Huntingdon Journal

              Th
e
untinffdon
VOL. 47.
HUNTINGDON, PA., JANUitRY 21, 1872.
NO. 4.
The lluntingdou Journal.
J. p.. DURBORROW,
I'UnHSDEllS
OiT'c
, the Cu
I.f Rath and Washinglon streets.
Thr IIbstixgho.v Jouunal ia publisbed ciory Wednesday, by J. R. Dubboiirow and J. A. Nasu, uuder tho lirm name of J. R. Duuborrow k Co., at $2,00 per annum, in advance, or $2,50 if not paid lor in six months from date of subscription, and $:) if not paid within the year.
Xo paper discontinued, unless at the option of thc publishers, until all arrearages are paid.
ADVERTISEMENTS will bo inserted at .Ten Ci:nts pcr linc for each ofthe first four insertions, ::nd PIVR rKNTS pcr linc for eaeh subsequent in.ser- tion less than three months.
Regular monthly and yearly advertisements will be inserted at the following rates :
ly
2.W 4 00 5 OC 0 00 Vfcol 4 00 6 OOflOOOlliOO U " 6 00 10 00ll4 0-J18 00:X "
8 80 14 00120 00 2tO0
9 60 18 00125 00|30 00 1 col '30 OO'eO 00
9 00 18 00 24 00 36 S4 00 50 00!
ly
100
Special notices will be inserted at twelve and A HALF cents Jier line, and local and editorial no¬ tices at fifteen cents jtcr line. # All Ro.'iolaticns of Associations, Communic.itions <.;-'limitod or individual interest, and notices of Mar¬ riages and Deaths, exceeding fivo lines, will be charged tes cents per liue.
Legal and other notices will be eharged to the party having them inserted.
Advertising Agents munt find their .oommi.-sion outside of the.?c ligures.
Aft adeertising accounts are dne and colicctabic when the adrertiscment is once inserted.
JOB PRINTING of cveiy kind, in Plain and Fancy Colors, dono with neatness and dispatch.— ILand-bills, Blanks, Cards, Pamphlets, ic, of every variety and style, printed at thc shortest notice, tind every thing in tho Printing line will be exeeu- Itcd in tho most artistic manner ond at the lowest rates.
Professional Cards.
DCALD WELL, Attorney -at -Law, • No. Ill, .I.l sircct. O.Tico forsuerly occupied by Messrs. V.'oods <t Williamson. [apl2,'n.
DR. R. R. WIESTLING, respectfully offers his professional  services to the citizens nf Huntin.-^don and vicinity.
OiBce removed to No. 6ISi HiU  street,   (Suith's Bt-iLDiNO.) [apr.5,'71-ly.
DR. J. C. FLEMMING respectfully offers his professional .«ervices to the citizens of Huntingdon and viciuity. Office seimnd floor of Cunningham's buiidiug, ou corner of Sh and Hill Street. may21.
DR. D. P. MILLER, Office ou Hill street, in the room formerly occupied by Dr. John M'Culloch, Uuntingdon, 'Pa., would res¬ pectfully offer his professional services to the citi¬ zeus OfHuutingdon and vicinity. [jan.-l,71.
sy A. B. BRUMBAUGH, offers hb
professional services to thc community. OQice, No. ^il^ Washington streot, onc door cast of the Catholic Parsonage. [jan.-J,'7I.
EJ. GREENE, Deatist.    Ofiice  re- •    move J to Leister's new building, Uill street Vr-itingdon. [jan.4,'71.
aL. ROBB, Dentist, office in S. T. •    Brown's new building, No. 520,  //ill &t., Huntingdon, ^a^ [arl2,'71.
H    GLAZIER, Notary Publie,  corner -•    of Washington and Smith  streets. Uun¬ tingdon, Pa. [jan.12'71.
HC.   MADDEN,   Attorney-at-Law. •    Office, Fo. —, Hill street, Huntingdon, Pi. [ap.19,'71.
J    SYLVANUS BLAIR, Attorney-at- •    Law, Huntingdon, Pa.    Office, Hill  street, three <Ioors west of Smith. [jan.4'71.
JR. PATTON, Druggist and Apoth- • ecary, opposito the Exehange Ilotel, Hun¬ tingdon, Pa. Prescriptions accurately compounded. Pure Liquors for Medicinal purposes,    [nov.23,'70.
HALL JIUSSER, Attomey-at-Law, >No. 31!) Hiil St., Huntingdon, Pa. [jan.4,'71.
JR. DURBORROW, Attorney-at- • Law, Uuntingdon, Pa., will praetice in the several Courts of Uuntingdon county. Particular attention given to the settlement uf estates of dece¬ dents.
Offieo in ho Jouenal Building.        [feh.1,71.
JW. MATTERN, Attorney-at-Law • and General Claim Agent, Uuntingdon, Pa., Soldiers'claims against the Government for hack pay, bounty, widows' and invalid pensions attend¬ ed to with great eare and promptness.
OEce on Uill street. [jan.4,71.
K" ALLEN LOVELL, Attorney-at- -• Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Special attention given to Collections uf all kinds; to the settle¬ ment of Estates, kc.; and all other Legal Business prosecuted with fidelity and dispatch.
^^•' Office in room lately occupied by R. Milton Speer, Esq. [jan.4,'7I.
MILES ZENTMYER, Attorney-at- Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend promptly to all legal business. Office in Cunningham's new building. Ljan.4,'71.
n. ALLISON  MILLER.
n.  BUCHANAN.
-p^ILLER & BUCHANAN, DENTISTS,
No. 22S Hill Street, April 5, '71-ly.
HUNTINGDON, PA.
PM. & M. S.   LYTLE,  Attorncys- •    at-Law, Uuntingdon, Pa., will attend  to all kinds of legal bnsiness entrusted to their care.
Office on the south side of HiU street, fourth door west of Smitt. [jan.4,'71.
