VOL. LIII.
THE OLD HOME.
Tfee mild bird aio.s and the rivulet rune
So cbeenlv round the spot
Wfcere the peaceful eh* lee of the towering
bills
Full dim on mv mother's oot.
The windows are low and tha thatch ie low.
And tie old atone walla are grey—
Oh ! I eee it, 1 love it. where'er I go,
That old home far away.
The little dock ticks on the kitchen wall
To ted the passing hour*.
And the woodbine ie chmbiug round the oot.
With its sweetly ecentel flower*.
And the old arm chair, so cosy and low.
Where mother did knit each day—
Oh ! 1 aee it. 1 love it. where'er I go,
That old home far away.
Hy mother . I eee her before me now,
Aaleep in that old arm-chair,
With the eunehiue tinging her wrinkled brow
'ffcat was once so smooth and fair ;
Bar enmpled border, as wh te as the snow.
And her dark brown hair turned gray—
Oh 1 I see it, I love it. where'er I go.
That old home far away.
And there's the white cow on its homeward
path
As it oomea so quiet alon * ;
And the h tie maid with pail in her baud
la a n<iog that dear old ong.
And the frolicsome lambs in that barnyard
Are gathering ro ind to play—
Oh ! 1 see it. I .ova it, where'er I go.
That oid home far away.
Not all the p eaeures the world can give,
N r r.chee of laud or sea,
Or the weelth or rank of eaith's proud lords
Can e'er estrange from me
The roof <h*t oover'd my dear mother's head,
With the humble floor of clay—
Oh! 1 nee it, 1 lore it, where'er I go.
That old home far away.
But alee ! she hue gone where all must go,
For we all shall pass away—
Tea ' even the oot that 1 love so well
Will crumble and decay ;
For this earth is only a resting place.
It* joys are ours f r a day-
All my pleasure of life has center'd i
That old heme far away.
In the Gloaming.
"You are the best judge of your own
heart, but I do not think your future prom
ises much happiness as the wife of Godfrey
Hill. Remember who and what he is."
These were the over which Alice
Hill pondered as she walked slowly through
the grove at Bellows Falls. It was her
favorite walk, when she wished for solitude,
though it lay at some distance from her
home, the stately house that crowned an
inc.ine stretch of g-round overlooking the j
village.
Rememl>er who and what he is 1
Mrs. Hill had said these words very
slowly, and with due emphasis, only a few
hours before, when Alice had read to her a
letter in which Godfrey Hill had asked her
to be his wife.
Who was he, {hen! He was the second
cousin of Alice, a man of about twenty
seven, who had been brought up by his
grandfather in the house upon Bellows
Heights, and had supposed his inheritance
of house and fortune assured.
Alice and her widowed mother had never
entered the stately house while old Mr.
Hill lived, but had supported themselves
by keeping a school for young children,
after Godfreys cousin, Alice's father, had
died.
It had never crossed their wildest imagin
ation that the old gentleman at Bellows
Falls would remember them by even a
trifling legacy, and they were inclined to
think themselves the victims of a practical
joke, when they received the lawyer's letter
informing them that Alice was the heiress
of the entire estate of John Hill, of Bel
lows Falls.
It was like a dream, to come to the
splendid home, to know there were to be
no more weary struggles for daily bread, to
wander through magnificent rooms and ex
tensive grounds with the deliciously novel
sensation of ownership.
And it must be confessed that Alice at
first thought but little of the dispossessed
heir.
But he introduced himself soon as a
oousin, and visited the house as a welcome
guest.
For, in answer to the second clause of
Mrs. Hilfs question, what was he? Alice
could have answered truly that he was the
most fascinating man she had ever seen.
And Alice Hill, though a bread winner
in the busy world, had moved in good so
ciety, having aristocratic family connection*
both on her father's and mother's side.
She was no novice to be won by a mere
ly courtly manner, but she had never met a
man whose intellect was so broad, whose
courtesy was so winning whose face was so
handsome as were those of Godfrey llill.
And yet there wa9 a letter in her writing
desk written by the dead man whose heiress
she was, warning her that, " because he is
unworthy, because he has betrayed the
trust I put in him, I have disinherited God
frey Hill."
There was no specific charge, no direct
accusation, but the young heiress was
warned against her cousin.
Yet, in the many long conversations the
two had held together, Godfrey Hill had
endeavored to convince his fair cousin that
his grandfather had been influenced by
false friends to believe statements to his
discredit utterly untrue.
He had almost convinced her that he
was an innocent victim to unfortunate cir
cumstances. a victim to a mistaken sense of
honor.
She was young, naturally trustful, and
her heart was free; so it is not wondferful
that Alice Hill w r as inclined to restore the
disinherited man to his estate by accepting
the offer of his heart and hand. Absorbed
in her reflections, Alice did not notice that
clouds were gathering, till a sudden sum
mer shower broke with violence above the
tree tops.
