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 <li(l 1.0 Coiue From.
The origin of the American Indians, who
are always a theme of painful interest with
* us, continues to he variously discussed by
anthropologists. Recently a German writer
has put forward one theory on the subject,
and an English writer has put forward an
other and directly opposite theory. The
difference of opinion concerning our abor
iginals among authors who have made a
profound study of races is at once curious
and interesting. Blumenbach treats them
in his classifications as a distinct variety of
| the human family; but, in the threefold
l division of I)r. Latham, they are ranked
| among the Mongoldffi. Other writers on
race regard them as a branch of the great
! Mongolian family, which, at a distant per
iod, found its was from Asia to this conti
nent, and remained here for centuries sep
arate from the rest of mankind, passing,
meanwhile, through divers phases of bar
barism anil civilization. Morton, our emi
! nent ethnologist, and his followers, Nott
' and Glulden, claim for our native red men
an origin as distinct as the flora and fauna
of this continent. Prichard, whose views
are apt to differ from Morton's, find reason
'to believe, on comparing the Ameiican
tribes together, that they must have formed
| a separate department of nations from the
| earlie.-t period of the world. The era of
i their existence as a distinct and insulated
people must probably be dated back to the
i time which separated into nations the m
| habitants of the Old World, and gave to
' each its individuality and primitive lang-
uage. I)r. Robert Brown, the latest auth
ority, attributes, in his "Races of Mankind,"
un Asiatic origin to our oborlginals. lie
suys that the Western Indians not only per
sonally resemble their nearest neighbors—
t lie Northeastern Asiatics —but they reassem
ble them in language and traditions. The
Esquimaux on the American and the
Tchucktcliis on tiie Asiatic side understand
one another perfectly. Modern anthropo
logist, indeed, are disposed to think tnat
Japan, the Kuriics, and neighboring regions,
may lie regarded us the original home of
the greater part of the native American
race. It is also adinited by them that be
tween the tribes scattered from the Arctic
Sea to ('ai>e Horn there is more uniformity
of physical feature than is seen in any other
quarter of the globe. The weight ot evid
ence and authority is altogether in favor of
the opinion that our so-called Indians are a
brunch of the Mongolian family, and all ad
ditional researches strengthen the opinion.
The tribes of both North and South America
are unquestionably homogeneous, and, in
all likelihood, had their origin in Asia,
though they have been altered and modified
by thousands of years of total separation
from the parent stock.
Senatorial lt*m|iilceiiceii.
Ex-Senator McCreary, of Kentucky,
is a great lover of tobacco in its natural
state, but as the price of the weed was a
little too high for bis ideas of luxury, he
always brought a supply with him to Wash
ington from his farm in old "Kentuck."
One day in the Senate he put his hand in
the pocket oi his "swallow-tail" for the
scrap of plug which was generally to be
found there, but it was missing. So he
called a riding page ana told him to go to
his hotel in Georgetown (you can live in
Georgetown for ninety cents per day), and
bring a piece of tobacco about two inches
long, which he said would be found on bis
bedroom table. Well, the boy rode over
to the hotel, three miles distant, and re
turned wilh the fragrant plug. The Ken
lucky statesman looked first at the youth
ami then at the tobacco. "Young man,"
said he, "you can't come it that way.
There's a chew missing."
On another occasion a package was re
ceived for him at the Senate postoffice, and
the clerk in charge paid the duties, which
were thirty-cents. He tcok the package
to the silver-tongued apostle of the blue
grass region, and told him the circum
stances. "Too much," replied McCreery ;
"I never pay more than twenty-five cents
for a package like that. Here's a quarter.
1 can't afford to pay the other five. You'll
have to stand it yourself."
Ex-SenatorGoldthwaite, of Alabama, was
noted for hisabscnt-mindeduesa, aud he was
occasionally seen running about the senate
trying to get out, and not being able to find
the door. He would have the page-boys in
the Senate looking for his hat or cane, which
would be all the while firmly clasped in his
hand, lie was much given to walking up
and down the lobby, plunged in deep
thought, often smoking u fragrant Havana,
and entirely oblivious of all about him.
