THE STAR GE THE NORTH.
H'. 1. JiCOBY, Proprietor.]
rUILISBID BTBBY WKDNEBDAY V
VVM. n. JACOBY,
Office on lain St., Srd Square below Market,
TERMS:—Two Dollars per annum if paid
Within six months from the lime of subscrib
ing: two dollars and ctß. if not paid with
in the year. Nd silbsciiplion taken lor a less
period than six months; no discontinuance
permitted until all arrearages are paid, un
less at the option of the editor.
The terms of advti tiling wilt he as follows :
One square, twelve lines, three times, Si 00
Every subsequent insertion, 25
One square, tnree months, 3 00
One year, 8 00
FORTY YEARS AGO.
I've wandered in the village, Tom—l've sat
beneath the tree,—
Upon the school l,ouseplaying-ground,which
sheltered you and me,
But none were there to greet me Tom. and
few were leltto know,
That played with us upon the green, some
forty years ago.
The grass is just as green, Tom,—barefooted
boys at |>iay,
Were sporting just as we did then, with spirits
just as gay ;
But the mastersleeps upon the hill, which,
coated o'er with snow,
Afforded us a eliding place, just forty years
The old school house is altered now, the
benches are replaced
By new ones very like the same our pen
knives had defaced;
But the same old bricks are in the wall, the
bell swings to and Iro,
Its music's just the same, dear Tom, as for
ty years ago.
The spring that bubbled 'nealh the hill,
close by the spreading beech,
Is very low— 'twas once so high that we
could almost reach!
And kneeling down to get a drink,dear Tom,
1 started so,
To see how much that I had changed since
forty years ago.
Near by the spring, upon the elm, you know ,
1 cut yottr name, —
Your sweetheart's just beneath it, Tom—and
you did mine the same ;
Some heartless wretch has pealed the bark,
'twas dying sure but slow,
Just as the one whose name we cut some
forty years ago.
My eyelids had been dry, Tom, but tears
came in tny eyes,
I thought of her I loved so wed, those early
I visited the old church-yard, and took some
(lowers to strew
Upon the graves o( those we loved some for
ty years ago. '
And some are in the church yard laid,some \
sleep beneath the sea, _ !
But few are lell of mir old class, excepting ■
you and me ; _ . I
And when our time shall come, Tom, and
we are chlled to go,
I hope they'll lay us where we played just '
forty years ago.
Great Speech in the Missouri Lesislature. :
Mr. Pill offered the following :
Resolved. That the Speaker be authorized
to cause to be printed and posted one hund
dred, bills, announcing the Blh of January,
Mr. Abney—l move to put that resolution
on the table.
Mr Pitt—Mr. Speaker, the House passed
resolutions, Sir.to celebrate, :n an appropri
ate manner, the B'h of January. This is a
resolution simply asking that notice be giv
en to the public of that day. We declared
an intention, and now, when we cotne to
publish it, some gentleman is suddenly
seized with the -'retrenchment gripes,-' and
squirms around like a long red worm on a
pin hook. (Laughter) Gentlemen keep
continually talking about economy. I my-1
sell, do not believe in tying the public purse
with cobweb strings, but when retrenchment
comes in contact with patriotism, it assumes
the form of "smallness" Such economy
is like that of Old Skinflint, had a pair
of boots made for his Utile boy, without
soles, that they might last the longer.—
I reverence the "day we celebrate." It
is Iraught with reminiscences the most stir
ring ; it brings to mind one of the greatest j
events ever recorded in letters ol living fire
npon the walls of the temple of fame by the
strong right arm # of the god of war! On ;
such occasions we should rise above party
lines and political distinctions I never
fought under the banner of Old Hickory, j
but ' by the E'ernal" I wish I had.
tor and applauscj) If the old war horse ,
was here now, he would not know his <
own children from the side of Joseph's coat j
"of many colors—Whigs, Know Nothings, '
| 'Democrats, hard, soft, boiled, scrambled,and j
-, tried ; Lincolnites, Douglasites, and biath- j
jgyskites ! I belong to no party ; lam free, J
jjjßbridled, and unsaddled, in the
jbature. Like a bod-tailed boll in fly time, !
flggjiaiffla around in the high grass and fight
flies f Great laughter.)
GflMeiDen, let us show our liberality on
patriSHp occasions. Why, some men have
no mffi|ptttrioiism than you could stuff in
the eye ofSikniuing needle. Let us not
squeeze n3S Cents till the eagle on it squeals
like a locomotive or an old maid. Let us
print the bill?and inform the country that
we are as lull aa are lllionis
swamps of tadpoß (Laughter.) I don't
believe in doing tgR by halvea. Permit
me, Mr. Speaker, (Rube a poetical quota
tion Irom one of authors :
"I love to see the the red May
I love to see an old gray horse Jffor when he
goes he OOZSKS !"
