Huntingdon Journal

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VOL. 47.
HUNTINGDON, Pi., APRIL 24, 1872.
NO. 17.
The Huntingdon Journal.
J. R. DURBORROW,       -       -       J. A, NASH,
PCBLISHERS ASD mOPRIETORS.
OJiee on the Corner of Bath and Wtukington streets.
The IIcxtingdon Journal is published every WeJnesdiiy, by J. R. Durborrow and J. A. Nash, under tho firm name of J. R. Durborrow i Co., at $2,00 por annum, ix advance, or $2,50 if not paid for in six months from date of subscription, and $3 if uot paid within the year.
No paper discontinued, unless at the option of the publiiihers, until all arrearages are paid.
ADVERTISEMENTS will be inserted at the rateof ONE DOLLAR for an inch, of ten lines, for the firat insertion, pnd twenty-five cents per inch for each subsequent ineertiou loss than three months.
Regular monthly and yearly advertisements will bo inserted at the following rates :
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[Written for the Joukxal.]
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80   100
Spcci.al notices will be inserted at twklvk ,\xd A HALF CK.N'TS per linc. nnd local nnd editorial no¬ tices at FIFTEEN CE.VTS per line.
All Resolutiotis of Ass jcintions. Communications of limited or individual interest, and notices of Mar¬ riages and Deaths, exceeding' five lines, will be charged ten cext.s per line.
Legal and other notices will be charged to the party having tbcm inserted.
Advertising Agents must find their commission ontside of these figures.
AH adrertising acconnts are due and collectable Khen the adeertisemenl is once inserted.
JOB PRINTING of every kind, in Plain and Fancy Colors, done with neatness and dispatch.— Handbills, Blanks, Cards, Pamphlets, Ac., of every variety and style, printed at the shortest notice, and every thing in the Printing line will be execu¬ ted in tbe most artistic manner and at the lowest rates.
Professional Cards.
BF. GEHRETT, M. D., ECLEC- • TIC PHYCICIAX AXD SURGEOX,hiL\- ing returned from Clearfield county and perma¬ nently looated in Shirleysburg, ofi'ers bis profes¬ sional services to the people of that place nnd sur¬ rounding country. apr.3-1872.
D
R. F. 0. ALLEMAN  can   be con-
suited at his office, at all  hours,   Mapleton, [march6,72.
DC ALD WELL,  Attorney-at-Law, • No. Ill, 3d street. Ofiice foraierly occupied by Messrs. Woods & Williamson. [npl2,'71.
DR. J. C. FLEMMING respectfully offers his professional services to the citizens of lluntingdon and vicinity. OEce No. 743 Wash- ingtpn Street. may24.
R. A. B. BRUMBAUGH, offers his
professional services to the community. Offioo. No. 523 Washington street, one door cast of the Catbolic Parsonage. [jan.4,'71.
D
EJ. GREENE, Dentist.    Office  re- •    moved to Leister's new building, Hill street Fr-itingdon. [jan.4,'71.
GL. ROBB, Dentist, office in S. T. •    Brvwn'a new building. No. 520,   ffill St., lluntingdon. Pa. [apl2,'71.
H   GLAZIER, Notary Public,  comer •    of Washington and Smith streets. Hun¬ tingdon, Pa. [jan.lZ"?!.
H.
C.   MADDEN,   Attorney-at-Law Office,   No. —, Hill   atreet, huntiugdon, -Pa.  [ap.19,'71.
J    SYLVANUS BLAIR, Attoruey-at- •    Laiv, Huntingdon, Pa.    Ofiice, Hill  street, hree doors west of Smith. [jan.4'71.
JR. PATTON, Druggist and Apoth- • ecary, opposite the Exchange Hotel, Uun- ingdon. Pa. Prescriptions accurately compounded. Pure Liquori for Medicinal purposes.    [nov.2;i,'70.
HALL MUSSER, Attorney-at-Law,
  No. 319 Hill St., Huntingdon, Pa. [jan.4,'71.
JR. DURBORROW, Attorney-at- • Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will practice in the' aeveral Courts of Huntingdon county. Particular attontion given to the settlement of estates of dece- dent?.
Office in he Jourxal Building. [feb.I/7l.
JW. MATTERN, Attorney-at-Law • and General Claim Agent, lluntingdon. Pa., Soldiera* claims aguinst the Government for back pay, bounty, widows' and invalid pensions attend¬ ed to with great caro and promptness.
Office on Hill street. [jan.Vri.
K ALLEN LOVELL, Attorney-at- • Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Special attention given to Collections of all kinda ; to tho settl j- raent of Estates, Ac.; and all other Legal Busineis prosecuted with fidelity and dispatch.
J^^ Offiee in room lately occupied by R. Milton Speer, Esq. [jan.4,'7I.
MILES ZENTMYER, Attorney-at- Law, Huntingdon, Pa., willattendpromptly to all legal business. Ofiice in Cunningham's new building. [jan.4,'71.
H. ALLISOX   MILLER.
a.   BCCHANAN
"\TILLER & BUCHANAN, DENTISTS,
No. 228 Hill Street, April 5, 'Tl-ly.
