Millheim Journal. (Millheim, Pa.) 1876-1984, March 04, 1880, Image 1
VOL. LI V. PROFESSION \IL C. IRDS. CL T. Alexander. C. M. Bower. ALEXANDER A BOWER, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. BELLEFONTK, PA. Offlee tu Garman's new building. JOHN B. LINN, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BELLEFONTE, PA. Office on Allegheny Street. OLEMENT DALE, ATTORNEY AT LAW BELLEFONTK, PA. Northwest comer of DUmond. D. O. Bush. S. H. Yocum. I), u. Hastings. JJUSH, YOCUM A HASTINGS, ATTORNEYS AT LAW*. BELLEFONTE, PA. tltgh Street, opposite First National Bank, yy M. C. HEINLE, ATTORNEY AT LA \V. * BELLEFONTK. PA. Practices in all the courts of centre county. Spec at attention to collections. Consultations In German or English. yyiLBUR F. REEDER, ATTORNEY AT LAW*. BELLEFONTK. PA. All bus ness promptly attended to. Collection of claims a speciality. J. A. Beaver. J. W. Gephart. JJEAYER4 GEPHART, ATTORNEYS AT LAW*. BELLEFONTE, PA. omce on Alleghany Street, North of High. W A. MORRISON, ATTORNEY AT LAW*. BELLEFONTE. PA. Office on Woodrlng's Block, Opposite Court Hume. S. KELLER, ATTORNEY AT LAW BELLEFONTE, PA. Consultations in English or German. OOlce In Lyon's Building, Allegheny Street. JOHN G. LOVE, •ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTK PA. Office In the rooms formerly occupied by the late w. P. Wilson. yjHLLHEIM BANKING CO., MAIN STREET, MILLHEIM, PA. A. WALTER, Cashier. DAV. KRAPK, Pres. HARTER, AUCTIONEER, m KEBERSBCRG, PA. • Satisfaction Guaranteed. When the barbarous practice of stuff ing, one's guests shall have been abol ished, a social gathering will ;not ne cessarily imply harJ labor and dyspep sia. Perhaps, when that time arrives, we shall be sufficiently civilized to de mand pleasures of a higher sort. True, the entertainments will then, in one sense, be more costly, as culture eo>fs more than cake. The greater the difficulty the more glory in surmounting it. Skilful pilots gain their reputation l'rom storms and tempests. . • That plenty should produce either covetousness or prodigality is a perver sion of providence, and yet the gener ality of men are the worse for their riches. It is a distinguishing feature of Chris tianity that its God is a God Christianity tells us that "God is Love. " This is both His nature and Hs name. There is no greater sign 01 a mean and sordid man than to dote upon riches; nor is anything more magnifi cent than to lay them out freely in acts of bounty and liberality. There is a game ot cards very popu lar in Ireland called "Spoiled Five." Any number of persons greater than two can participate in a game, but with three contestants the best points are drawn out. Each player looks excliw sively after his own interests. Each trick counts five, and to win a game it is necessary. to get fifteen in a single hand. But as only five cards are dealt to each player, this, it will be seen, is not an easy thing to do; and with good players the battle has olten to be fought again and again, with increasing stakes and interest, before a victory is scored. As soon as the plaver has looked at his hand and calculated his chances, lie is guided by this golden rule: "If you can't win the gauie, spoil it." Truth discoveres the evil; grace puts it away. Truth unfolds what man is; grace unfolds what God is. Truth brings out into the light the hidden workings of evil in the heart of man; grace brings out, in contrast, the rich and exhaustless springs of grace in the heart of God; both are needful. Truth for the maintenance of God's glory; grace for the establishment of our bless ing. Truth for the vindication of the divine character and attribute; grace for the perfeet repose of the sinner's heart and conscience- How blessed to know that both grace and truth came by Jesus Christ. f fee ptMit ivnrnst „ A BABY GIRL. A little one eliuibed in my lap last night A fair little creature with slum eyes, That seemed to have taken tin ir radiant light From the fairest line of the rudiui" skies— And down on my shoulder she laid her head. An t settled herself with a quaint little twirl; And then, looking up in my face, she said, "Now, sing mo a song of a baby girl." "Of at aby girl!" How my thoughts back To Ruothf r time and another scene. Far. far adown on my memory's track. With many a joy and sorrow between— To another time, when at evening's close. Tired out with the long day's busy whirl. 