VOL. LI 11. M WHID URO STRUM. Vm •ouvwty ww ate t-tivcrr gl am ia| KH karka that hug UOULJ Thm fcoriara of (hot wind ng • Uvsui A f aiJ itnim. a phdd atnan, A oofilji gilding. Nwbfai Mnan. A fatweoa OHM wnadoring from the sly, * Light m She vMapara of a itrw . IW pretty at ream, the flattered stream, unraioctant stream. Ihinplnd and qwrared more aud more. *" dMtmsppadskmgo trtwiw Stream, f The flattered stream, the &mp ring stream, away the sky sislinr flew Tto where the fisldi w,th bkmscma team. - Ifeflpaifctmg afwmgs and hem Uue • And kJt aisn that little stream. The fle tasted nrrrim the cheat*! stream. The saA fl—shun, lonely stream. TWt nasrelsm wind no more came Inch, Be wnadsis yet the fleids, 1 deem tat on ft* mslsnrholy track Oemptetnmg went thai kale stream,— The shmtad stream, the hopeless stcvem. The sees aa si mm inc. moaniny stream. A Just Retribution "I declare, that was the handsomest tuna 1 rwr saw ! Ito cutne and arc, Etta! ill ■ f mnC ■ the Hampton a " ■"Oh. t as trail ftn myself the un issnnty trodbta, Rett," Isaily replied HMa." m y<wt know art pdflkon who ns*>- <iiM with such poor people can have "For tbantr, ERa! 1 think the Hamp uns SIT wery ak* people, and I tuean to isidtt flsu to the party, too. Ido see assy wsurai for alighting them over t ban that thej are ponr. and perhaps you ami 1 may hawr the waste tank ansae day; who knows?"* "Indeed. I ant doing so such thing! I ma very fsd of May Hampton, and I fear, MSKT your arrival. 1 have greatly slighted "HA Bertie, wr have discussed this same —iijtct on various occasions, and as I wee I meant change your view s in the tea*. 1 think we had better dropped it." The after* ootmrranow took place in a easy finh awrahg room. The first a beautiful brunette, was at home, while da owe whom she addressed as Etia was her most rnftmate friend, who had crawa from the Sooth to spend tbe holidays, and naev the friendship which had begun at hoenfiag-schooL People wondered that two grh so enoreiy different in looks and dnpnailian should become such wnn friends: but tbty were such, nevertheless. Etta Msyfui was a lovely blonde to look upon, tail that was all that could tie Mid in her favor. :sbe was one of those shallow - minded giro wha think they lower them selves groat It If they are brought into con tact with poor petfile. Bertie Kay was to give a party daring her friends stay, and. a* we have seen, they disagreed as to whether the Hamptons were to be invited. The days roiled on. and the long looked for evening came at hat. Bertie and Etta were lewrivlnt their gueata, looking lovely m evening toilets. '•Then, comes the handsome stranger, Ben, and he ncta as though this kind of a scene were no rarity with him. But I C It n, or be would not associate with Ena. why will you persist in picking ax those people F* Ban before they had time for more eon verstflmt Mny Hampton had made ber way *o than, and was saying— "lfr cousin. Mr. Lester, Miss Rav and Jffcs Mayfair' iMMartae wearsd her friends cordially, while Etta stared at thetn in a very rude meaner, whisk a&id as plainly as words, "Ym da not beioug to our set." "Who as the handsome blonde f" said Hceans to May. as Bertie and her friend turned away <o greet aome new am vela •"She ia a friend of Bertie's from the Satfßk But please watch your heart close- IT, Horace, as I am sure six is not worthy of fc." *Vfwr fear, lit tie cos! My heart is flir^ruafP Bsrtie turned to them, presently saying— *4 ana act giad you came, May! 1 was afraid you would not. " '1 lHte ynur parties Too well tomiss one; bat I had hard work to persuade Horace to "indeed, Mr. Leater! It would have been —I inii in yea to remain away, and 1 an veer giad you came. '' "I also am exceedingly glad, as I have mab what 2 hope will prove to be a very pliaaai* acquaintance."" Bertie blushed pretty, while a scornful task passed over Etta's fair face. But her coldness could not bold out long against Horace, and eke began chatting pleasantly with him. thinking, the while, "He is the hsndarmirst. man I have seen since I came hoc, and I must add his name to mv list of victims." Bertie's brother presently came to claim Mar 's hand for a waltz, and Etta said, in an wade to Bertie — **l am sorprißhed at Al's asking that Hampton girl to waltz." "Why. Etta. I presume he has a right to waits with his future wife, if he sees fit. 1 thought you knew they were engaged " "Wed 1 did not, and I think it is ridi culous 1 Tlx idea of your parents allowing Albert to marry so much beneath him !" Bertie smiled and returned— "Albert is his own master, you know ; he is of age. M Mr. Lester here approached, and desired the pleasure of that waltz with Miss May fair; and Berries partner coming at that moment, ther were both whirled away. As Horace and Etta floated through the room. people were heard to remark what a very handsome couple they were, "By the way, 1 wish you would warn that onwsia of yours against Etta, said Al bert. as he and May were strolling through the conservatory alter the waltz. "He does net need any warning, as he understands