K.
A.   ORBISON,   Attorney-at-Law, OiDoc, 321 Hill street, Huntingdon. Pa. [may3I,'71.
SCOTT,  BROWN  &  BAILEY,   At- torneys-at-Law, Uuntingdon, Pa.    Pensions, and all claims of soldiers and soldiers'heirs against the Government will he promptly prosecuted. Office on Uill stroot. [jan.4,71.
TW. MYTON, Attorney-at-Law, Hun- •    tingdon. Pa.    Office with .1. Sewell Stewart,
Esq.
[jan.4,'71.
T^TILLIAM A. FLEMING, Attorney-
Tt at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Special-attention given to collection.^, and all other l?gal business attended to with care and promptness. Office, No. .229, Uill street. [apl9,'71.
Miscellaneous.
EXCHANGE  HOTEL,   Hnntingdon, Pa. .TOHN S. MILLER, Proprietor.
January 4, 1871.
K
EAR THE R-A.ILROAD DEPOT.
COR. WAYNE and JUNIATA STREETT
UNITED STATES HOTEL,
HOLLIDAYSBURG, PA. iM'CLAIN i CO., Proprietors. JIohl5-tf
130BT. KING, Merchant Tailor, 412 JLli   Washington street, Huntingdon, Pa., a lib¬ eral share of patronage respectfully solicited. A pril 12, 1871.
J EVv^STOWN BOILER WORKS.
-L^ SNYDER, WEIDNER k CO., Jilanufac- urers of Locomotiveand Stationary Boilers, Tanks, Pipea, Filling-Barrows for Furnaces, and Sheet Iron AFork of every description. AVorks on Logan street, Lewistown, Pa.
All   ordors pr-npUy attendod to.    Repairing done nt short nouce; [Apr 5,'71,ly.*
AR. BECK, Fashionable Barber • and Hairdresser, Hill street, opposite the Franklin House. All kinds of Tonics and Pomades kept on hand and for sale. [apl9,71-Cm
COLORED  PRINTING  DONE  AT the .Tournal Office, at Philadelphia prices.
[For the Joornal.]
Ever.
BY GIPSY WILDE.
Ever and ever tbe world goes round,
Bearing its burdens and crosses ; Ever and ever the years roll on,
With their tide of sorrow.s a-id losses. Ever and ever thc book of lifo
l!ears upon its pages The weary, weary lay of the heart,
Snns tiirough all the ages.
Ever and ever with outstretched hands,
Wc grasp for a golden morrow; Ever and ever the billows oftime
Arc freighted with bitter sorrow ; Ever and ever tbe lip.' smile on,
Tliat tbo world may walk iu blindness ; Little thcv know ofthe heart's wild woo
When the face looks but with kindness
iJvcr and ever the shadows fall
Over the golden mosses ; Ever a gleam from Paradise,
Lightens our cares and crosses, liver and ever the morning dawns
On hopes that are  breathed in   gladnes Ever and ever the night brings in
Its tide of bitter sadness.
Ever and ever the eye of God
Looketh upon us with pity; And ever thc light is shown to ns,
That gleams from the Golden Cily.
Uhs Mmj-MkXs
A Harrow Escape,
 :x:	
CoNDEM.NED to die I Condemned to per¬ ish ignouiiiiiously on the .sciffold ! Con¬ demned to bid adieu to wil'e, mother, chil¬ dren, and friends I
The poor man wept aloud in the extre¬ mity of his anguish. His trembling lips eould frame no prayer, and thus the last avenue of escape was closed against him. The most direct and unequivocal evidences surrounded this man—Lloyd Fletcher by uame—.-ind the jury, in bringing in their verdict of "guilty in the first degree," had only acted on their sober conviction oftbe man's guilt, dr.awn from tbe overwhelming evidence.
Cliarles Lancaster, an Englishman, and a neighbor of Fletcher's, had been found brutally murdered, in a lone spot, in the suburbs of London. Fletcher's pistol was picked up uear him, thrown aside as ho found himself pursued.
Footprints in the mud corresponded ex¬ actly with the boots the prisoner wore, and to crown all tliey had beon bitter and in¬ veterate ene'Jiies for months previous.— Fletcher had been heard to say, on several occasions, that nothing but the man's death could satisfy his implacable vengeance; and then again, he could produce no onc to assist hini in proving an alibi. Lloyd was a man very domestic in his habits, aud very devotedly attached to bis family. He was knowu to be absent from home on that evening, yet, on this particular night, Mrs. Fletcher waited up until daylight for his return, expecting every moment (on ac¬ count of tbe circumstances being so unpre¬ cedented) to have him brought home a corpse. He seemed to be recovering from the deep stupor of intoxication as he en¬ tered his wife's presence on thc morning described, and only knew enongh to find the bed and sleep profoundly.
At thc timo of his arrest, his hands were found lame and bruised; so this, with the rest, made tho sum too crushing for the skillful counsel he had cmpioyed, and thc result was, "Hanged by the neck, Fletcher, till you arc dead; and God have mercy on your soul."
It lacked cow only three days to the ex¬ ecution, . and here he sat in his lone, com¬ fortless, whitewashed "cell, and his head bowed on his hands. "Can nothing be done ? Must I die thus, poor, miserable dog that I am ? Will Omnipotence allow an innocent man to perish '! Out upon such a God as that !" And the poor fellow struck wildly at his prison-house, groaning so deeply that he aroused the attention of the turnkey, who was passing the cell.— The iron door swung back on its creaking hinges and the stalwart form of the keeper appeared before him.
"Come, come, Fletcher, less noiso here; be a mau ! You ain't the first man that's had to swing—not by a long shot! You won't get much sympathy here if you are like a nursing infant, I can tcll you. Die game, Fletcher ; die game."