Alter the above speech the TTrWhifeind
to lay the resolution on the table
BLOOMSBURG, COLUMBIA WEDNESDAY. MARCH 30. 1859.
I DOWN HILL.
A LIFE PICTURE.
BT BYLVANUB COBB, JR.
I Not long since 1 had occasion to visit one
of our courts, and while conversing with a
legal friend I heard the name of John An
"There is a hard case," remarked my
I looked upon the man in the prisoner's
dock. He was standing up, and he plead
guilty of Theft. He was a man, but bent and
infirm, though not old. His garb was torn,
sparse, and filthy; his face all bloated and
bloodshot; hair matted with dirt; and his
bowed form quivering wilh delirium. Cer
tainly, I never saw a more pitable objeel—
Surely that man was nut born a villain. I
moved my place to obtain a fairer view of
his head. He gazed upon me a single in
stant, and then, covering his face with nis
hands, he sank powerless into his seat.
"Good God !" I involuntarily ejaculated,
starting forward. "Will "
I had half spoken his first name when he
quickly raised his head and cast upon me a
look of such imploring agony that my ton*
gue was tied at once. Then he covered his
face again, i asked my legal companion if
ihe prisoner had counsel. He said no. I
then told him to do all in his power for the
poor fellow's benefit,! would pay him. He
promised, and I left. I could not remain
and see that man tried. Terfrs came to my
eyes as I gazed upon him, and it was not
until I had gained the street and walked i
some distance that [ could breathe freely. '
John Anderson ! Alas! he was ashamed
to be known as his mother's son! That
was not his name ; but you shall know him
by no oilier. I will call him by (he name
that now stands upon the records of the
John Anderson was inv school-mate; and
it was not many years ago—not over twen
ty—that we left our academy together—he
lo return to the home of wealthy parents;
1 to sit down in the dingy sanctum of a
newspaper office for a few years, and then
wander off across the ocean. I was gone
some four years, ar.d when 1 returned, I
found John a married man. His father was
dead and had left his only son a princely
"Ah, C he said to me, as he met
me at the railway station, "you shall see
what a bird 1 have caged. My Ellen is
a lark—a robin—a very princess of all
birds that ever looked beautiful or sang
He was enthusiastic, but not mistaken,
for I found his wife all he had Baid, simply
omitting the poetry. She was truly one of
the most beautiful women I ever saw. And
so good, too—so loving and so kind. Aye—
she so loved John that she really loved all
his friends. What a lucky lellow to find such
a wife. And what a lucky woman to find
such a husband, for John Anderson was as
handsome as she. Tall, strait, manly,high
browed, with rich chestnut curls, and a face
as faultlessly noble and beautiful as ever
artist copied And he was good, too ; and
kind,generous and true.
I spent a week with them, and I was
happy all the while, John's mother lived
with them—a fine old lady as ever breath
ed, and making herself constant joy and
pride in doating upon her "Darling Boy,"
as she always called him. I her an
account of my adventures by sea and land
in foreign climes, and she kissed me when
1 left. She said she kissed me because I
loved her "darling "
I did not see John again for four years. 1
reached his house in the evening. He was
not in, but his wife arid mother were there
to receive me, and two cutley headed boys
were at play about Ellen's chair. 1 knew
at once they were my friend's children
Everything seemed pleasant until the little
ones were a-bed and asleep, and then I
could see that Ellen became troubled. She
tried to hide it, but a lace so used to the
sunshine of smiles could not wear a cloud
Ai length John came. His face was flush
ed, and his eye looked inflamed. He grasp
ed my hand with a happy laugh—called
me '"Old Fellow," "Old Dog,"—said I must
come and live with him, and many other
extravagant things. His wife tried to hide
her tears, while his mother shook her head
"He'll sow these wild oats soon. My
darling never can be a mad man."
"God grant it," I thought to myself; and
I know the same prayer was upon Ellen's
It wa9 late when we retired, and we might
not have done so even then had uot John
fallen asleep in his chair.
On the following morning I walked out
with my friend. I told him I was sorry to
see him as I saw him the night belore.