UUNTINGDON, PA.
PM. & M. S.   LYTLE,  Attorneys- •    at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend to all kinds of legal business entrusted to their care.
Offioe on tbe south sido of Hill street, fourth door west of Smith. [jan.4,'71.
RA.   ORBISON,   Attorney-at-Law, •    Office, 321 Hill street, Huntingdon. Pa. [may31/71.
JOHN   SCOTT.
S.   T. -BnOWN.
J.   H.   BAILET
UGOTT, BROWN &  BAILEY,   At-
^^    tomeya-st-Law, Hnntingdon, Pa.    Pensions, and all olaims of soldiers and soldiers' heirs against the Governraent will be promptly prosecuted. OlBoe ou Hill street. [jan.4,'71.
TW. MYTON, Attorney-at-Law, Hun- •    tingdon. Pa.    Oflice with J. Sewell Stewart, Esq. [jan.4,'71.
WILLIAM A. FLEMING, Attorney- at-Law. Iluntingdon, Pa. Special attention given te collections, and all other l;gal business attended to with care and promptness. Office, No. 229, Hill street. [apl9,'71.
Miscellaneous.
G
.0 TO THE JOURNAL OFFICE
For all kinds of printing*
EXCHANGE  HOTEL,   Huntingdon, Pa. JOHN S. MILLER, Proprietor.
January I, 1871.
¦JTBAR THE RAILROAD DEPOT,
COR. WAYNE and JUNIATA STREETT
UNITED STATES HOTEL,
HOLLIDATSBURG, PA. M'CLAIN t CO., PRepRiETORs. Mobli-tf
KOBT. KING, Merchant Tailor, 412 Washington street, Uuntingdon, Pa., a lib¬ eral ahare of patronage rcapectfuliy solioited. AprilU, 1871.
L' EWISTOWN B0ILERrW0RKs7' GEORGB PAWLING * CO., Manufae- urers of Looomotiveand Stationary Uoilcra, Tanks, Pipea, Filling-Barrows for Furnaces, and Sheet Iron Work of every deaoription. AVorks on Logan street, Lewistown, Pa.
All   orders p—<~> ^tly attended to.    Repairing dono at ahort no^.oe. [Apr S,'71,ly.»
AR. B3CK, Fashionable Barber • and Hairdrcsier, Hill street, opposite tha Franklin Uouae. All kinds of Tonics and Pomadea kept on band and for aale. [apl9,'7^~^th
Don't wear yonr faces so long, my boys,
Don't look down over your noses. You may wade thru' a thicket of thorns, my boys.
But you'll surely cumo to the roses. Don't delve forever among tbe olod.-',
Nor linger at wooden bors— Upturn your brows to the radiant sheen,
Sent down from the world of stars.
Get out ofthe clouds, tbe mist, and the gloom.
The dark, the venom, the slime; Come into the open, bruad highway.
And breathe the blest sunshine.' Stir not ever the dust uf the past
From under the dead brown leaves; See before you a world-wide plain,
Dotted with gulden sheaves.
Off with the packs on your shoulders, bovs.
They will surely drag yi.ii dowu ; Hope to wear on your youthful brow.
The victor*!! starry crown. Don't think the world so bad a place.
Because your wisdom failed ye. You'll find that wounded vanity
Is most of vhat has ailed ve:
Don't think mankind a race of knaves.
Though you were knaved by one ; A pure and honest man, is not
A new thing 'nealb the sun. Don't lose all faith in woman kind—
Thn* you were badly takeu— There's a loving heart somewhere for you,
That waits vour touch to waken.
Be sure you'll find the human cup
Not always filled with honey, But a jolly heart, nnd a merry soul.
Are worth a mint of muney. Then off with your colored glasses, boys.
And don't look overyour noses; Beyond tbe thicket of thorns, my boys.
You'll find a valley of roses.
It is Not Your Business Why.
Would you like to know tbe secrets
Of your neighbor's house and life ? How he lives or how he dosen't,
And just how he treats bis wife? How he spends fais time of leisure.
Whether sorrowful or gay. And where be goes for pleasure.
To the concert or the play? Ifyou wish it I will tell you—
Let nie whisper to you sly— If your neighbor is but civil,
It is none ofyour business why.
In short, instead of prying
Into other men's aflairs; If you do your own but justice.
You will have no time for theirs, Be attentive to such matters
As concern yourself alone, And whatever fortune fiatters
Let your business be your own, One word by wny of finish—
Let me whisper to you sly— Ifyou wish to be respected.
You must cease to be a pry.
Famine   and    Plenty—Fifteen Ago and Now.
Years
Wc are indebted to tlie publishers of the American Working Peofilc for the finely executed engraving, and description of same, M-hich appears in the Journal of to-day. This popular and widely circula¬ ted periodical is issued monthly, on fine book paper and clear typo, and contains some eighty columns of reading matter, specially prepared for workingmen and their families. It is the ablest tariff paper published in the United States, and every workingman should have it. Send $1,50 to the Iro.n Would Publishing Co.mpa- NY, Pittsburgh, Pa., aud you will not re¬ gret thc investment.