1. too, climbed up for a sweet repose On my moth r s lap—a baby girl! How we change, how we change, as the years go on ! There are silver threads in my hair to-day ; And the loving and cherished mother is gone To the phm-ant land where angels stay. O. 1 wonder, 1 wonder, if e'er she looks down From "the beautiful city with gates of p arl," From "tho Bounding harp and the gleaming crown." To follow the fate of her baby girl ? What is this, little one ? Ah, her head droops low. And her lingers have loosened their clinging clasp. For the innocent slumber but children know Holds her baby brain m its soothing graep. And I gather more closely her form to my breast. And I teuderly toy with each cluat'ring curl, When our labor is done; may our final lest He as sweet as the sleep of my baby girl! A Little Mistake. M iss Mimgva Blair, spinster on the shady side of forty, and iier niece, Miss Hope Alexander, also single, brtt on the ; sunny side of twenty, sat in the pleasant j sitting-room of a pleasant country mansion, listening to the rumble of the afternoon railway train, which was just arriving at I the depot. "Mr. Harvey will he here in a few min utes, Hope," said the aunt; "and you must lie cordial to him, unless it is your desire to offend me." "I wish the train had had a collision!" was the rather vindictive reply, though a sly half-smile showed that the words were hardly meant. "Hope!" cried the other, somewhat' sternly. "You are positively sinful to be | so malicious. Why should you hate a gentleman you have never seen ?" "1 might in turn ask you why should 1 love a gentlemaa I had never seen ?" "Nobody asks you to love him." "No. But you wish me to marry him." i "Well," apologized the aunt, "I would like to see you as well settled as you cer- j tainly would be with Walter Harvey. The : love can come afterward. I know you will like him." "Why, Aunt Minorva, vou have never met him yourself!" "Not since he was a little boy. But I have always known his parents, and they j are worthy people." •'So were Hope Alexander's, I think," | poutingly said the younger lady. "And yet you see what a perverse scapegrace you iiave got for a niece." - Even Miss Minerva's grim features had to relax a little. But any further conver sation was cut off by a ring at the outer door. "He has come," said Miss Blair. "You must at least treat him civilly, Hope." "Indeed I will, aunty, for your sake," said the girl, with a touch of good feeling. Miss Minerva went herself to admit the visitor. "Mr. Harvey,'' she said to the dark bearded, handsome young man whom she admitted, "it gives me genuine pleasure to welcome you to this house. I have known your family so many years, that you almost seem a friend." "Indeed. I hope to. be one," was the frank reply. "You must let me send my niece to you," said Mia* Minerva, as soon us the newcomer was fairly seated. "I am house keeper, you know, and cannot neglect my duties, but you will have a substitute whom you must learn to like." ''You would hardly say that if you knew all," the gentleman remarked so (to voce. "I am afraid 1 have humored her into being a little wilful, but she is kind hearted and good/' And with these pleasant words, the kind old maiden lady left the room. She was gone scarcely long enough to allow the young man to collect his thoughts ere she again stood in the doorway, say ing : "Mr. Harvey, I present my niece, Miss Hope Alexander." And a slender, rustling figure was half pushed into the room, where it stoixl bow ing with a semi-haughty air. Something like a smile was upon the young gentleman's countenance, and he kept ins eyes fastened upon the girl's face; but she did not look up, waiting in silence for him to speak. But he too seemed wordless, and only gave vent to an embar rassed "Ahem 1" Miss Blair wondered a little, and frowned a little, at her niece's perverse be havior. But she wisely concluded to leave them together. "I must attend to getting supper," she then said. "I will leave you together for a time." As soon as she was fairly gone, 'Hope!' , cried the young man. The girl raised her eyes at once. , ''Arthur is it you? I—l did not expect ! you. I thought it was your cousin Walter : who was coming." "It will require quite a talk to explain all, my Hope," he answered. "And I almost fear your auut may overhear us." i His arm went about her waist. Sly Miss Hope, not to have told her auut the secret this action implied! Wicked Misa Hope, ; to deceive so good a relative! At present she was only charming Miss Hope to the only eyes that looked upon her, and in sooth she was flushed and very pretty. "We will stroll into the garden, Arthur. There we can talk without danger of being overheard." | So they walked out into the pleasant j paths of the home grounds, and over the greensward, to the roots of a great buck eye-tree, where they found cozy seats, j "Have you ever told your auut about . me, Hope ?" J "1 could not, Arthur. She has been so wedded to the idea ol' uniting myself to the MILLHEIM, PA.. TIH KSDAY.. MARCH 4, 1880. sou of her early friend, John Harvey, that any opposition would have made her un happy. So 1 have left the matter to time. But you have not yet told me how you come to he here." "It is not t<H> wonderous strange. My cousin Walter and myself are excellent good friends, and as he happens to have an attachment of his own, he is just as adverse to being forced into a marriage with a stranger as yourself. I discovered all this in the course of a conversation with him, and then I told him the storv of our meet ing, and our present relations. The revela tions came just in time. His