"But I am innocent, I tcll you, you old wretch ; as innocent of the crime as my little girl baby at home. Oh, my Ged! my wife—my childreu "
"Oh, shut up, here's your old womau, now."
The hardened turnkey waited a minnte to witness the meeting of this suffering couple, and then with maddened curses withdrew. But the condemned man and his loving, faithful wife took no noiice of his departure, but clasped in each other's arms awaited for calmness to spej-k.
"Oh, Sarah I"
"Oh, Lloyd! God have mercy on ns all, my husband! and now listen. Lie down here—place your head ou my lap; I bave something to toll you."
"Tell me, Sarah, did they search you this time ?" he a.skcd, grasping her hands.
"Yes, Lloyd, and they found nothing. I repented my rash promises to you before I reached home. Come what may, suicide must not be your fate. But listeu. You see that I am comparatively happy; and let me tell you what bas produced this chauge—a sweet little dream in which I saw you and our darlings all together, com¬ fortable and happy."
"Oh, Sarah, talk not of dreams to a doomed man like me; perhaps we may be happy in another existence; but no, that caimot be—for surely God will not allow an innocent man to die the death of the guilty.    Oh, uo, Sarah, oh, no I"
"Keep up your courage, my dear hus¬ band, a certain, strange, m3'sterious some¬ thing assures me that all will yet be well, how or in what manuer heaven only kni;ws."
"I wish I could seo it—I wish I eould feel it, Sarah ; do not mislead me with false hopes. Oh, my God, if there could only be found a way to escape from this ignominious death I"
"Come, madam, time's up," and the turnkey made his appearance. "Hate to disturb such a pair of cooing doves, but orders arc orders, ma'am, and must bo obeyed. Always obey orders if you break crowns. You ought to persuade your husband to stop his sniveling. JIark what I tell you, ma'am, you'll be looking for another husband in three month'.", time," continued the wretch, as he walked out by her side.
Sarah hurried through thc corridor, en¬ deavoring to hear as little as possible of the brute's conversation, and reached hor home and children, there to hopo and pray. The hours sped on, and it lacked one day more  for   tbe   execution.    Fletcher had
given up all hope ofa repiieve, aud listen¬ ed to the building of tho scaffold with a solemn feeling boru of despair.
"I've brought another gal to soe you this time, Fletcher. It's very probable she won't be so agreeable-like as t'other ono, but will do as muoh good, 1 reckon."
A woman in black stood before the bed ou which Fletcher reclined. Ho recogni¬ zed Mrs. Lancaster, tho wifo cf the mur¬ dered man.
"Ah, this does me good," said she, ta¬ king a stop nearer and sha'iingher clench¬ ed fist in his face. "It does not pay to take a fellow creature's lifo, docs it ? Don't you speak to mc, you villain—don't dare to open your mouth. I camo here to gloat over your misery, aud see how tho pros¬ pect of loaving your wife and babies affect¬ ed you. Oh, you tremble. I have found the tender chord. My husband's wife and children were nothing—oh, no.' Wretch, villain, may the law be fully justified."
Tbe woman, to all appearance, exaspera¬ ted boj'ond the power of further utterance, stepped nearer, and, with a sly movement, hid one of her gloves under the pillow of the bewildered man.
"Have you finished, ma'am," inquired the turnkey, with bis hand on the door.
"Now, really, Fletcher, don't you rather prefer an interview of this kind to one of thos3 lallygagging sort you have had so many of lately? 'Twill do you more good— ten to one.    Wbat .are you  doing  now ?"
"Giving him one more look, tbat is all. Murderer I robber I wretch ! I want to engrave his picture on my brain so indel¬ ibly that I c;in nover forset a single fea¬ ture."
"By tho crown, your old man must have had a Tartar ! Oh, ho, ho, ho !" and the fat turnkey shook his fat sides with laugh¬ ter. "I don't believe he's got it much bet¬ ter where he is staying now than he had with you. It takes a woman to use up the King's English. I always said so, now I know it."
Jlrs. Lancaster drew her veil over hor faee, and quietly left the prison. As soon as he dared, with trembling fingers, Lloyd drew forth the glove. In it was a vial containing a mixture <if chloroform or eith¬ er, a small sharp instrument to file his shackles, and a note.    It read thus :
You are not the man, and I cannot allow you to be hung. Overpower thc keeper, take his clothes, and leave. Go to the old rookery. No. first floor where a dis¬ guise awaits you, and thon God help you, for you must conceal yourself.
Lloyd, with a wildly beating heart, con¬ cealed the articles and tried co think. The keeper did not enter the cell till he brought his tea, and how could he accomplish his purpose then ? There would be too many astir in the prison then, and he might be detocted.
"Defeated now, with thc weapons of de¬ liverance in my hands. No, indeed, Lloyd Fletcher !"
"Fletcher, I suppose you know that ac¬ cording to the prison rules you arc not al- lov,-cd to stay alone to-night. It would be barbarous to leave a feller without good company his last night on earth," said the turnkey, an hour or two after Mrs. Lan¬ caster's visit.
"You'll have to take your pick between old Father Walsh and myself, but I sup¬ pose you will take me, bad as you hate me, afore tbat hypocrite."
"Why can't I have my wife ?" asked Lloyd, with a voice full of bitterness.
"Oh, wives ain't allowable on such occa¬ sions. She'll be around in the morning an hour or two ; but talk quick, which will you have ?"
"What difiference do you think it makes to me, you heartless wretch, who watches with my last moments on earth, when my only friend is denied me ?"
So it was arranged. The turnkey was to occupy his cell, and Lloyd went to work with his little instrument to file the hand- cufis and chains which bound him. It was slow and tedious, but in an hour's time he had the satisfaction of one free hand, and had the power to remove his limbs from the galling rattling torments which had so firmly held him.