The rain came through the branches sud
denly, drenching through her thin black
dress, and she ran quickly to the nearest
house for shelter.
The nearest refuge proved to be the cot
tage where Mrs. Mason, who did the wasti
iqg for the great house, lived with her
daughter Lizzie, one of the village beauties.
There was great bustling about when
Alice presented herself at the door*
" Mercy sakes! You're half drowned,"
the old woman cried, hurrying her unex
pected guest to the kitchen fire. "You're
V? GVV W? VPAU W> GV <W" V<>
wot to the shin, dearie. Now ain't it a
blessing there's a whole washing in the bas
ket to go home ? You eau go into Lizzie's
n>om and change your clothes, and I'll do
up them you've got on. Dear, dear 1 your
hat is just ruined—crape won't lear wet
ting—and you've no shawl. You must just
put on a dresa of Lizzie's to go home in.
It's nearly dark anyway."
••Where is Lizzie?" Alice asked.
"Sewing at Mrs. Durham's, dearie. She
will l>e coming home soon. 1 allers make
that a part of the bargain that she's to be
let home afore dark, and it gats dark now
by six—fall days are shorter than summer
ones. So she'll l>e home soon. It's clear
ing up."
It was clearing up, and it was also grow
ing dark, so promising to send home the
l>orrowed dress in the morning, Alice started
for home.
She smiled at herself as she stood before
the cottage mirror, for she had not worn a
gay color since her father's death Ave years
before.
Lizzie's blue dress, scarlet shawl and gay
Suuday hat were sadly out of place upon
the sleuder figure, and setting off the pale,
refined face of Alice Hill.
44 Dear me," said the old woman. I hope
you'll soon chirk up a bit, Miss Alice, and
take off your black. The old gentleman
has been dead a year, now. Them roses
do suit you beautiful."
Alice glanced at the staring red flowers
reflected in the mirror and smiled, as she
said:
44 1 will take great care of Lizzie's hat,
Mrs. Masou. Good-by, and thank you.
It was nearly dusk, and there was a
quarter of a mile to walk before home was
reached, so Alice hurried through the grove
where the trees had already shut out the
lingering daylight.
She had tied a small veil of gay tissue
over the gaudy hat, as she left the cottage,
and she hoped, if she met any acquaint
ances, she would escape recognition.
When she was half through the grove
she heard quick footsteps coming from the
village, and a moment later a voice said :
44 You are punctual," and she was caught
for a moment in Godfrey Hill's arms.
She knew his voice, and struggled to free
herself, before realizing that he had mis
taken her for the village beauty.
44 Pooh!" he said, releasing her. 44 Don't
put on airs, Liz. Were you going to the
house ?"
44 Yes," she answered, faintly, indignant
and yet curious, her woman's wits quickly
soeing his error.
44 1 must go, too, before long, though I
had far rather stay here in the woods with
you, sweetheart."
44 Vour sweetheart is at the house," Alice
said, trying to assume the jealous tone of
an uneducated girl.
44 What! That chalky-faced girl iu
black ? Not a bit of it. Didn't I love
you long before she came to take what is
mine?"
And a curse followed, coupled with her
own name, that thrilled Alice Hill with
horror.
" But they say you will marry her," she
persisted, calming her voice as well as she
could.
"They say right! I will marry her, and
have my own! Then, when she is dead,
you shall have your old beau again, Lizzie,
and come to the great house, my wife. It
is only waiting a year or two."
" But she may not die!" gasped the hor
ror-stricken girl.
"She will die! I'll have no fine ady
taking what is mine—mine, I tell you.
But what ails you? You are shaking as if
you had an ague fit. I've talked it all over
often enough before, and you never went
off into such shakes ! It is nothing new
I'm telling you."
" But —you would not murder—
her?" the poor girl, gasped, drawing her
veil closer.
•'Come now, none of that," was the
rough answer; "you're not going back on
me now, after all you've heard of my
plans. You've sworn to keep my secrets,
or I'd never have told you them. But
what is the matter ? "
And here Alice found herself shaken
with no gentle hand, to her great indigna
tion. But her fears overmastered her
anger. Godfrey was heir-at-law to her
newly acquired fortune, and if he suspected
her identity, in those dark woods, she did
not doubt, after what he had already said,
that he would take her life.
"I am not well," she said, freeing her
self from the rough grasp on her arm,
" and I must hurry on. Wait for me here
until I do my errand at the house and come
back."
"Be quick, then," was the gruff reply.
And if she was in haste, the scoundrel
might well be satisfied at the rapidity with
which his companion left him.
She scaroely knew how she reached her
home, tore off her borrowed finery and
wrote to Godfrey Hill, deolining the honor
he had proposed to her, but giving no
other reason for her refusal than the state
ment that she did not love him sufficiently.
44 Mamma," she said, coming into the
drawing room," I have written to Godfrey,
refusing his offer, aud sent the letter to him
by James. I have remembered who and
what he is."
