PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY is MUSSEK'S BUILDING-, Corner of Main and Penn S., at SI.OO PER ANNT*, IN ADVANCE; Or 11,31 if sot piii ia aJv&ace. ic;sp!al Correspondent SMid, ffTAddrees all letters to "MILLHEIM JOURNAL." Life's Mirage. BaJ woul 1 the silt waves be And cold the sieging M-a, And daik the gulls that echo to the seven string**? lyre, It things wire what they seem, If earth h id no fair dream, No mirage made to tip the dull sea line with fire. Bm on the shores of time. Uriuing tho breakers chime, Falling by day anil night along our human sand, The poet sits and sees, Borne on the morning breeze, The phantom ulands fl iat a furlong from the land. Content to know them there. Hung in the sli ning air, He trims no loolish sad to win the hopeless coast. Ills vision is enough To lee I his soul with love, And he who gia>|s too much mxy even him self bo losu £itn uni GJSSC. IF THEY HAD KNOWN. "So you've come back again, Jerome ?" said old Mr. Sew ell. "Well, we heard you was thinkin' of returniii' to Elm Mountain. Bad pennies always come back—ha! ha! hiU And you didn't make such a big lortuue as you calcu lated. eh?" Jerome Clay leaned over the old zig zag rail fence and rubbed his eyes* Had time stood still till these years while he had been in the South ? For here was Farmer Sewell in the same old blue-checked overalls, with the same • battered straw hat, the same wrinkles between his brows, driving the same old jed cows home through the twilight lane, t\hero the scent of trampled spearmint came up, and the melan choly notes of a distant whip-poor-will sounded faintly on the purple silence. And yet —and yet it was twenty odd years since he had left Elm Mountain, with {ill his worldly goods balanced in a bundle on his back. He had been a lashing lad of twenty-one then; there were silver hairs in his black locks, now, and he had left a dead past buried under the sweet magnolia groves. And here was Moses Sewell, just the same as ever, only a trifle yellower ami more dried up. "Yes," Clay said, quietly, "I've come back. And you are right when you say fortunes don't grow on every bush." "Goin'to your uncle's house?" said Mr. Sewell, leaning over the bars. "He's dead and buried, poor fellow. • Always had a weak chest, you know. And the gals ain't no younger—the ;hree old maids we call 'em—ha, ha, sa!" And again the old farmer chuckled cimseif into a state of semi-suffocation. '"Come in and see us," said he. "My laughter Aurilla she's come back a widow and does tailorin' and plain sewin'. The old woman's stone deaf out she's dreadful quick at catchin' a person's meaning!" J And off he trudged over the bruised patches of sweet-smelling spearmint, ! lis broad figure vanishing into the gloom like a shadow. "Three old maids, eh?" repeated Jerome Clay to himself. "Clara and Bess and little Kate, the golden-haired beauty, the soft-eyed poetess, the bright little sprite who was a mixture of Undine and Queen Mab. Then, surely, Father Time has not stood still!" The light was shining out, as of old, from the red-curtained casement, the great fire of logs was blazing on the hearth, and the three cousins greeted the returned wanderer with unaffected warmth. They were changed, of course. What else could have been expected ? The Beauty had grown sharp and frefckled, and her lovely hair had lost Its burnish, and she was not quite as bidy as she used to be in the old days ;.bout her ribbons and frills. Soft eyed Bessie's sweet voice had degener ated into a whine; she had grown round-shouldered and lost one of her front teeth; and little Kate was a stout, middle-aged woman, who reminded one of Undine no more. But they were his cousins still—the girls who had romped and flirted with him in due arithmetical progression. And there still existed a bond of stead fast friendship, and he told them the itory of the southern wife who had been buried for five years under the magnolias, and they all sympathized, and Beauty even cried a little. "I have brought my three children to the North," he said. "I left them in New York, and if I can get some gen uine, whole-souled woman to take charge of my home, I'm thinking of settling here in Elm Mountain. Clara, dear, you used to be fond of me in the old times! What do you say to under taking this charge?" The Beauty seemed to grow smaller, sharper, more business-like, all in a second. If Cousin Jerome had come home a millionaire, she would have jumped into his arms. But Clara Neely was not romanti- ?lt( mtllltdm jiirual. DEININGER & BUMILLFR, Editors and