father was even then urging a visit here upon him. Nothing was easier than for me to take his place, and let Walter undertake a more welcome jaunt." "And now thai you are here, sir, what can you do ?" "I'pon mv soul,'" cried the young man, somewhat ruefully, "1 hardly know! 1 must trv ami ingratiate myself with your aunt and leave the rest to luck." A long talk was followed by a long stroll, and thus nearly two hours elapsed before they returned to the house. Aunt Minerva beamed a most approving glance upon what she deemed the success of her plans, but she startled them the next moment by saying: "1 have just Inula note from your father, Mr. llarvev. He will he with us himself to-morrow morning." Poor Arthur tried hard to conceal the consternation which this intelligence threw him into. Fortunately Miss Minerva was in too complacent a humor to he very ob servant. "Come, Hope, you shall read the note. It might make Mr. Harvey too vain, or 1 would give him a peep also." Miss Hope, in another room, read John Harvey's billet, which ran as follows: "If my son Walter, usually so dutiful, should disappoint me in our plan, 1 shall feel like adopting my nephew, Arthur Harvey,, who is a splendid young fellow, and would probably do more to oblige me, as he has not been spoiled by indulgence. I suppose my gentleman will have arrived before you get this. I have taken a sudden notion that lie may require overseeing, and as 1 have long owed you a visit, I will pay my debt by following this note to-morrow morning. Sincerely your friend, John Hakvey." "I suppose,'* said Hope, slyly, though she felt in no humorous mood, "if you couldn't get the son, auntie, you would not object to the nephew, as it would all be in tlu- family ?* "Well,? replied her aunt, after a mo ment's thought, "1 don't know how that might have been if 1 hadn't met Walter Harvey. But I feel now that no other young man could replace him. Besides, Hope," and here she gave her niece a mis chievous pinch, "I guess he won't be so unwilling.'' Poor Hope could only hang her head and blush like a guilty thing. "What shall I do, Hope?" cried Arthur, when she tripped back into the parlor. "I feel like running away iimtanter." "That would be so brave!" was the rather sarcastic rejoinder. "Please, then advise —or rather, com mand me." "Well, then, sir, hear your orders. — This deceit makes me feel mean and guilt)*, in spite of myself, and we must have an explanation at all hazards." "Now?" Hope reflected a moment. "No, not now—to-morrow. You must face your uncle, and then let the truth come out." "And then won't there be a storm !" the young man said, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, we have raised it, and must meet it," Miss Hope replied, bravely,—"And now let us dismiss the subject for to-day. ' But although they did their best to be happy, a nervousness about the coming ex posure overhung them, and they were much too restless for comfort thut evening and the next morning. It was ten o'clock before the train from the city arrived, ami two weary hours passed after breakfast before the expected visitor reached the house. He was received at the door bv Miss Minerva, while Hope and her lover re mained in the sitting room. Arthur made a virtue of necessity, and advanced to greet his uncle with as much heartiness and in nocence as he could possibly throw into his manner. "Why, Arthur!" cried the old gentle man. "this is rather a surprise. What could have brought you here?" But he gave tiis nephew a warm shake of the hand. "Arthur! 'cried the aunt. "Arthur, I thought your son's name was Walter, John Harvey ?" "So it is, Miss Minerva—so it is; but this young man happens to be my nephew.'' "Good gracious!" gasped Miss Blair, sinking back into a chair. * John Harvey began to comprehend that something was wrong. "See here, Arthur!" he cried sternly. "Have you been playing a trick? Why are you here, instead of my SOM, whom I sent?" "Dear uncle, Walter would not cOme, for he is not heart-free; and he and I both knew that you wanted Miss Hope in the family, we thought—that is, I—lie—" There was a blank, ominous silence. Hope stole to Miss Minerva's side. "Dear auntie," she said, "v OH must for give Arthur and me. We are such old friends. Besides," she added demurely, "you said if you couldn't get John Harvey's son, you would prefer his nephew." Mr. Harvey's and Miss Blair's glances met, and something like a smile passed over their faces. "I see how it is," said he, "We have been fighting nature, which is a bit of a mistake. I guess we had better rectify it." And they did so. Everybody knows how; if not, learn of Mr. and Mrs. Harvey. Keep to he liiplit. In the cities, the custom of keeping to the right-hand side of the sidewalk should be invariably observed; anyone who persists in taking the left hand may be deemed ignorant and rude, unless there are very special reasons for his conduct. For vehic cles, the right hand side is the .right side, alike in town and country. Some of the States have statute laws commanding this. In others the rule upon customs. Havana. I Havana is cosmopolitan. One sees in her streets almost every nationality and hears ninny tongues. Coolies are employed for ! much of the work along t lie harbor frout and also swell the ranks of the peddlers. The vanity bred in the Castilian is evinced hy the ninnv varieties of gorgeous uniforms, meeting the eye. Almost every third man | is in uniform, and a score or so differently tricked out may be seen at a glance. Some of the otllcere wearing side arms also carry Malacca sticks with a golden brown cord and tassel, which strangely suggests Cock ucyisiu. One of the commonest types is a swarthy bearded man dressed in a very neat light blue striped material, with white vest, low cut, exposing a gorgeous shirt front, small pancake cap with a straight tortoise shell visor, gold bowed eye glasses, and all the decorations in cap and uuiform that his rank will allow. The ladies sel dom go covered iu the street. Their coiff ures are most elalmratc; and only a film of lace is occasionally worn on the hack of the head. Some of the poorer classes wear even less than the traditional Topsy, and during the morning's drive our company passed several groups of negro children with only nature's covering. In the even ing the social life of Havana begins. The long lines of the l'rado are ablaze with light, the numerous cafes overfl .w to the sidewalks, which in many instances are under arcades, and the theatres and the circus furnish amusement. Brilliunt pri vate equipages and less ambitious victor ias dash along with their loads of dark liearded men and smiling senoritas. The Tacon theatre lnvs probably a world wide reputation. For some cause it is closed at present, and the fashionable house is the Theatre Pay ret tie la Paz, a handsome new theatre, standing in a square nearly oppo site the Tacon. The Payret is probably as large us the Boston theatre, which it very much resembles. There is a parquet circle and four tiers above; two of which are di vided into boxes. The theatre has a fair company and a remarkably large orchestra, which discourses excellent music. The curtain remains down übout fifteen minutes between the acts, and the parquet is entire ly emptied. The men throng out into the the lobbies or the adjoining cafes, smoke cigarettes or drink coffee. The American bar is a feature of the Havaua cafe, but not the prominent feature. It is found on one side or iu a corner, while most of the space is devoted to the marble-topped tables for cotlee drinkers. JMa*rylt>K at Large. A Xew York justice of the peace was re cently called U> a German house in that city to tnarrv a couple. Putting a marriage certificate in his p>)cket, he started for the festive scene. Arrived at the house, under the direction of a blue-legged little boy, who pointed out the place, he knocked and went in. In the middle of the floor st(*>d a stout German girl, sorry and plump, her blue eyes rolling out b ars as large as butter pals. "Wlmt's the matter?" said the sympa thetic judge. "Matter!" said the girl, "dat Gotleib went oir and wouldn't marry me, ain't it?" The justice said lie supposed it .was, and intimated that he had come to marry some one, and requested the old lady to bring on the lambs to the sacrifice. Old lady said, "Dare vos no- lambs—Gotleib ish run off, and vil not marry my Katariua." "Well," said the justice, "Gotleib isn't the only man there is— send for some other man to marry her." At this Katarma's face brightened up, and she ejaculated, "Yah—dat is g<x>t — send mit Hans." 1 ians was seot for, but couldn't come. When her messenger returned, determined not to give it up, said, "Send mit Shoseph." Shoseph was sent for. but lie couldn't be found. Katarina's looks fell at this news, ami the justice was growing impatient. Just then Ivaiarina looked out of the* win dow' and saw a short and thick young German going by, when she rushed to the door and hallooed, "Fritz! Fritz!" Fritz shortly made his appearance at the dtx>r, when Katarina's mother said, "Fritz, you lofs mine Katariua?" Fritz, allowed lie did, "more as sauer kraut." "Then stand up here," cried the justice; and before Fritz could realize bis position, he and Katariua were man. and wife, and Katarina's arms were around his neck, and her lips pressed to his, she crying the the while. "Mein husband—mein Fritz!" Our duty as correct historians compels us to say that Fritz hugged hack as well as he knew how. The justice, with head erect, stepped smiling out, leaving the lovers to themeslves, and walked away meditatively, a holy calm stealing all over bis massive proportions, the consciousness of having done his duty gleafiiiug in his eye, and honor, honesty, and rectitude in his foot ste|w. Oil Produviiix Insect. This insect, which tins considerable eco nomic use in Central America, belongs to the siunc genus as the cochineal, and is called by the native name of "ni-in." Be ing unknown to science, the author names it Coccus adpofera. The females are of a coral-red and are covered with a fine whit ish powder. They live on trees belonging to the genus Spodias, and known as "hog plumbs." They adhere to the trees by means of their beaks, remaining motionless, and existing in such large numbers that they frequently cover every portion of the plant. There is extracted from these fe males 2t' to 2ft per cent, of their weight of a bright yellow fat having an odor suige neris, and which when recently melted is homogeneous, but in a short time becomes granular and of a lighter color. It is the most quickly drying oleaginous substance known, since • it becomes immediately covered over with a pellicle full of wrinkles ami folds; and, if this pellicle be dipped into the greese to exclude its surface from contast with the air, the whole mass shortly becomes transformed into an infusible an insoluble resinous substance. Applied to paper or any other surface, this greese dries in six or seven hours so as to form a smooth lustrous surface and almost odorless. Mixed with copal, or any other resin, and turpen tine, it forms a gulden-yellow drying var nish. Its melting point is 36 ° . Heated to a temperature of 200 ° to 210 ° until it becomes glutinous, it changes on cooling into a bland elastic mass (caoutchoue of ni-in) which is almost insoluble in spirit of turpentine, but insoiuble in bisulphide of carbon. In t)5 per cent, alcohol it is but slightly soluble. The various properties of this fatty matter, ami its hchavoir with acids ami alkalies, prove that its chemical composition differs from that o! all other oils known. Like all drying oils, it forms hy die action of neat a glutinous substance: hut, while heat is indispensable to make such oils more siccative, the ni-in grease loses a portion of this property through heating. The elastic substance of oils is soluble ill ether, and especially in turpen tine, hut that of m-iu is nearly insoluble iu these materials. In some localities in Cen tral America this oil is largely employed for puintmg woollen utensils, such a ladles, etc., a mass being made-with color, chalk, and the grease, and applied precisely as in ordinary oil painting. It lias been observed that articles painted witli it may be pre served for a long time. Guitar manufac turers also use this greese iu varnishing their instruments. ■ As yet it lias received no application in pharmacy. It is probable tlmt tiie ancient race which formerly peop led Central America used this greese iu painting their buildings, and it is for this reason that, after a lapse of several centu ries the decorations are still to he seen in that perfect state of preservation which caused the admiration of Mr. Stevens when he visited these ruins in 1842. Productive Macliiucry Tlie census act authorizes the census bureau to report "the kind and amount of power employed in establishments of pro ductive industry, and the kind and number of machines in use, together with the maxi mum capacity of such establishments, where the superintendent of census shall deem such inquiry appropriate." The in formation which this inquiry will bring out will lie of great value and importance, and the superintendent is taking measures to make it thorough and searching. In 1870 there were reported 2,707,421 persons in the United States employed in manufactur ing, mechanical and mining industries, and 6,022,000 employed iu agriculture—mak ing a total of 8.620,421 persons engaged in productive pursuits. But this piece of in formation is incomplete without a knowl edge of the aggregate power of ail the steam-engines and water-wheels harnessed to the work also. Very little lalor. com paratively, is now done without the aid of power machinery, and the human muscles contribute but a Hmall portion of the power employed. It is estimated that the steain engines in France give an aggregate force equal to that of 81,000,000 men ; and it has been asserted that the power machinery in Great Britain has a force equal to that of 800,000,000 men. To know what the pro ductive capacity of our country is, there fore, we must inquire, not only liow many persons are employed in productive pur suits, hut how many steam-engines and water-wheels, with the horse-power they represent, are employed also. It will throw some light on that very interesting and much-disputed question, whether the world is able to consume all that it is able to produce. A Flying l.eg of Mutton. In the "gixxi old days*' at the Ilavmar ket Theatre, London, they were running the musical farce of "No Song, No Supper," and the exigencies of the piece required a real boiled leg of mutton every night, which, according to the law of property, or rather the *'property-man's" law in a theatre, went after performance, almost untouched, to the oflicial named. But the "flymen," perched up aloft, did not like this, which occurred night after night to their growing dissatisfaction, for they, too, had wives and families, to whom a boiled leg of mutton free of charga would have been a thing to be remembered. So they hit uj>on a plan, and one night Mr. William Barren, who had the carving of the aforesaid leg, was solicited to fix a hook that would be let down from the "flies" into the mutton and leave the rest to them. Barren, always ready for a practical joke, consented at once, and as the scene was coming to a termination, deftly fastened the hook into the leg, and "left the rest to them. As the scene-shifters were prepar ing to "close in," and the property-man stood at the wings ready to seize on his perquisite, the leg of mutton was seen slowly to ascend, without any visible agency. The audience laughed, and the employes all gave vent to their feelings in ill-sup pressed merriment—all save the property man. who remained miserably serious, and gazed at bis fast departing supper with a woe-begone countenance. Suddenly, as the scene almost closed in, the hook, which Barren ha " unfortunately on.y fastened in the fat, gave way, and the much-coveted imp ton came down on the dish with a ter rific splash. The audience now roared, the employes roared, Barren at the table roared, and as the "flats" hid the unrehearsed tableau from view, the now delighted property-man rushed on the stage, and securing the ill treated supper, joined in the general roar. Our fly fishers were never Known to try a hook again. A Fair Duel, In 1794, an English judge delivered the following charge to a jury iu a duelling case: "It is now a painful duty which jointly belongs to us; it is mine to lay down the law, and yours to apply it to the facts before you. The oath by which I am bound obliges me to say that homicide, after a due interval left for consideration, amounts to murder. The laws of England in their utmost lenity and allowance for human frailty, extend their compassion only to sudden antl momentary frays; and then, if the blood'has not had time to cool or the reason to return, the result is termed manslaughter. Such is the law of the land, which undoubtedly the unfortunate gentle man at the bar has violated, though he has acted in conformity to the law of honor. I lis whole demeanor in the duel, according to the witness whom you are most to be lieve, Colonel Stanwix, was that of perfect honor and perfect humanity. Such is the law and such are the facts. If you cannot reconcile the latter to your conscience, you must record a verdict of guilty. But if the contrary, though the acquittal may trench on the rigid rules of the law, yet the ver dict will bo lovely in the sight of God and man." But finer still was the direction of the Justice Fletcher in 1812, on a similar occasion, when addressing an Irish jury, he summed up in two minutes: "Gentlemen, it is my businees to lay down the law to you, and I shall do so. Where two peo ple go out to fight a duel, and one of them falls, the law says it is murder. And I tell you, bylaw this is murder; but, at the same time a fairer duel I never heard of in the whole course of my life." I.itlie Dwellers. This class of persons lived before the time of the Pyramid-builders; but in their progress and their discovery, first of bronze and finally of iron, they may have been slower and later than the ancient Egyp tians. The only knowledge we have of that strange people, who once lived iu curious rounded houses built ou platforms erected for some distance from the shore out into the of Switzerland, is derived from arehißologv. In 1804 the waters of Jjike Zurich (and of some other Swiss lakes) re ceded I art her than they had ever been known to sink before during the historic iwriod; and a farmer, digging the rich muck thus exposed for his garden, was as tonished upon coming upon masses of piles, and, mixed among these, bronze imple ments—knives, chisels, axes, etc. In other localities subsequent explorers, digging down into these lakes and in other places, came u|>ou implements of stone as well as bronze; but it was found in every instance that the stone implements lay below those of bronze. Whether the age of bronze came for the Lake Dwellers at the same time that it did to those wonderful people in habiting the valley of the Nile, is very doubtful, if the Dwellers were earlier than the Egyptians, they were also slower, and probably later in arriving at the age of bronze. But they reached that age. They had lances, tlsli hooks, sickles, axes, all of bronze. It was an age in which men did not know the use of iron. And the bronze implements they had were cast in the forms in which we find them, in some localities we come upon articles of bronze and of stone ;in othcife of stone only. The ques tion arises was there ever a period in which mankind used only implements of stone. There is no doubt of it. From one lake alone in Switzerland no fewer than 2,648 axes have now been recovered, 148 ar- i rows, and a variety of other weapons and | domestic utensils, all stone. Other Swiss lakes yield similar suggestive revelations. And it was the same iu Great Britain—it was the same in France —it was the same throughout Italy, Germany, and most parts of Europe—it was so even in Egypt ? Not even the Egyptians knew, at one time, the use of iron or bronze. What a Boy Did. A duke walking in his garden one day, saw a copy of a great work on Mathe matics lying on the grass, and thinking it had been brought from his library called some one to carry it bark. "It belongs to me, 1 ' said the gardener's son stepping up. "Yours!" cried the duke; "Do you un derstand geometry and Latin?" "I know a little of them," answered the lad modestly. The duke, having a taste for the sciences, began to talk with the young student, and was astonished at the clearness and intelli gence of his answers. "But how came you to know so much?" asked the duke. "One of the servants taught me to read," answered the lad; "one does not need to know anything more than the twenty-six letters in order to learn everything else one wishes." But the gentleman wanted to know more about it. "After 1 learned to read," said the hoy, "the masons.came to work on your house; 1 noticed the architect used a rule ami com passes, and made a great many calculations. What was the meaning and use of that? 1 asked and they told me of a science called arithmetic. I bought an arithmetic and studied it through. They then told me there was another science called geometry. I bought the hooks and learned geometry. Then I found there were better hooks about these sciences in Latin. I bought a dictionary and learned Latin. I heard there were still better ones in French. I got a dictionary and learned French. It seems to me we may learn everything when we know the twenty-six letters of the alphabet." They are in fact, the ladder to every science. But how numy hoys are contented to waste their time at the first two or three rounds, with not pluck nor perseverance enough to climb higher! Up, up, up, if you want to know more, and see clearer, and take a high post of usefulness in the world. And if you are a poor boy and need a little friendly encour agement to help you on, lie sure, if you have a will to climb, you will find the way, just as the gardener's son found it afterwards in the Duke of Argyll under whose parentage he pursued his studies and became a distinguished mathematician. St one''B Mathematical Dictionary— for Stone was the young gardener's name— was a celebrated hook puulished in Loudon some years ago. Where doett the Day Begin? As a matter of fact, the day begins all around the world—not at the same instant of time, but just as the sun visits succes sive portions of the earth in his journey from east to west. But the traveler who crosses the Pacific ocean can give another answer to the above question; that on the 18th degree of longitude—one-half of the circumference of the globe, starting from Greenwich east or west, —these is an ar bitrary change or dropping of a day, and that at this point, if anywhere, the day may be said to begin. It was with strange feelings tiiat the writer, crossing the Paci fic, having gone to bed on Saturday night, leaving everything pertaining to the alma nac, iu a satisfactory condition, awoke on Monday morning! Sunday had completely dropped from our calendar, for that week at least. Every one knows that in travel ing round the world from east to west a day is lost, and in order to adjust his rec koning to that of the place he has left, one must drop a day as if he had not lived it, when iu reality the time has passed by lengthening every day during the journey. For a long time it Mas the custom for sai lors to effect this change pretty much where they pleased; but it has now become a settled.rule among American and English navigators that at the 180 th decree a day must be passed over if going west, and one added if going east, in which latter case the traveler enjoys two Sundays or two Thurs days, as the case may be. It is most likely that this particular degree was decided on from the fact that, except a few scattered islands of Polynesia, there are no large com munities, with their vast commercial and so cial transactions, to be affected by the change. "What? Twenty-five cents a pound for sausages! Why, I can get'em down at Schmidt's tor twenty cents!" "Veil, den, vy, didn't yer?" " 'Cause Schmidt was out of 'em." "Veil, uv I was out of 'em I sell 'em for twenty-cents too." American Bird*. The Duke of Argyle says iu his Impre sious: "With regard to the birds of Nort America, I caunot doubt from what I saw and iieurd that as songsters they are inferior to our own. This is the testimony of Mrs. Grant of Laggan, who was familiar with both. It is a curious circumstance that be tween one Canadian bird and the corres ponding species at home the ouly difference I could detect was that the American spe cies was silent, whilst our own is always talking. I refer to that charming bird the common sandpiper, abounding on the ; banks of every s ream and lake in the high land*. its American cousin is equally abundant on all the rivers in Canada; but whilst at home its call notes are incessant, and the mule bird has even a continuous and most lively song, I did not hear a solitary sound from the sandpiper of Canada. This, however, may liave been an accident, and the saudpipers are no where reckoned among the birds of song. One hears the migratory thrush (robin) everywhere, in the midst of the gardens and villas of towns and cities, and in every little clearing of the forest on the outskirts of human habitation. It is a pleasant song, but decidedly inferior to any of its cousins in Britain. It is in ferior in power to the missal thrush, in va riety to our common 'mavis,' in melody to the blackbird. Near Niagara I heard one very broken and interrupted song of fine tone and of considerable power. But al though 1 was in the woods and fields of Canada and of the States in the richest mo ment of the spring, I heard litttle of that burst of song which in England conies from the blackcap and the garden warbler and the common wren, and (locally) from the nightingale. Above all, there is one great want which nothing can replace. The meadows of North America were to my eye thoroughly English in appearance—the same rich and luxuriant grass, the same character of wild flowers and even the same weeds. The skies of America are higher and wider and more full of sunshine. But there is no skylark to enjoy that 'glorious privacy of light.' 'The sweetest singer iu the Heavenly Father's choir' is wantiug iu the New World. I cannot help thinking that it might be introduced. Of course the winters of Canada and of the Northern states Would compel it to follow almost all the other birds which summer there, aud to retire with them until the return of spring to Virginia or the Carolinas. It would be an interesting experiment. Ido not know whether it lias been tried. If not, I would suggest it to my American friends as one worth trying. It would be a happier intro duotion than that of the London sparrow.'" Sweet Courtship. They were sitting on a stile—S&ry and Steve. He at one end, solemnly "gnaw ing his tawny moustache, 1 ' she at the other, solemnly knitting cottan lace. He smiled. She smiled. He slipped up cloee to her side, took a big sweet potato out of his pocket and wiped it carefully on his sleeva. "Less swap," said he, in deep, rich tones, as he handed her the potato, taking the ding}' cotton lace from her hands, he coquettiahly wrapped it around his hat. "Well, less," she replied, gnawing at the raw potato. Ten minutes of dead silenc. Then from another pocket he handed a bun dle tied up in a handkerchief. "Gues what I've got/' said he, archly. "Mo 1 tatere?" "No." "Ginger cakes:'' 1 "No." "t'hrakypins?" "No. 11 "War nuts? 1 ' "No." "Goobers?" "Yaas! Now guess who they're fur.'' "Fur yo' mar? 11 "No." "\o' pa?" "No." "Fur that sarcer-eyeded Cath'n you'se ben pay in' 'tent ion terf "No." One of his rare smiles played upon his aristocratic features at that mo meat and caused her to say: "Maybe they's fur me." "That's who they's fur. shore!" She took the bundle and thanked him. More silence. Then he cleared his throat exactly fifteen and a half times. He had something to say, but didn't know how to say it. He looked sheepishly—l meau pensively—at the leaves dancing brownly on the ground, then at the cottou lace twined round liis hat, then at the calm, blue sky. for ltispiratirn. Maybe, like the great Constantine, he beheld a writing on Heaven's azure wall, for he spoke, and thusly: "Us is gwine to marry, ain't us?" "Yaas, us is." ' An' when the meat an 1 the meal gives out, an' 1 beats you 'cus you won't wuck an' git some mo' quick 'nutf, will you leave me?" That was Love's test; but she replied, sweetly and firmly: "No, I won't, nuther! I'll stay 'long with you while life lastes.'" Watlier News. January—Will be rather warm, but not very warm; somewhat moist, but not very moist; just moist enough. There will be some cold weather,, and some not quite so cold; just cold enough. February—The weather will be like that of January, only more so, with slight var iations. March—Can't say whether we will have any weather this month or not. The game is blocked and the machine won't indicate, but it is safe to say it will rain, and it never rains but it pours. April—People will be greatly fooled 01. the weather of this month. We know what it will be, but don't propose to spoil all the fun by giving it away. May—We may have some rain this month, but it will not rain all the time. The sun will shine. June —By the time we have got along to this month we will all begin to see the ef fects of the famine. Oh, but it will be hot some of the time; but it is well enough for some folks to become acclimated. July—Some dust, rain, clouds and wind, but more sunshine; it will be quite hot. August—Considerable fair and warm weather, but not more than we can use. September—Some rain, at least enough to supply milkmen. Sunshine. October—Talk of a boat race will pre vent a storm this month. November —Some snow and rain. Deoember —More snow. NO. 9.