Mr. Godfrey Hill's amazement was un
bounded when returning to his home, in the
village hotel, to dress for his promised call
upon Alice Hill, he found her note awaiting
him.
But he did not renounce his hope of
shaking her resolution until the next day,
when he met the true Lizzie Mason in the
shaded grove, and in the course of their
lover-like conversation, that damsel told
him who had worn her gay hat and red
shawl on the previous evening.
"An' she sent a five dollar bill with the
dress, because it got wet," said the girl.
"An' that I call real handsome of her.
Why, what ails you? you're white as
chalk!"
"Nothing—nothing. You were not in
the grove at all, then, yesterday ?"
"No; I couldn't get off till long after
dark and so 1 stayed all night. I kuowed
you'd be mad waiting for me, but I couldn't
help it this time. Why—"
For her lover had started for the village
without even the ceremony of a good-bye.
He lost no time, on his way, until he
stood in the office of Jermyn & Jermyn,
his grandfather's lawyers
White as death, with a voice hoarse and
thick, he said to the older partner:
"You told me my grandfather leit me
ten thousand dollars, upon certain condi
tiong."
"Quite correct. The conditions are that
you leave Bellows Falls and never return
to it, and that you sign a deed relinquish
ing all claims as heir-at-law, in case Miss
MILLHEIM, PA., THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 1879.
Hill dies liefore she is of age. Mr. Hill
did not draw up this paper until his will
was signed and sealed, and he was remind
ed that he had made no stipulation for the
reversion of his estate.
" Reminded by ymi? " was the bitter re
joinder.
" Reminded by me! He was shown the
danger that you might become a suitor to
the young heiress."
44 Well, that danger is over. 1 have been
a sincere suitor to the heiress, and she has
refused the honor of an alliance."
44 Hum!"
"So, having lost that stake, 1 am pre
pared to accept the conditions, take the ten
thousand dollars, and turn my back upon
Bellows Falls for life."
It was with a sense of great relief from
a very urgent fear, that Alice Hill heard
from her lawyer of the demand upon the
estate, that made her poorer by ten thou
sand dollars, and removed Godfrey Hill
from her path for life.
She told no one of the walk in the gloam
ing that had revealed to her the hlack
treachery of the man who wooed her so
gently, and had so uearly won the treasure
of her young heart.
It made her shy of suitors for a long
time, fearing liar money was the magnet
that drew them to her side; but there
came a true lover at last—one she trusted
and loved, and who won her for his tender,
faithful wife.
And Godfrey Hill left his old home never
to return.
There was no thought of revenge in
Alice Hill's heart when she heard of the
death of her cousin, nearly three years after
his departure from Bellows Falls; but she
could not restrain a fervent thought of
thanksgiving, when she realized that there
was no murderous thought hanging upon
her possible death.
And to her relief she told her husbaud
for the first time of that involuntary mas
querade that saved her from the power of
a villain.
44 It was at this hour, Will." she whispered
44 and this is the first time since that day
that I have been able to sit, without a
shudder, in the gloaming."
Cbanutsd by a Snke.
For some weeks the parents of Bertha
Miller, near Mt. Vernon, Ohio, had uoticed
that their daughter was showing marks of
declining health, evidenced by an increas
ing paleness and emaciation and accompanied
by a melancholy mood. So marked was
the change becoming that they began feel
ing great solicitude concerning her and con
sulted a physician about the matter. The
physician visited the girl, but was unable
to explain the cause of her decline or to
render her aid. It also fell under the ob
servation of her mother that each afternoon,
abaut tliree o'clock, the girl would leave
the house and remain away from one to
two hours. Tins fact being communicated
to the other parent, it was decided to watch
the young lady and discover if possible the
rras(.>B for auoli lutbituul abaanoa. A nnor
dingly on the day following when the hour
had about arrived the father left the house
and watched for the going of his daughter.
In a few minutes the young girl was on her
way through a wood and up a ravine lead
ing from the house to a small stone quarry,
some half-mile distant, reaching which she
took a seat on a flat stone, under a small
clump of trees, and remained sitting there
quietly for several minutes, her head held
in one position, and eyes evidently fixed
on one spot. The father had gotten up so
near by this time that he could observe all
that would happen. In a few moments, to
his amazement, there proceeded from the
direction in which the girl was looking a
snake about four feet in length, and known
to him as our common blacksnake or racer.
So astonished was he at the peculiar man
ner of his daughter and the appearance of
the reptile that he remained quiet in his
concealment to observe what would happen.
