VOL. LIV. PROFESSIONAL CARDS. C. T. Alexander. C. M. Bower. £ BOWER, ATTORNEYS AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA. Office in Garman's new building. JOHN B. LINN\ ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA. Office on Allegheny Street. OLEMENT DALE, ATTORNEY AT RAW. BELLEFONTE, PA. Northwest corner of Diamond, D. G. Bush. S. H. Yoeura. D. H. Hastings. JgUSH, YOCUM & HASTINGS, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. BELLEFONTE, PA. High Street, Opposite First National Bank. w M. C. HEINLE, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA. Practices in all the courts of Centre counry. Special attention to CoUectlons. Consultations In German or English. W -BUR F. REEDER, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTE. PA. All bus'ness promptly attended to. Collection of claims a speciality. J. A. Beaver. J. W. Gephart. JJ E A VER & GEPHART, ATTORNEYS AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA. Office on Alleghany Street. North of High. w. A. MORRISON, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA. Office on Woodrlng's Block, Opposite Court House. JQ S. KELLER, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA. Consultations In English or German. Ofilco In LyonS Building, Allegheny Street. JOHN G. LOVE, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA. Office In the rooms formerly occupied by the late w p. Wilson. BANKING CO., ft AIN STREET, MILLHBIM, PA. A. WALTER, Cashier. DA V. KRAPE, Pres. IIAR 1 ER, AUCTIONEER, KEBERSBURG, PA. Satisfaction Guaranteed. A man cannot be a ,>rosperous Chris tian without settled seasons of prayer. Opportunities to pray will be found when the heart is intent on the exer cise. bin alwaj T s begins with ploasure and ends with bitterness. It is like a colt which the little boy said was very tann in front and very wild behind. We should enjoy our fortune as we do our health—enjoy it when good, be patient when it is bad, and never apply violent remedies except in an extreme necessity. When we speak of obedience we should always speak of faith lirst. Faith is the first and. fundamental act of obedience. Faith is the mainspring of obedience. If you would relish food, labor for it before you take it; if enjoy clothing, pay for it before you wear it; if you would sleep soundly, take a clear con-, science to bed with you. Socially, politically, and religiously, the civilized world is in a terrible un settled condition. Everything appear to be in a state of unrest. There seems to be no well stated limit to anything. Conversion is life from the dead. It is the healthfulness and growth of functions that were entirely extinct, in contradistinction from the notion that it is an education oi the heart —a mere training of an inherent principle. Cheerfulness is just as natural to the heart of a man in strong health as color to his cheek; and wherever there is habitual gloom there must be either bad air, unwholesome food, improper ly severe labor, or erring habits In life. Let us have none the less emotion, none the less morality, but from top to bottom, within and without, through out and without end, let have right eousness. Then our emotions will be read, our morality will be love, and our rightousness will be holiness. Translate the sense of Scripture into your lives, and expound the Word oi God by your works. Interpret it by your feet and teach it by your lingers. That is, let your workings and your walkings be Scripture exposition, as living epistles read and known of all men. Trouble must have great possib lities of blessing in it, or it would not be so common in God's world. Surely we need not dread it so when it brings in one hand the peaceable fruit of right eousness and in the other the joys oi consolation for so many sorrowing souls. ilc pitlleiii SUinrnal LOSING AND LIVING. Forever the nun is pouring its gold Ou a hundred worlds that beg and borrow; His warmth he squsud TB 011 summits coid; Ilia wealth on the homes of want and Bor row; To withhold his of precious light 1B to bury himself in eternal uighL To give 1B to live. The ilower shines not for itself at all; Its joy is the joy it freely diffuses; Of beauty and balm It is prodigal. And it lives in the light it freely loses. No choice for the rose but glory or doom. To exhale or smother, to wither or bloom. To deny Is to die. The seas lend silvery ra\s to the laud. The land its sapphire-streams to the ocean; The heart sends blood to the brain of com mand. The bram to the heart its lightning motion; And over and ever we > iel 1 our breath. Till the mirror is dry and image < death. To live Is to give. lie is dead whoso hand is not open wide To heip th' need of a human brother; lie coubles the length of h.s life-long ride Who gives his fortunate place to another; And a thousand million lives are his Who carries the world in his sympathies. To deny IB ?O die. Little Love. Bessie, come; nurse is waiting! Run. now, ami let her attend to your curls ; you must look very neat, or Mr. Irving will not love you. It is almost dinner-time," said Bessie's mother. Immediately the child rose, raised her sweet lips to kiss mamma, and followed the nurse trom the room. "It is perfectly wonderful