"I must be able to throw these fetterg off, or I am lost." So he worked away in¬ dustriously until the obstinate link was displaced, and he could wear, or leave them off at his pleasure. Ten o'clock ar¬ rived, and the turnkey had his cot brought in the cell.
"When are you going to turn iu Fletch¬ er ? I'm as tired as an East India nigger. Plagy afraid I shan't be much company to-night; better had the priest. You wrote all your letters yesterday Fletcher, didn't you?" and the keeper yawned deeply, turned once or twice, and in five minutes was snoring profoundly.
"Now is my time," thought Fletcher. "It will uot do to wait. Heaven help me."
Noiselessly he stepped from the chains and drew off the torturing handcuff's. It was but tbe work of a moment to saturate the handkerchief with the mixture, and in less time than it takes to tell it, Lloyd had stripped the hardened wretch. There was a trifling difference in height, but Lloyd lacked the aldcrmanic proportions of the jailor. However, he managed that quickly and easily, unlocked the door of the cell, stepped into the corridor, locked it again, carefully withdrew the key, and imitated as nearly as possible the dull, heavy tread of the keeper. The jail physician was just leaving the building, and Lloyd walked along after him, as if to see him safely out. Only one subordinate guarded the en¬ trance, and so Lloyd and the doctor walked out together, without exciting tha slightest suspicion.
Uc reached the old rookery, donned his attire, which proved to be a soldier's uni¬ form, removed the black wig of the keeper, and substituted a light, curly one, and be¬ fore twelve o'clock had reached tlie house of a friend, two or three miles from the city, told his story, and was warmly re¬ ceived and promised protection. Lloyd felt sure he had left no clue by which he could be traced to this spot, and, almost overcome by his great happiness, he fell on his knees and thanked the God he had previously foreswore, for the miraculous escape.
The next morning all was astir in the prison, but our turnkey did not make his appearance; what could it mean ? A key was produced to open the cell door, and thc nude inanimate figure of the fat keeper was presented to their astonished view. In the middle of the cell was the prisoner's wardrobe; all he could spare from the makeup of the turnkey's lusty propor¬ tions. A littlo cold water and fresh air revived him, but he could throw no light on tho mysterious disappcarancii of Fletch¬ er. He had seen nothing, kuew nothing, and remembered nothing. Mrs. Fletcher was arrested on suspicion of assisting her husband to escape, but nothing could bo proven, and a few davs saw her at liberty. She was confident that her darling was safe, but could form no idea of the mode,
or where he was concealed. However, now that .so mueh was gained, she felt that she could afford to wait for the rest. Large rewards wore offered for the prisoner's ap¬ prehension ; large posters were placarded everywhere ; and the detectives were set to work to ferret out his hiding place, but in vain. When the excitement was at its height, the ante-mortem statement and confession of a dying man were brought before the court, entirely exonerating Lloyd Fletcher from complicity in the murder. The man was Mrs. Lancaster's foster-broth¬ er. He bad drugged and beaten poor Fletcher the night of the perpetration of tho crime, stolen his pistol and committed thc deed himsolf. Mrs. Lancaster had boon from the first exceedingly suspicious of him, but proofs were not in her powor, sho bad used every uieaiis possible to re¬ store Lloyd his liberty, trusting to tiuie and a merciful God for the rest. How well she acted her part and succeeded in her endeavors, the reader is awaiv. Fletcher Wis immediately pardoned, and drawn by the excited Londoners to his residence.
The Wives ofthe Presidents.
The customs ofthe Republic which re¬ turn to private life those who have served it, and the genius of democratic institu¬ tions which condemn, as assumed emblems of nobility, the prefixing of titles to the names of American women, havo acted as an insurmountable barrier to the acquain¬ tance of {lie general public with tho ladies who have occupied the first social position in thc land.
Jlrs. Washington, to whom fell the honor first, oocupied tho envied place of power eight years, and her history is per¬ haps better known than any of her descen¬ dants. Biographers and historians, stim¬ ulated with a desire to Eceure her memory from the dust of years, have been indefa¬ tigable in their labors, and she is jicrbaps more highly extolled and more truly ven¬ erated than any of many women who have succeeded her.
To Jlrs. Adams properly belongs the highest place of honor in the American heart because her position was more dif¬ ficult; her duties more arduous, aud be¬ cause sho was stronger mentally, and more thoroughly disciplined than any who have succeeded her. She became the occupant of a place held to be almost sacred because of its newness and the exalted character of both Washington and his wife. To suc¬ ceed the former was a difficult task forher husband to perform; to occupy Mrs. Washington's placo was an impossibility. But Jlrs. Adams was gifted with great strength and courage; with rare powers of mind and heart, and was the best repre¬ sentative of the best typo of American wo¬ men of that day whose life history has been handed down to us.
Mrs. Jefferson had been dead nineteen years when her husbind became President of the United States, and but for tbe oc¬ casional visits of his two married daugh¬ ters, and the frequent presence of Mrs. JIadison, tho White House during the eight years of Thomas Jefferson's stay would have been entirely without a social history.
James JIadison's wife was the most pop¬ ular woman of the day, and had it not been for the unfortunate war of 181:i, and the disturbed condition of the country, both before and after this unfortunate event, her administration of lady of the White House would have been the most brilliant of any recorded in the annals of the social history of the country.
Mrs. Monroe was a timid, delicate wo¬ man unfitted by nature and habit for the place she held, and at the expiration of her husband's term of oflice gladly retired with him to their Virginia home, where, in 1830, she died.
Jlrs. John Quincy Adams was a Mary¬ land woman who had been educated in England, and who filled her semi-oflSeial position with dignity and honor.
Jlrs. Jackson died of a broken heart before her husband succeeded to uhe Presi¬ dency.
Jlrs. Van Buren had been dead seven¬ teen years when her husband was elected Chief JIagistratc, and her daughter-in-law, a lady of great refinement, was mistress of the White House during thc term.