The snake crept slowly along towards the
girl until it halted close to her feet. After
remaining there motionless for a minute or
more and gazing fixedly into the face of the
girl it slowly and stealthily began creeping
toward her, aud in a moment lay coiled in
her lap. The girl remained perfectly mo
tionless, apparent ly not the least alarmed at
the presence of her visitor, but gazing in
tently at it. After lying in that position
for a short time it slowly uncoiled, crept
down to the ground aud back to its hiding
place in the rocks. The girl remained sit
ting motionless for a considerable time, and
then got up and retraced her steps to the
house. On the next day the father, at the
appointed time, took his gun and proceed
ing to the scene killed the reptile. The
girl, startled at the report of the gun, sprang
t her feet, but immediately recognizing
her father, proceeded without further ado
back home with toiin. She, when interro
gated, could give no intelligible reason for
visiting the spot, except that at a certain
hour she felt strongly inclined to go and sit
there. She has rapidly recovered her health,
and appears in no wise affected in her mind.
Experts can offer no solution to this strange
proceeding, the most intelligible that the
animal possessed a powerful mesmeric in
fluence, and had so wrought upon the mind
of the girl that she went automatically to
the place. This, in connection with an ac
cumulated inherited disposition to be be
guiled by a serpent—transmitted from our
first mother, Eve—offers the only rational
explanation.
Ihe Pyramid#
The Pyramids coutinue to puzzle
man's ingenuity, not only as to their
methods of construction, but as to the
purposes for which they were built.
Mr. Smyth, whose astronomical views
imbued everything he looked at with
his favorite science,endeavored to show
that the pyramid was nothing more
than an everlasting monument, with
the beneficient intention of keeping for
ever fixed the unit of length—a sacred
cubit standard. The last idea is that
the pyramid is simply a cairn, and
that as a cairn it will be resolved some
day, and will crumble to the ground.
The labor employed on the Great pyra
mid was equivalent to lifting 15,733,-
000.000 of cubic feet ot stone one foo
high. If accounts can be relied upon,
it took 100,000 men twenty years to
complete it. As a contrast, in con
structing one of our earliest lines of
railways there were lifted 25,000,000,-
000 cubic feet of material one foot high.
The road was built by 20,000 men in
less than five years.
The Old Sellout-nonnc.
It stood by itself on the outskirts of the
village, and had now fallen into decay.
The old |x>reh through which we entered
was broken down, and no longer the honey
suckle clambered over the sides. There
was an uir of gloomy desolation about the
place, and the tnoaning-doves in the trees
without added to the gloomy picture. The
desks and benches were still there, but cov
ered with dust, and the spiders had hung
their gray drapery over them. The teach
er's table, raised on a platform, still stood,
and the inkstand black and dry, had never
been removed. The Bible, from whose
pages the exercises of the school were
always ojiened, was in its accustomed place,
hut like everything else, covered with dust
and mold.
Twenty years before, when a very young
boy, I had sat many days and months con
ning my lessons in that old school-room. It
was a different place then. The warm sun
light came through the windows, and the
lmlmy breezes crept in laden with the per
fume of the flowers without. The butter
flies darted in and out of the windows, and
the little, humming-birds hovered around
the honeysuckle wliich clamliered over the
porch. The stream that dashed over its
rocky lied made a weird music which min
gled with the rustling of the leaves of the
tall trees without.
The teacher was a pale-faced, dark, sad
eyed woman, not more than twenty-two
years old. with a gentle manner that
seemed almost hopeless. She had come to
the village a stranger and opened the school.
She called herself Mrs. Ray, and boarded
with the wife of the sexton of the church.
She evinced hut little inclination for socia
bility with the villagers, and generally re
fused all invitations to social gatherings.
She was evidently a woman of culture and
refinement, accustomed to moving in polite
circles; and how she ever came to drift
into our quiet, little, out-of-the-way village
it was hard to tell. She happened to come
just at the time we needed a school, the
old teacher having died, and so, in a short
time, her school was full.
She was very gentle aud the pupils
learned to love her. Her very gentleness
proved a restraining force, and the roughest
boy bent readily to the rule of Mrs. Ray.
It worried us, however, to see her fo sad,
and we noticed, too, at any unusual noise,
or sudden appearing of the parents in the
school-room, her dark eyes would assume
an eager startled look, and her white face
would turn still whiter.
Twenty years had rolled away since, as a
little boy, I had gone to school to Mrs. Ray.
1 had left the village for the city, and now,
for the first time, had come to visit the
home of my childhood.
"Well, John," I said to the old sexton,
"let us take a walk now to the school-room."
"Ah, sir, many is the day any one has
been there. It is never opened now, and is
fast falling to decay," said John.
"And Mrs. Bay, John ; what became of
the pale, dark-eyed teacher?"
■ era you never near, sir, the terrible
story ?"
1 shook my head.
"Ah, sir, that was a terrible thing. We
had to shut up the school-room because the
children refused to go there, and so we
built a new one. The building fell to decay,
and the flowers around it died, and the
weeds grew apace. It is very desolate
there, sir."
"And what became of Mrs. Ray ?"
By this time we had reached the old
school-house, and having entered, were
looking around.
"We'll dust this bench, John, and sit
down, Jand you can tell me the story of Mrs.
Hay."