her perfectly." The next morning, as Berth and Etty were kipping their chocolate at a very late brenkfwa, Bertie inquired— -Well, Etta, what is TOUT opinion of Mr. Lester?" •soh, he will do," replfed abe. "If he itnwj)' risk, i think I would do my ut ■asai to win his loos; but as it is, be will Me MMmm luurnul. make a very pleasant coin pan ion during long winter evenings." "Now Etta, is thai the best you have to say for sueh a man f You hud better think twice before you try to flirt with Win." "Indeed, my mind is quite made up, and I intend to make liim propose before 1 re- V)n home." Time rolled 011. Dame Humor had it that Horace locator and Etta Mayfair wore surely engaged; but Horace alao |>aid at tention to liert'e, and continued to divide his time equally between the two. While with Etta lie was very gay, ami sometimes a lit lie sejiiiiuqulal ; andahc used to wonder why he did not proflnafl. Instead of the flirtation the at firs* intended, she had five# hftn tltawarntfiw Ktvsof whirl > her sliallow nature was capable. With Bertie lie was always gentle and kirnl; and by and-by she too lagan to care more for him than she would have confessed. She fought against her love, thinking he was engaged to her frieud. Affairs were in this state when an unex pODled event cut the Gordian knot. The whole party were out horseback riding. Horace, as usual, divided his attcn- I tions pretty evenly between Etta and Ber tie. They were laughing merrily, when suddenly Bertie's horse took fright at some >bject on the reahude, reared and then started on a mad gallop. Horace whipped up his horse, and endeavored to overtake her, but hail not gone far before he saw Bertie fall to Uie ground, where she lay perfectly stiH. Springing from his horse, he took her in his arms. "O Bertie! Speak to mel Say you are not dead!" She opened her eyes for a moment and smiled at him, theu relapsed into uncons ciousness. By this time the remainder of the party hail come up, Etta loud In her profession of grief. May cried quietly. 4 *Oh, Horace, she is not dead, is she?" asked Allien. "No, she is not dead, only stunned," re plied he, "But we must get her home as soon as possible. They cuocfleded in obtaining a convey ance from a neightHiring house, ami were soon on their way hack. Mrs. Ray met them at the door, greatly alarmed, having seen them advancing at a distance. They conveyed Bertie to her room and summoned a doctor, who said she would lie quite well in a few days. As Bertie WAS playing the invalid, next morning, looking very lovely in her wliite wrapper, the liell rang, and the servant an nounced Mr. I.ester. As Horace entered and saw her looking ao pale, he exclaimed. "Oh, Bertie, my darling! If you had been killed what should I have done?" Bertie looked surprised, and said— "Really, Mr. Lester, this is strange lan guage for you to use to me." "Bertie, Bertie ! Don't you know I love you ?" "Arc you not engaged to Etta? I was under that iuipreaaion." "Then let tne say it was a false one. Miss Etta is not a lady I would chose for a wife; but you are my ideal of what a wo man should lie, darling, and if v~u will be my wife I am sure you will never have cause to regret it. Will you, Bertie!" Bhe did not answer him in words, but he read a favorable answer in her downcast face, and sealed their bethrothal with a kiss. At that moment Etta stood in the door way ; she turned very pale, aud theu went away as silently A* she came. The next morning she received a tele graph to tbe effect that her father was not expected to live, and he desired her pre sence immediately. Of course every one was very sorry for her, but they were in their hearts glad that something called her away. When summer had lengthened into Au tumn, and the leaves were gold and brown, there was a double wedding in the pleasant little church. Horace and Albert were the grooms, and Bertie and May the Brides. Bertie never knew, until her wedding day, that she was going to marry a rich man. In after years, when Horace and Bertie had growu gray in love aud harmony, they received a letter from Etta, askiug for | charity. Her father, on his deathbed, had j exacted a promise that she would marry a friend of his who was very wealthy, which she did; and he, speculating largely both with her wealth and his own, had lost all, and then died leaving her ]>enniless and friendless. Horace brought her to their home, and both he and Bertie treated her as a sister until the end of her days, which indeed.were not many. __ It Was Muggins. I witnessed a scene a few evenings ago whica could be worked Into a mer ry farce. A young man well-dressed and wearing a large diamond was sea*- ed on a bench, his arm enclasping the j supple waist of a beautiful female. The-pair conversed in whispers, and 1 took It for granted they were lovers, perhaps engaged to be married. While the pair were whispering some sweet nothings to each other, a couple of middle-aged gentlemen approached, talking together In this style. No. I—"You say you want a wife, Smith, old boy. I suppose it must be a