The accompanying sketches are Missis¬ sippi river scenes. That on the left was lived and sufl'ered fifteen years ago. The banker, the merchant, the storekeeper, the mechanic, the farmer felt in the morning when he arose, at noon when he stopped to dine, at night when he retired to rest, with ten-fold thc severity which this truth¬ ful scene can convey to the mind, the misery of the idleness here portraye J, the wants and the helplessness to meet them | which stand out on the picture ;
We do not need to unveil musty vol-; umes  from  antiquarian   libraries to find '
wondered why God sent them such golden crops to remain unused, unsold, to rot in 1 the sunlight of heaven, which had nurtured I it for man's use.
I Heaven's bounteous rains and cheery ¦ sunlight were to them curses, for what I were golden crops to thom or theirs, when j they could not sell them. I Thoy saw towns and cities filled with cheap foreign goods, whioh a low tariff permitted to be imported, but what were these whon they could not buy them; what were good crops or cheapness when the sheriff had agreed to postpone for thirty days longer the execution of a writ for taxes which theso heaven-blest, man-cursed farmers strove in vain to pay by offering their crops for money—only enough to keep their land to themselves.
Tlie bankers suffered. Their vaults vomited forth their last dollar. Money flew to the sea-board cities, thence across the ocean and bought iron, glass, steel, machinery, tools, and a thousand articles we could make ourselves. Onc by one our furnaces and mills and workshops closed, and th'2 workers in them, cast out if work and without money to get away, stood idly about in tho midst of free trade idleness and helpless poverty. The farmer, the mechanic, the merchant, drew out his last dollar for  bread and   never put it back.
negroes and white men ; some well dressed, i shipment to be built into a  new  railroad
some in rags—all idle.
He tells them of the cause of their idle¬ ness. He stands out in the silence and the idleness and the desolation of the once busy mart, and appeals to them to recall the source of their former prosperity and return to them. And even as he speaks, the coming storm and the lightning flash, like the baring of the visible arm of Om¬ nipotence himself, leaps from the gathering clouds and poiating downward on the scene of desolation below, quivers for an instant in the darkened heavens.
The storm and lightning flash speaks through the ipouth of this prophet sent of Providence, and warns the people against continuing longer in their  insane  coarse.
A farmer who has sold his load of corn at ten centa a bushel, seeks some temporary consolation in a quart of tcn cent whisky —about the only use and best use to which corn in those days could be put. But let OS sock the other, brighter side of the picture.
which will open up a thousand miles of new, rich, cheap, fertile territory, for out* industrious and enterprisingyoung farmers. They will seek these new lands, stake out their farms, plant their seed, and soon send fresh crops of corn and wheat and rye and oats to the markets. Com not at ten cents per bushel but fifly ; wheat not at thirty-five cents, but four times thirty- five. They have plenty and earn plenty and live happily. Here is exchange. The products of tho mill and shop and loom are exchanged for the products of the farm. Here is commercial activity. This is real.
The farmer knows he can seli all he raises at a good price. Merchants no long¬ er grow desperate over protested and dis¬ honored paper. Bankers no longer grow pale and sick at thc sight of empty vaults and clainorous creditors. Workingmen no longer hang idly around hoping for work, but all—all are busy with hand and brain, working—saving—enjoying—grow-
Speeches, and writing, and appealing to ; ing better and wber under the industry history and common sense, were  in   vain,  and accivity of onr commercial system.
Men clung to their free trade delusions I Churches and school houses, public im- until, as a nation, we were well nigh bank- • provements, railroads, all are the frnits of rupt. They refused to be convinced that protection. Workingmen, farmers, mer- free trade couie injure them. It was not; chants, bankers, are not these facts? Does until the year 18C1 that we  escaped from ! not evening often slip over you  as  it has
%lt f t0riij-l«tt«L
How Gussia SiuiLed.
"So you've made up your mind to be Mrs. Kembrandt, Guaaie ?"
Aunt Rachel went placidly on with her knitting, and never noticed the red banner of blushes that suddenly threw their shade on her niece's pretty, saucy fuce.
"Because, if you haven't, my dear, I'd strongly recommend you to look a liltle further; as far as Ashdale, for instance.— Harry Livingston is a splendid fellow, Gussie—worth a hundred Karl Rem- brandts." '
'•You are always so opposed to foreign ers, auntie. I'm sure Mr. Rembrandt is a perfect gentleman."
Gussie took up her favored suitor's cause with an indignant enthusiasm that would have made him think her more charming than ever.
"Perhaps, so far as the ugagies of society are concerned; but not according to my old-fashioned ideas "
A contemptuous little sneer curled Gus- sie's pretty red lips. "As if Aunt Rachel had any idea of what gentility was !" she thonght to herself.
A'.nt Rachel, all unconscious of her niece's silent criticisms, ceased her knit¬ ting, and looked out of the window, far away over the brown November fields, to the large white house on the hilltop, with its bright green shutters, where her favor¬ ite,, young Harry Livingston, lived, with neither wife, mother or sifter.
"You haven't compromised yourself, Gussie, have you ?" ,
"It might as well have been, for I am pretty certain I shall marry him."
Aunt Rachel sighed, then took up her knitting again.
