Millheim Journal. (Millheim, Pa.) 1876-1984, March 25, 1880, Image 1

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    VOL. LIV.
C. T. Alexander. C. M. Bower.
Office In Garman's new building.
Olflee on Allegheny Street.
Northwest corner of Dl imond.
D, G. Bush. 8. H. Yocum. D. H. Hastings.
High Street. Opposite First National Bank.
Practices tn all the courts of Centre County.
Spec &1 attention to Collections. Consultations
in German or Engl sh.
All bus'ness promptly attended to. Collection
of claims a speciality.
J. A. Beaver. J. W. Gephart.
Office on Alleghany Street, North of High.
Office on Woodrlng's Block, Opposite Court
Consultations In English or German. Office
In Lyon'o Building, Allegheny Street.
Office In the rooms formerly occupied by the
late w P. Wilson.
A. WALTER. Cahler. DAV. KRAPE, Pres.
Satisfaction Guaranteed.
The Conscience Fund.
The first record of money received by this
Government from repentant defrauders was
in 1863. When General Spinner was trea
surer he kept the account separately, but the
practice was discontinued. The money
now, as it has been for the greater number
of years since 1863, when the contributions
began, is turned into the treasury as mis
cellaneous receipts. Repeated attempts
have been made by members of Congress to
secure appropriations to be paid out of the
conscience fund. If the money goes into
the treasury as miscellaneous receipts, it
ceases to be a separate fund, and cannot be
drawn upon. It is not known how much
the conscience -money now amounts to.
The total amount from Dec. 1, 1863, to
June 80, 1874, as given in the treasurer's
repoit for the latter year was $162,914.
Since then no account of the contributions
has been kept. Treasurer Gilfillan, how
ever, estimates that the money now foots
up $250,000. The contributions, as a rule,
come through the mail with a note saying
for what purpose the money is forwarded.
Very frequently a penitential explanation
is included. Some of these explanations
are very curious and some very laughal le.
The ladies good deal. They
repent principally over false returns made
under the income tax and for having evaded
the duties upon articles of dress. A lady
visited this country in 1864 from England.
She smuggled in while here a silk dress
pattern. A short time ago she wrote con
fessing the evasion of customs duties and
sending sls to clear her conscience. She
gave the value of the dress and wanted the
balance sent back to her if the duties did
not amount to sls. The customs division
of the treasury made a computation ba<u d
upon the duties charged in found
that the lady owed exactly $7,50. Ihe
balance was remitted. Ministers of the
gospel are very frequently the medium
through which the money is refunded.
While administering spiritual consolation,
the confession of defrauding the Govern
ment is made, and a restitution follows.
The clergy transmit the money without
mentioning names. The largest amount
ever received as one contribution was sls,
000 in United States 7-30 notes. This con
tribution was announced in the newspapers.
Manv and ingenious attempts were made to
get this money out of the treasury One
man said his father made the contribution,
and that he was crazy. Ihe contributor of
it had carefully cut out the numbers of the
notes so as to make it impossible to discov
er from the books who had 9ent them.
ile piUteitn- SUiurmiL
Come, sing that aong 1 loved, love,
When all life seenn d one song;
For 1 KDi stnoken now, love,
My strong arm is not strong.
Thou sing the song I loved love.
You know that one sweet song.
Aye, sing that one sweet song, love;
Love, just that one swtet soug.
For life is none too long, love —
Ah, love IH none too long.
Then just one little song, love;
Love, just one little soug.
I know you love the world, love;
Nor would 1 deem you wrong.
But, when above my grave, love,
Next year the grass grows strong,
Then sing that song I loved, love;
Love, just one little song.
No tears or sable garb, love;
No sigh to break your soug.
But when they hid you sing, love.
And thrill the jinous throng.
Then sing the soug 1 loved, love;
Love just one little song.
A Sarcasm of Fate.