how much in fluence Mr. Irving has over that child! Just tell her to do angthing, and say it will please him, and that is enough. I never saw any thing like it." said Mrs. Wallace to a friend sitting beside her, who answered: "1 have, and would not encourage—or rather would strenuously endeavor to over come—that influence." "Now, my dear Georgie, what is troub ling that wisek^adof yours? What means that grave look and anxious light in your eyes?" "Fannie, I'm perfectly astonished at peo ple whose duty it is to watch over and guard their little ones, especially their girls from sorrows, planting in their young hearts seeds which may grow to be thorns, and treating children as though they vere void of any deeper thought and feeling than the appreciation of a doll or box of toys. lam sure that some children at five years have hearts that love as devotedly and sutler as keenly as many at mature years. You are shaking your head. I want to tell you a little story to prove my assertion. We have half an hour before dinner. Will you listen!" "Yes, certainly; but it must have a hap py ending," answered Mrs. Wallace. "1 cannot promise : perhaps tne end has not yet come. You know llattie Roy ?" "I do, certainly, a lovelier girl I never knew. Why she has never married has been a source of wonder to me." "Ay, and to many who knew her not so well as I. It is of her lam going to tell you. "Twenty-five years ago, when just at the age of your Bessie—and just as loving, too- a young man crossed her path. We will call him Joe Hewberry. lie was the class mate and dearest friend of Ilattic's brother. "At a part}' given during the Christinas holidays by Mrs. Roy, Joe, to pique one of the girls, attached himself for the evening to little llattie, dancing with her, promen ading through the rooms, with her tiny hands, clasped in his, much to the annoy ance of many bright eyed maidens, who really were envious of the baby girl. "Joe was handsome and very fasinating, a universal favorite with the ladies, young and old. "Several mammas endeavored to draw him away from his 'little-love' as he called her, and maumurved to get her from him; but all in vain, until wearily the sunny head drooped and with her arms around his neck, her sweet lips giving the good-night kiss, she sank to sleep. Gently then he resigned her to her nurse's care. "Every day from that time he came to the house, llis home was quite near. At the sound of his voice, llattie sprang for ward with outstretched arms to meet him. I have seen her, with her hands in his, look ing up into his face for hours, seeming per fectly happy. "Of course, this was noticed by the fam ily and commented upon. The child's o'd er sisters and and brothers could win her to their will by saying: " 'l'll tell Mr. Hewberry if you don't, and he won't love you then.' "Daily she gathered a little liouquet for him, and when the autumn days catnc and the flowers were few, the 'litt e love, would watch closely the slowly opening buds, lest someone else should get them. "So the days passed by for two years, and then for a time she was to be separated from the one she had grown to love so dear ly. "She clung round his neck, and begged to be with him when the hour of parting came. With promises of a speedy return he managed to soothe her. "His absence was short. He returned, bringing her for a Christmas present a pret ty little chain, to which was attached a locket with his portrait. "For Joe she learned to read to write; for him she would grow brave, and, with his hand holding hers, had her first tooth drawn. "When ill with fever, tossing restlessly from side to side, his hand could always quiet, his voice soothe. Without a mur.eiur she would take from him the most nauseous doses. " ' How will all this end?' I asked her mother once. "And lightly she replied, 'Oh, all right, of course. She will learn to love someone nearer her own age when the proper time comes; and he v ill be married long before then. He has a distant cousin, to whom, I am inclined to think, he is engaged. lam sure their parents are anxious for their un ion.' "As Hattie grew older, a little shyness MILLIIEIM, HA., THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 12, 1880. crept gradually iuto her maimer. 8ti;l the love was there. "Once, in a moment of confidence, she came to me, and asked, 4 l)o you believe i Mr. Hewberry likes anyone better than me? | Fred says he does—that he remained by | her all the time at the party bust night. 1 , wish 1 was old enough to go to parties! ! And 1 wish—indeed 1 do " 'What, liettie?' I asked, as she hesi tated. " 'I wish Cora Cashing didn't live in this world—indeed 1 do?' nodding her head decidedly, while striving to force back the I tears. "Oh, Nettie! this is dreadful!' I said, drawing Iter within my arms. " 'Well then, I wish Mr. llewberry and I lived somewhere else, where Cora Cubb ing wouldn't conic,' she sobbed. "I assured her that Joe did not love Cora ' Cashing; that Fred was only teasing her. "When she was ten years old, .loe was called suddenly away by the severe illness of his nearest relative, un uncle. "There was only time for a hasty Good bye, my little love! Make haste to grow i fast, and be a tall girl when 1 come back,' : he said, kissing her. "llis going was so sudden, she did not seem to'realize it. I was glad that it was so. Hut how 1 pitied the little thing when, day after day. as she bad done for years, she sat and watched ! "Time passed ou; the pretty child grew to be a beautiful maiden. Youths gather ed about her, and friends ceased to talked of Joe. Other names were mentioned as his had been; yet none could win an ans wering smile or blush. 