"Oh," said he, with a laugh, -'that was
nothing. Only a little wine party. We had
a glorious time. 1 wish you had been
At first I thought 1 would say no more ;
but was it not my duty ? I knew his nature
better than he knew it himself. His appe
tite and pleasures bounded his own vision
I knew how kind and generous he was—
alas! too kind— too generous I
"John, could you have seen Ellen's face
last evening you would have trembled
Can you make her unhappy 1" He stop
ped me with—
"Don't be a fool! Why should the be
"Because she fears you are going doton
hill," I told him.
"Did she ay go?" he asked, wilh a (lush
"No—l read it in her looks."
'Perhaps a reflection of your own thoughts,'
" I surely thought so when you came
home," I replied.
Never can I forget the look he gave me
then—so full of reproof, or surprise, and of
"C^—, I forgive you, for I know you to
be my friend : but never speak to me again
I like iliat. 1 going down hill I You know
|my own power. 1 know my own wants
My mother knows me belter than Ellen
I Ah—had that mother been as wise as she
was loving, she would have seen that the
'wild oats' which her son was sowing, would
surely grow up and ripen only to furnish
seed for re-sowing ! But, afie loveJ him—
loved him,almost too well—or I should say
100 blindly. 1 only prayed that God would
guard him; and then we conversed upon
other subjects. I could spend but one day
with him, but we promised to correspond
"lhree years more passed, during which
John Anderson wrole to me at least once a
month and sometimes oftener; but at the
end of that time his letters ceased coming,
and I received no more for two years, when
I aaaiu found myself in Itis native town
It was early in the afternoon when I arrived,
and I took dinner at the hotel.
f had finished my meal and was lounging
in front of the hotel, when 1 saw a fuueral
procession winding into a distant church
yard. I asked the landlord whose funeral
"Mrs. Anderson's" he said, and as he
spoke, I noticed a slight dropping of the
bead, as though it cut him to say so.
"What—John Anderson's wife?"
"No," he replied. "It is his mother;"
and as he said this he turned away; but a
gentleman who stood near, and had over
heard our conversation, at once took up the
"Our host don't seem inclined to con
verse upon that subject," he remarked,
wilh a shrug of the shoulders. " Did you
ever know John Anderson ? "
"He was my schoolmate in boyhood, and
my bosom lrier.d in youth," I said.
He led me one side and spoke as follows :
"Poor John! He was the pride of this
town six years ago. This man opened his
hotel at that time, and sought custom by
giing wine suppers. John was present at
most of thetn—the gayest of the gay, and
the most generous of the party. In fact he
paid for nearly every one ol them. Then
he began to go down hill. And he has been
going down ever since. At limes true friends
have prevailed upon him to stop; but his
slops were of short duration. A short sea
son of sunshine would gleam upon his home
and then the niaht caire more dark and
drear than belore. He said he would never
be drunk again;—yet he would lake a glasi
of wine with a friend I That glass of wine
was but the gate that let in the flood. Six
years ago he was worth sixty thousand
dollars. Yesterday he borrowed fifty dol
lars to pay his mother's funeral expenses !
That poor mo her bore up as long as she
could. She saw her son—her "Darling Boy,"
she always called hiin-broughl home drunk
many times, and sheevrn bote I lows from html
But she's at rest now ! Her "Darling" wore
her life away, and brought her gray hairs
in sorrow to the grave! I hope this may re
I "But his wife?" I asked.
"Her heavenly love has held her up thus
far, but she is only a shadow of the wife
that blessed his home six years ago."
My iutormant was deeply affected, and
so was I, and 1 asked no more.
During the remainder of the afternoon I
debated with myself whether to call upon
John at all. But finally I resolved to go,
though I waited till after tea I found John
and his wife alone. They had both been
weeping, though I could see at a glance
that Ellen's face was beaming with love
and hope. Rut oh ! she was changed—sad
ly, painfully so. They were glad to see me.
and my hand was shakeu warmly.
"Dear C-——, don't say a word of the
past," John urged, lakiug my hand a second
lime. "I know you tpoke the truth to mo
five years ago. 1 was going down hill I But
I've gone as far as I can. 1 stop here at
the foot. Everything is gone but my wife.
I have sworn, and my oath shall be kept.
Ellen and I are going to be happy now."