Proprietors VOL. LVII. cally inclined. To her, love in a cot tage possessed no charms. "I couldn't, Jerome," she answered quickly. * I'm not Aery strong, and I couldn't assume any responsibility of this arduous nature. Besides, I'm not fond of children. I'm greatly obliged to you, I'm sure, but I'd rather not." Jerome Clay bit his lip. "Of course," ho said, "it is for you to decide. But if Bessie—" The poetess shrugged her shoulders, iuul laughed a light, shrill-sounding cachinnation. "Cousin Jerome," said she, "it's just as well to be frank about these matters. I wouldn't marry a poor man—not if I loved him like Borneo and Juliet. It's ba I enough to scrape along as we do here, with only half whatono requires to live on decently. But to plunge into poverty, with two or three children belonging to another woman—no, 1 thank you!" For time, as may easily be perceived, had eliminated a great deal of the poetical element from Bessie Xeely's soul. The quondam Undine did not wait for the question, as far {is she was con cerned, but added, promptly, that she quite agreed with her sisters in all these matters. "It's such a pity you didn't stay here where you were well off, Jerome," said she, in the pitying, patronizing manner which your genuine man most abhors. "Dear p;u you know, always disap proved of your going South. And you might have got the situation of agent to the AY bite Castle place, at eight hundred a year, and cottage found, if you'd only been here on the spot. Pa used to know the old agent, and could have recommended you!" Jerome smiled. "White Castle?" said he. "That's the big house on the hill, where we children used to peep at the roses and white grapes through the glass sides of the great green-house. A grand place, as I remember it." "And the position of agent is most responsible and highly considered,'' broke in Bessie. Jcronifl rbv w#l tiwn*, fooling rather depressed. ' It is not the lot of every man to be thrice rejected in one evening. "They think I am a failure in life," said he, half smiling, half sighing. •'Well, perhaps they are not wrong. People's ideas differ." Aurilla Haven, the old farmer's daughter, had been a wild hoyden of a school girl when Jerome Clay went South. She was a silent, pale woman of three-and-thirty now, who did the "tailoress" work of the neighborhood, and had hard work to get along. But her dark-brown eyes lighted up when Mr. Clay spoke of his far-off home, and her cheek glowed scarlet when Mr. Sewell chuckled out: "So the three old maids wouldn't have nothing to say to you? Ha, ha, ha!" "Do you blame them?" said Jerome. "AVell, no," confessed the old man. "Gals naturally want to better them selves nowadays. If you'd come back with your pockets full of gold, they'd sing a different song you'd see." Aurilla looked pityingly at Jerome Clay. She, too, had found life a fail ure, and in her quiet way did all that she could to comfort the tall, quiet man who had hire:l the spare chamber in her father's house for a few weeks, since his cousins had altogether omit ted to invite him to be their guest at the old place. She was not pretty—never had been —but she had a sweet, oval face, with dark-fringed eyes, and a mild, wistful expression which Jerome Clay liked. And one day she spoke out what was in her heart. "Mr. Clay," she said, "I can't help thinking of those poor, little, mother less children of yours. If you will bring them here, I'll take care of them I always liked children, and it shall cost you nothing. Father will let me have the big north bed-room for a nursery, and their board won't signify. They can go to the public school, and I'll make their clothes, if you'll buy the material." "Aurilla, you are a genuine woman," said Mr. Clay, earnestly. "None of my cousins have spoken to me like this." "Perhaps—perhaps they didn't think of it!" faltered Aurilla. "Possibly," drily remarked Mr- Clay. "But, Aurilla," gently detain ing her hand, "is it of my children only that you think? Have you no tender, pitying feeling—the sweet sen sation that is akin to love, you know— for me? Aurilla, will you become my wife?" And Aurilla did not refuse! "Now that you have promised to marry me," said Jerome Clay, "1 will tell you all my plans, Aurilla. I have bought a house here—" "Here, Jerome?" "Yes, here. AVill you eome with me to look at it?" "I will go wherever you wish, Jerome," said the bride-elect in a sort of innocent bewilderment. Mr. Clay put her into a little carriage at the door, and drove her up the mountain-side, through the huge, stone gateway of White Castle, to the