young one." (Digs his companion in the ribs.) No. 2—(Who is a wealthy Boston pork packer)—"Of course 1 do. 1 w'sh you had a daughter, Earl." No. 1—"I have, old boy, and if you can win her she is yours, with my blessing. Evelyn seems to be in love with Percy Marchinont, son of a Fifth . avenue banker, but I will cure ber ol ' that il you want her, Smith. Ah ! there , she is now (points to pair seated on a 'bench); as i live, that rogue March mont is kissing her." No. 2 —"Marchuiont! what do you mean?" No. I—'"Why, this is Percy March mom,, a very young gentleman, who is sitting beside Evelyn." No. 2—(Shouts) "Muggins!" The lover jumps to his feet, and upon seeing the pork packer, beats a retreat. As the young man sails away, No. 2 says : "He Is an employe of mine, John Muggins. He has charge of the pickled pigs' feet department." Lady faints. Tableau. MILLHEIM, PA., THURSDAY, JULY 31, 1879. Chained (or Yeara. Entering through the wieket of the door ' of a prison ou the island of Cyprus 1 found | myself in a narrow courtyard, surrounded on three sides by gloomy stone walls, broken by heavily liarred windows, with hen? and there a strong wooden door. Prom under each door lazily ran a gutter of inexpressible faetor, the naked sewerage of the loathsome dungeon inside. 1 was at once surrounded by a horde of prisoners of villainous aspect, all or nearly all manacled in the most curiously diverse fashions. Some wore a heavy chain, one end of which was fastened to a clumsily massive shackle round the ankle, the other tied up round the waist. Others merely wore this grim anklet with a chain attached. Yet others had a huge link fastened to the anklet, which was worn against the outside of the leg, unci fastened into position by H leathern garter. These were the "liberty"' men, to whom so much favor, by reason of long imprisonment, coupled with g*xl conduct, is accorded, that they are not huddled into the dungeons; but are allowed to stand out in the courtyard. A long, gloomy passage opened from one end of the courtyard, and this I entered, encompassed by the con course of villains, and with no other escort than the little bow-legged wardeu of the gate. Into this passage looked several barred windows, and behind the bars there glowered and strained the close-set faces of the more duugerous prisoners. What ruf fianly faces most of these were—faces, the expressions of which, wolfish, ferocious, hungry for blood, sardonic, utterly devilish, made the flesh creep. With every move ment there was the clank of the chains, for every man wore fetters. The expression "hugging his chains'' I have hitherto re garded as a mere allegorical figure of speech; but now I was to see the literal reality. The crowd around the window gave baek. anil there approached a tall, stalwart figure, somewhat bowed by some heavy burden that he carried iu his arms. He stopjied and laid this burden down, and then stood erect, a Hercules of a man, with a face out of which everything human, save the mere lineaments, was erased. And what think you was his burden I It con sisted of a mass of heavy iron links kuoitcd up into a great clump, and fastened to the man's ankle. Its weight was eighty okes, or about one cwt., and w hen he unravelled it and stretched it out on the ground, I saw that it was about fifteen feet, and resembled in the massiveness of its links the chain cable of a trading-schooner. What has licen the man's crime if Murder. How long ha<l he been in prison ? Six and twen ty years. Had he worn that chain all tliat time? Yes. Great heavens! were not death infinitely to be preferred to such a, fate ? Never to move, through all these, long years, without hugging in his bosom that huge knot of iron. I passed on along ; this gallery* of crime till the spectacles and the stenches sickened me, and 1 had to es eajie into purer air. The memory still haunts me of ghastly faces at the barred windows, of the clank of the trailing j chains, of the indescribable ftetor of the air iu which a human lieing has clung to life for six and twenty years. Tltf Brother'* Iloturn. It was a stormy night. Farmer Gowland and his wife sat before their great fireplace together. The boys had gone out with the servant to see to the cattle, and husband and wife were alone. The farmer was a stout, sturdy, middle aged man, with a handsome face, which one would have called merry ; but to-night j as he looked into the embers a change came j over him, which only his wife knew, and be put out his liand to her as if for com fort. "Elsie," he said, "you know how I suf fer when a storm like this breaks over the valley. If 1 live to be fifty years older j than lam it will always be so. When Jack i went away the wiud moaned in the trees as it does now, and when he opened the door the rain beat it and swept across the floor, and I saw the zigzag lightning darting over the black hills. Yes, he went away in at storm, lass, and I let him go—penntless and afoot—in a storm like this. 1 should have remembered that he was my younger brother; that he had not a penny, while