The poor fellow bursted into tears here
His wile followed suit; and I kept them
compapy. I could not help crying like a
child. My God what a sight! The once
noble, true man so fallen—become a mere
broken glass, the last fragment only reflect
ing the image it at once bore—a poor sup
pliant at the feet of Hope, begging a grain
ol warmth for the hearts of himself a<>d
wife I And bow 1 had honored and loved
that man—and how I loved him still—Oh !
how I hoped—aye more than hoped—l be
lieveu he would be saved. And as I gazed
upon that wife—so trusting so loving, so
true, and so hopeful still, even in the midst
of living death—l prayed more fervently
than I ever prayed before that God would
hold bim up—lead him back to the top of
In the morning I saw the children—grown
to two intelligent boys now—and though
they looked pale and wan, yet they smiled
and seemed happy when their father kissed
them. When John took me by the hand,
and the laat words he said, where—
"Trust me. Believe me now. I will be
Trill ill Bight Mt lit oar Coaatrj.
a MAS henceforth while life lasts I"
A little over two years more had passed,
when I read in a newsprint the death of El
len Anderson. I started for the town where
they had lived as soon as possible, for I
might help— tome onel A fearful present
ment had possessed my mind.
I stopped at the stately house where they
had dwelt, but strangers occupied it.
"Where is John Anderson?" I asked.
"Don't know, I'm sure. He's been gone
these three months. His wife died in the
mad-hous* last week !
"And the children ?"
' O—they both died before she did!"
I staggered back, and hurried from the
place. I hardly knew what way I went,
but instinct led me to the church yard. I
found four graves which had been made in
three ysars. . The mcuhfr, the wife, and
two children slept in tftem
"THE DEMON OF THE WINE TABLE !"—But
this was not all the work. No, no The
next 1 saw—o, God ! —was far more ter
rible ? I saw it in the city court-room.—
But that was not the last—not the last.
I saw my legal friend on the day follow
ing the trial. He said Anderson was in pris
on. I hastened to see him. The turnkey
conducted me to his cell—the key turned in
the huge lock—the ponderous door swung
wilh a sharp creak upon its hinges—and I
saw—a dead body suspended by the neck
from a grating of the window ! I looked at
the horritile face—l could see nothing of
John Anderson there—but the face I had
seen in Ihe court-room was sufficient to con
ned the two; and 1 knew that this was all
that was left ol him whom I had loved BO
And this was ail onhe" Demon's work—
the last act in Ihe terrinble drama ! Ah—
from the first sparkle of the red wine it had
been down—down—down—until the foot of
the hill had been finally reached !
When I returned away from that cell and
once more walked amid the flashing saloons
and revel-halls, I wished lhat my voice had
power to thunder the life story of which I
had been a witness into the ears of all liv
ing men !
ADVENTURE WITH BIFF ALOES.
Mr. Cumming thus describes one of his
encounters with this animal, by himself
and Ruyter, a Bushman, a favorite servant.
On the forenoon of the 26th, I rode to
huut. accompanied by Ruyter; we held
West, skirting the wooded stony mountains.
The natives had here many years, belore
waged successful war with elephants, four
of whose skulls I found. Presently 1 came
across two sassasnybies, one of which I
knocked over; but while! was loading he
regained his legs and made off. We cross
ed a level stretch of forest, holding a north
erly course for un opposite range ot green,
well wooded hills and valleys. Here I
came upon a troop of six fine old bull buf
faloes, into which I stalked, and wounded
one princely fellow behind the shoulder,
bringing blood from his mouth; he, however
made off with his comrades, and the ground
being very rough, we tailed to overtake him.
They held for the Ngotwani. After fol owing
the spoor for a couple of miles, we dropped
it, as it had led right away Irom camp.
Returning from this chase, we had an
adventure with another old bull buffalo,
which shows the extreme danger ol hunt
ing buffaloes, without dogs. *We started him
in a green hollow among the hills, and his
course inclining for camp, I gave him chase.
He crossed the leve broad strath and made
for the opposite densely wooded range of
mountains. Along the base of these we
followed him sometime in view, sometimes
on the spoor, keeping the old fellow at a
pace which made him pant. At lenght
finding himself much distressed, he had
recourse to a singular stratagem. Doub
ling round some thick bushes which obscur
ed him from our view, he found himself
besides a small pool of rain water, just deep
enough to cover his body; into this he walk
ed, and facing about, lay gently down and
awaited our on coming, with nothing but
his old grey face and massive horns above
the water, and these concealed from our
view by rank overhanging herbage.
Our attention was entirely engrossed with
the spoor, and we thus rode boldly on until
within a few feet of him, when springing
to his feet, he made a desperate charge af
ter Ruyter, uttering a low, stifling roar, pe
culiar to buffaloes, (somewhat similar to
the growl of a lion.) and hurled horse and
rider to the ground with fearful violence.