velvet lawns in front of the colonnad ed portico, where statues of Ceres and Proserpine stood in dazzling marble on either side, and an antique sun-dial marked the golden footsteps of the God ol' day. "It's a beautiful place!" said Aurilla, looking admiringly around. "But why are we stopping here, Jerome?" "Because, Aurilla," he answered, quietly, "it is our home." "You mean to tell me, dear," cried the delighted widow, "that you've been fortunate enough to receive the agency? I thought Mr. Wright—" "Mr Wright is the agent still," said Clay. "What I mean, is that I have bought White Castle and its grounds. This tine old house is to be your home henceforward, Aurilla." "But, Jerome, I thought you were a poor man?" "Did I ever tell you so?" ho laugh ingly retorted. "Did I ever tell any one so? If the good people of Elm Mountain chose to believe me a pauper, is it fair to hold me responsible for their rash conclusions? No, Aurilla! In money I am rich—rich beyond my wildest aspirations. But when first I came to Elm Mountain, I believed my self bankrupt, indeed, in tho sweet coin of love and human kindness Sweetheart, it is not so with mo now. It was your hand that unlocked the gate of happiness to me! It shall be your hand that is to reap the rich re ward." He bent and kissed her forehead ten derly. "But the children ?" she cried. "The children are with their mater nal aunt, at the AVindsor hotel, in New York," he answered. "The boy is soon to enter college, the girls are both en gaged to be married to southern gentle men, and after a brief visit here, will return to New Orleans with their aunt. Co, r tcuili 1 wV'IR lUIdU was not required after all!" Aurilla sighed softly. She hud somehow longed for the touch of little children's hands in her own, the sound of small, shrill voices in her ear. But she looked into Jerome's loving eyes, and was satisfied. lie loved her—was not that enough ? And the three old maids are sharper, more untidy and shrill-voiced than ever since they have realized the fatal mistake they made in rejecting the overtures of their cousin Jerome. And a maneuvering, managing creature is the tenderest appellation they apply to Mrs. Jerome Clay. Things would have been so widely dif ferent if they had only known!— Hellen Forrest Grates. Thunder-Storms. The tendency of thunder-storms to follow a comparatively narrow track is one of their most characteristic feat ures. Everybody who has lived in the country knows how these storm giants stalk across hills and valleys, pursuing a course that can be traced almost as easily as that of a tornado, drenching the farms in their path with rain and shattering trees anil hayricks with lightning, and leaving adjoining farms untouched. In any broad river valley skirted by hill ranges, affording exten sive views, the phenomenon of a pass ing thunder-storm moving at right angles to the observer's line of sight, can be frequently witnessed in the summer. It is like a distant view of a battle, and when beholding it one can hardly wonder that old Thomas Robin son, in his "Short Treatise of Meteorol" ogy," printed upward of two hundred years ago, described a thunder-storm as an actual battle between an army of fire and an army of water. A little of his curious description is worth quot ing: "The Battel by this time growing very hot the Main Bodies engage, and then nothing is to be heard but a Thundering Noise, with continual Flashes of Lightning, and dreadful Showers of Rain, falling down from the broken Clouds. And sometimes ran dom shots flie about, kill both Men and Beasts,fire and throw down Houses, split great Trees and Rocks, and tear the very Earth." Although the chances of any partic ular man being killed by lightning are very small, yet the actual number o persons thus killed in a summer is sometimes startlingly large. Fortunate ly, lightning can be guarded against, and those who do not expose them selves out of doors during a thunder storm are not in much danger. In large cities, too, with the exception, perhaps, of the suburbs, disastrous ac cidents from lightning are less frequent than in the country.— New York Sun. They are never alone that are ac. CQittpaaied with noble thoughts. MILLHEIM, FA., THURSDAY, JUNE 7,1883. PEARLS OF THOUGHT. The brave man carves out h!