all tliis place was mine. You were but a child then, a flaxen-haired lassie of twelve, and I was a man of five and twenty and he nine teen. We were both in love with one young woman, Nannie Conner. We quar reled about her. She was an arch coquette, and led us on, laughing in her sleeve, and she betrothed to the rich squire's son all the while. But we brothers fought about her, and I saw him go out into the storm. I know the poor iad was so helpless, so ill fitted to fight with life. We had not much education, and my father bade me share all with him on his death-bed. I was the eld est son and I let him go. Lassie, 1 think old Beau here knew it and hated tne for it for years. Beau loved Jack so." "But Beau loves you now," said the wife, "ilere, Beau, here, come and speak to your master." At these words an old dog perfectly blind and weak with age, crawled from beneath a tall settee and felt his way to his master's side. The fanner let his hand fall on his head, and the dog thrust his nose into the great brown palm. "Beau cannot live long now, wife," said the fanner, sadly. "He is a very old dog now. The oldest dog I ever knew ; and he is failing every day." "Beau will not die yet, father," cried a cheer}* voice at the door. "His hearing is good, though his sight is gone ; but I've something to say. When we went down to the barn to see all safe, Will and Ned aud I, we found an old man lying there upon the hay. He seems very ill and fee ble, and he begged that he would let him sleep there. But I knew you and mother would not permit it, and 1 asked him into the house; and he said in away that brought tears to my eyes: "No, lad, no; not unless he bids me himself. I'll not en ter his house unless he takes me by the hand, and says, "Come in." His house is his own, and I am only a poor wanderer.' 80 I came to you, father." "Right, laddie, "said the fanner. "Wife, we've always room at our table for another, eli 1 I'll come out and ask the old fellow in." "Yes—yes, Robin," replied the wife, and turned her attention to the hot supper just now being dished for the hungry party. "No, Beau ; lie down. It's no tramp, but a good, well-deserving Christian, no doubt,. Why do you wine so?" But Beau was not to be calmed. He had snlfled his way to the door, and stood there, with his head bent down, uttering low growls. Now ho hurst into a cry, plain tive and prolonged—the old cry ho had been used to give long ago, when his young master left the house. The farmer had so often told his wife of it that she recognized it at once. A superstitious thrill ran through her frame. Bui now steps were heard without. The farmer and his sons were coining and the stianger with them. The woman hospita bly arose to open the door, and no sooner liad (die done so than the blind dog dashed thiough it at night. "Beau has gone wild," cried the girl, who was setting the table. "He never sets foot out of doors. Hear him hark 1 He's set against the stranger! I iear he's no good one 1 Dogs know." "It's a bark of welcome, Nora," said he mistress of the house. "The dog seems to me te tie beside himself, and not with anger." lkit now the farmer enteral, leading by the arm a sad and weary man, who sank thankfully into the chair to which he as sisted hiiu. "You are very good," he faltered, as he did so. "I only meant to lie me down in your liarn until the storm had passed. But you brought mo in—you brought me in !" and his head sank upon his hand. "Just in time for dinner stranger," said the farmer's wife- "And when you are well rested draw your chair up, for it is served." "I thank you," said the stranger, hum bly. But his eyes were roving about the kitchen now, taking note of all it held—of itß old beam-crossed ceiling, of its dark windows, of its great fire-place, and the farmer stood staring at him, with a strange look upon his face. "Sit by, father," said the wife. "You must carve, you know. Hark ! What is that ? You have shut poor Beau out in the storm. He is scratching at the door." She ran to open it. The dog darted in, and made his way straight to the chair i where the stranger sat, and groping with : his long nose, found his knee, and climbing up liegan to utter the long, low cry again, and at intervals to bark furiously. "Beau 1 Beau I You'll frighten the stranger!" cried the mother. "The dog is ' blind and toothless ; he could hurt no one he would," she added, "but he so large, you might feel nervous. Come Beau !" "Let liim stay," replied the old man, caressing tne dog's head. "Beau, Beau. Poor old Beau." And now Beau changed his tone ; he be gan to utter mad, glad barks, and to lick the stranger's face, and rub his nose against it. And still the farmer stood staring at them both, turning whiter and whiter, j and suddenly he turned his fare to the wall, crying out: "Oh, my God! Beau knew him first. Old Beau, a blind, old dog, knew my brother Jack before I did !" "Jack!" cried the wife. "Yourbrother Jack!" At the name, Beau harked again—wildly, madly, gladly, and crouched dowu beside j his recovered master's knee. "1 