Jlrs. Harrison was preparing to leave her Western home when news of her hus¬ band's death reached her.
Jlr. Tyler, who filled thc unexpired term, lost his wife during his stay in the White House, and subsequently married Miss Gardner, of New York, eight months before the close of his administration.
Jlrs. James K. Polk, of Tennessee, was the second Southeru lady, who, as the wife of the President, lived in the Executive JIansion during the full term.
Jlrs. Taylor heartily disliked the for¬ mality of Washington society, and retired to her Louisiana home immediately after her husband's death.
JIr. Filmore, who served out Gen. Tay¬ lor's time, had a noble wife, and sho and her daughter are remembered as two of the most cultivated, refined and attractive ladies ever in the White Ilouse.
Mrs. Pierce was always an invalid, and after the sudden death of her only child, a young and promising boy, her health gave way entirely, aud ber position as hos¬ tess was a most undesirable one to her.
Jliss Harriot Lane made her uncle's administration famous for its social attrac¬ tions. She was one of the most beautiful of women, as well as one of the truest and kindest of nieces, and Jlr. Buchanan was peculiarly fortunate in his social relations, though he lived and died a bachelor.
Jlrs. Lincoln's career waa checkered from the first, and the awful tragedy that closed her life at the White House, secured for her the sympathy ofthe people.
Jlrs. Patterson was the Jlistress of the White Ilouse during President Johnson's administration, her mother being a con¬ firmed invalid. The family r^reatly en¬ deared themselves to the people by their simplicity and refined, unassuming man¬ ners.
Cheerfulness.
We believe that cheerfulness can be, and ought to be, cultivated hy all; that kind¬ ness is most betwficially contagious; that to carry good nature and wisely-curbed temper with you wherever you go; that patience and forbearance in your inter¬ course with family and friends and com¬ munity will always bring forth the richest of social fruits; that the treasure of good deeds achieved, the sufferings assuaged, are worth infinitely more th.an political honors; that the creation of joy is inesti¬ mably better than the besetting sin of bor¬ rowing trouble, and with Charles Lamb, that "a laugh is worth a hundred groans in any stato of the market."
Wheeled Himself Into a Fortune.
At a meeting of the stockholders ofa prominent railway coporation, recently held in Boston, there were present two gentle¬ men, both up in years, one, howler, con¬ siderably the senior of the other. In talk¬ ing of thc old times gone by, the younger gentleman called the attention of his friends, and told a pleasant little story, which should bo read with profit by every poor, industrious, and striving lad. Wc use his own language :
"Nearly half a century ago, gentlemen, I w.as put upen the world to make my liv¬ ing. I was stout, willing and able, con¬ sidering my tender years, and secured a placo iu a hardware store, to do all sorts of chores required. I was paid seventy-five dollars a year for my services. One day, after I had been at wore three months or more, my friend there, JIr. B., who holds his age remarkably well, came into the store and bought a large bill of shovels and tongs, sad-irons and pans, buckets, scrapers and scuttles, for he was married next day, and was supplying his household in advance, as was the groom's custom in those daj'S. Tho articles were packed on the barrow, and made a load sufficiently haavy for a young mule. But more will¬ ing than able, I started off, proud that I could move such a mass on the wheelbar- low. I got on remarkably well, till I struck the mud road, now Seventh .avenue, leading to my friend B.'s house ; there I toiled and tugged and tugged aud toiled, and could not budge the load up hill, the wheel going in full half its diameter in the mud every time I tried to propel forward. Finally a good-natured Irishman, passing by with a dray, took my barrow, self, and all on his vehicle, and iu consideration of promise to pay him a "bit," landed me at the house.
I counted tbe articles carefully as I de¬ livered them, and with my empty barrow trudged my way back, whistling with glee over my triumph over difficulty. Some weeks after I paid thc Irishman the "bit," and never got it back from my employers. Jlr. B., I am sure, would have remunera¬ ted me, but he never before heard this story; gl, if ho is inclined, he can compromise the debt by sending me a bushel of his rare¬ ripe peaches next Fall. But to the moral. A merchant had witnessed my struggles, and how zealously I labored to deliver that load of hardware; he even watched me to tho house, and saw mo count oach piece as I landed it in the door-way. He sent for me the next day, and asked my name, told me he had a reward for my industry and cheerfulness under difficulty, in the shape of a five-hundred-dollar-clerkship in his establishment. I aecopted, and now, after nearly half a century has passed, I look back and say, I wheeled myself into all I own, for that reward of perseverance was my grand stepping stone to fortune.
The speaker was a very wealthy banker, a man of influence and po.sition, and onc universally respected for many good quali¬ ties of head and heart. Boys, take a moral from this story, and be willing and industrious. You do not know how many eyes are .upon you, to discover whether you are sluggish and careless, or industrious and
Self-Examination.
Examine yourself Do it impartially. Do it faithfully.    Do it often.
Sit down by yourself, and shutting out all thoughts on other subjects, review your own life for the last day—for the last week. Recall both your acts and your words—for, both to others and yourself, your words are oftncr as serious realities as your actions,
We believe there is not a human boing who will not be benefited and improved by the habitual review of his or her own life, in this manner.
Have your hours been turned to ac¬ count, either in work or recreation ; or have they been frittered away, in a man¬ ner profitless, or positively injurious, to both mind and body ?
Have you made any acquisitions of knowledge within thc day or the week just gone ? Can you say you know this thing, or that, which I did not know be¬ fore 't
Have you strengthened your principles which reqnire consttint biacing, for a thousand temptations are always at work to undermine them ? We say to under¬ mine them ; for it is only the worst of men who sit down and deliberately con¬ coct plans of wickedness. It is the in¬ sidious unperceivedapproach of the Temp¬ ter, in disguised and undistinguishable form, from which the greatest danger is to be anticipated.