* own fortune. A life spent worthily should be measured by a nobler line— by deeds, not years. lie is most to blame who breaks the law—no matter under what provoca tion he act. Nothing can constitute good breed ing that has not good nature for its foundation. Men are sometimes Accused of pride merely because their accusers would be proud themselves if they were in their places. By rousing himself, bv earnestness, by restraint and control, the wise man may make for himself au island which no flood can overwhelm. Some people are nothing but money, and pleasure. These three things engross their thoughts, and take up their whole soul. Perseverance can sometimes equal genius in its results. There are only two creatures," says the eastern prov erb, "which can surmount the pyra mids—the eagle and the snail." The beginning of hardship is like the first taste of bitter food—it seems for a moment unbearable; yet, if there is nothing else to satisfy our hunger, we take another bite and find It possi ble to go on. One ought to love society if he wish es to enjoy solitude. It is a social na ture that rolitilde works upon with the most various power. If one is misan thropic, and betakes himself to loneli ness that he may get away from hate ful things, solitude is silent emptiness to him. Peace is better than joy. Joy is an uneasy guest, and is always on tip-toe to depart It tries and wears usooutt t and yet keeps us ever fearing that the next moment it will be gone. Peace is not so. It comes more quietly, it stays more contentedly, and it never exhausts our strength, nor gives us one anxious, forecasting thought. GEMS FOR THE MONTHS. Tallinunlr I'reclon- Sloiiei - Nuperill tloii- ItfVereiiff for Jtwrli. In more modern times each month has had a geui consecrated to it, and the wearing of a particular precious stone, as a talisman, by a lady born in a given month is supposed to be more than usually fortunate. The system of divining applies only to women and theoretically is infallible. She who is born in January should wear only garnets, which would insure her the friendship and fidelity of her associates and will also render her true to them. Those born in February must wear the amethyst, which will make them sin cere with others, and will insure them against poisons and passions and cares. Those whose birthday falls in March will be wise, brave anil firm by nature, and will be assisted in these qualities by wearing a blood-stone. The dia mond is sacred to April, and will keep her who is born in that month inno cent till death, while the lady born in May should wear an emerald, which will be certain to make her a loved and happy wife. Those born in June should wear an agate to bring them health, wealth, peace ot mind anil long life, while the ruby clears away the doubts, anxieties and pangs of love for those born in July. The sardonyx is for those born in August; with it as a finger ring, they are absolutely certain to gain husbands anil happiness; with out it they arc bound to live alone, anil to die unwept, unhonored and unsung- The sapphire is good to prevent or cure insanity, and is especially beneficial to those born in September, while the topaz, an emblem of friendship and love, is dear to those who first saw the light in November, and the turquoise, the emblem of success, must bo worn by those whose birthday comes in December. The superstitious reverence with which jewels are often regarded also appears in the habit almost uni versal in the East of naming the more valuable stone 3. The Kohinoor and the Kohitoor are examples too well known to need more than mention, hut there are scores of others. The treas uries of the East from the earliest time have abounded with diamonds,various ly known according to their beauty. There were the Sea of Fire, the River of Light anil the Son of God, the Eye of God and the Star of Gabriel, the Ocean of Love and the Mountain of Beauty, the Delight of AVomen, the Pleasure of the King, the Delight of the Eyes and the Pride of the Treasury stones were often the Gift of Allah, the Angel of the Mount ain, the Boast of the River, the Soul of the Queen and the Star of the Ocean. Nor were diamonds alone in being named, since other equally favored in this way, and the superstitious reverence felt for them is quite clearly manifest.