didn't mean to tell you who I was, Robin," said the stranger. "1 never meant even to see you, but you came out and brought me in." He arose. The farmer uncovered his face* and it shone wet with tears in the red fire light. "Jack," he said, "how I have prayed to see this day. Jack, there has been a curse upon me since yon left me. All my bles sings could not banish it. The girl we quarreled about married the 'squire's son, and lies dead in his great tomb in the church yard, aud 1 have won a good wife, and long ago wondered at myself for caring for a sil ly flirt, but since you went there's been a curse, lad, there's b.en a curse." {le held out his arms. Jack held out his. The brothers were weeping in each other's arms, and old Beau barking for joy and leaping up to lick their faces. And then the cheery voice of the farmer's wife uttered these word, blithely: "Draw the curtains, Nora, and shut out the storm. We're all together at last, and please God to keep us so. For now you liave come back Robin will never let you leave us again, brother; nor I neither." . "Never, lad," cried Robiu. "The curse is lifted at last, bless the lord." A Base Proposition. A Detroiter who has the reputation of being hard pay was waited on the other day by a man who liegan: "Mr. Blank, I hold your note for s7fi. It is long past due, and I wanted to see what you would do about it." "My note?" Ah, yes; yes, this is my note. For value received I promise to pay, and so forth. Have you been to the note shavers with this ? " 44 1 have, but none of them would have "Wouldn't eh? And you tried the banks?" "Yes, sir, but they wouldn't look at it." "Wouldn't eh? And I suppose you went to a justice to see altout it ?" " 1 did, but he said a judgment wouldn't be worth a dollar." "Did, eh? And now what proposition do you wish to make ?" " This is your note for $75. Give me $5 and you can have it." " Five dollars! No, sir ! No, sir 1 I have no money to throw away, sir." "But it is your own note." "True, sir; very true; but I'm not such an idiot as to throw away money on worth less securities, no matter who signs them. I deal only in first-class paper, sir, and when that note has a negotiable value I will be pleased to discount it. Good day, sir— looks like settled weather again." Kxcellence of Oat-Meal. Liebig has chemically demonstrated that oat meal is almost as nutritious as the very best English beef, and that it is richer than wheaten bread in the elements to go to form l>one and muscle. Professor Forbes, of Edinburg, during some twenty years, measured the breadth and height, and also tested the strength of both arms and loins, of the students of the University—a very numerous class and of various nationalities, drawn to Edinburg by the fame of his teaching. lie found that in height, breadth of chest and shoulders, and strength of arms and loins, the Belgians were at the | bottom of the list; a little above them, the French ; very much higher, the English ; and the highest of all, the Scotch and Scotch | Irish, from Ulster, who, like the natives of Scotland, are fed in their early years at 'least one meal a day of good oat-meal por ridge The "Day Before." "You bet I am 1" was his hearty re ply, as he hitched along on the postof flce steps. •'! never seed a Fourth o' July ylt 1 didn't celebrate, an' I'm Just heeled for a boom in' ole time to-mor rer. I've been savin* up coppers an' nlckel9 an' dimes an* quarters till I've got $5, an' going to spend every bllzzen cent ot it If I never get to be Presi dent!" "Boy, can you tell me how we came to have the Fourth of July?" "Yes, 1 kin, but 1 haven't time now. I want to go 'round tbe corner an' see them 'ero Roman candles. I'm goin' to buy a hull dozen, and I've engalged three different boys an* a dog to let me blaze away at 'era I calkerlate to kn<ck the spots right off'n them boys an' I'm goln' to kill that 'ere dog at the first blizl" "Do you know who George Wash ington was?" "I 'spect I do, but that ain't nuthin'to do with tbe torpeders I'm goln' to buy. I'll have both breeches pockets full an' more in my hat, an' I tell you I'm goln' to be awful reckless throwln' 'ein around, i know of a boy on Wilkins street who'll let you bit him on bis bare feet six times for one jaw-breaker or two torpeders, an''that's awful cheap fun for this time o' year." 4 But why do we celebrate the day?" "Because we feel like it, an' becaus we want to go on a bust. If you was me would you shoot oft the sky-rockets In tbe barn, where the other boys can't see the fun, or would you blaze aw*ay outdoors an' give 'em all a chance? I've kinder thought of both ways,but if I Are 'em off out doors I'm goln'toboss the job myself. Can't no hired men or policemen or big boys make me hold the candle while they do the bossing." "Did you ever hear of the old bell which rang out the clarion notes of lib erty. "I s'pose I have, but that's nothin'to do with the big pistol I'm goin' to buy to-morrer for seveuty cents. It's an actual pistol, aud it shoots bullets, and tne boy is obleeged to sell it 'cause his father