Often some cheeky page of the senate
would walk up aud ask the Senator for a
light. Mr. Goldthwaite would mechani
cally baud over his cigar, the boy would
take a light, put the choice weed in his
precious mouth, and hand over his old
stump to the old gentleman, who would
continue his stroll in blissful ignorance. It
is related on good authority that, in one of
his fits of abstraction, he walked into the
Senate elevator, dropped a nickel into the
hole back of the mirror, aud calmly re
quested to be let out at "11" street.
llmtie Kdiu'Htion.
The following rules are worthy of being
printed in letters of gold, and placed in a
conspicuous place in every household :
1. From your children's earliest infancy,
inculcate the necessity of instant obedience.
2. Unite firmness with gentleness. Let
your children always understand I hat you
mean what you say.
3. Never promise them anything unless
you are quite sure you can give what you
say.
4. If you tell a child to do something,
show him how to do it, and see that it is
done.
5. Always punish your child for willfully
disoDeying you, but never punish them in
anger.
0. Never let them perceive that they vex
you, or make you lose your self command.
7. If they give way to petulance or ill
temper, wait till they get calm, and then
calmly reason with them on the impro
priety of their conduct.
8. Remember that a little present pun
ishment when the occasion arises is much
more effortful than the threatening of a
greater punishment should the fault be
renewed.
y. Never give your children anything
because they cry for it.
10. On no account allow them to do at
one time what you have forbidden, under
the same circumstances, at another.
11. Teach them that the only sure and
easy way to appear good is to be good.
12. Accustom them to make their little
recitals with perfect truth.
13. Never allow tale-bearing.
14. Teach them self-denial, not self-in
dulgence of an angry and resentful spirit.
In School.
A schoolboy being asked by the teacher
how he should tlog him, replied :
"If you please, sir, I should like to have
it upon the Italian system of penmanship —
the heavy strokes upward, and the down
ones light."
Schoolmistress (pointing to the first letter
of the alphabet): Come, now, what is
that?"
Scholar: I shan't tell you.
Schoolmistress: You won't, but you
must. Come, now, what is it ?
Scholar: 1 shan't tell you. I didn't come
here to teach you, but for you to teach me.
A country schoolmaster had two pupils,
to one of whom he was partial and to the
other severe. One morning it happened
that these two boys were late, and were
called up to account for it.
"You must have heard the bell, boys;
why did you not come ?"
"Please, sir," said the favorite, "I was
dreaming that I was going to Margate, and
I thought the school bell was the steamboat
bell."
"Very well," said the master, glad of
any pretext to excuse his favorite.
"And now, sir," turning to the other,
"what have you to say ?"
"Please, sii," said the puzzled boy, 1 1—
1 was waiting to see Tom off."
Read j Men.
The rarest reconlc<l instance of readiness
was undoubtedly that of Foote, the come
dian. He had given offence to a famous
duellist of the day, who had vowed ven
geance, and was only waiting to meet the
luckless actor. Foote was told of it, and
kept out of his way for a long time. At
last they met at an inn where the actor
gene/ally dined, and where the duellist
happened quite casua ly to come in. Foote
saw his danger when it was too late; but.
as his enemy said nothing, did his l>est to
entertain him and keep him in good humor.
No one could be more diverting wheu he
choose, and here he was not only very
anxious but very successful. He told one
story after another. He kept the table in
a roar. The fire-eater liecame quite pacific,
and was delighted with his new friend.
Foote passed from one good story to an
other, and at last took to imitating differ
ent people, a practice for which he had ex
traordinary facility. The other guests got
quite uproarious with the fun, when sud
denly the luckless actor saw from the face
of his enemy that he had inadvertently imi
tated one of his friends. The duellist was,
in fact, putting his hand in his pocket to
pull out a card and present it as the pre
liminary to a challenge, when he turned
round to the mimic and said in a dry,
satiric voice, "Really, Mr. Foote, you are
so uncommonly clever in taking other
people off, 1 wonder whether you could
take yourself off." "Oh, certainly," said
Foote. and he walked straightway into the
street. Here his readiness probably saved
him his life.