A very elegant looking letter lay in little
Minnie Yelsor's bauds—a letter that bore a
delicious perfume of violets—a letter ad
dressed in a fine flowing hand and the en
velope of which was stamped with an in
tricate monogram, that unless Minnie had
known, she could never have deciphered
as Mrs. Paul St. Eustace Carriscourt's ini
The girl's sn ail, pretty hands grew just
a trifle cold and trembling as she took up
the letter to open it, because so much, oh,
so much, depended upon what was in the
letter; because it either meant a new, in
dependent life, in which she would not only
e:Wn her own living, but very materially
assist in taking care of the dear boysol five
and seven, or it doomed her to the old tire
some routine, out of which Minnie felt at
times she must fly.
Mrs. Velsor looked up from a stocking
sli2 was darning, and said noUiing, seeing
the nervous glow in Minnie's eyes. Then
with a little, half-desperate laugh, the girl
tore open the thick satin envelope.
' it's almost like an ice-cold pluuge bath,
but here goes, mamma!"
She hurriedly read the short, friendly
note, and from the quick tears that gathered
in her eyes, and the smiles that parted her
lips, and the flush that bloomed like fresh
roses on her cheeks, it was quite plain tkat
the news was good news.
Then she dashed the letter on the floor
ami rushed over to her mother, and kissed
her, laughing and crying at the same
"Oh! mamma! Mrs. Camscnnrt ...
.given me th<* position, <! she wants me to i
come immediately—t>morrow! Just;
think! Five hundred dollars a year, and!
she assures me I must make myself perfect- j
ly at home in her house; and she says I am
to have a room to myself, and to eat with
Pauline and Pauletta, in the nursery. Ob,
mamma, it will be just glorious! Aren't
you glad, delighted ?"
Iler blue eyes were danciug, and her
cheeks glowing like a rose leaf.
Mrs. Yelsor's sweet, sad voice was in
such odd contrast to her child's eager, aui- j
mated tones.
"How can I be delighted to have you go |
away from me, dear ( Besides, I am so ,
afraid you will not realize your vivid anti-1
cipations. The outside world, which seems
to you so rose colored and golden, will not
be what you think."
"Oh, mamma, what a Job's comforter
you would be! But how can I help being
"happy—perfectly happy, except being away
from you—in New York, in a
liousel among people of wealth and distinc
tion, and with these sweet children my
only care? Mamma, I will ride with them,
and I am to make myself perfectly at home,
the letter says, and you remember what a
charming lady wo thought Mrs. Carriscourt
was, when she was visiting Doctor Mans
field last summer."
Mrs. Velsor sighed softly. It seemed so
cruel to pour the chill water of disappoint
ment on Minnie's bright hopes.
"Well, dear, perhaps I am growing
cynical as I grow older. Certainly you de
served a fair fate, and now, to descend to
matters of earth earthy suppose you see if
the beans are boiling dry."
The third day thereafter —a day fragrant
with the smell of frost in the air—a day
when the leaves sailed slowly, stately down
through the tender, golden atmosphere, and
the hush of mid October was over all the
earth and sky, Minnie Velsor went away
from the little cottage where she was born
and had lived, into the world waiting to
receive her —all her girlish hopes on glad
dest wings, all her rosiest dreams bursting
in fondest realization.
It was a splend : d place, Mrs. Paul St.
Eustace Carriscourt's palatial residence on
Fifth avenue—a house that seemed to Mill
ie's fancy like a translated bit of a fairy
storv, with iis profusion of flowers and luce
draperies, its luxuries and elegance, Of
which she had never dreamed, and of whose
uses she was equally ignorant.
Mrs. Carriscourt received her with a
charming graciousuess and patted her on
the shoulder, and told her she hoped she
would not let herself get homesick and in
stalled her in her beautiful little room, with
ts pink and drab ingrain carpet and clies
nut suit, and dimity curtains at the win
Then Minnie made some trifling little
! alterations in her toilette, and proceeded to
! take literal advantage of Mrs. Carriscourt's
invitation to make herself at liome in the
1 great, beautiful parlors below, where she
j made a charmingly sweet, quaint little pic
tures, as she sat nestled in a huge silken
chair, the colo.' of the roses on her cheeks,
and at which Miss Cleona Carriscourt look
ed in astonished, imperious disdain, and
Mr. Geollrey Fletcher in undisguised ad
miration, as the two entered the room at
the farthest entrance.