The sun was just sinking behind the hills
when we took our seats amid the dust and
cobwebs of the old school-room. It seemed
to me that I could see the sweet, pale face
of Mrs. Hay clearly defined against the dark
background of the gloomy place, and hear
the gentle tones of her voice.
"Well sir," said the old sexton, "it was
a terrible day when we found Mrs. Hay
lying dead in the school-room, her throat
cut, and her dress covered with blood. The
children ran home and told the news, and
the villagers hastened there; but she was
dead, sir, and all we eould do was to pick
her up and carry her to my house, where
she boarded."
"Did she cut her own throat ?"
"Oh, no, sir; it must have been done by
a stranger who spent a night in the village,
and who was heard to inquire if a person
answering to the description of Mrs. Ray
lived here. You see, sir, her name was not
Mrs. Hay at all, but Mrs. Mandeville. The
man was not seen the next day, and was
never heard of again."
"What reason could he have for murder
ing her ?"
"Mrs. Hay told her story to my wife.
She had been engaged to be married to a
young man who was poor, and who her
father did not wish her to marry. He
wanted her to marry Colonel Mandeville,
who was rich and influential. Then the
story reached her that the one she loved
had married a lady in England, where he
had gone to visit his father, and she felt
desperate when she saw it in the news
papers. She married Colonel Mandeville,
but she was not happy with him because
she did not love him, and he was a fiery
tempered man, and she was afraid of him.
In one of his rages he told her one day that
the young man she loved was not married
at all, and that he and her father had
caused the marriage notice to appear in the
papers, and had intercepted all their letters
to each other. Then Mrs. Mandeville told
him that there was no forgiveness in her
heart for him ; that she never wished to see
him again, or her father either, for they
had broken her heart. When the young
man had heard of her treachery in marry
ing another when she had promised to
marry him, he wrote her a terrible letter,
upbraiding her. He grew a sort of melan
choly, and one day he was found dead in
his room; he had shot himself. Mrs. Man
deville stole from her house one night when
her husband was out, and made her way
here, because she knew that it was an out
of-the way place, and none would be apt
to find her. She lived in this village two
years, and we all learned to love her, she
was so gentle and so kiad. But my wife
says she looked terrible, so white, and her
eyes flashed whenever she spoke of her
father and husband, and she used to say.
"I never can, I never intend to forgive
them, Mrs. Morrison; no,- never! never!"
We can form no idea how her husband
traced her here—for. we supposed that the
man was her husband —although we had no
clue to him after he left the village. The
children had left Mis. Mandeville putting
on her bonnet to leave the school-room, and
that was the last time she was seen alive.
Her bonnet was lying beside her when we
found her dead, all bloody and crumpled.
Poor young ludy ! It was a terrible sight to
sis* her lying there, her eyes wide open and
filled with an expression of fright und
agony. 1 think, sir, that it would have
been better if she could have forgiven those
who did her the great wrong ; but she said
there was not one atom of forgiveness in
her heart, that she would rather die than to
say the word forgive to her father and her
husband."
The sun had fairly gone down behind
the hills when the old sexton finished his
story. The shadows enveloped the old
school-house in dusky dimness; we quietly
arose and walked out, glad to leave Itehind
a place haunted with such sad memories.
No doubt as the old sexton said, it would
have been better to have lieen forgiving,
for forgiveness, like charity, covers a mul
titude of sins.
TUw New "Annlhllator."
Bright and early, before one-tenth of the
citizens of Detroit iiud shaken off the ef
fects of the glorious Fourth, Professor
James K. P. BnrlingHine made his appear
ance on several streets in Detroit almost at
the same moment. You would have known
him to be a professor, even if you had seen
him tangled up with a butcher-cart. That
tall plug hat, Dairying the stains of years—
that linen duster girted at the waist—his
long hair hanging down to keep his shoul
ders warm, was a dead give-away on his
title.
The Professor came here to dispose of
individual rights to use his "Fly Annihi
lator," and he didn't let thoughts of the
next Presidential election set him down on
a bench. His piccolo voice inquired of a
woman at the front door of a house on
Congress street east :*
4 'Madame, have you ten seconds tospure
this morning?"
"No, sir," was the prompt reply.
"Very well, then ; you will miss seeing
my Fly Annihilator," he remarked, as he
walked off. "Thousands have missed it,
to their everlasting sorrow—thousands have
accepted it and been made happy for life."
"it's some kind o' pizen!" she called
after him down the street.
"Warranted free from all drugs or chem
icals dangerous to the human system, and
recommended to people troubled with
sleeplessness," lie called back, as he briskly
retracted bis steps.
"I've got screens in every wiudow, and
yet the flys get in," she continued, as he
opened his satchel on the steps.