"Of course you aro old enough, and ought to be far-seeing enough to choose your own husband; but I tell you, Gussie, think twice before you marry a man whom no one has known longer than this sum¬ mer, when there, over the fields, waits a home and a man who would lay down his life for you."
"I am not afiratd to trust Mr. Rembrandt. He is far superior to the olher ; and. Aunt Rachel, you take no surer course to make me thoroughly hate the man I now am only indifferent to, than by continually singing his praises."
"He deserves all I can say, and more. I only wish you could see as I see, Gussie; ae all the neighbors, and even Mr. Living¬ ston, see."
A hot, angry red shot up into the girl's face.
"Of course Mr. Livingston is jealous; the neighbors are dying for their own daughters to get married off, and are en¬ vious that I, a summer visitor, sho'ild car¬ ry off the one prize. Besides, I care not what any one says, if I myself am satis¬ fied."
"But, are you satisfied V Ah, Gussie, child, how can I send you home to your father with the news that this strolling German stranger has won his daughter's affections !"
"Strolling German stranger! Aunt Rachel, what do you mean ?"
Gussie Averill arose from her seat by the warm, sunny window, and confronted the lady with flashing eyes and lowering, defiant brow.
"We will not talk on the subject fur¬ ther, my dear You are getting angry with your old Auntie; this handsome stranger has crept in already between us, and I pray he will not alienate you from all your friends. Come, Gussie, I want you to run to the village for more yarn.— Will you ?"
So completely had the old lady changed the convers-ation, that Gussie was mollifi¬ ed in spite of herself.
"Of course I'll go; and you'll forgive mc?"
Very pretty Gussie Averill was, in her stylish suit of brown sateen cloth, trimmed with its full plaitings, and ornamented with a voluminous sash. The little round hat trimmed with the long, curling, brown
[For. the Jouewl.]
Graded Schools-
No. I.
The Result of Free Trade in the Mississippi Valley in 1856-7.
out these things. The men-of to-day re¬ member them. The bankers, the me;*- chants, whose shattered and scattered for¬ tunes crumbled and fled like quicksilver from their helpless grasp during those dark, idle, hopeless days, remember them and tremble when they recall them. The storekeeper, whose well-filled shelves, and the farmer, whose cultivated fields are now silently drinking in their winter's last gift of snow, remember them, when they each wondered why the one could not buy, and thc other could not sell. It is a well es¬ tablished fact, known to themselves, that during this free trade epoch, corn was burned as fuel on steamboats and railroads, because it would not bring ten cents a bushel in the market. Thousands of bushels of it was burned ; thousands of bushels of it rotted because none could be found who had money to pay for it.
Wheat sold for thirty-five eents, a fact easily established by reference to the St. Louia papers of that day. And yet it smouldered and rotted by heap^ in great, idle elevators and warehouses, while poor people, idle, hungry and dejected, wandered about, vainly looking for work, counting how many days longer their limited supply of corn meal and pork would hist.
Farmers during those days looked over their  corn  fields  and wheat  fields,  and
The paper currency issued on the basis of the earning and saving capabilities of the nation, depreciated when men could neither earn, nor buy, nor sell. The United States W4S transformed during these years into a vast prison house, and men were helpless as prisoiiers to help themselves. The taunting sights of the plenty about them only exasperated their feelings of degrada¬ tion. People would not produce ¦ crops becanse they could not find men able to buy. They lived on what they raised, and eichaBgcd a littic for merchandise they must have. The banks had not a dollar to redeem their worthless paper, and onc after another suspended in rapid succes¬ sion.
Read the history of those days and com¬ plete the pictnre for yourself.
It is here presented by the pencil of the artist. Thc bank and the scene of finan¬ cial and commercial activity is abandoned. Idle steamboats rot at tho levee. They once carried the products of the tens of thousands ofthe farmers of the West to consumers, and brought back implements of husbandry and subsistence, and cloth¬ ing in return ; but they are idle now. People have no money. The elevator is in ruins. In the foreground is a protec¬ tionist, standing like a prophet on the ruins about him, addressing a  motley  crowd of
And What it is Under Tariff in 1872.
V  protective tariff was dc- just slipped in upon us as we write  these
this  desert
dared, and protective duties imposed, and witness the result. Men may argue and theorize as they like, but wc ask thera which of the above scenes were trne in 1856. Were they then getting $1 40 per bushel for their wheat and 45 cents for their corn? Were they then Cultivating three hundred acres of land ? Are they now passing sleepless nights- through fear of losing their farm ? Are they living now on flapjacks and corn coffee twenty-one times a week ? Look and be convinced. Open yonr eyes, fanners, merchants, bank¬ ers of Ameriea, you who hug the delusive phantom of free trade to your bosoms, like the Grcchin youth who held the stolen fox beneath his cloak through shame. It too has esten out the nation's vitals thrice in its history, and will again if we do not cast it from us.