His horns laid the poor horse's haunches
open to the bone, making the most fearlul
In an instant Ruyter regained his feet
and ran for his life which the buffalo ob
serving, gave chase, but most fortunately
came down with a trememlious somersault
in the mud, his feet slipping from under
him ; thus the Bushmen escaped certain
destruction. The buffalo rose much dis
comfited, and the wounded horse first catch
ing his eye, he went a second time at him,
but he got off the way. At this moment I
managed to send one of my patent pacifi
cating pills into hisshoulcer, when he in
stantly quitted the scene of action and
sought shelter in a dense cover on the
mountain side, whither I deemed it impru
dent to follow him.
"SAT, POMP, you nigger, where you get
dat new hat!" "Why, at de shop, ob
course."— - ' What is the price of such an
article as dat V " I don't know, nigger—
I don't know— dttkop kteper wun'tdar."
From Ihe Home Journal.
COME TO ME IN CHERRY TIME.
BT GEORGE P. MORRIS.
Come to me in cherry-time,
And. as twilight closes,
We will have a merry time,
Here amntg the roses !
When the breezes crisp the tide,
And the lindens quiver,
In our bark we'll safely glide
Down the rocky river!
When the stars, with qniel ray,
All the hill tops brighten,
Cherry ripe we'll sing and play
Where the cherries ripen !
Then come to me in cherry-time,
And. as twilight closes,
We will have a meiry time
Here among the roses.
The Dnty of Owning Books.
WR HFNRY WARD BSKCHP.R.
We form judgments of men from little
things about their houses, of which the
owner, perhaps, never think*. In earlier
years, when traveling in the West, where
taverns were either scarce, or, in other pla
ces, unknown, and every settler's house
was a house of ''entertainment," it was a
matter of some importance and some ex
perience to select wise>y where you would
put up And we always looked for flowers.
If there were no trees for shade, no patch
of flowers in the yard, we were suspicious
of the place. But, no matter how rude the
cabin, or rough the surroundings, if we saw
that the window held a little trough for flow
ers, arid that some vines twined about
Btrings let down from Ihe eaves, we were
confident that there was some taste and
carefulness in the .'og cabin. In a new
country, where people have lo tug for a liv
ing, no one will take the trouble to rear
flowers, unless the love of them is pretty
strong—and this taste blossoming out of
plain and uncultivated people is, itself, like
a clump of hare tells growing out ol the
seams of a rock VVe were seldom misled.
A patch of flowers came to signify kind
people, clean beds and good bread.
But, other signs are mnre significant in
other stales of society. Flowers about a
rich man's house may signify only that lie
has a good gardener, or that ne has refined
neighbors, and does what he sees them do.
But men are not accustomed to buy books
unless they want them. If, on visiting the
dwelling ot a man of slender means, I find
the reason why he has cheap carpet, and
very plain furniture, to be that he may pur
chase books, he rises at once in my esteem.
Books are not made lor furniture, but there
is nothing else that so beautifully furnishes
a house. The plainest row of books that
cloth or paper ever covered is more signifi
cant of refinement than the most elaborate
ly carved etagere, or side board.
Give me a house furnished with books
rather than furniture! Both, if-yon can,
but bonks at any rate! To spend several
days in a friend's house, and hunger for
something to read, while you are treading
upon costly carpet, and sitting upon luxu
rious chairs, and sleeping upon down, is
as if one were bribing your body for the
sake of cheating your mind.
Is it not pitiable to see a man growing
rich, and beginning to augment the comforts
of home, and lavishing money on ostenta
tious upholste-y upon the table, upon every
thing but what the soul needs?
We know o( many ami many a rich man's
house where it would not be sale to ask for
the commonest English classics. A few
garish annuals on the table, a lew pictorial
monstrosities, together with the slock of re
ligious books of his "persuasion," and that
is all! No range of poets, no essayists, nq
selection of historians, no travels or biogra
phies—no select fictions or curious legend
ary iore : but then, the walls have paper on
which cost three dollars a roll, and the
floors have carpe s that cost four dollars a
yard! Books are the windows through
which the soul look out. A house without
books is like a room without windows No
man has a right to bring up his children
without surrounding them with books, if he
has the means to buy them. It is a wrong
to his family. He cheats them! Children
learn to read by being in the pieseuce of
books. The love of knowledge comes with
reading, and grows upon it. And the love
of knowledge, iri a young mind, is almost a
warrant against the inferior excitement of
passions and vices.
Lei us pity those poor rich men who live
barrenly in great bookless houses. Let us
congratulate the poor that, in our day, books
are so cheap that a man may every year
add a hundred volumes to his library for
the price of what his tobacco and beer
would cost him. Among the earliest ambi
tions to be excited in clerks, workmen,
jotinuymen, and, indeed among all that are
strangling up in life from nothing to some
thing, i thnt of owning, ar.d constantly
adding to, library of good books. A little
library growing*larger every year is an hon
orable part of a young man's history. It is
a man's duty to have books, if library is
not a luxury, but one of the necessaries of
835 PAYS for a Course of Instruction at the
Iron City College of Pittsburgh, Pa. Young
men graduating at this Institution are guar
antied to be capable to manage the books
of any business concern and qualified to
earn from 8500 to $lOOO per year.