Have you helped your unsuccessful and troubled brother where you had it in your power ? Have you said a kind and en¬ couraging word where that was all that was needed ? Have you done a kind and generous act where it was your duty to do one?
We shall be judged by our works, and there is no more efficient aid in improv¬ ing our works, and in rendering thc future better than the past, than by a frequent, searching review, and an unprejudiced, unsparing judgment of the past.  .—itf   »   »	
Faith and Works.
There are two oars of a boat. Row with the right oar alone, and a boat describes a useless circle on the water. Row with the left oar alone, and it merely goes in the opposite direction. But use both oars with equal force and it moves swiftly and evenly foreward.
Faith and works ; they are the two wings of a bird. Using but the right wing the bird flutters helplessly on the earth. Using the left wing alone, there is the same result. But plying both with equal vigor, it plumes its flight heavenward.
So faith alone or works alone, distract the soul—bind it in helplessness to earth, or turn it in idle circles ; but give faith and works in equal strength, and its move¬ ment is uniform.
"What God hath joiued together let no one put assunder."
Appropriate Names.—The following names are indeed appropriate for the uses mentioned:
For an auctioueer's wife—Bid-dy.
For a general's wife—Sally.
For a sport's wife—Bet-ty.
For a fisherman's wife—5fet-ty.
For a shoemaker's wife—Pog-gy.
For a toameter's wife—Car-rio.
For a lawyer's wifo—Sue.
For a printer's wife—Em.
For a druggist's wife—iVnn Eliza.
For a carpet man's wife—JIat-tie.
He who betrays another's secret, be¬ cause he has quarrelled with him, was never worthy of the sacred name of friend ; a breach of kindness at one side will not justify a breach of trust on the other.
Eyes and no Ey^.
You have all read the story in the school readers of the two boys who went over the same route, one with his eyes open and the other with them shut. It is old, but worth repeating, and worth re¬ membering every day. So many things slip by us; so many things worth knowing go on right under our eyes without being noticed.
I knew a man who had very little time for reading or study, but whose mind was a perfect storehouse of information on al¬ most every subject.
"How docs it happen that you know so mnch moro than the rest of us?" I asked him, pne day.
"Oh," said he, "I never had timo to lay in a regular stock of learning, so I 'save all the bits' that eome in my way, and they count up a good c^cal in the course of ayear."
That is just the thing—save all the bits.
"That boy," said a gentleman, "always seems to be on the lookout for something to .';ee."
So he was; and while waiting in a newspaper oflScc for a package, he learned, by using his eyes, how a mailing machine was operated. While ho waited at tho florist's, he saw the man sotting a box of cuttings, .and learned by the use of his eyes, what he never would have guessed, that slips rooted best in nearly pure sand.
"This is lapis luzuli," said the jeweler to his customer; and this is chrysophrase."
And the wide-awake errand boy turned around from the door to take a sharp look, so that in future he knew just how those two precious stones looked. In one day, he learned of the barber what became of tlie hair clippings; of the carpenter, how to drive a nail so as not to split the wood ; of the shoemaker, how the differ¬ ent surfaces of fancy leathers arc made ; of a locust, that its mouth was of no use to him in singing ; from a scrap of news¬ paper, where .sponges wero obtained ; and f'rom an old Irish woman, how to keep stove-pipes from rusting. Only bits and fragments of knowledge, but all of them worth saving, and all helping to increi^e the stock in trade of the boy who meaiit to be a man.
®k g^lm' §xu\pl
A Good Reputation to Have.
'The little stcry I am going to tcll you happened just before the war, wheu every one was very, very busy. Soldiers were enlisting and going away from almost every home in the land.
One young man had volunteered and was expecteti to be daily ordered to the seat of war. One day his mother gave him an unpaid biil with money to pay it. When he returned home at night, she said, "Did you pay that bill ?" "Yes," he answered.
In a few days the bill was sent in a sec¬ ond time. "I thought," she said to her son, "that you paid this."
"I really do not remember, mother ; you know I have had so many things on my mind."
"But you said you did."
"Well," he answered, "if I said I did, I did."
He went aw.-iy, and his mother took the bill herself to the store. The young man had been known in the town all his life, .and what opinion was held of him this will show.
"I am quite sure," she said, "that my son paid this some days ago; has been very busy since, and has quite forgotten about it; but he told me that day he had, and s,iys that if ho said then that ho had, he is quite sure he did."
"Well," said the man, "I forget about it; but if ever he said he did, he did.
Wasn't that a grand character to have ? Having once said a thing, that was enough to make others believe it, whether he re¬ membered it or not.
I wish all the boys in our land were sure of as good a reputation.
 ^»—1   »	
The Fox and the Lion's Den.
You boys who read ..Esop.s Fables, will remember the story of tho lion who feign¬ ed to be sick, and induced .all the smaller boasts to come and pay their respects to him in his deu. Only thc fox, it was no¬ ticed, did not come, and the lion sent to inquire the rea.son.
"Tell his majesty," said the shrewd fel¬ low, "th.at when I draw near the mouth of his den, and see the prints of my fellow creatures' feet all pointing forward and none backward, I am warned not to ven¬ ture further."
There is a lesson of wisdom for you.— The fable might have been writteu to-day, if only some keen-eyed iEsop would walk along our streets and take note of the lions' dens, aud see silly dupes that are alw.iys going in, but never coming out. Grog shops, saloons, theatres, gambling dens ! do you think when you have onco entered, you can come away at will ? Never be¬ lieve it. If the old lion doos not devour J'OU at once, he will eat you piece-meal.— Be sure you will not escape without at leas, the marks of his teeth aud claws.— No tracks coming out I The people who come away leave behiud purity, and honor, and honesty, and manhood; they euter wliole ; they limp away', maimed and dis- figureti, by another door. Take warning, boys, and when the old lion sets his traps in the shape of music, and merriment, and pleasant company, to draw you inside his door, bo sure there is an inner den where terrible jaws are lying in wait. "No TRACKS COMING OUT," says .iEsop, which is only another version of Solomon's dec¬ laration :
"There is a way that seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof is death."