In the picture before us we • see the legitimate fruits of protection. There, piled up awaiting shipment, on tfae busy levee, are the produce of a half dozen dif¬ ferent States, brought thither by the steam¬ boats at the levee, one of which is just preparing to start back for another load. Busy men are loadingit with the products of mills, and workshops, and factories^ iron goods, clothes and whatever the farm¬ ers use.    There are piles of iron avraiting
words, witbout scarce knowing how tbe busy hoars, with flying^ feet, chased past so quickly and lightly ? Are not pleasant homes awaiting you at evening time, where all earth's enjoyments are yours in ahuu- dance?
And yet—and yet—men continue to be¬ lieve we ought to have no protection. They still say, why pay five cents for a pound of iron when England will sell it to us for four. Farmers of the west, when yon had English iron not at four eents but at two and a half cents a pound, how many two cents and a half did you earn ? As many as now? You know- that lairt year yon earned ten doiiars fbr one you earued in 1856, and Why ? Because Ameriea eats ninety-eight per eent. of all the products yon raise! If yon-throw the workingmen of America into idleness who will buy ybUr ninety-eights per cent.of products? Cer¬ tainly not Engknd, for she takes only two per cent, of them.
Workingmen of America, if yon are plunged into free trade, you will snffer first, suffer most, suffer longest, and the pros¬ perity ahove presented will fade away, and desolation worse than that pictured will descend over the land. Rise, bisk and unite for protection.
ostrich feather, brought out all the rich tints of her brunette complexion, and en¬ hanced the saucy brightness of her brown eyes.
Karl Rembrandt, as he stood at the door of the post-office, and lifted his hat so gracefully as she passed, thought how exceedingly fair she was, and a smile of gratified triumph crept under his heavy moustache as he noted the rich color on her cheek when he saluted her.
He made no secret of his admiration for her, and openly awaited her return p.ist the ofiSce, knowing there was nb other way for her to go.
It was not long before she came back, and then he walked on beside her; his low, devoted voice causing quick heart¬ beats.
"You knew I was going to leave Ashton in the morning?"
He caught a rapid glance of her sudden¬ ly startled eyes as they met his a moment.
"But you will return ?"
"Oh, no. At least I think not. I have been idling ever since August, and now it's not more than a month from Christ¬ mas. I have to regret but one thing in going."
He lowered his voice, and Gussie won¬ dered if he heard the rapid pulsations of her heart.
"And that is, leaving you, Gussie Av¬ erill. You surely kuow how dear you are to me ? You must have seen how I love you ? Gussie, do I love you in vain ? or have I read aright that'ebqaeut '£tee ?<^' Tell roe?"
They were without the outskirts of the village, with not a single soul in sight, and the handsome, impulsive German lov¬ er had lifted her blushing face to his, and deliberately kissed her lips.
I need no verbal answer when those eyes meet mine. Gussie, I know you love me, and knowing that, I am going to ask you to marry me, and go back to New York to-morrow with me."
She uttered a little cry ; it was so sud¬ den, so—strange.
"Do I terrify you with my precipitate- ness, my timid birdling? Think of it; think of how we love each other. Remem¬
ber that I am not a poor man, to see you struggle along as best you may, but thut I am able to give you all the good things of this world. We Will go to the pariah rec¬ tor and be niatricd; you can return to your aunt's, I to my hotel, and no one be the wiser. Tomorrow I will take you to your father, andthe next day we will start on our wedding tour to my beloved Ger¬ many, where we will be so happy, my Gus¬ sie !"
His fervid tones, his mesmeric eyes, had a strango, not uncomfortable influence over the girl; and she began to wonder if she had not better consent. Sbe loved him, and what matter was it if she was his wife sooner than she had anticipated.
And Rembrandt took her hesitancy for a half consent, as it indeed was.
"My darling will come with me ? We still have the time; let us return, and go to the rector's."
Gussie knew her whole heart was filled with a strange tremor of mingled terror and love ; a sensation that fascinated her, so new, so curious it was. And with this odd feeling, this soft, winning voice in her ears, and Karl Rembrandt's dark eyes looking into her own, Gussie Averill wont deliberately on to her fate. At thc silent hour of the gloaming, she and her husband parted at Aunt Rachel's gate.
And wben she handed the old lady the tiny parcel, she said:
"This cool, frosty afternoon's walk has done you good, Gussie Averill. Your cheeks are* like blush roses, and Jrour eyes like stars!"
The tea-things were all removed from the warm, bright dining-room, and Aunt Rachel came.in from the kitchen, with her big white apron tied about her portly fig¬ ure, to hand Gussie a letter.
"It came in one to me from your father. He tells you, I suppose—at least, he does me—that he wanta you to return to-mor¬ row. There has been a serious burglary at thc house; all the silver and your poor mother's diamonds. 1 suppose he wants you to see to replacing tbem, or else attend to the house while he goes after the thief"
Gussie tore the letter open, and listless¬
ly read it through; then leaned her head against thc nld-fashioued chimney-corner.
"I have only one parting favor to ask, Gussie.    Will you grant it ?"
She nodded yes, for somehow, she felt an unspeakable weariness of spirit, not the sensation a loving bride should experience.
"I look the liberty of inviting Harry Livingston over to spend the evening.— Yoii don't care—^you'll see him ?"
Why should she care—she, Mrs. Karl Rembrandt ? and an amused little smile played over her lips. Would she see him? Of course! There was a malicious pleas¬ ure in knowiug he never could win her now.