— Globe- Democrat. A PAPER U)R THE HOME CIRCLE. A CHINESE DINNER. Tl'.f Plcturexji*© fin liquet in e Manda rlu't Household. Our party of five English guests, met in G.'s office, and proceeded in In dian file, ea?h in his sedan chair threading our way through narrow streets dimly lit with Chinese lan terns, says a writer in the Fall Mall Gazette descibing a Chinese dinner. We stopped in a narrow lime on the outskirts of the town, entered a shab by-looking doorway and mounted a ladder-like staircase. This led into a suite of rooms, where 1 found myself wishing for Argus' eyes to take in the hundred now aspects. They were not large or gorgeous, like Sidonia's apart ments in Holywell street, but quaint and curiously furnished. A long ta ble of black lacquer, and square-cut chairs with marble blocks down eith- er side, at the end a smoking divan with embroidered silk hangings. Thie was the ante-room. Two doorways led from it into the dining room, and in the space between them was a sort of kaleidoscope pattern of a colored glass, below which were rich hang ings, with grotesque dragons in gold thread sprawling over a crimson silk ground. Over the doorway was open arabesque work of ebony, ami beyond the dining-room was a veranda with orange trees and creepers. While we were being introduced, tea was served in Chinese fashion—an invert ed saucer is dropped into the cup to keep down the tea leaves (teapots are unknown in China,) and you sip, or, if you are a novice like myself, you spill, the fluid that finds its way between the two. Then we went to dinner, a party of twelve. On my right was an old merchant, sagacious and humorous, to judge by his looks and what I could make out of his broken English. On my left was a young half-caste, edu cated in the government school here— fluent, sallow and conceited, Chairs, knives and forks had been provided for the English guests, but we soon discarded the chairs for the comforta ble lounges on which our hosts were seated, and also took to chopsticks, Y% itu ilid ocCMSlOUcii dsaiattuiv.il ox spoon. Those chopsticks were a per fect godsend, and I never should have survived without their help. But I must explain. The dinner which con sisted of some thirty courses, was all served in teacups. Cup followed cup, each filled with some kind of mince, some in broth and some dry, but all satisfying as raspberry vinegar. Now the chopsticks allowed us to taste each one in succession, and though we were not skilled enough to consume all we might ha\e liked of the few good, we could toy with the many nas ty ones and leave them without giving offense. The bird's nest soup with which we began was negative—a sort of striDgy arrowroot; but the shark's fin and fishes maw stewed with ham were as rank as conger eel. Quaib partridge and lobster are good all the world over, and the bamboo shoots and wood fungus with which they were served were no bad substitute for as paragus and mushrooms. But the stewed seaweed and sinews of the deer? Had it not been for the excellent dry champagne, I must have succumb ed. The last course was exquisite, and brought back memories of the "Arabian Nights"—honey cakes, earth nuts and stewed lotus seeds in syrup. Dinner over, we lit cigars, and strains of music were heard from the next room. Two young girls, one of them dressed as a Ik>v, sang alternately, ac companying themselves on a sort of zither, played, however, not with the thumb, but a mallet or rather a min ute halberd. My young Chinaman apologized for what he called our na tional caterwauling; but, though the notes were thin and shrill, yet instru ment and voice went so well together* and the air was so natively plaintive, that I listened with pleasure. There was an opium pipe in the divan, and our host, though not a smoker himself, offered to have a pipe prepared for me. The servant brought a small pellet of opium, which he held over a flame till it boiled up to a big bubble. It was then put all hot into the bowl, and I gave {is instructed a succession of short,- quick pulls. In a minute it was out, leaving a sweet, sickly taste in my mouth, but producing no effect, pleas, ant or otherwise, on my nerves. Reg ular smokers swallow the smoke, and no doubt that makes a difference. Taking His Father's Advice. An Arkansaw boy, writing from college in reply to his father's letter, said: "So you think that I am wasting my time in writing little stories for the local papers, and cite Johnson's saying that the man who writes ex cept for money is a fool. I shall act upon Dr. Johnson's Suggestion and write for money. SeDd me fifty dol larti'-jirfaimw TryselW* Terms, SIOO Per Year in Advance WHY HEARTS BREAK. A Physician'* .ttatter-ot-Vact Rotation of the Vexliiß Problem. "A healthy man or wo?rran does not die of a broken heart," a well-known physician said. "A healthy heart is only big muscle, and nobody can have grief enough to break it. When, therefore, a blooming young widow shows apparently inconceivable grief at the death of her husband, and in a short time recovers her equanimity, she ought not to be accused of hypocrisy. Neither may it be concluded that another woman who soon pines and dies has had more affection for her husband than the first. The iirst widow may have even more, affection than the other, but have been sustain ed by physical health. "It is erroneous to suppose that death by heart dise;ise is always sudden. It is very comruonly protracted for years, and exists undetected by most skillful phyiscians only to be developed by some sudden occurrence. There was an eminent physician of Brooklyn, in active practice, who died within an hour of the time when he was about to lecture. He was so well, that after examination by skillful physicians of a first-class insurance company, he was declared perfectly sound, and a policy for SIO,OOO insurance on his life reach ed his home before his body was cold* The cause of death was a mystery until the post-mortem examination, by I)r. John (J. Johnson, of Brooklyn* showed that a little piece of chalky de posit in the heart had become loosened and formed an embolism. The man had simply taken some specimens out of his desk, and he died in his chair without any excitement or undue effort. Any little excitement might have done it, and then his death would have been cited as that from broken heart "So-called deaths from broken hearts may be frequently traced in this way. One exertion as well as another may furnish the requisite culmination. Medical books are tilled with instances of death by heart disease during the performance of pleasurable functions. TTUv.** u Uv.uvl Xlf lw W to put on him the finishing stroke, but it is inaccurate to give the finishing touch all the blame of his death- When a woman loses her husband, or a girl loses her lover, and by nervous exhaustion, loss of sleep, lack of nour ishment, and grief, weakens the action of her heart, she is said to die of a broken heart, but she has, in fact died of a very ordinary disease. "The case of Bill Poole, living for ten days with a ball in his heart, is often spoken of as remarkable, but Dr. Flint records a case where a man had a ball in his heart twenty years, and finally died of pneumonia. Both these men had healthy hearts, and could not have had them broken by grief. Yet, in fact, more women than men die of heart disease. Out of sixty-one ob served cases, thirty-seven were males. Another record showed that in sixty two cases of rupture of the heart, there was fatty degeneration existing; In other words, where fat is substituted for muscle, the organ is easily broken- If any of these people had been sub jected to sudden grief, they might have furnished illustrations of heart-break ing. One medical observer records one hundred cases of rupture of the heart where there was no grief to account for it In fact, grief is a very rare cause of heart-breaking. "Disease is the real cause of heart breaking, and the various kinds of dis ease which leads to it are so many that volumes would be necessary to describe them. The cause of these diseases are manifold, and are very much under the control of the individual. There are, of course, hereditary tendencies to heart disease; but aside from traumatic causes, these tendencies may exist for years without fatal result. "It is a curious fact that the least dangerous heart disease often creates the most apprehensions. Frequently patients who have only a functional or curable disorder will not be persuaded that calamity does not impend, although there may be no real danger. On the other hand, organic disease g may exist unsuspected. There are sympathetic relations between the mind and the heart, and disorders of the heart are frequently traceable to mental excitement, either pleasurable or painful. Quick beating of the heart is no certain symptom of danger. It has been demonstrated that the pulse may safely range from 100 to 140 per minute for many years.— Alt a Califor nia. Fruit may be ripened by the electric light, but it is said that it is unpalata ble. Strawberries grown in this way l.ast year under the direction of Profes sor Siemens were worthless. Some melons ripened were of such poor quality that to render them eatable they would need tojbe strongly flavored with QQndimeots. NEWSPAPER LAWS. If subscribers order the discontinuation of newspapers, the publishers may oontinueto send them until all arrearages are paid. If subscribers refuse or neglect to take their newspapers from the offloe to which they are aw> held responsible until they bare settled the bills ana ordered them ait continued. * I If subscribers move to other place® with out informing the publisher, and the news papers are sent to toe former plaoe of resi dence, they are then responsible. ADmKSiwd Ixfti. ~ lanww WW iToo 8sffis:::::::: IS W a'* MY if I I oolnmn 800 HOI SO TO | M (101 60 00 "On* inch matuw tn*r* AjdmiuJßtrtor Mu fcx •catora' JYotle** $3.60. Tmutoot dvrtiMfßtmt and , tooala 10 cot par Ua* for first tnurtiua and 5 ctnte par Its* aM>ti additional insertion. NO. 23. Tbe Dnde. •'"What is the dude, papH?"