1 knew for whom her love was kept. "The waiting, yearning look in her eyes gave way at last, and a joyous light broke forth. Joe was coining back. A letter to her brother Fred brought the glad tidings. He wrote: "I've a secret to tell you, dear boy! Hut. no ; I'll keep it for a surprise, in which you will rejoice for my sake, lam sure. In a few days 1 shall be with you.' " 'JOE.' "Again, as in her baby days, Hattie be gan her watching. Oh, I knew her heart was singing a joyous song, though the sweet lips gave forth no sound. "She stood in the porch, wailiug his com ing, clothed in fleecy white, roses in her hair, and a bright smile playing on her face. •' 'Hattie." "Fred came towards her. The boy's face hud lost its usual look of merriment, bis voice its careless tone. " 'liettie, Joe came by the train awhile ago"—he paused, dartingan anxious, search ing glauce at his sister's face—and he was not alone. I'll not let him surprise you, lit tle sis. I've hurried home to tell you his wife is with him.' "The light went out of eye and heart. The blush failed quickly on the young face, and, whiter than the dress she wore, was the band put forth to grasp the balustrade. "Fred sprang forward to catch her faint ing form. Like a broken lily he bore her in. And when Joe came she knew it not. "For many days her gentle spirit hover ed between life and death. Sometimes, since, I've almost regretted that it passed not away. . "She has never seen Joe Hewberry since his marriage. Three years after, she sent to his little girl, who bears her name, the chain and locket she used to wear.'' "Where is he now?" Mrs. Wallace in quired. "I've not heard of him for years; I know not if he lives." "Tliauks for your story, Georgie. Hut I wish its ending bad not been so sad." "Then its lessons would have been less powerful.'' True. I must profit by it without delay. I will send Bessie home with inoiher to morrow. The change will do her good, and break the spell." A few days after this, Georgie .Clark came to see Bessie's mother and said, with a bright smile; "I've come to change the ending of my story of the other day. In fact, the end had not then come. Here are ilattie's wed ding cards; her Joe has been a widower over two years. Hear what she writes to me: "Forgive me for keeping my happiness from you, 1113* dear friend, but I have not been able to realize sufficiently that this great joj'was forme to speak to others. Now that it is so near, and he is with me, surely musi it be. You who have knowu so much, must know all now. He loved and was pledged to her before lie knew 111 c. You will be glad to know this; I was. Had I known it. it would have soothed greatly the agony of bygone days.' "We were at Ilattie's wedding yesterday; a happier, lovelier bride I never saw." Working the l'inneer lOicket. "Yes, gentlemen,'' said a seedy-looking customer with a long beard, who had rung in on a party of tourists in the Baldwin bar room the other evening, "I was the first white American who set foot on the site of San Francisco. Many's the night I've roasted bcesteak for supper, and slept with the sand for a blanket, right where this hotel now stands. I owed thd entire country clear down to San Jose, and I traded the whole business one day for ten pounds of tobacco." "Five pounds," put in the bar-keeper sternly. "I guess I know how many pounds," said the oldest inhabi tant, somewhat abashed. "You said live pounds last night," retorted the bar-keeper; "and I've told you more than fifty times that if you intend to work the pioneer racket in this here bar, you must stick to the same story. If you don't. I'll let Joe Barker work the house instead; you hear me ?" And the relic of the good old Argouautic days drifted sadly olt to the lunch counter. 'The Kissing llush." One of the gentle customs that has been permitted to exist in English homes since the time of the Druids finds expression in what is known as the "kissing bush." It is generally a neat bough of mistleto, and when the household decorations are going up it is rarely ever forgotten, especially where there are young men and maidens. It hangs in the hall, and the charm lies in leading your fair friend beneath it and kiss ing her. Among the middle class this feat ure of the holidays is never neglected, and at friendly and family reunions it occasions much merriment. In Elmira, however, the tree has been discarded. The way to do is not to lead your fair friend beneath a tree and kiss her there, but to kiss her where she is; for nine times out of ten, when she gets under the tree, she'll change her mind. Procrastination is the thief of many such an opporunity. Squealing. In a late trial in Evansville, Indiana, Wieehel was sworn and put ou the stand, and began to explain to