"Of course they do—of course. A fly
is like a human being. Bar him out and
he is seized with a desire to get in at any
price. Tell him he can't and he will or
break his neck. Fling away your screens
and depend entirely on my fly annihilator,
warranted to kill on sight, and can be
worked by a child four years old. This is
the application."
lie took from the satchel an eight-ounce
bottle filled with a dark liquid and pro
vided with a small brush, and holding it
up continued:
"One twenty-five cent bottle does for
twenty doors, and I give you directions
how to make all you want. No poison
here—nothing in this bottle to trot little
children up to the cemetery."
"Why, you don't put it on the flies, do
you ?" she asked.
"Not altogether, madam. Any child
can use it, as I said before. Just watch
me a moment."
He swung the front door open, and with
the brush applied the mixture to the back
edge, giving it a thin coat from top to bot
tom.
"Now, then," he said, as he swung the
door back, "flies like sweet. This mixture
is sweet. The fly alights on the door, and
you swing it shut, and he is jammed
against the casing and crushed in an in
stant. Every door is capable of killing
1,000 flies per day. If you have twelve
doors, your aggregate of dead flies will be
exactly 12,00<>. When you have crushed
about 2,000 on a door, take an old knife
and scrape them off, and begin over again."
"Do you suppose— !" began the indig
nant woman, but he interrupted with:
"Don't'suppose anything about it, except
that it will mash flies and never miss. All
you have to do is to open every door, apply
the mixture, and shut them in succession.
If you have twelve doors and twelve
children, you can leave it all to the
children. And only twenty-five cents a
bottle."
"Do you suppose I want my doors
daubed with flies and molasses f" she
made a cuff at the bottle.
"Just as you prefer, madam," he quietly
replied. "Some do and some don't. Some
won't have it at any price, and others even
set up extra doors in the back yard in order
to use lots of it. -I'll warrant this liquid to
draw 'em, if you'll only open and shut the
doors."
"I won't buy it—l won't have it!" she
shouted, as she jammed the broom against
the door.
"Very well, madam—very well. If you
prefer a fly on your nose to one on the door
1 can raise no objections. Remember, how
ever, that this is my farewell tour previous
to appearing before the crowned heads of
Europe, and you will not have another
chance to secure the annihilator. All you
have to do is to take your sewing on your
lap and open and shut the door at regular
intervals."
"If my husband was here he'd—he'd —"
"He'd buy the right for this county and
make $20,000 in two months ; but, as he
is not here, we'll bid you good day and pass
on. Sorry madam, but some folks prefer
to kill their flies with a pitchfork, and the
man with pitchforks will call here in fif
teen minutes."
The Boy Barn-Burner.
The boy stood on the back-yard fence,
whence all but him had fled; the flames
that lit his father's barn shone just above
the shed. One bunch of crackers in his
hand, two others in his hat, with piteous
accents loud he cried," I never thought of
that!" A bunch of crackers to the tail of
one small dog he'd tied; the dog in anguish
sought the barn and mid its ruins died.
The sparks flew wide and red and hot, they
lit upon that brat; they fired the crackers
in his hand and eke those in his hat. Then
came a burst of rattlin sound—the boy !
Where was he gone ? Ask of the winds
that far around strewed bits of meat and
bone, scraps of cloth and balls, and tops
and nails and hooks and yarn, the relics of
tne dreadful boy that burned his father's
barn.
liank'a ilabiea.
1 was detained over Sunday In Barns
bnry, and on Sunday morning I resolved to
go to church. The first church I came to,
u small frame structure with a wooden
steeple, had the doors and windows tightly
shut, hut there was a man sitting on the
front steps whittling a stick, and I said to
him:
"Are you connected with this church?"
"Yes," he said, "I'm the sexton."
"What is it closed for?"
"Well, mostly on account of Bank's
babies."
"Babies?"
"Sit down, and I'll tell you about it.
You know Banks, he come to this town to
live a few weeks ago a perfect stranger, and
he rented a pew in this church. It seems
that Banks had three little bits of babies,
triplets, not more'n two months old, and
then, besides these, he had twins alnrnt a
year old. So nobody knew about the ba
bies, but Banks wanted the little darlings
baptized,and he allowed to Mrs. Banks that
to rush the whole five babies into church
on one Sunday might excite remark, you
understand. So he settled it that he'd have
'em christened gradually, so to speak Ac
cordingly the next Sunday he fetched little
Jimmy, one of the triplets, and all went off
well ensugh. On the followin' Sunday he
came a promenadin' up the aisle with
George Washington, another triplet, and
Dr. Bitins, our preacher, he fixed him up
all right. People thought it was queer,
but when on the next Sunday. mornin'
Banks and his wi f e come into church with
another baby, William Henry, crying like
a Pawnee war-whoop, some of the folks
couldn't help snickerin'.
"llowsomdever nobody complained, and
all might have been well if Banks had'nt
come along the Sunday after with Elijah
Hunsiker Banks, one of the twins. Every-
aughed, and Mr. and Mrs. Banks
they were furious—mad as anything, you
know; and when Elijah Hunsiker Banks
hauled off accidently with his hand aud hit
Dr. Binns, who was holding him during the
ceremony, a wack in the face, and the doc
tor dropped him in the water, the congre
gation just fairly roared with laughter.