*he said, With sweet and inquiring ejes; And to the knowledge-eeekiog maid Her daddy thus replies: A weak mustache, a cigarette, A tbirteen-button vet, A curled-rim hat—a minaret— f ' Two watch chains across the breast. A pair of bags, a Inzy drawl, A lack-a-daisy air, For goseip at tbe club f r ball Some little "past affair." i Two pointed shoes, two spindle aha- Complete the nether charms, And follow tidy ia the tanks, The two bow-legged arias. An empty head, a buffoon's sense, A posing attitude; "Jty Jove!" ' Egad!" "But aw'" "Immense'" All theee make op tbe dnde. - —Philadelphia Preu. PUNGENT PARAGRAPHS. j. . The barber is a man of many scrapes. If love is blind, the girls go to • great deal of trouble in fixing up ! their hair when they expect their j beaux. Hens may be a little backward on ' eggs; but they never fail to come tc the scotch where flower-beds are con cerned. The doctor who says it is unhealthy to sleep in feather is mistaken; look at the spring chicken and see how tough he is. A fond father boasted that his son would make a great sculptor, because he chisseled his playmates out of their playthings. A disappointed tradesman says he wishes he was a rumor, because a rumor soon gains currency, which he is unable to do. The condor of the Andes is said to kill its prey with its bill, and the high toned milliners are trying the same game on the married man. Dr. Armitage says, "Man should always be graceful." Did the doctor ever have on a new suit and try to git out of the way of a watering-cart? Guess not. "Yes," she said to the gorgeous 1 youth who was her devoted slave, "I , keep this gilded new five-cent piece in my pocket, and I never see it without thinking of you. "Doctor," asked Z. of a witty physi cian, "why do you and your brethren never go to funerals?" "Because ! we should have the air of taking our I work home." When you see a man sit down in a barber's chair, pin' the newspaper ; around his neck and begin to read the ; towel, you may put hira down as 1 absent-minded. j Origin of Thirteen at Table. Says the Milwaukee Evening Wis consin: There seems to be a universal and widespread superstition against thirteen persons sitting down at table together. Indeed, so prevalent and strong is this feeling, that a hostess ar ranging for guests is sure to provide against the contingency and eschew, i/ possible, the fatal number. We havi known ladies to rise panic stricken from a table where the number was inadvertently discovered, and the omen is popularly believed to denote eithei trouble, sorrow or death. Few, if any, seem to know the origin of this strange and mystic superstition, which dates far back to the earliest ages of Christi anity. When good King Arthur of Britain, founded his famous round ta ble, he secured the services of the en chanter, Merlin, to devise and arrange the seats. This famous sorcerer ac cordingly arranged among others thir teen seats to represent the Apostles, twelve for the faithful adherents ol our Lord and the thirteenth for the traitor Judas. The first were never occupied save by knights distinguished above all others for their valor and prowess, and in the event of a death occurring among them the seat re mained vacant until a knight surpass ing in daring and heroic attainments his predecessor should be deemed worthy to fill the place. If an unwoltfty or effeminate knight laid claim to the seat he was repelled by some secret or hidden spell cast by the powerful ma gician. The thirteenth seat was never occupied save upon one occasion, as it is said, by a haughty and overbearing Saracen knight, who, placing himself in the fatal seat, was instantly reward ed for his presumption by the earth opening and swallowing him up. It afterward bore the name of the "peril ous seat," and among all the adventu rous knights of King Arthur's court none were so foolhardy as to risk their lives on the enchanted spot. And now, after 1300 years, the spell of the magi cian Merlin still survives, and in this nineteenth century the thirteenth seat at the table is as greatly dreaded as In the days of the knights of the famous coufidiable.
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