It is noticeable how the characters of
mind and body correspond, and how the
ready man is generally quick in his move
ments, prompt in action and fertile in re
source. The great Napoleon used to say
that no quality was so rare or so valuable
as (what he called) two-o'clock-in-the
morning courage. The power of suddenly
changing front and altering the whole
scheme of a campaign was precisely what
the greatest of ail modern strategists would
admire. He himself eminently possessed
it. The man who had the wit to say to
the aristocrat who taunted him with his
lack of ancestry, " Moije suis ancetre,"
possessed a readiness of words as well as of
action. He was not likely to lose either
his head or his tongue. But this kind of
promptitude is rarely coupled with staying
power. It is distiLctly meteoric, and part
of the brilliancy is due to the gloom which
follows it. And, therefore, the nations
who most possess it are also purposeless,
and without reserve of force. One very
amusing instance of military readiness is
given in Napier's "Memoirs." The troops
were defiling down a narrow gorge in India,
when suddenly a mad bull was seen charg
ing down at full swing and with tremend
ous impetus. The captain had presence of
mind enough to give the word of com
mand. which his soldiers mechanically fol
lowed. The order he gave sounds singular
enough. It was this: "Prepare to receive
cavalry." The soldiers obeyed, and the
unfortunate bull was ' impaled on their
bayonets. This episode has always been
cited as an instance of the courage of the
British soldiery. It seems rather to illus
trate the courage of the Indian bull.
Set Rtsrht at Last.
A tew days ago acitzen who does busi
ness on Congress street, Detroit, was drawn
to his office door by a windy war of words
between two men. Both seemed ready to
tight if they had backing, and the citizen
was looking as if ready to back the smaller
one, when a man with a st iff neck and a
painful gait came along, took in the situa
tion, and said to the citizen:
"Keep still—don't say a word—don't
palliate a conflict!"
The conflict was declared 4 'off* and the
men went their ways, and the citzen return
ed to his desk. In the course ot the after
noon, the man with the stiff neck entered
the office, passed the time of day and said:
4 'Out here this morning I made use of a
word which I want to correct. I asked
you to "palliate" a conflict. I meant
'participate,' not palliate. Good-day, sir,"
Next morning at 8 o' clock, when the
citizen got off the car, the old chap was
wailing for him on the corner, and, halt
ing him against a stone wall, he said:
"1 called upon you yesterday to explain
that 1 meant 'participate' instead of palli
ate."
"Yes, you did."
"I now desire to inform you that I didn't
mean either one one. I meant 'preticipate.'
I have used the word a thousand times,
and I don't see how I misspoke myself as
I did."
"Oh, that's all right—no harm done,"
laughed the citizen.
"No, no particular harm, but I want
things right if they can be made so."
They separated. Near the close of the
second day thereafter the old man entered
the office again, placed his hat on the floor,
wiped off his chin and said:
"I now desire to inform you that I didn't
mean 'preticipate' after all. It was proba
bly the excituient of the moment which
made me say 'palliate,' and then 1 got mix
ed in the others. What I meant to have
said was 'precipitate a conflict, you see.
lam now set right at last, and I bid you
gocxl-by."
Pacing for a Uoort Thing.
A circus wagon, bearing the sign,
"Trained Auimals," together with a laud
scape supposed to have-been sketched in
the interior of Africa, was hauled down to
a blacksmith shop on Griswold street,
Detroit, for repairs to the running gear.
The cage itself was closed and locked, and
a dozen boys soon gathered and wondered
what was inside. Pretty soon along came
a man who asked of the blacksmith:
"What's in there, anyhow?"
"Oh! nothing gnu," was the quiet reply.
The stranger walked around the cage
several times, shook his head like one in
trouble and went his way. In an hour or
so he returned with an awful grin on his
face, chuckled around for awhile, and
then said:
"That was a purty good thing you got
off. I didn't tumble for an hour, but it
was good."
"What did I got asked the inno
cent smith as he crawled from under the
wagon.
"What! never! Well, hardly ever —ha!
ha! ha! I ought to have tumbled sooner,
for a feller in our town told me the ioke
over a week ago, but you looked so serious
I didn't mistrust you! Ah! you are an old
joker, you are an old joker, you are!
Hardly ever—ha! ha! ha! Let's go over
and take a drink on that. I'm alwaya
willing to pay for a good thing!"
NO. 6.