Mrs. Banks turned red as fire and looked as
if she would like to murder somebodv.
Well, you know, we all thought this was
the last, and public feeling kinder simmered
down on toward the end of the week, when
who should come booming up the asile on
Sunday morning but Mr. and Mrs. Hanks,
with Tecumseh Aristotle Banks, the remain
ing twin! Well, you ought to 're heard the
congregation laugh! I never seen not hi n'
like it in all my experience. Even Dr.
Hinns had to smile. And the Bankses, they
were perfect wild with rage. Anyhow,
they baptized Tecumseh; and after meetin'
some of the elders got to jokin' about it.
One, they'd have to apply to the town su
pervisore for an extension of the water
works ; another allowed that arrangements
ought to be made to divert Huckleberry
Creek and run it down the middle aisle of
the church; another made some kind of a
joke about business being good because so
many banks were in town; auother said that
Banks would need about twelve pews when
his family grew up. Somebody must have
told Bauks about it, for what does he do to
revenge himself? He sends down to Cla
rion county to his sisters to come and
bring their children. So they had a couple
of babies apiece, and as soon a3 they arrived
Banks he begins to bring them to church
gradually, like the others. Yon never seen
such meetings as them! The church was
jammed full, and people just roarin.'
And when Banks came in on Sunday with
the fourth and last of his sister's babies,
the trustees thought it was time to
interfere. Getting' to be a farce, yeu
know! So Deacon Smith he stepped up
and said somethin' or other to Banks, and
Banks, quicker'n a wink, laid down the
baby and banged the Deacon with his fist.
And so, I duuuo how it it was, but in a
minute there was Banks and Deacon Smith,
and Deacon Hubbard, and Banks' sister's
baby, and me, all a rolling and a bumpin'
over t'le floor, hittin' and kickin' and
woopin' in a manner that was ridiculous to
behold.
And when we all come to, and got
straightened out, Banks picked up the bat
tered baby of his sister and quiet, and the
trustees held an informal meetin' and
agreed to close the church for a month so's
to kinder freeze Banks out, and now we've
shut up; but I reckon is is no use, for I
hear Banks has got his back up and gone
over and joined the Baptists." So I said
good day to the sexton and went in search
of another sanctuary.
Strange Mexican Animal
The banks ot the KioFuerteare lined
with stately bignonla trees; and here I
saw lor the first time the singular rep
tile which the Spaniards call iguana and
the Portuguese eayman do motto—i. e.
'tree-alligator.' The latter name may
have been suggested by the formidable
appearance of an animal which attialus
a length of seven feet and a weight of
sixty-five pounds, and jumps from tree
to tree with the impetus ot a tiger-cat;
but there is no doubt that the iguana is
the most harmless creature of that size
which ever jumped or flew or swam on
this plauet of ours—the most harmless
creature of its size, we might say, for
the little goldfish and the robin red
breast are beasts of prey compared with
the tree-alligator: they will hurt a fly,
but the iguana is a strict vegetarian,
and like an orthodox Hindoo endeavors
to prolong his life without shortening
that of a fellow-creature. Still, with
its saurian beak, its preposterous claws
and the row of bristles along its back
bone, this giant lizard is a scandalous
phenomenon.
Tlie Two Wills.
There are two passages in the will of
Chiselhurst and the will of Long wood
which may be contrasted and read with
curious interest. The First Napoleon
writes:
•'I die prematurely, assassinated by
the English oligarchy and its * * *
The English nation will not be slow in
vengiug me,"
The Fourth Napoleon writes:
"1 shall die with a sentiment of pro
found gratitude toward Her Majesty
the Queen of England, toward all the
.Royal family, and toward the country
where I have received during eight
years so cordial a hospitality."
NEWS IS BKIEF.
—There are 1,800,000 marriageable
girls in France.
—During the month of July the New
York police captured sixteen runaway
boys, from Boston and vicinity.
—The consumption of coffee through
out the world has increased during the
past forty yean* from 190,000,000 to 830,-
000,000 pounds.*
—Daniel Lawrence, a rich distiller,
who died at Medford, Mass., recently
left S7OOO to the town of Tyngsboro,
Mass., for a poor fund.
—Fourteen cups of Sevres china will
be offered in competition by the French
War Ofliee to the societies of carrier
pigeon breeders.
—lc is estimated that the Minnesota
wheat crop will yield an average of fif
teen bushels to the acre, or altogether
44,000,000 bushels in the State.
—There are four hundred and fifty
lady dentists in the United States, and
three times as many learning the busi
ness.
—The number of convicts in 1878 in
ail the State prisons of the Union was
29,197, of whom 13,186 were employed
in mechanical industries.
—The amount of lumber on hand at
the different points on the Susquehanna
is represented as larger this year, at
this season, than for years past at the
same time.