is in poor health and wvnts to go to a mineral spring to fatten up. I can't hardly wait to begin shootin'. You may talk about your George Washiugtons all day, but I'll bet you ten to one I'll kill seveu cats afore to morrer. I'll stand off an' blaze, an' you'll hear a cat keel over every time I lire, I'm tryin' to hire a boy to letme shoot a orange off his head, but he's kinder Traid 1 might miss the orange an' kill bis dog " "How did the Revolutionary war be gin?" "It begun by a fight, I 'spose, but I'm just itch in' for to-morror to sot In. I never was so big an' old before on a Fourth of July, an* I never had as much chink saved up. 1 tell ye I'm goln' to wade right In on cokernuts, lemonade, raisins, oranges, Ice cream an'four kinds o' cake, an' the police will probably take me for a bank rob ber. I spect to have as many as ten lights, 'cause there can't nobody push me around on sich a day as that, an' if I go up to the races I'll bet you ten to nuthin' I bet on the right boss an' cap tur the pool-box. I dou't purtend to be no tarantula or any of that sort, but I'm goln to git up an' howl to-morrow if it breaks every soap factory in town —and uon't you forgit it." Ancient History lu a Care. A remarkable cave ha* been discov ered on the farm of David Samuels, 10 miles from La Crosse, Minnesota. The cave is 30 feet long, 13 feet wide, and about 8 feet high. Above the quarry sand, which has evidently drifted in and covered the floor to the depth of from three to six leet, upon the walls, are very rude carvings representing men, arms, animals, arms and Implements, and some appear to be hieroglyphics. One picture represents men, with bows and arrows, shooting auimals, three buffaloes and one rabbit. Another rep resents three animals, which, if large, must have been like the hippopotamus; another appears to represent a masto don ; on another picture, a moose is quite plainly delineated. There are eight representations that are canoes much carved, or hamtpocks, which they more resemble. One sketch of a man is very plain; the figure wears a kind of chaplet or crown, and was probably chief of his tribe or clan. Tnere are many fragments of pictures, where the rock had decomposed. The rock is a course, soft white sandstone. On one side of the cave is a space about 2 feet high and in length, made into the wall. Above are the fragments of pic tures, and below are lower fragments, showing that they were made when the rock was entire. From the depth to which decompositions reached in this dry and dark cavern, the inscriptions must be quite ancient. If the carving mentioned really represents the masto don,the work must have been by mound builders. The accumulated sand needs to be removed to get a full view, and possibly human remains may be found. The entrance to the cave had evidently been covered by a land-slide, there be ing left open only a small hole, where traps have long been set for coons. The large number of these animals that were caught led to the belief that the space inhabited by them must be large, , and investigation led to the discovery of the cave. Over the entrance, since ; the land slide, a poplar, 18 inches in di ameter, has grown, whioh shows con clusively that the cave has not been oc cupied by human beings for more than a century. The Working Rlf-d. This bird possesses faculties which ren der it one of the great objects of curiosity and admiration among the feathered tribes, its natural notes are musical and solemn. It likewise possesses the singular power of assuming the tone of other birds and animals. This extraordinary bird is pecu liar to the new world, inhabiting warm climates, and a low country seems most congenial to their nature; they are more numerous in the south than in the north. The I lorries of red cedar, myrtle, holly, gum-berries, and an abundance of others, with which the luxuriant swampy thickets of these regions abound, furnish them with a perpetual feast. He builds his nest In dilTercul places, according to the latitude he resides in. A solitary tjiornbush, orange, cedar or holly tree are favorite spots. Always ready to defend, but never anxious.to conceal his nest. During the time the female is setting, neither cat or (leg, animal or man can approach the nest without being attacked. His whole ven geance is directed against his natural enemy the black snake; whenever this reptile is discovered, the male darts at it with the rapidity of an arrow, striking it violently and incessantly against the head ; the snake soon becomes insensible, and the bird re doubles his exertions, he seizes and lifts it from the ground, beating' it with his wings until the business is completed ; he returns to his nest and pours out a torrent of song in token of victory. The Mocking bird is so called because it can imitate with the greatest ease, not only the songs of other birds, but the sounds and cries of animals. In confinement he loses a little of the power and energy of his song. In his domesticated state, when he commences his career of song, it is impossible to stand