''Mr. Schoolmailtr. do you know alge
bra!" Algebra! No, but 1 know his
father, Colonel Bray, and the girls too."
This is a cousin to the man who didn't konw
mathematics, bat knew Jim Matios like a
We have gathered from the returns the
following names of the officers elected in
the several townships, of this county on last
Friday, and give them publicity as a matter
of local news. We will not vouch for the
correctness of these names, but hope they
are all right.
Bloom—Supervisors,Jno J. Berkley Sam
uel Shaffer, Eli Barton; Overseers of the
Poor, Geo. W. Foster, John B. Pursel; Judge,
Caleb Barton; Constables, Gordon Goff.John
M. Barton; School Directors, Palemon John,
John R. Moyer; Assessor, John M. Cham
berlin ; Inspectors, Richard Menagh, Wra.
Snyder; Auditor, A. J. Sloan.
Briarcreek—Justices ot the Peace, Adam
Suit, Wm Lamnn, Constables, Morris Ed
wards, Silas E. Moyer: Judge, Joseph Kes
ter; Inspectors, D. W. Martz, Isaac Bower;
Auditors, Henry Lamnn, Pefer Traugh, Jno.
H. Smith; Supervisors, Reuben Bower, An
drew Fowler; Assessor, William Erwine;
School Directors, Samuel Dietterick, Geo M.
Bower, Chas. Reed, David Miller, Enos
Fowler; Overseers of the Poor, Henry Diet
terick, Henry Rittenhouse.
Beaver—Supervisors. John Wininger, Sol
omon Swank; Constable, Charles B Tray;
Judge, Stephen Lehr; Assessor, A M Mann;
Auditor, Andrew Shitman; Inspectors, Dan
iel Rehner, Joal Breadhaner; Town Clerk,
Amos Johnson; School Directors, Daniel
Gearhart, Moses Schlicher, John Smith.
Benton—Constable Samuel Kline, Asses
sor, Jacob Welliver; Overseers of the Poor,
Hendnck Bangs, L. H. Priest; School Direc
tors Richard Sti'es. Samuel Hess; Auditor,
J K Ikeler; Judge R. L. F. Collev; Super-1
visors, Peter Kase. Samuel McHenry; In
spectors Adam Lntz, Moses Yocum,
Cattnwissia—Constable, Peter G. Camp
bell; Justice of the Peace, Lewis Yetter; Su
periors, Lewis Melz, Jno. Sco't; Overseers
of the Poor, Solomon D. Rinard, Levi Keiler;
School Di-ectors.l S.Monroe,J S.McNinch,
Nelson John ; Auditor, George Long; In
spectors. George Long, Francis Dean; Judge.
Daniel Kriegh; Assessor, W. H. Kerr.
Centre—Justice of the Peace, Lindley W.
Wooley: Constable, Charles H. Deitterick,
Judge, Samuel Bower; Inspectors, Jos. P.
Conner, Jno. Litler; Over-eers of the Poor,
Geo. Hidlay, Etlwood Hughes; Supervisors,
William Hess, Richard Shannon; Assessor.
Solomon Neyhard; School Directors, Nath
aniel Campbell, Gilbert H Fowler, William
Shaffer; Auditor, Ellwood Hughes.
Conyngham—Justice ol the Peace, Silas
Davis; Constable Patrick Burke; Supervisors
Reuben Masser, William L. Kline; Assessor
Patrick Burke; Judge, D T. McKurnan; In
spectors, Richard Hughe", Andrew Hanner;
Auditors, I. L Beadle. George Scott; School
Directors, I. L. Beadle, Ab. Womer, I. C.
Deener; Overseers of the Poor, Reuben
Wasser Jno. R. Jones.
Fisliingcreek—Constable, J. C. Rimyan;
Judge, Nathan Fleckensiine, Assessor. Dan
iel McHenry; Auditor, M. A. Ammermari;
School Directors. Jonas Doty, Phi'ip Apple
man, R. B. Bright; Inspectors, Hiram Bit
lenbender, David Savage; Overseers of the
Poor, John Dresher, A. VV. Robbins; Super
visors, Thos J. Hutchinson, John Wenner.
Franklin—Constable, Ths Hower; Judge,
Daniel Knittie; Inspectors, Dan'l Zarr, Clin
ton Mendenhall; Assessor, Aaron Lamber
son; Supervisors, Jesse Cleaver, Samuel
Lorman; Overseers of the Poor, Solomon
Arlley, William Mensch; School directors,
John Lawrence, Soloman Arlley, Joseph
Hartman; Auditor, Abraham Lillie.
Greenwood—Constable, Jacob Berlin; Su
pervisors, Clark Merrill, William Robbins;
Poor Overseers. Elisha Hayman, Wm. M.
McMichael; School Directors, Johnson H.
Ikeler, John Slaley; Auditors, John Staley,
Wilson M. Eaves, John P. Kester; Judge,
Joseph R. Patton; Inspectors, Enos Hay
cock, Jacob Evans.
Hemlock—Constable, Dan'l Neyhard; Su
pervi-ors, Reuben T. Folk, Franklin Mc-
Bride; Poor Overseers, Geo L, Shoemaker,
T J. Vanderslice; School directors. Jacob
Harris, James Emmitl, Mathins Appleman;
Assessor, John H Fanst; Judue George W.
Hetlle: Inspectors, Hugh A. Hartman, Ma
thias Girton. Hugh D Mcßride.
Jackson—Constable. Jeremiah H. Yocum;
Supervisors John Savage. Michael Remley;
Poor Overseers, Hiram Baker, Elisha Rob
bins; School Directors, James W. Kitchen,
Jeremiah Kline; Assessor, James Yocum:
Judge, John Savage; Inspectors, Jno. Pousl,
Alvin McHenry; Auditor, John T, Derr.
Locust—Justice of the Peace, P. K. Her
bine; Constable, Solomon FetteTman; Su
pervisors, Mayberry Snyder, Charles Fetter
man; Poor Overseers, Jacob Helwig, Jacob
S'ine; School Directors Benj. Wagner, Jacob
Stine; Assessor, Isaac Fahrisiger; Judge,
William Goodman; Inspectors. David Hel
wig Cyrus ShafTer; Auditor, Isaac Rhodes.
Mifflin—Constable, Lewis Eckroat; Su
pervisors, John B Angle, Phenis Smith;
Poor Overseers, E. B. Brown, S. H. Swank;
School directors. Abraham Schweppenheis
er Stephen Gearhart; Assessor, Lawrence
Wat ers; Judge John Michael, jr.; Inspec
tors, Charles Werkheiser, W. F. Keller:
Auditor, Abraham Smith.
Maine—Justice of the Peace, William L.
Shuman; Constable, Rudolph Shuman; Su
pervisors, Jno Nuss, Henry Bowman; Sch'l
Directors, Isaao Yelters, Jno. Harman, Hen
ry Hartsel; Poor Overseers, Daniel Yeiler,
H. G. C John; Assessor, Jesse John; Judge,
Michael Grover; Supervisors Jesse Nuss,
Daniel Miller; Auditor, John Kelchner.
Montour—Constable, Even Welliver; Su
pervisors, John Deitterick, David W. Clark!
Overseers of the Poor, Joseph Mouser, Peter
Heimbach; School Directors, Joaiah Roberts,
Lewis Roat; Judge, I. M. Evans; Inspectors,
[Two follan per AnnM.
James Barton, David W. Clark; Anditor, J.
G. Quirk; Assessor, Cadwalader Roberts.
Madison—•Constable. Milton Cox; Judge,
Elias Bogart; Assessor, Conrad Kreamer;
Supervisors, Isaae Wagner, Wm. B. Welli
ver; School Directors, Joseph Correll, O. P.
Hunyan; Overseers of Ibe Poor, Samuel
Brugler, Samuel Himby, Inspectors, Silas
VVelliver, Erastus Hendershot; Auditor, J.
Mount Plea<ant—Constable, Johrt Ship,
man; Assessor, John Johnson ; Supervisors,
j James Boon, Joseph Ike'er; Overseers of the
j Poor Edmund Crawford, Levi Garret: School
j Directors, Joseph E Sands Amos lleacock;
, Judge, Samuel Oman; Inspectors, Andrew J.
Ike'er George W. Jacoby; Auditor, Joseph
| Orange.—Overseers of the poor, William
! Fritz Micheal, Hagenbuch : Auditor, Wm.
I Fritz; Assesor Alfred Howcl; School Direct'
i ors, John Covenhoven, John Sterner, Abner
| Welsch. Edward McHenry; Constable,
! Micheal Keller: Supervisors, Peter P. Kline,
! Abner Welsch; Judge, Jacob Snyder; In-
I spectors, Benj. Jones. Benj Evens,
j Pine—Constable, A. J. Manning; Assesor
! A. J. Manning ; Auditor, John Lore ; Judge
Elijah Fulmer; Inspectors, Clark Whitmyer,
Valentine Wintersiean; School Directors,
John Lore, John Gardener; Supervisors,
j Thomas Larland, George Stackhouse; Poor
i Overseers, Benj Wintersteen, George Wei-
Roaringcreek-Judge, John Rairig; In.
[ spectors, William Rhoads.Elias Rairig: Ov
j er-eers ol the Poor, Abraham. Beaver, Wil
liam Yocum; Supervisors, Daniel Rairig,
! Daniel Gearhart; School Directors, Elias
Rairig, Samuel Gable; Auditor, Michael
Federolf; Assessor, Charles Dyer, Constable
John T. Kass. '
Scott-Aud.lor, H. W. Creasy; Inspectors,
Barton. James W. Sankey: Justice of
j the Peace, Isaac McKamey; Judge, Cyrus
Barton; School Directors, Josiah Smith, Eli
Creveling; Assessor, Lewis Appleman; Su
pervisors, H. B. Melick, Aaron Boone; Poor
Overseers, Samuel Melick, Henry Tremb
ley: Constable, Joseph Lillie.
Sugarioal—Auditor, James Shnltz; Asses
sor, Richard Kile; Inspectors, Elias S Fritz,
William L Herringer; Constable, Josiah R
Fritz; School directors, Josiah R. Fritz,
| seph Yorks; Supervisors, Woolcot Harvey;
j Andrew Hess; Judge. Andrew Hess; Poor
Overseers, Thomas Q. A Stephens, Cfiris
tian L. Moore.
DARIM FEAT AT K7GTR|.
CROSSING STILTS ABOVE THZ FALLS.
A correspondent of the Chicago Prtsi
and Tribune gives the following particulars
of the recent insane hazard at Niagara Falls
of Signor Gaspa Morelli, Alias Andrew
Greenleaf, a dare devil Yankee boy, who
for a wager of 81,000, on Monday week
actually crossed Niagara river, walking
upon stilts, between Goat Island and the
Falls. This writer says:
Punctually at 7 o'clock, Morelli appear
ed, in fine spirits and condition.—He had
with him a pair ol stilts about twelve feet
long, made of wrought iron, flat, sharp
edged and pointed-shaped, in fact, almost
precisely like a double edged dagger. These
were firmly lashed to bis legs, and he walk
ed towards the terrible river with a confi
dent smile. The morning was clear and
cold, but he was attired very lightly, in a
dress not unlike that usually worn by pro
fessional gymnasts. At ten minutes past
seven he stepped into the water, which in
another moment was boiling, surging, and
rushing beneath his feet. The boldest look
ers on held his breath in suspense, as the
daring man receded from shore. He alone'
seemed unmoved, and passed on, slowly
and carefully, avoiding , the larger rock*
wh'ch were made apparent by the eddying
current. His steps at first were very short
and carefully made, hut afterwards became'
bolder and longer.
| Hie stilts, of couse, were so placed that
the current struck only against their sharp
edges, and produced but little effect, but
I the danger from the sunken rocks, and the
conviction that a single false setps would'
j send him to death produced a feeling that
I was horribly painful. Once or twice he
I eeemei l lo lose his balance, and a sicken
ing shudder ran through each one of the
beholders. Recovering himself he kept
| on—still receded, until to our straining eyes
: he could scarcely be distinguished from the
foaming waters The middle of the river
was attained at last; hows seemed'to Hkve
fled, but it was barely geveteen minutes
since he left the shore. As he approached
the deepest and most dangerous part ot his
route, the suspense became more fearfully
intense —No word was spoken, except that
one man offered another five dollars for a
moments use of his lorgnette, which offer
passed unheeded. Just as Morelli reached
the swiftest and deepest portion of the cur
rent, he seemed to bitter—sink—he threw
up his arms ! I closed my eyes. Opening
them a moment after, I saw that he was
still standing. A few moments more and
he had reached the Canadian bank—and
he fell exhausted into the arms of two men
who where waiting for him.
At this hour (S P- M ) lie had nearly re
covered, and though still in bed, receives
the congratulations of (joAens of visitors'
who came pouring in. He' left the Ameri
can shore 960 feet above the fait, And came
out about 1,000 feet above the Canadian.
The money has already been handed over
to him, and all wid agree that it was fairly
Nothing is more odious than the face
that smile* abroad, but flashes fury amid
the caresses of ■ tender wits and children.
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