—The Pennsylvania Railroad has
erec ed gas works near the Union De
pot, Pittsburg, for the manufacture of
gas to l>e used in the depot and on the
ears. • '*
—Gadshill Place, Higham, the resi
dence of the late Charles Dickens, and
which has been for a long time in the
market, has at length found a purchaser
in Captain Austin Budden, of the
Twelfth Kent Artillery.
—The export of American beer was
valued at $150,(00 last year, against
$50,000 in 1874. The importations, on
(tie contrary, have fallen off very large
ly, being *2.167,251 gallons in 1875,
against 767,709 gallons in 1878. •
—ln recognition of the labors of Pro
fessor Greist, of the Law Faculty of
Berlin. President Hayes has transmitted
to the Professor, through Mr. Bverett,
a collection of volumes on the history
of juresprudence.
—A woman was drinking milk from
a cup in Paris on the 28th ot June, at
6 o'clock in the morning. Tho light
ning knocked he cup from her hauds,
but left her unhurt. The cup could
not be found.
—Three of the surviving descendants
of Massasoit, th° noted Indian, Mrs.
Mitchell and her two daughters, are
passing the summer in camp at Betty's
Neck, a tract of land up the shores of
Assawampsett Pond, iu Massachusetts.
—The national debt is now about $2,-
304,(X)0.000, which bears interest 8s fol-
lows, in round number*; 3 per cent..
$14,000,000; four per cent., $050,000,000;
4>g per cent., $250,000,000 ; 5 percent.,
*0j0,000; 6 per cent., $350,000,000; no
interest. $4J0.000,000.
—Ten years ago the exportation of
leather to Europe was first stilted as
aii experiment. Siuce then the trade
has grown to '25,000,000 pounds (valued
at $4,0o0,000) per annum, with an in
crease tor rue first six months of this
year of 1,000,000 pounds
—The Chicago elevators contain at
the present time 2,535,273 busheis ot
wheat, 2,958,576 bushel*of corn, 154,219
bushels of oats. 50.070 bushels of rye,
aud 76,960 busucisol barley, making a
grand total ol 5,775,098 bushels, against
1,570,055 bushe.s at this period last year.
—ln Paris and its suburbs there are
more than 18,000 people who live by
rag-picking or rag-selling. There are
10,000 chiffonuiers whogo about collec
ting scraps of rags or paper, and 3,000
old clothes dealers who buy rags, and
who again employ 2,000 workmen.
—ln New South Wales last year the
sum of $1,7<)8,455 was expended upon
primary education. Teacuers' salaries
absorbed $799,320. There were in oper
ation 1,187 schools, attended in the ag r
gregaic by 128,125 pupils. iSince 1877
there has been an increase of seventy
schools. Ten years ago there were only
642 schools.
—Tue Boston Fish Bureau has just,
completed statistics of the catch of
mackerel, the receipts and imports from
January 1 to August 1, The New
England cateh of mackerel for that
time is 61,763 barrels, of which 19,414
barrels have been packed out at Boston,
12,490 barrels at Gloucester and 29,941
at all other New Euglaud ports.
—A mile is 6,280 feet, or 1,760 yards
in length. A fathom is six feet. A
league is I hiee miles. A Sabbath Day's
journey is 1,155 yards less than two
thirds of a miie. A day's journey is
32% miles. A cubit is two feet. A
Hand (norse measure) is four inches.
A palm is three inches. A span la 10%
inches. A space is three feet.
—Of 17,000 guns constructed by Herr
Krupp at his works at Essen during
the last twenty-three years only sixteen
have burst, and nearly all of these were
destroyed during trials undertaken to
test their power of resistance or endur
ance, and when, consequently, they
were loadf d with charges heavier than
they were designed to fire.
—Thirty-two American horses arriv
ed at Havre recently for the French
cavalry. They were inspected by
Freuch officers detailed for the purpose,
and were ail accepted at prices ranging
trom $220 to $270, which are 'he top
prices lor French remounts. The hor
ses were in splendid condition after
their voyage, no accidents whatever
having occurred on board ship.
—The immigration statistics at Cas
tle Garden, Mew York, give the number
of arrivals of imigrants during July at
12,408, against 8822 in July, 1878. The
total arrivals since January 1 are 68,300,
an Increase of 21,550 over the same per
iod last year. The records of each
month show an increase, that in May
being the greatest, when there were
18,328 arrivals, against 11,450 in May,
1878.
—Mrs. Damaris Boutelle has just died
at Fitch burg, Mass., at the advanced
age of 99 years. Longevity is a char
acteristic of her family. Two of her
brothers died a few years since, on the
Bth day of August, at the ripe ages of
82 and 86 respectively A large num
ber of the family nave died at ages
varying from 80 to 92. Mrs. Boutelle
leaves a brother, Mr. David Boutelle,
of Fitchburg, now 88 years old, and
twin sisters, aged 81.
NO. 35.