by uninter ested. He whistles for the dog—Caesar starts up, wags his tail and runs to meet his master. He squeaks out like a young chicken and tbe hen hurries about with outstretched wings and bristled feathers, clucking to protect her injured brood. Tbe liarking of a dog, the mewing of a cat, the creaking of a wheel-barrow, the grating of a grindstone and the rushing of a torrent of water, follow with great truth and rapidity. In regard to food we give the following:, Take two old potatoes (never give them new ones) pare and boil them, also boil two good sized eggs, remove them from the shell, mash them fine with the potatoes, then put away in a cool place; give a large spoonful every hour or so, feeding him by hand just as you would an infant. In tbe month of August or September, a bit of a sweet apple may be occasionally added. A table spoonful of ants' eggs soaked and mixed with this food will prove beneficial. In the cage place plenty of river sand, sprinkling it freely on the bottom; also give them plenty of water to drink, and a bath once a day in the morning; never allow the bath tub to remain long in tbe cage; after the bird has bathed, remove it, as there is probable danger of the bird being drowned. Pennsylvania Dunkers. The Dunkers will aot take an oath, and are not allowed to hold office; al though where they comprise nearly all of the populatk n of a settlement they perform agreeable duties like those of an overseer ot the poor. One of the preachers naively suggested that the government did not miss the Dunkers from its council fires, as Americans have not all got similar compunctions against officeholdlng. They do not fight or engage in war. They do not sue or appeal to the courts for any sort of legal settlements that cau be arrang ed by the church. If one brotherowes another and cannot pay, all the breth ren sustain equal shares of the debt and wipe It out. If a brother does not pay, but can do so, first one, then three, then all the brethren labor with him, and if he is still stubborn they cast him out of the church. This seldom fails to bring the sinner to his senses. The same course is pursued when a Dunkeroffends in any other way; but such cases are very rare. If a brother fails or desires to start iu business, all tbe brethren elub together aud set him on his feet. They do this three times. If he does not then succeed they con sider him no longer worthy of help and he has to look out for himself. They are severe upon liars and dishon est persons, and profess to have hardly any in their ranks. Their condemna tion falls upon outsiders, also, In this respect, and the tradesman who cheats the Dunker is shunued by all forever afterward. They are kind-hearted and hospitable, and are cheeriully obedient to the law that compels them to lodge and feed and clothe whoever calls on them for assistance. He Caught a Crab. Bhe sat upon a rock, fishing for crabs. She had her dog with her—a skye terrier— such a one as a Broadway vender would charge you $lO for. His hair was long and as soft as silk, blue ribbons hung from lxis ears, and his neck was encircled with a nickle-plaited collar. But all that counted for nothing as against the fearful scene through which he was about to pass. He lay close to the basket into which the Fifth avenue belle dropped the crabs as fast as she caught them. He was no doubt dreaming of his happy home far away, where he was wont to take his daily nap on a SI,OOO sofa. Now and then a green-bottled fly skipped from ear to ear or lighted upon his back, where, the purp couldn't reach him, and at such times he whisked his tail wildly vill the intruder went away. On one of these special occasions, after whisking off the fly, the little silken tail rested upon the edge of the crab basket, and the end of it dropped inside, latitude 47 longitude 62. The feathery edge of it struck a crab in the eye, and the claws closed on the appendage s-i-m-u-l-t-a-n-e-o-u-s-l-y! The dog, oh, where was he ? A yelp", a howl, and then in silvery tones the "ti yi," "ti yi," as the astonished pup sailed over the plain and through the clover with a string of crabs connecting him with the empty bounding basket, and all their claws clutched one with the other, and for a minute there was a mixed scene of dog, crabs, basket, dust and flying gravel, and the tail was told. There was no more crab fishing that day. --In the South, smoe the war over 200,000 negroes have joined the Metho dist Ohtureh, FOOD FOR THOUGHT. • * ™ V 7 - fUMM I H Have a good conscience and thou alialt have joy. A good conscience la able to bear very much, and la very cheerful In ad versity. A man's own goad breeding Is the best security against other people's ill manners. Thank God I our troubles come like rain, chiefly sideways; there Is always shelter. A bold flght against misfortune will often enable a man to tide over a tight place and put ruin to flight. Would we but profit by the experi ence of others we should havethe roy al road to the palace of wisdom. Phllosopny triumphs easily enough over past and