in AVest Farms."
A «{ulck change went over Airs. Parson's face, half of joy, half of something deeper.
"Oh, Isaac I" She put her arms around the strong man's neck and burst into tears.
The trio of children stood still, and looked on in stolid .imazcnieut. I think the sight of their faces was the thing that recalled Isaac Parson to himself.
Come, come, mother," he said, but his voice was not just stutly, "dou't give away like this. I'm as liungry as a panther, and want my supper before I do anything but put up my horse,"—and he strode ofl' that impatient quadruped to the back¬ yard.
So the new carpet proved an olive branch of peace to the household of Istiac Par¬ son. AVhile others admired its pattern or praised its quality, it spoke to Mrs. Parson's heart a story of all that which love aud patience may accomplish.
After many struggles and much prayer.
the triumpli over pride aud passion, and evil habits, was at last achieved, and this was not aecouipli.^hcd in a day, but the "small leaven that leaventh the whole lump," worked silenty, and surely, com¬ pleted at last its pure and perfect work, and iu the farm-house of Isaac I'arson reigned the spirit of forbearance and re¬ linquishment, of gentleness and love, which was given unto those who fear God and keep His holy commandments.
§mim im ih ^Mm.
Human Force.
Regarded simply as a piece of machi¬ nery, the human body is the most interest¬ ing study that cau attract the attention of a human being. According to the latest developments of scientific analysis, tho average healthy man generates force suffi¬ cient every twenty-four hours to lift 4000 tons of matter ihrough a distance of one foot, providing the work is done with no waste of strength; or to vary the state¬ ment, to lift one ton 4000 feet. On in¬ quiring of the physiologist what becomes of all this power, he figures out for us the following rude statement:
Spent in generating heat with which to keep the body warm, power sufficient to raise 3475 tons of matter one foot high.
Spent in digesting our food, circuhiting the blood through the body from the heart, in its course back to the heart again, and in the movements of the lungs in res-- piratiou, power to raise 350 tons one foot high.
Left for jirofitable employment iu the form of brain aud body labor, power suffi¬ cient to raise only 175 tons one foot high.
Total—1000 tous one foot high.
From the foregoing statement, which of course is only an approximation to the truth, and would vary materially in differ¬ ent persons, the available workiug power of an adult healthy man is only one ^enty- fourth part of the force generated by the food he eats, or, as before stated, sufficient to raise 175 tones of dead matter oue foot in height.
But we prefer not to spend our strength in that way, und so a certain per cent, of it goes in muscular labor, some in busi¬ ness, a portion in thinking, loving,hating, in invention, philanthropic action, &e.; and, no doubt in a majority of human be¬ ings, a large portion of their uvail.ible pjwer is wasted in dissipation, riotous liv¬ ing, gambling; or perhaps in uneasy, fret¬ ful fault-finding, because their lot is not one that pleases them, or because they are obliged to labor for the bread they eat and the clothes they wear.
A very curious and interesting table might be made by a thoughtful physiolo¬ gist and hygienist, showing each person where his strength goes, and I am not sure that a young man could do a better .service for himself than to seek counsel of some Vfisi phj'siologist, tell _him frank;y all his habits,aiid have such a table prepared, not only to gutird against excess, but to show him his weak places, and point out where he will be most likely to fail. Some of these tables would, no doubt, read very much as follows:
Spent in digesting a big dinner, which the body did not need, sufficient force to raise thirty tons of matter one foot high.
Spent in getting rid of several drinks of wine and brandy, force sufficient to raise twenty tons one foot high.
Spent in breathing bad air, force suffi¬ cient to raise fifteen tons ona foot high.
Spout in readi'jg worthless books and newspapers, force sufficient to raise five tons one foot high.
Spent iu cheating a neighbor out of §30 in a business transaction, force sufficient to raise fifteen tons one foot high.
Spent iu smoking six cigars, force suffi¬ cient to raise ten tons ono foot high.
Spout iu keeping awake all night at a spree, force sufficient to raise twenty tons one foot high.
Spent in hesitation, doubt and uncer¬ tainty, force sufficient to raise five tons one foot high.
Total—120 tons one foot high.
Left for practical and useful labor, only enough to raise fifty-five toiisone foot high, or to do less than one-third of a dtiy s work.
Sometimes there would be a draft on the original capital of considerable force; so there would not be enough to keep the body warm or the food well digested, or j the muscles plump and full, or the hearing j acute, or the eyes keen and bright, or the j brain thoughtful and active. ; A''ery often a single debauch would use up the entire avaihible power of the whole system for a  whole week or month.
There is no end to the multitudinous ways in whieli we not only spend our working capital, but draw on the original stock, that ought uever to be touched, and the result is imperfect lives, rickety bodies, no ability to transmit to our children good health and long life, much physical suff'er- ing and * premature decay, with all the ends of life unaccomplished.—Industrial ar.d Commercial Gazette.
Sleep.
Every man must sleep according to his tempcrinent. Eight hours is the .average. If he requirs a little more or a little less, he will find it out for himself. AVhoevcr by work, pleasure, sorrow, or by any other cause, is regularly diminishing his sleep, is destroying his life. A man may hold out for a time, but Nature keeps close accounts, and no man can deceive her. As there is more brain-work than ever, so more sleep is required now, than in the time of our forefathers. The want of sleep is frequent¬ ly the cause of insanity.   —¦
Do good to others.
W&t %$%tt^' i«%^t.
'! Fetch on the Rats."
A good story is told of our German friend Adam Bepler, who keeps a tavern in Al¬ legheny. One rather gloomy evening re¬ cently, when Adam was in rather a gloomy humor (as he seldom is), a stranger pre¬ sented himself about bedtime, and asked to stay all night.
"Certainly," said Adam, eyeing the rath¬ er seedy-looking stranger. "If you take breakfast, it will be youst one dollar."
"But I have no money," said the man. "I am doud broke, but if you will trust me—"
"Ah," said Mr. Bepler, "I don't like that kind of customer. I could fill mine house every night mit dat kind, but dat won't help mo run dis house."
"AA'ell," said the stranger, after a pause, "have you got any rats here ?"
"Yes," replied Adam, "you'd better be¬ lieve wc luive. AVhy, the place is lousy mit dem."
"Well," rejoined the man, "I'll tell you what I'll do. If you let me have lodging and breakfast, I'll kill all the rats to-mor¬ row."
"Done," said Bepler, who hud long been desperately iinuoyed by the number of old Norways that infested his premises.
So the stranger, a gaunt, sallow, melan¬ choly-looking man, was shown to bed, and no doubt had a good sleep. After break- ftist next moruing, Mr. Bepler took occa¬ sion iu a very gentle mtinucr to remind his guest ofthe coutract of the previous night.
"AVhat! Kill your rats ! Certainly," said the melancholy stranger. -'Where are they the thickest ?"
"Dcy arc putty dick iu de barnyard," answered Adam.
"AVcll, let's go out theie," said the stranger. '-But stop ! Have you got a piece of hoop ? Have you got a piece of hoop-iron'!"
A piece about fifteen feet long was brought to the stranger, who examined it carefully from one end to the other. Ex¬ pressing himself entirely satisfied, at length, with its length and strength, he proceeded to the barn, jiccompunied by Mr. Bepler and quite an army of idlers, who were anx¬ ious to see in what manner the great rat killer was going to work. Arriving there, tho stranger looked around a little, then placed his back firmly against the barn-door, and raised his weapon.
"Now," said he to Adam, "I am ready. Fetch on your rats !"
How this scene terminateil we are not precisely informed. It is said that, altho' uo rats answered the appeal of the stranger. Air. Bepler began to smell one pretty strong¬ ly at this juncture, .am' became very angry. One thing is certain, and that is the new boarder was not at Adam's table for diuuer nor for any subsequent meal. He had suddenly resolved to depart, probably to pursue his avocation of rat-killing in other quarters.
Is He Fat?
One of the most remarkable cases of suijden cure of disease was that of a rheu¬ matic individual, with which is an amus¬ ing ghest story.
There were a couple of men, in some old settled part of the country, who were in the habit of stealing sheep and robbing cluirch yards of the burial clothes of the dead. There was a publie road leading by a meeting house, where there was a grave yard, aud not far off a tavern. Early one moonlight night while one of the miscreants was robbing a grave, the other went off to .-^teul a sheep. The first one having accomplished his business, wrapped a shroud around him, and ttH>k a seat in the meeting house door to wait for his com¬ panion.
A man on foot, passing along the road toward the tavern, took him to bo a ghost, and. alarmed almost to death, ran as fast as his legs would carry him to tho tavern, which he reached out of breath. As soon as he could speak he declared that ho -liad seen a ghost robed in white, sitting in the church door. Nobody would believe his stroy, but incredulous as they were, no one could bo found that had courage enough to go.
At length a man. who was so afflicted with the rheuniutism that he could scarcely walk, dechired he would go if the man would carry him there. He at once agreed, took him on his back, and off they went. When they got in sight, sure enough it wtis as he said! Wishing to satisfy themselves woll, und get as near a view as possible of his ghristship in the dim light, they kept venturing nearer and near.
The man with the shroud around him, took them to be his companion with a sheep on his back, and asked in a low tone of voice:
"Is he fat."
Meeting with no reply, he repeated the question, raising his voice higher.
"Is he fat?"
Still no reply.
Then in a vehement tone he called:
"Is he fat ?"
This Was enough. The man With the other on his back replied :
"Fat or lean, you m.iy have him."
And dropping the invalid he traveled back to the tavern as fast as his feet would carry him. But he had scarcely arrived there when along came the invtdid on foot, too I
The sudden fright had cured him ,of rheumatism ; and from that time he was a well man.
     .#   »   »•	
A CELEBRATED wit Wits asked if he knew Theodore Hook. "Yes," replied he. "Hook and eye are old associates."
     ^   ¦»   »	
Inn-genius—A hotel clerk.
Ilt« §mt €%vcU.
Thank God for Snn4ay.
Now God be thanked I   That he has given- Best boon to saint and sinner—
A day of rest—one day iu seven, Where toil is not the winner;
Best for the tired and jaded brain, The wearied hand on Sunday,
That they might gather strength again For toil renewed on Monday.
The merchant, in his coantiog room,
The clerk, o'er desk and ledger, The artisan at forge and loom.
The ditcher and the hedger— Tbe laborer who must toil and slave,
From early dawn of Monday, Until the week sinks in its grave,
All cry : "Thank God for Sunday I"
The day that lifts the weighty chain Which all the week hath bound os;
That respite gives to heart and brain, From thonsand cries around tis
That in the toilsome inarch of life Thus bids us take, for one day,
01   God be thanked for Sunday ;
If thus by all one day of rest
Be hailed, as respite solely, How to the Christian doubl; blessed
Must be the Sabbath holy; As, in faith's light he lifts his eyes
'To that bright world, where, one day, He longs to spend beyond the skies,
One blest eternal Sunday!
Making Fun of Sin.
Sin is a very serious matter. It b the hist thing in the world to laugh at. There are certain weaknesses aud foibles of man¬ kind which may properly enough be nuule the subject of pleasantry, of railery, and even of ridicule. Addison, in his i^aetta. for, undertook to deal with the fashionable follies of his time with these weapons, and the severest critic has never questioned the propriety of his course. The realm of mi¬ nor morals lies fairly open to this lighter so(^ of artillery, whose bloodless assaults may rid society of nuiny a custom at vari¬ ance with tho laws of good taste and pro¬ priety. Such good humored satirists aa Sydnew Smith aud Thackeray, and Dickens, and even Artemus AVard ai)d Rer. Mr. Nasby, have done good service in the world by their laughable exposures of the weak points of particular types of eharaeter.— Men laugh and become wise. fli6 mirror is so deftly held np before us, that we can¬ not fail to see- ourselves in a uew light, and we inwardly resolve to be rid of the absur¬ dities which stare us in the face.
But when we come to down right sin, involving crime and misery, it seems the wickedest as well as the cruelist thing to ridicule it. It has got past that degree when it might be laughed at. Reprobate it, punish it, pity it; but in the name of all that is fearful in transgression, or sacred on the authority of God, don'f make fun of it. "Sin is the transgression of the law." Sin is the most terrible thing in the uui- verse. Sin lies under the corse of God.— Sin exposes a man to unutterable woes.— Oue long wail has sounded along the ages because of sin. And among its different forms what is more dreadful than that of intemperance. That which produces it is fitly termed "liquid poison and distilled damnation." If such is the cause what must be the effect ? This sin involves the loss of reputation, self-respect, character— personal and social degradation. It defiles aud obliterates the image of God, and con¬ verts a man into a demon or an idiot. It converts homes into hells. It beggars wife and children. It makes hearts to break and bleed. It sends its disastrous influen¬ ces down through successive generations. It entails a curse upon the victim and upon society. It damns the soul. It peoples hell with countless myrmds. Is this a thing to make merry over ? And is it dono ? Yes, every day, in some of our city journals; and that, too, where the par¬ ticular purpose of the journal is the sup¬ pression of intemperance, with high pro¬ fessions of regard to morality and religion. It is sometimes done by temperance lectu¬ rers, whose main forte seems to make sport fur their auditors." AVc call no names. It is sufficient to solicit attention to the feet, in the hope that the evil may be corrected. Cau it be decent and Christian to show up tho poor victims of intemperance or th« "sjcial evil," or any other form of vice bo- fiive the public for their amusement 7 Is this the kind of daily news with which to gratify the public ? AA'hen the good aro combining to lift up the fallen, and restore them to virtue and happiness, to inspire them with self-respect and the desire for a higher life, shall the moral sensibilities of the readers of our journals be blunted by funny descriptions of those wretched un¬ fortunates, in whose places those who would make us laugh might themselves have been but for a gracious providence ? Is thU the way to educate onr children to look upon vice ? And what better is a eommu' nity that tolerates or welcomes such repM* sent;itions than that Roman populace which looked down from their seats in the am¬ phitheatre upon the wretches who fought together or with wild beasts, and made merry over their miseries ? The only dif¬ ference is, in one case the lookers on were Christians, and in the other, heathens. But what Christians !— Watchman atui Reflw tor.
Mostry at Home.
Nature is industrious in adorning liof dominions; and man, fe whom this beauty is addressed, should feel and obey the les¬ son. Let him, too, be industrious 'in Bdoni.< ing his domain in making his home not only convenient and comfortable, bntpleai^ ant. Let him be industrious in surround¬ ing it with pleasant objects—in decorating it within and without, with things that tend to make it agreeable and attractive. Let industry make home the abode of neat¬ ness and order. Ye parents who would have your children happy, be industrious to bring them up iu the midst of a pleas' ant, cheerful and happy home.
That which is worth doing at iill Is worth doing welj.