So, an hour later, hie came, with his joy¬ ous, manly presence, that somehow never struck Gussie so forcibly as that night.
Suddenly a rapid knocking disturbed the little group, and Gussie's father came in.
He was pale, and a little out of breath, and took the chair Harry offered him.
"We've tracked him to Ashton, Rachel, and the police have him now."
"The burglar? I am glad. Who is her
Aunt Rachel asked thequestion, little thinking what the answer would he.
"I don't know. His last aliai is Rem¬ brandt, Karl Rem "
A loud scream from Gussie, and then she fainted in her father's'arms.
It was when tho earliest spring flowers were blooming that Gussie awoke from the illness that dragged her down to the River's brink ; and then she learned all the story. How her hushand^^she* shiv¬ ered when Harry Livingston's kindly voice spoke it—had boasted he had married the daughter oftho mac he had robbed; how, when arrested, he had deliberately shot himself rather than be a prisoner. How that Mr. Averill and Annt Rachel loved her as ever, and how he, Harry, loved her vwre thau ever, and wanted to take her to Ashdale, to be his bride. And in after years, when Gussie Livingston counted three daughters of her own she used to warn lhem against the sin that well-nigh wrecked her whole life.
U»4t»0 im tii« IpiUmtv
A Bootblaek Adventure.
The Milwaukee Nevis says: Duringa slight lull in business here yesterday two' little bootblacks, onewhiteand one blackj- were standing st tfae comer of Second and Francis streets, doing nothing, when the white bootblack agreed to black the black bootblackli boots. The black bootbhick was of course willing to have his boots blacked by his fellow bootblack who had agreed to black the black bootblack's boots went to work. Wheu the faeotblock had blacked one of the black bootblack's boots till it shone in a manner that would make any bootblack proud, this bootblack who had i^reed to black the black bootblack's boots refused to black the other boot of the black bootblack until the black boot^ black, who had consented to have the white bootblack black his boots, should add five eents to the amoimt the white bootblack had made blacking other men's boots. This the bootblack whose boot had been blacked relused to do, saying it was good enough for a black bootblack to have one boot blacked, and he didn't care wheth¬ er the boot tbat the bootblack hadn't blacked was blacked or not.' This mad«' the bootblack wba had blacked the black bootblack's boot angry as a bootblack often gets, and be vent^ his black wrath by spitting upon the blacked "boot* of the black bootblack. Tbis roused the latent passions of the black boot^kusk, andbe proceeded to boot the white bootblack with the boot which the white bootblack had blacked. A fight then ensued, in which tho white bootblack who had refused to black the unblacked boot of the black bootblack blacked the black bootblack's visionary organ, and in which the bhick bootblack wore all the blacking off his blacked boot in booting the white boot¬ black. The fraternity of bootblacks after¬ ward convened, and denounced tha action of the white snd black bootbkcks as one of thc blackest in the pages of bootblack history.
It is not to be supposed that we need advocate graded schools at this period of time, when they arc to be found in suc¬ cessful operation in every town and village where children can be brought together in sufficient numbers for two or moro teachers; and there is a proper understand¬ ing .ind appreciation of the advantages of such schools, over the graded. I would advocate them, not because teachers can be employed at a lower salary to teach the lower grade or primary schools, but simply on account of the superior advantages arising from what may be termed a prop¬ er division of labor. No plan or system of graded schools can be laid down, but what may be subject to such changes as will fit it for the particular loeaiity for which it is intended. In our borough schools we have the following grades and divisions, viz : Primary, three divisions ; Intermediate, two divisions; Grammar, two divisions; and High school. Such has been tho arrangement for the past two years, and it has worked well, but it is be¬ lieved that by greater accommodations, the above grading may be materially im¬ proved. In the management of schools, as in anything else, a great deal must be learned, that can be learned only by ex¬ perience.
In taking up the grades seriatim, our remarks in this paper will be limited to the Primary schools. It is in them that the foundation for an education is laid. The pupil's future course and success, bis liking or disliking for school depends in a great measure on his primary course. The child comes to the primary teacher as raw material to be moulded for his future course, either successfully or unsuccess¬ fully. The teaching shonld be such as will awaken an ambition in the child to learn what he does not know; and what b tanght, should be so taught, that he will not need to unlearn it in hia future course. Whatever the course assigned to the primary school, it should be, and every live and sufficiently qualified teacher will supplement it with appropriate oral in¬ structions and object lessons.