court, jury and counsel, not to speak of a curious audience, the mysteries of the game of draw-poker. "Well, you see," said lie, "the players sit around the table, and the man next to the dealer puts up his ante —" "Hold 011," exclaimed Mr. Brownlee. "If your honor please, 1 don't under stand —" "Nor do I," said the Court, warmly. "1 can scarcely believe that even men sinJul enough to play at cards for money would put their own female relations upon a table for sport. The jury groans aloud. "1 don't mean that," said the witness. "When a man puts up his ante, he puts up a certain amount of money a° 1111 earnest of play. Then the cards are dealt. Those who want to come in—" "Oli, i see," said the court, with a bland smile; "it resembles the old game of "smitten," where the young men are kept out of the mom—" "No," snapped the witness, "it ain't that. When a man conies in he puts up twice the amount of ante, and is entitled to a draw." "It is something like a lottery, and this money purchases ticket?" suggested Mr. Brownlee, with u look of profound curiosi ty. "No, a draw means that if you have come in 011 a pair, you have a right to an other deal ot cards. We were playing jack pots, and there w as a good-sized pot ou the table." "Who placed that pot 011 the table?" inquired Mr. Brownlee, sternly. "Why, all of em!" answered the wit ness. "Who were all of 'em?" persisted the counsel, with a grijn determination. The Court was leaning anxiously over the table. "All that were playing," said the witness. • "Give the names of all playing," shouted the counsel, while the excitement in court went up to fever pitch. The Court wus leaning on both elbows, with his si>ectacle on; the jury pricked up their ears, while one professional, who was a little incapable, adjusted his open band to bis ear. "Must 1 give the names ?" pleaded the witness. "Yes !" thundered the counsel. "Well, there was , and , and and myself." The names having been ejected, tiie Court slid back into Ins chair, the jury sank back upon their spinal points, counsel stopped to rest, and the audience sighed as if greatly refreshed. We would give the names, but they are in so many morocco covered autograph albums, aud on so many tailors' bills, that we think it un necessary. "You sec, in playing jack-pots you must hold as high as jacks to—" "Ah, yes," said Mr. Brownlee, smiling to the Court, whose lips smiled back while tl • jury grinned responsivelyl "This game is a harmless one. This comparison of 'as high as jacks' doubtless refers to Jack the Giant Killer, or Jack and the Bean Stalk." "Jack and the—!" cried the witness, j "Holding jacks means that you must hold cards as high in denomination as two jacks in order to open the pot." "That is, take off the lid of the pot, " ex- ! plained Mr. Brownlee, patronizingly to the Court. "Take off a monkey's mother!" cried the witness, with profound contempt. "There's 110 j>ot on the table- the money up is called the pot, and the man who holds jacks can require the other to bet him or drop out." "Drop out of the window or out into the next room?" asked counsel, blandly. "Are vou giving 111 c taffy?" asked the witness. "Taffy ?" wonderingly. "Yes, taffy, and don't you forget it. 1 don't take it 011 as ick." Counsel argued with the Court that the plaintiff ciiargi d Meyer and Miller with having jointly won his money, and yet here were three or four other persons admitted to have been in the game. He demanded that Wieehel prove the particular dollars and cents lost at spec tied times. This could not be done, and. at defendant's de mand, the jury gave a finding for the de fendant. A Tunic Heron. A writer says that he has a tame heron. A heron is a very large bird with very large wings, very long legs and very long neck. It lives along streams of water or by the sea in marshy places, and eats all the lisli it can catch with its sharp bill and sharper eyes. This tame heron is a funny fellow. His master found him in the nest when young and raised him, until he is now full grown. He has a small pond of water in the corner of the yard, and his great de light is to fish in it. Of course, there are no fish in the pond but the heron will make believe there is, just as a cat will play with a reel of cotton making beliave that the cotton is a mouse. The heron spends most of his time in the pond. He will take a small branch, or leaf, in his bill, toss it a long ways into the water anil then dash at it as though it were a fish. At dusk in the evening be creeps around the quiet corners of the garden, with his long neck stretched out and legs bent, in search of mice. When he sees a mouse he pounces down on it like a cat and cats it with great relish. Indeed, that is his main fault —he eats too many things, even to sparrows or other small birds. Law Decisions In Pennsylvania a deed is, in contemp lation of law, recorded when it is left for record at the recorder's ollice, and is valid notice from that time, though it be record ed in the wrong book and omitted from all the deed and mortgage indices. Lunatics are liable for necessaries, and where a lunatic obtains the property of one who, in good faith, deals with him in ig norance of his condition, he will not be per mitted to keep both the property and the prise. An architect who makes plans and speci fications *or a building, but who does noth ug more, is not within the provisions of the mechanic's lien law ar.d is not entitled to a lien against the building for his labor. The payment of usurious interest after the maturity of a debt is not a vavid con sideration for an agreement. The satisfaction of a mortgage on the re cord may be shown to have been entered by mistake, and in that event is not con clusive as between the parties to the trans action. Tricking the DKVII. The people of an Austrian town pruyeil the abbot of Einicdlin to build them a ] bridge, anil he advertised for a builder. A number answered the advertisement, but when they saw how the Kcuss roared and H foamed over the rocks, they shook their ( heads and departed. Only two remained; one was a tall, handsome man in block and tlie other a poor young fellow, well-known in the country as a clever mill-wright. The tall man asked the young man. who gave j his name as Christian, if he was the I architect. The answer was that he had j only built mill-dams, as yet, and he had , studied the project for two days, but could make nothing of it. The tall man in black assured linn he could make a suc cess, as he would throw an arch simply ) across tlic torrent and that he would finish j- it in one evening. "Ah?"' said Christian, laughing, "why you must be the devil!" j "At your service," lie answered politely, j- "Now, if you would like the credit, I will ( do the work for the consideration that you sign a contract giving me your soul." j A cold chill ran over Christian, and he ) was just going to commence his papers ) when a young peasant girl passed along themontain, singing a melodiousair. The poor fellow thought of the blue eyed mai i den at home, and thinking the other man j was some architect amusing himself with j his country simplicity, half-afraid, half , 1 laughing, he signed the contract in full. Christian went to the cove helow and . passed the night. To his infinite horror ' he saw the bridge was built and his own ! name on it as architect. lie hastened . to Abbot Herald and liesought his assist ance, who promised to do what he could. Soon alter the tall man in black appeared at the monk's house, and salutingliimsaid: ? "Abbot, you have a piece of my prop , erty here. "Hush!" was the reply; "don't waken : the young man; let us talk the matter over. I j Come in." The devil glanced into the room and saw ; nothing but an old woman, and in a IHHI at ( the other end a form which he recognized , for the young millwright's by his clothes, j On taking a seat by invitation lie noticed a chess-board on the tabic and he asked the , Abbot if he played. "A little," said the Abbot; "but it is not worth speaking of. The chief matter I is you cannot have that youngster." . I "Oh," said the devil, "we will see atxiut ( that. The contract is in perfectly gixnl j condition." "It is little I care aliout that," said the Abbot. "But the scandal of the thing; and you know that if 1 set myself to work j you'll have a tongh time of it." "lie reasonable, now," said the tall man. "I'll pay you for him." "Two souls from my parishes," said the Abbot, thoughtfully; "It's 100 much." I "Two? Who then?" cried Satan. Abbot Gerald pointed at the old woman. "Ah," thought the other, "I did not know that 1 liad claims upon her. But I do not mind her much, and always get one game out of two." He then added aloud, "I'll play for both, and that's fair." "Well, I don t like to be bard," said Ab bot Gerald, "I agree; but it's dry business playing chess." j The Abbot called the old woman and or dered her to sit in a chair by the stove. "It is your first move, and we play for this one first." "After you." said the devil politicly. "By no means, 1 am at home," said Ger ald. So the devil tixik the move, and after a pretty tough game the Abbot checkmated liim completely. "You are strong at chess. Abbot Gerald —you have won that one there," and he pointed to the old woman. '•So you give up all claim, now and for ever?" I "Oh, honor bright. Would you have me cheat you after so much politeness? I yield every inch. But now for the o her" "I am tired," said Abbot Gerald; "I think that we will not play any further. I'll give you the other—only take him quietly." "You are very courteous," said thedevil, as hr walked to the bed ami tapped the sleeper as he breathed heavily. "Humph!" said the sleeper. "That's not the licst of good manners,*' said the other; "get up when Ibid you!" and he pulled away the clothes. The sleeper was a great pig, with the millwright's clothes ranged about it; and as Satan turned round, he saw the old worn an stripped of her mask, and there was Christian, pale enough but smiling, j "That's a shabby trick you have played me, Abbot Gerald," said the devil, "but I'll batter your bridge again." "Try it," said Abbot Gerald laughing heartily, as the other flew out banging the door in his rage. The devil got half way to the place, when he met the procession returning. I They had blessed the bridge while the . game of chess lasted, and he had no more | power over it. It was so that Abbot Gerald tricked the ! devil. Where