! "By Jove, what a lovely girl! Who is
■ she, Miss Carriscoiirt ?" he asked in a tone
| of unusual interest. J
I Cleona's black eyes looked unutterable
: an< r er from Minnie to Mrs. Carriscourt.
i "What on earth is she doing here,
mamma, is she crazy ?
I Her sharp, cutting tone was distinctly
heard, as she intended it should be, by
I Minnie, who flushed paiufuiiy as she ro:e,
venturing ju9t one glance at the haughty
MILLHEIM, l'A., Til FRIDAY, MARCH 25. 188(1.
beauty's face, and Mr. Fletcher's eager,
admiring eyes, whose boldness startled
"1 am sorry to have made surh a mis
take. 1 thought that Mrs. ('arriseourt
meant that I was to sit here a little while.
Please excuse me; 1 will not come again."
Her voice was sweet, ami just a little
nervous, and she instantly crossed the room,
followed by Cleona's cold, cutting words,
every one of which brought a sharp thrill
of mortification and pain to tier.
"He careful you make no more such mis
takes, girl. Your place is among the hired
help, and not in the parlor, tie good
enough to remember that."
And even Geoffrey Fletcher's callous
heart gave a thrill of sympathy at sight of
the scarlet pain on the sweet, young face.
Once safe in her room, poor little Minnie
fought and conquered her first battle with
"I'll not be crushed by my first experi
ence,'" she decided, resolutely, an hour or
so after, when her breast yet heaved with
convulsive sighs, and her eyes were all
swollen from crying. "1 will not give it
up and rush home to mamma—my first
impulse. 1 will endeavor to construe peo
ple less literally, and keep my place."
But there came a flush to her cheeks that
all her brave philosophizing could not con
trol, at the memory of Cleona ('arriseourt's
cool insolence.
"I\l not have spoken so to a dog," Min
nie said, as she repressed the hitter tears
that sprang in wounded indignation to her
blue eyes.
After that there was no shadow of an
opportunity given by Minnie for Mrs.
Carriscourt or C'leona to lay any blame to
her charge.
She performed her duties as no gover
ness had ever performed them, and the
twins progressed to their mother's complete
Minnie never was seen in the nanus of the
family, but lived entirely to herself, taking
her solitary little walks when the day's
duties were ended, and disciplining herself
into an unconsciously unselfish, brave,
patient woman.
Her letters home were bright and cheer
ful—until one day Mrs. Velsor was horrified
to learn that her darling was dangerously
ill, that the fever itad come suddenly upon
her, and that in fear and selfishness, Mrs.
Paul St. Eustace Carriscourt had insisted
that the raving girl be taken from her house
to the hospital.
"It will kill her to move her," Dr. Leth
bridge hail remonstrated indignantly.
"What nonsense, mamma! ' Cleona re
torted, looking fiercely at the physician.
"It will not hurt licr to be moved nearly as
much as it will for us to keep her here.
She is nothing hut the children's governess;
she had better die, even, than to risk all our
lives any longer. You will please superin
tend her removal to-day," she added, im
periously, to Dr. Lethhridge.
I4e looked coldly, almost furiously, at
Miss Carriscourt's face tis she spoke. Then 1
he bowed, and answered quietly:
"T Vv;with you. This poor,
suffering cmld had bettcfW than remain
among such inhuman prtrpm."
And Dr. Leithbridge personally super
intended Minnie's transfer—not to lite hos
pital, but to his own house, where his love
ly, white-haired mother and his sister
opened their hearts to the girl, and nursed ,
her back to health and strength, and—the
sweetest happiness that ever came to a girl s
heart, for Hugh Lethhridge asked her to be
his wife.
And the memory of those brief days was
hidden away beneath the glad sunshine of
her beautiful new life, and Minnie in her
new home was proud and honored and he
loved as a queen.
The years passed—as years have a trick
of passing— bringing their bnrdens of joy
and sorrow, and to Hugh Lethhridge and
his wife there were only landmarks of eon- J
tent to mark their tliglit.
Three dear children had come to them,
and matron Minnie was even fairer and
sweeter than the maiden had been, for she
had been benefitted by the stern discipline
of earlier clays.