future evils, but preseut evils triumph over philosophy. There are only two heavens—one above in glory, the other below in the broken heart. Nothing exasperates more than a con siderate, quiet hatred; a passionate ha tred does so far less. When society begins to profit by a man's misfortunes, his difllculttea do not soou terminate. What we have to do in this world la not to make our oonditions, but to make the best of them. Virtue inaketh men on the earth fa mous, in their graves glorious, and in heaven immortal. Public opluion ia produced by the vagaries of master miuda reflected from the mirror of multitudinous inanity. Those who have been duped are toJfee feared, as they are apt to ooasider man kind debtors for their own follies. We must not speak all that we know, that were folly; but what a man my* should be what he Glinka, otherwise it is knavery. - Faith dies when.-charity peases te feed its flame, and strength decays juat in proportion as cheerful hope fails to quickeu the energies of the mind. Some people never have A story to tell, because of their quicksand natures,from which every MOW wave washes out the If thete is anything more poignant, than a body agonising for Want of bread tt ts a soul wuich is dying of hunger lor light. T i,i / A gentle person is like a river flow lag calmly along; while a passionate man Is like the sea, casting up mire aud dirt continually. Having a home that is all preaching and uo pleasure—ail duty and no fun— is a dull old trade-mill whloh will drive the ohildren away sooner or later. The force, the mass oi character, mind, heart or soul, that a man oan put into any work, ia the most Important factor in that work. Being sometimes asunder heightens friendship. The greatest cause of the frequent quarrels between relatives is their beiug so much together. Man is in friendship what woman Is in love, and the reverse, namely, more covetous of the object than of the feel ing for it. W hen people have resolved to shut their eyes, or to look only on one side, it is of little consequence how good their eyes may be. That melancholy which is excited by objects of pleasure, or Inspired by sounds of harmony, soothes the heart Instead of corroding it. Give & man such a heart aa the Son of God describes in the beatitudes, and a whole universe of sorrow cannot rob him of his blessedness. At all ages novelty hath charms In deed, but in mature life it ia tinged with sadness, owing to the premonition that we are drawing on our last resources. There are sotne men in the world so mean that they skim the milk at the top and then sigh because they can't turu it over aud skim it at the bottom. The grass gets its dew nearly all*tin year round, and that is more than tl o most men can say. However, some o. us are very fortunate, for our Juatdues are exactly what we dou't want *.o have. That things are not so ill with you and me as might have been is half ow ing to the number who lived faithfnlly a hidden life, and rest in unviaited tombs. Life Is disciplinary, and those who are ground in the mill of adversity make better spiritual material than those who are disciplined only by plenty and success. Jfa man be gracious and courteous to strangers, It shows that he is a citizen of the world, and that hit heart is no island cut off from other hearts, but a continent that joins them. True joy is a serene and sober emo tion ; and they are miserably out that take laughing for rejoicing; the seat of it is within, and there is no cheerful ness like the resolution of a brave mind. It is a most important lesson, and too little thought off, that we learn how to enjoy ordinary life, and to be able to relish our being, without the transport of some passion, or 'the gratification of some appetite. As the dress of one who has passed several hours in a garden retains some what of the perfume of the flowers, so a person who spends much time in the oompany of the good will inhale from his person the odor of virtue. The river Jordan is not the only pleksaut water tbat empties itself into a dead sea. Some of the "sweetest currents" of our lives are fated to end there. Let us look ro it that we are not borne thither on their limpid bosom. You cannot make vourself better by simply resolving to be better at some time or other any more than a farmer can plough his field by simply turning it over in his own mind. A good reso lution is a fine starting point, but as a terminus it has no value. After all, real greatness conslst%of character, and oh&racter is a thousand times more influential than oulture Holiness is the glory and alse the pow er of a man. Nothing is to be compar ed as to influence withGodlikeness&nd Christlikeiießß. God's spirit is wonderfully persever ing in the conversion and diso'pline of souls. It require! a long process to buil lup such a man as Paul. A great soulptor never begrudges the chisel strokes which fits his "Eves" and "Greek Slaves" to shrine In the gallery of masterpieces. A Christian is oary lng for eternity. NG. 30.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers