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.