Air Castles.
Air castles ! Who has not built them ? vast structures that tower up and grow grander, until lost in their own limitless magnificence. Who has not builded them, and then in blissful admiration viewed their work, until a breath of air from the cold world   of reality
" AVfaelmed in nothing, thc unsubstantial bubble 1"
We are all architects, and we all build castles ! In youth we are happy at our work, for we have faith in it; but there comes a timo whon the illusion vanishes, when we know that the fabrics we have wrought with so much pains, are more fragile than a shadow. Then the employ¬ ment ceases to be a pastime; but we have learned the trade, and we must work at it. So we go on building, building, build¬ ing, though tho splendor of our creations forever mock us with vanity.
Children obey your parents.
Don't Know Adam.
As Artemus Ward was once travelling in the cars, dreading to be bored, and feel¬ iug miserable, a maii approached him, sat down and said :
"Did you hear the last thing on Horace Greeley ?"
"Greeley? Greeley?" said Artemus. "Horace Grcely ?    Who is be ?"
The man was quiet about five minutes. Pretty soon he said :
"George Francis Train is kicking up a good tleal of a row over in England; do you think they will put him in a bastile ?"
"Train? Train? George Francis Train?" said Artemus, solemnly. "I never heard of him."
This ignorance kept the man quiet for fifteen minutes; then he said :
"What do you think about General Grant's chances for the I'residency ? Do ydu think they will run him ?" *
"Grant? Grant? hang it, man," said Artemus, "you appear to • know more strangers than any man I ever saw."
Tho man was furious; he walked up the ear, but at last came back and said :
"You confounded ignoramus, did jou ever hoar of Adam ?"
Artemus looked up and said : "What was his other namo ?"
Sharp Youth.
On a certain railroad, tho other day, a newsboy entered a car with a bundle of dailies, and accosted a crusty old chap who sat crouched in a seat near the stove :
"Paper, sir, only five cent.s."
"No !" growled the pa.ssenger; but I'd give five dollars if there was a fire in that stove."
"Did you say you'd give five dollars if you had fire in that stove ?" said the boy, turning back.
"Yes, and darned quick, too."
The boy, in the twinkliag of an eye, opened the stove door, thrust in the bun¬ dle of fresh papers, touched a lighted match to them, and demanded his pay. The pas¬ sengers, who had been watching the ma¬ noeuvre, shouted with laughter, and the old fellow, after hesitating a moment, sheepishly drew five dollars from his pock¬ et and paid the bill.
"Sold out again," quoth the sharp boy, as he went out after his basket of confec¬ tionery.
Too Much for Him.
A gentlemanly conductor was collecting tickets from his passengers. All handed over tho tickets promptlj' except one fat old lady who sat next to the door, and who seemed to be reaching down to got something she had dropped on the floor. When her time came to p.ay, she raised her head, and thus .addressed the blushing conductor :
"I allurs, when I travels, carry mj* money in my stockin', for you see nothing can get at it thar—and I'd just thank you, young man, just to reach it for me, as I'm so jammed in I can't get to it. I forgot to git a ticket at the depot."
'The conductor glanced at the other pas¬ sengers, some of whom were laughing at his plight; one or two young ladies among them blushed scarlet, and he beat a hasty retreat, muttering something about not charging old ladies, etc. His cash was short that trip the fare of one passenger.  itf   »   »     	
It beeame necessary last .week in the criminal court at Newport, Ky., in order to render a 'boy witness competent, to prove that he had reached the age of ten years, and his mother, an Irish woman, was called for that  purpose.
"How old is your son John ?" quoth the lawyer.
"Indade, sir,I dunno, but I think he's not tin J'et," was the replj".
"Did you make no record of his birth ?"
"The praist did, in the old country, sir. where he was born."
"How long after your marriage was it ?"
"About a year; may bo Iiss."
"When were you married ?"
"Dade, sir, I dunno."
"Did you not bring a certificate of j'Our marriage with you from the old country ?"
"Hey, sir, and what should I made wid a certificate whin 1 had the ould mon him¬ self along wid me ?"
No further questions were asked.
'Clerk," said a tall Kentuckian to a hotel ofliciai, "this joung lady and me have eloped. Have you any marryin' fa¬ cilities 'round here ?"
The clerk replied in the aflirmative, and the two were "spliced" in less than an hour. The bride-groom was evidentlj' not yet satified, and lingered around the ho¬ tel-book.
•'Clerk," said he confidentiiilly, at length, "hadn't ye better change the register, and give us one room now we're married ?"'
"It's already doue," replied the clork; "you're marked for tho same room."
"Well, clerk, replied the Kentuckian, quickly, "won't you just show me up, then, for I'm awful sleepy.
      ^  .——>	
An Irishman was looking about the ruins of a burnt confectionery establish¬ ment in Nashua, N. H., when he spied a box of lozenges, still in a fair state of pre¬ servation. Ile picked up the box, but preliminary to making off with it the idea occurred to him to Be sure that the lozen¬ ges were worth purloining. He picked up a roll and broke it in two, and crammed his mouth as full of lozenges as the Cra- chitts did of spoons. In a moment more the box was hurled to the ground, aecom¬ panied by the exclamation : "Be gorra, they are hot yet!'' They were of the cayenne sort.
 ¦—-^   »   »    	
An elderly gentleman, returning home on Sundiiy, began to extol the merits of the sermon to his son. The following short dialogue tells the story:
"I have heard, Walter," said the old gentleman, "one of the most delightful sermons ever delivered before a Christian society. It carried- me to the gates of heaven."
"Well, I tbink," repHcd Walter, "you'd better have dodged in, for you never will have snch another chance."
A SENTIMENTAL youth, having seen a young damsel shedding tears over some¬ thing in her lap, took the first opportunity to be introduced to her, and made no doubt that she was a congenial spirit. "What work was it that affected you so much the other morning ? I saw you shed a great many tears. Was it Bulwer's last ?" "I don't know what Bulwer's last is," return¬ ed she, "but I assure you I was doing a job which almost kills me. I was peeling onions.
M^ Wmu Hilxsks
We All Might Do Good.
We all might do good
Where we often do ill; There is always the way,
Ifthere be but the will. Though it be but aword.
Kindly breathed or suppressed. It may guard off some pain,
Or give peace io some breast.
We all might do good
In a thousand sm.ill ways— In forbearing to flatter,
Yet yielding due praise, In spurning all rumor.
Reproving wrong done. And treating but kindly
The hearts we have won.
We all might do good.
Whether lowly or great, For the deed is not guaged
By the purse or estate ; Ifit be buta cup
Of cold water that's given. Like the widow's two mites,
It is something for heaven   tf    «    » —
Live fop Something.
Live for something ! Life is the divinest of Heaven's gifts to man, and something divine should bo got out of it. Put upon the mode of the divine, and endowed with such God-like capabilities and powers, how inappreciably grand are life's possibilities in the way of achievement for earth and heaven!
In the order of Providence, life's minis¬ try is indeed lofty and sublime. Every man and every woman has his or her par¬ ticular assignment in the duties of respon¬ sibilities of daily life. We are in the world to make the world better; to lift it up to higher summits of happiness and progress; to make its hearts and homes brighter and happier, by devoting to fol¬ lowers our best thoughts aud activities. It is the motto of every ti ue heart, and the genius of every noble life, that "no man liveth to himself," lives chiefly for his own selfish good. By a law of our intellectual and moral being, we promote our own hap¬ piness in the exact proportion we contrib¬ ute to the enjoyment of others. Nothing worthy of the name of happiness is possi- sible in the experience of those who live only for themselves, all oblivious of tho welfare of their fellows. That only is the true philosophy which recognizes and work out the prinoiple in daily action, that
 "Life was lent
F.ir noble dutic3, not fur selfishDe9.s ; Not to bo wiled away for aimless dreams, Uut to improve ourselves, and serve mankind.'*
But to live for something, involves the necessity of an intelligent and definite plan of action. Jlore than splendid dreaming, or even magnificent resolves, is necessary to success in the objects and ambitions of life. Jlen come to the best results in either department of effort, only as they thoughtfully plan, and earnestly toil in giving directions. Those who have made money, acquired learning, won fame, or wielded power in the world, have always, in every age, and among all people, done so by embodying a well defined pnrpose in earnest, living action. The reason that thousands fail in their work in life, is the want of a specific plan in laying out their energies; they work hard for nothing, be¬ cause there is no actual result possiblo to their mode of action. The means are ad¬ justed to thc end; hence failure is the in¬ evitable result.
Live for something definite and practi¬ cal. Take hold of tbings witha method and a willl, and they must yield to j'ou, and become the ministers of your own happiness and that of others. Nothing within the realm of the possible can with¬ stand the man or woman who is intelligent¬ ly and determinedly bent on success. A great action is always proceded by a great purpose. History and daily life are full of examples to show us that tho measure of human achievement has always been proportioned to the amount of human da¬ ring and doing. If not always, yet at least often,
 ^'•Tbe attempt
Is all fhe wedge that splits its knotty way IJetwiit the impossible and possible.'^
Be practical. Deal with tho questions and facts of life as they really are. What can be done, and is worth doing, do with dispatch ; what cau not be done, and would be worthless, if it could, leave to tho dreamers and idlers along the walks of life. Discard the idea that little things are un¬ important, and that great occasions only are worthy of your best thoughts and en¬ deavors. It is the little things of life that make up its happiness or misery, its joy or its sorrow; and surely nothing is trivial that bears on questions so vital and per¬ sonal as these. A kind look is a little thing, but it may fall like a sumbeam on a sad heart, and chase away its sadness. A pleasant word is a smal! thing, but it may brighten tho spirits, and revive the hopes of some poor despondent soul aboutto give up in despair, before the conflicts and trials of life.—y?^i'. F. S. Cassidy.
Hunger for Heaven.
JIj- friends, I am not tired of earthly life beyond what all men, fitted fbr the life to come, at times are weary of it. I love it in its uses, its labors, and its joys. Its duties give exercise to my faculties, its loves to my affections, its successes to my happiness. I am not morbid, but measure the world through a healthy body, a grow¬ ing mind, and a hope as strong and bra¬ cing as a current of northern air when it bears down upon a camp from the sides of mountains planted thickly with odorous, trees. The pulse of this life is strong within me, my friends many, and my for¬ tune beyond my merit or my expectation. I am not talking to you as a disappointed, depressed, an unhappy man. Keeping only what I have, blessed only with my present blessings, I could stay on earth forever, if it be God's will, and be content. But, in spite of all this, when my thoughts range out ahead, and canvass my future, I can but feel persuaded that thc present, pre¬ cious as it is, does not begin to measorotbc resources of blessings hidden in tho heart for JUO. Jly present state does not per¬ mit me their full reception ; does not al¬ low the perfect disclosure of his love. I . need tbo spiritual body, the heavenly lan¬ guage, the celestial sphere of action, the holy companionships, the powers and func¬ tions, the rank and dignity, the privilege and liberty, of the glorified world and state, or ever I shall know the breadth and length and depth and hight of the richness of His love; and I feel pursuad¬ ed that by the very drift and movement of time I am being borne toward, and at last shall come to something far better than the good of to-day.—Rev. W. H. Murray.
Peace ia that harmony in the state that health is in the body.
Behold now is the accepted time, now is the day of salvation.