The necessary qualifications of the pri¬ mary teacher are well set forth by an ar¬ ticle in a recent number of tbe Illinois Ttacher :
I. A clear comprehension of the subject to be taught. It is a common saying that what is not possessed can not be given away. In instruction it might read, "One must know a thing before he can teach it." The knowledge of the primary teacher should be most thoronghly possessed, more so than that of any other. With older pupiU there is already existing a fund of knowledge, a previous discipline, which botli they and tbe teacher cau use in gain¬ ing new ideas. They are, to a considera¬ ble extent, self-reliant, so that the office of their teaeher is in a great part directory, to give a hint here ora suggestion there which sh-^ll indicate the way before them and partially remove thc obstacles in it.
n. The ability to adapt fo the compre- heHtiim of children thai knowledge to be impartedi
In reject-te instmetioB, teachers eflen fail to simplify their thought and their language to the comprehension of children. Receiving their ideas from the mature minds of antfaon aud educational writers, the;f-transmit them unmodified to the im¬ mature minds of the children. If tbe maiure thought were adapted to the forms of (ilear and simple language, if it were il¬ lustrated by "facts which come within the experiences of the children, at least some of the dullness of the pupil and weariness of the teacher would be relieved, by great¬ er life to the one and pleasure to the other. III. Special preparation for each exer¬ cise; before the time of its occuirence.
There is a common feeling: that elemen¬ tary instruction is so simple tha'b no pre¬ vious thought is necessary to tho impart¬ ing of it to the little ones. After many repetitions, it doubtless is simple to the mature mind of the teacher.- But does not every one remember thegreiit laboron his own part in tnasteriDg some of those very things which now seem so simple, and which'only the lapse of time enabled' him to call thbroughly his own? There must be apian, a definite arrangement of the steps to be taken in their natnral or¬ der, 'ihis plan will not be precisely, the same with successive classes. The differ¬ ence ih abilities of the pupils and the nat¬ ural improvements in the methods of a live teacher forbid it. The time reqnired may be short, bnt some time shonld he taken to consider the plan of operations ofeach day before its work commenoes. It b said that Thonias Arnold always re¬ viewed the lessons ofthe day, beibreband, giving as a reason that be did not want his pupils to drink from stagnant pools.
''Treating,"
If there is anything more absurd than this habit, we are unable to put our finger upon it.
Men do not always "treat" one another to car tickets, because they happen to meet on the same seat. We never saw a man on encountering an acquaintance, take ont his pocket book and say, "Ah, George ! delighted to see you ! Do take a few postage stamps.    It's my treat!"
Do men have a mania for paying for each others board bills ? And is drinking together more social than eating together or sleeping together?"
A traveler may go all over the conti¬ nents of Europe, Asia and Africa, without seeing any man except a Yankee offer to "treat,"and Frenchmen are quite social enough; but when they go into a cafe to sip their wine, or branded coffee together, each man pays tbr hif own. When two Germans, long separated meet, they will be very apt to embrace, and turn into an adjoining beer saloon, sit down, drink lag¬ er, eat pretzels and talk; but when they part again each man settles his own score independently. So in Italy. The Italians are proverbially merry and generous, but each man pays for his own, maccaroni and cigars. They never go into each other's pocket book in the sacred name of friend¬ ship. They would as soon think of trans¬ ferring to each other their washer-wo¬ man's bill.
Tbe preposterous fashion of "treating" is responsible for the terrible dmnken¬ ness in America.
There would be as little need of temper¬ ance societies and little work for the Good Templars as there is in Germany, France and Italy if this pernicious and insidious habit wus abolished. It is, take it all in all, the most ridiculous, the most unreason¬ able, and most pestilient custom that ever laid its hands on civilized human beings.
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Childish Piety.
Child piety is no novelty. The stata of ideas and feelings wbich repressed it was but a tem¬ porary eclipse tbat passed before the chnrch. Christiaus generally have believed that wben Christ spoke of "little ones that beUeve ia me," and when he said "of sucb is the kingdom of heaven," he tanght tbat in some respects tbe child is tbe typical, the modeliCbristiuD. We bavr no logic or doctrine that does oot re- quire ns to expect and encourage cbild pietj. We bave much reason to desire not 0BI7 more of it among those that we love, bnt inore of its nature in onr churches.
It IB simj>le belief in Jesus. It prays, and trusts, and expects. It loves. It is ardent. It is cheerful. It endures. It has more excl- lences than we can ennmerate. But childpie- iy iieed not be childish pietr always, and it needs development. Uur Christianity incurs certain dangers from childish piety. It is un¬ instructed. Doubtless young converts be¬ come eventually the best informed Christians, but everywhere we see growing up young per¬ sons whose stndy of the great truths of God nerly ceased at tbeir entrance into the church. —here is danger that tbechild'smeasure shKlI become the staiidard of the church. Already tbe effects of childish piety are seen in increas¬ ed levity, frivolity, looseness of doctrine, want' of discipline, and general ignorance of tbe great doctrines. Tbe cburcb cannot fail to feed the lambs witbout suffering.
Un tbe whole, perhaps, the church bas more to fear from its own neglect of common sense and plain duty toward the children, than for anything natural to the cbildrea, and it ia ta¬ king a great responsibility ia restntnlBg the cbildrss from a profenioD becaaia tbere is not piety and wisdom enough to train them.  —   »   »i	
IMore Awful than Judgment.
A celebrated preacher oftbe seventeenth century, in a sermon to a crowded audieiice described the terrors of the jadgment with such eloquence, pathos, and force of action tbat some of hit audience not oaly burst into tears, but sent forth piercing cries, as if the Judge hiinself had been present, and was about to pass upon them tbeir final isntence. In tbe hight ofthis ex fitment the preacher called upon tbem to dry tbeir tears and cease their cries, aa he was about to add something still more awful and astonishing than anything he bad yet brought before tbem. Silence being obtained, he, with an agitated countenance and solemn voice, addressed them thns : "In one quarter of an hour from this time the emo¬ tions which you just now exhibited will be satisfied ;' the remembrance Of the fearful truths which excited them, will vanisfa ; yon will return to yonr carnal occupations, or ain« ful-pleasures with your nsnaf a+Tdity, aiid yoo will treat all you bare beard "as atslfrtbatit told."
Speed of the Earth's Rotation.
The farther we are from the poles the swifter the rotation of our world on its own axis. At St. Petersburg, in 60 deg. latitude, the speed of rotation is nine miles-a minute; At Riris, eleven miles and a half. Onthe equatorial Kney the rapidity of its motion is not far from eigh¬ teen miles a minute—which is 528 yards each second. Its whirl on its axis, there fore, is eqtial to the flight of a cannon- ball of twenty-six pounds forced from a gun by thirteen ponnds of powder. Sucb swiftness of a mass of matter of the den¬ sity of this earth, eight thousand miles in diameter, through celestial space, makes one giddy to think of it.
As the earth sways either sida of the exact line of its orbit in running round the sun, like a balloon in the air, it has never, since launched into space, gone over the same track twice. In itc oscilla¬ tion it passes eatih side of the prescribed roadway, crossing to and fro, but never swaying so far from it as not to be brought by an attractive'force somewhere iu tho immensity of stellar space, which keeps unretiorded millions of worlds, far supe¬ rior to this in magnitude, brilliancy, and overwhelming grandeur, in paths in which they are deatrned to move till tfao heavens shall be burned as a scroll.
Matter cannot be annihilated. This proposition ia admittted to be true iu philosophy. But how originated? That is a question.
Petkr Cartwhioht, the Reverend pio¬ neer Methodist, used to be annoyed by a noisy but not over pious sister, who wonld go off on a high key every opportunity she got. At an animated class meeting one day the surcharged sister broke'^out with : "If I had one more feather in the wing of my faith I could fly away and be with the Saviour." "Stick in the fsather, O Lord! and let her go," fervently responded Broth¬ er Cartwright
"That's my impression," as our Paul said when he kissed bis sweetheart.
How the  World  Judges  Christians.
There are petsons who woqI^ jndge of Christiaus as men would judg« of apples, who should enter an orchard and go stooping along upon tbe groand io search of them. He picks one up, a bard, green, thing, ao bigf«T than a walnut. Be bites it; it puckers up fais raoutb and sets'his teeth on edge.—"Ha I" he says, throwing tbe imtimely frnit. awar, "I bear them speak of apples as beiug so delicioas; I am sure I don't think much ofthis one.
He picks op another wbich looks yellow. Tbere is a whole io it, but he don't know wbat it means, so be bites into it and finds a worm.
"Bab ! apples delicious, indeed," he cries in disgust; and picks ap a tbird, which is crashed by his touch, for it is rotten So b« cosdemtH apples because he has looktd for tbem upon the grouod instead of on tbe trees abov* head, where tbay bang ripe, joicy and luBcieus, a cbief treasure of autumn.
So men judge ChristiaDB, so loug as they take for fair s.imples those tbat lie rotten on the groand Beecher.
The Throne cf Grace.
If yoo want your spiritual life to b* bsalthj and vigorous, yoa must jnst come more boldly tothe throne of grace. Tbe secret ofyour weakness is yoor tittle faith and nttle prayer. The foudtaia aasealed,bat yoo ooly sip-a few drops. Tbe bread of life is before yon, yet you only eat'a few criimbs. Tbe trrasary of heaven is open, bot yon only tak« a few penee. O, man of little faith, wherefore do you doobt 7 Awake to know your privileges I sleep no longer. Tell me not of spiritual hanger and thirst so long as tbe throne of grace is befora you. Say rather you are proud, aud will oot come to it a poor sioaer ; say rather you are slothful, and will not take pains to get more. Cast aside the grave clothes of pride tbat still hang aboot you. Trow off tbat Egyptian gar¬ ment of iodoleoce, which ought not to hare been broogbt through tbe Red Sea. Away witb tbat uobelief which ties and paralyses yoor tongue. Yoa are straitened in God bat ia yourself. Come boldly, for yoa may, all sinful as you are, ifyou come in the name of the great High Priest.
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Brevities.
Little cao be done well to which the whole mind is uot applied.
Jastice consists in doing oo injury to meo ; deceocy io giviog them 00 offeoce.
Few can be assidooon wlthooi servility, aod nooe cao be servile withont corroptioo.
Tbe greatest men livlog may stand io need ofthe meanest, as much as ibe meaoestof bim.
Eovy is a passioo so full of cowardice and shame, tbat nobody ever bad the coofidence to own it.
The pious man and the atheist ahrays talk of reUgioa ; tbe one* of what he loves, and the other of what he fears.
Be always at liberty to do good ; oevtr make biisliieSB ao excQse to declioe tbe offices of hnmanity.
He wbo sins agaoist man may fear discov¬ ery, but he wbo  sins againit God is sore of