And as the years went by I)r. Lethhridge
grew famous and rich, until there were no
comforts or luxuries he was obliged to re
fuse to his wife or family—and one of those
coveted luxuries was a resident governess
at the home of the children.
"I remember my own governess days so
well, dear," Minnie said one day to her
husband, when they were, discussing the
feasibility of securing one. "I feel as if 1
never could ke kind enough to any one in
such a position in my house. And yet all
the happiness of my life resulted from my
position in Mrs. Carriscourt's family,
And she looked the great unutterable love
she had for him, and i)r. Lethbridge kissed
her lovely upturned face tenderly.
"Then I will take this widow lady, whom
Allison recommended, shall I, Minnie?
He says she is of good family, and in very
reduced circumstances. Her husband was
a miserable, drunken fellow, and she has
to support both herself and her invalid
mother. It would tic a charity, I suppose;
but, of course, we must also look to our
own interests."
But the decision was to employ the wid
ow lady Allison, so confidently recommend
ed, and a day or so afterwaol an interview
was arranged.
It was just at the dusk of a winter's af
ternoon that the servant announced to Dr.
Lethbridge and bis wife that a lady wished
to see th. in in the parlor—the lady whom
Mr. Allison had sent —and Minnie and her
husband went down to meet her—lull, pale,
bearing the unmistakably traces of miser}'
and soirow on her face —Cleona Carris
Minnie gave a little exclamation of as
"Is it possible? Miss Carriscourt —"
She interrupted, quietly:
"Mrs. Fletcher —Mrs. Geoffrey Fletcher.
And you are little Minnie Velsor. 1 bad
no idea—l had forgotten Doctor Lcthbridge's
name —of course, 1 cannot have the posi
tion. It would hardly be natural that you
should wish to befriend me."
Mrs. Fletcher turned toward the door, |
her pale face piteous, her voice bitter and |
Doctor Lethbridge looked sternly alter
her; but Minnie shot him au appealing
glance before she stepped toward the de
parting woman.
"Wait—just a moment, please! 1 was
so surprised. Mis. Fletcher. Pray sit down,
you are in trouble, and if we can be of any
service, I know the doctor will be glad to
assist you."
Mrs. Fletcher's lips quivered a second, as
she turned her pitiful eyes on Minnie's
sweet face.
"I am in need of work, but I do not ex-
peel it of you. You can onlv despise me
and hold me in hatred and contempt for
what I did to you. J tut that or something
else has come home to me."
1 do not bate or despise you Mrs. Fletch
er. God lias been too good to me for that.
Stay! Doctor Letlibridge will indorse my
forgiveness, 1 am sure, and we will make
you as happy as we ran. We will forget
all that was unpleasant and start anew.
Do stay and touch my little girls, dear Mrs.
And Cleona sat down, overcome with
passionate tears, while the doctor, with an
indulgent smile, and a nod of the head to
Minnie, left the two wolncn alone under
the strange circumstances into which the
sarcasm of fate hud led them.
A Itnt'lif trim* League.
Many highly respected unmarried men
in London about thirty year}! ago, had be
come thoroughly impressed with the idea
that something ought to he done to relieve
themselves from certain social duties which
had been gradually growing more and more
onerous. After some canvassing among
the interested persons it was finally decided
to form a League of Bachelors, and as the
members of that league were endeavoring
to escape from responsibilities which are
notoriously shirked by the young men of
to-day, we shall perhaps interest our femi
nine readers by transcribing a few of the
rules which were laid down lor a London
society almost a generation ago and which
are likely to he revived before long on this
side of the water."
1. Every bachelor joiuing the league is
to cancel all previous engagements.
Every bachelor having subscribed for
five years to the League, and who, by mis
fortune,. shall have incurred a matrimonial
engagement, shall he defended against am*
action for breach of promise, and thus
saved from the shame and misery of going
through the Court of Hymen, which is too
frequently another name for the insolvent
Court. •
3. Connected with the League it is in
tended to establish a Bachelors' Insurance
Office, to insure single men against marriage
and flirtation, on the same principles JUS are
usualiy applied to death and fire. Any
member having visited willfully a house
with more than two marriageable daughters
w ill, in the event of the calamity of marri
age befalling him, be regarded in the same
light a aft to dr NO, and his policy will be
vitiated on account of the very had policy
that will have guided him. Any bachelor
falling—into matrimony—by his own hand,
as in the case of a written promise to wed,
w ill be deprived of all the benefits of his
insurance, and every applicant proposing
to he insured must answer the following
questions, among others that will IK pro
jHised to him: What is your age next birth
day? At what age had your father the
misfortune to marry your mother? Have
you been afflicted with the German or other
mania? Are you subject to sentimental
fits? Have you been addicted to the writ
ing of sonnets? Or have you ever suffered
from the vacwthm acribeiuii in any shape
time in your life been a victim to the flute,
or any other deadly-lively instrument?
Have any of your near relations fallen in
love at any time, and if so have they re
covered. or have their cases ended fatally?
If these questions are all answered in
a satisfactory manner, any member, of the
Bachelor's League may insure any amount
under -1*5,000, to he paid within three
months of the melancholy termination of
proof of wedlock having actually overtaken
liim. The insurance against fliration or fire
cannot he effected where the applicant is
more than ordinarily inflammable, and
watering-places in the season, halls, and
picnic parties must he considered as doubly
or trebly hazardous, and charged accord
ingly. A great moral engine will be kept
on the premises, so that in case of alarm of
lire, any member may have cold water
thrown upon him without extra premium.
Tlie Kerosene Lamp.
Iverosonc has been in general use so many
years that we naturally suppose that people
are familiar with its qualities, and under
stand perfectly well how to hand'e it safely
and economically. This impression is,
however, hastily formed, and it seems that
a lamentable ignorance prevails on the sub
ject. Much damage results from turning
the light of these lamps low. The presence
of glass chimney on every kerosene lamp is
as plain a direction to keep the tiame bright
as though it were printed in so many words,
"Don't let me smoke." Kerosene is a con
centrated hydro-caruon. With an insuffi
cient supply of oxygen, it gives off dydro
gen and carbonic acid gases, both inimical
to health and in sufficient amounts fatal to
life. With an ordinary open lamp the
burning of kerosene is not .successful. A
chimney is added, and extends several
inches above the (lame, which rests on the
perforated base below it. On lighting the
lamp, the glass chimney is almost instantly
heated, inducing an upward current of air,
which rushes in through the network oi
perforations, feeds the flame with oxygen,
and passes off at the top ot the chimney.
If the chimney is sufficiently high, and tha
perforations sufficiently large, the intensity
of the light may be considerably increased,
of course at the expense of a larger anioui t
of oil and a greater supply of oxyg n.
Thus the table lamps, with cylindrical or
Argand works, give a larger amount of i h
than those which are fed by a flat wick;
the chimney much higher, and the atmos
phere is fed to the center as well as to the
outside of the flame. When a kerosene
lamp is turned down low, front mistaken
idea of economy, there is insufficient com
bustion, and if the lamp does not visibly
smoke, the invisible gases of carbonic acid
and hydrogen are evolved, and may be de
tected instantly by the smell, especially by
a person who comes in from out doors or
from a room with a purer atmosphere. The
presence of these dangerous gases means
headache and vertigo, and at length insen
sibility and death. iNo ordinarily sized
1 living room in a house is safe half an hour,
jor fifteen minutes. even, after a lamp has
been put into this improper condition. All
saving of oil by such means is at the risk of
loss of health, and possibly of life. Such
niggardliness is suicidal.
The greatest evils in life have had
their rise l'rom something which was
thought, of too little importance to be
attended to.
1 f you would relish food, labor for it
before vou 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.
Concent ration of Mind.
Dr. Potter, a few days ago, before the
Sanitary Reform Association, of New York,
when explaining the dilHculties a child had
in concentrating its mind on its studies,
when surroundings were uncomfortable, as
in a badly built or ill-ventilated schoolroom,
made use of a singularly happy expression.
He spoke of those physical "adjustments,"
the exact meaning of which most people
who work with their brains and pens can
most thoroughly understand. It is quite
certain that the surroundings of a literary
man, when iie is at his work, have some
thing to do with the facility or difficulty
with which his labor is accomplished. A
spluttering pen, viscid ink, greasy paper,
a rickety tabic, an uncomfortable chair, are
of. en clogs to successful composition. They
are mechanical obstructions, physical
interruptions, which, constantly recurring,
.cluck the free flow of thought. The ub-'e work to he done, even when ftucccas
luily accomplished, is at the expense of a
certain amount of extra labor. It has of-
Uli been told, what are the peculiar sur
roundings under which some distinguished
men have accomplished their literary work.
One author never could write unless a brass
candlestick, the candle in which never was
lit was on his table; another had to have a
dish of wafers, though lie never was kuowpi
to use any; a third never could pen a line
unless a pot with geraniums was placed on
or near his writing desk. As to the mate- j
rial to he used, it is said that one of the
most famous of modem French novelists ;
never would have written a romance if a
maker of a peculiar paper with blue lines '
had stopped manufacturing. These are, i
of course, mental idiosyncrasies to be .
laughed at, and might be called special ad- j
juslinents. Taking, however, Dr. Potter's j
broader idea, and applying it to the lower
creation, we all know the method employed
in training canary birds to sing a stave of j
music. 1 hey are enclosed in a dark cage
and piped to. All outside disturbing in- j
tluences are withheld. It is absolutely cer
tain that in teaching children, in drawing
to a point the focal powers of their brains,
ail extraneous disturbances, as far as possi- i
hie should he removed. With the adult, 1
however; it is a misfortune when these
physical adjustments are such necessities
that no serious continued work can he ac
complished when he is not in harmony with
them. A man becomes then the slave of
his surroundings. No one is idiotic
enough to despise the quiet library, the
baize-covered table, the morocco-covered
chair, the silver standish, the pet pen, the
hand-made paper, the pleasant warmth of
the caniiei-coal fire, and the carefully ad
justed light. But such delightful adjuncts
we do not all enjoy. Perhaps the news
paper office, with its thousands of inter
ruptions, its usual discomforting surround
ings, would he the best place in the world
to teach a man that these physical adjust
ments can IK* at times entirely dispensed
The Menhaden fishery of this country is
e i h 5 'vA.jw .is
fisheries. The herring family is represented
on the Atlantic coast by ten species, all of
which swim in immense schools, ami several,
such as the sea herring and the shad, are of
great economical importance. In abund
ance and value these are all surpassed by
the menhaden. This fish has thirty dis
tinct names, limited in their use within
narrow geographical boundaries. North of
Cape Coil the name pogy is universally used
while in southern New England the fish is
called the meniladen. The names are de
rived from two Indian words of the same
meaning. About Cape Cod the pogy is re- ]
placed by hard head shad, and in eastern i
Connecticut by bony fish. In western Con
necticut the species is commonly known as
the white fish, while in New York the
familiar name is mossbunker, a relic of the
Dutch colony of New Amsterdam. The
other names are alewife, bay alewife, pilcher
and green tail. Virginia gives it the name
of the bug fish, bug shad and bug hi ad.
Professor Goode says that sixty or eighty
per cent, of the menhaden taken in the
Chesapeake contain parasitic crustaceans in
their mouths. The parasites do not live on '
the fish, but taking possession of every '
open mouth, devour the food as it passes
through the fish's gills. In North Carolina
the name is fat back, whiufc prevails as far
south as Florida, and where are also heard j
the names, yellow tail and yellow tailed j
shad, while in southern Florida the fish is
called shiner and herring. It is deemed im
possible to indicate the movements of the
menhaden with certainty. With se'tled ,
warm weather they make their appearance
in the inshore water, usually preceding the •
shad and the blue fish a week or so. r l he
first schools usually appear in Chesapeake
Bay, in March or April; on the coast of
New Jersey, iif April or early May; on
the south coast of New England, in late .
April and May; oil Cape Ann, about the
middle of May, and in the Gulf of Maine,
the latter part of May and the first of June.
Returning, they leave Maine late in Sep
tember ami October: Massachusetts in Octo
ber, November and December; Long Island
Sound and vicinity, in November and De
cember; Chesapeake Bay, in December and
Cape Jlatteras, in January. Further to the
south they remain more or less constantly
throughout the year. Their northern range
has become restricted within twenty years.
Forty years ago they were caught in im
mense schools in St. John's Bay, N. 8., and
sometimes in great numbers in the Bay of
Fandy. They are now seldom seen there.
In 1879 there was a great change in the
limits of their northern range. In July
more than forty steamers resorted to the
usual fishing grounds north of Cape Cod,
where the catch for the season did not ex
cised one hundred barrels. The theory of
the absence of the fish from this old haunt
is that the fish usually resorting there were
killed oIT, or sought other haunts, probably
the latter, as no one advances the theory
that the menhaden are being exterminated,
and they are vastly more abundant on this
coast. The absence of food, the presence
of an enemy in their old haunts, or the dis
tasteful atmosphere of the water, would
drive them to new ones. It has been sug
gested that the presence of considerable
numbers of blue fish north of Cape Cod may
be the cause of the menhaden's absence, but
Professor Goode disputes it, 011 the ground
that the presence of great schools of biue
fish among menhaden does not have the ef
fect of driving them away. At the time
that blue fish were most abuudant, there
was no perceptible diminution in the num
ber of menhaden. The change of temper
ature is accepted as the most plausible
theory, and the Professor is of the opinion
that they go off into the sea, under the Gulf
Stream, where they find the right tempera
ture. There seems to be a doubt as to what
the food of the menhaden is. Hundreds of
specimens have lieeu dissected, and every
stomach has been found to contain dark
greenish or brownish mud or silt, such as
occurs near the mouths of rivers and on the
bottom of still bays. When this mud is
allowed to stand for a time in clear water,
it liecomes slightly tinged with green, in
dicating the presence of chloroplyl, perhaps
derived from the alga?, so common in mud
dy bottoms. In addition to the particles af
fine mud, the microscope reveals a few
common forms of diatoms. If the men
haden find teeth it might IH* supposed that
they feed on other fish, as the blue fish feed
on them; but in place of teeth their mouths
are supplied with about fifteen hundred
thread-like bristles, from a third to three
quarters of an ineli long, which are attached
to the gill arches and resemble a sieve.
Below this is the stomach, which resembles
the gizzard of a chicken, and further down
( is a coiled intestine about five times the
I length of the fish, all of which would point
I to the fact that the menhaden feed ou veg
; etable matter. Professor Goode's opinion
is that the fish goes down to the mud, sifts
j out the unmitritious matter and swallows
the remainder. With regard to their breed
ing habits some mystery exists. Thousands
' of specimens have lieen dissected since 1871, I
without the discovery of mature ova. '
Young menhaden, from one to three inches
in length and upward, are common in Sum
mer and Autumn in the southern part of
New England. These are in schools, arid
make their appearance suddenly from the i
open ocean, like adult fish. Menhaden i
have never been known to spawn on the
southern coast, and the egg hearing ones, |
when observed, are alwa}*s heading out to
sea. The strong possibility is that their '
breeding grounds are on the off shore shoals !
which skirt the coast from George's Banks
to the Florida Keys. The menhaden has !
come to IK* regarded as the most prolific of
fish, far exceeding the shad and herring j
An examination of one fish revealed one
hundred and fifty thousand eggs. The
business of rendering menhaden intooil&nd
scrap, tin- tatter for fertilizing purposes,
lias grown rapidly on Long Island within a
few years. Over forty millions of fish were
caught and rendered last year. Three new
steamers are being constructed for next
year's crusade, and three new factories are
going up. Over a million dollars are now
invested, and it is safe to assume that half
a million of capital will he added within
the next year. The profits of the business
are immense.
Down Hill in a Stage Coach.
A moment's halt on the summit and the
downward trip begins. The horses relieved
of the weight which has dragged so heavily
from the beginning, set into a strong gal lop,
evincing a confidence in the brake block
which occasions do not always justify.
The road is frightfully steep, and so sinnu
ous that oftentimes the way in front seems
barred beyond passage. The coach dips
and careens from side to side and a strong
grasp upon the seat is necessary t r * v
additional interest to the rule. Thence
forth wheelers and leaders are launclnid
into a terrific race for life. With dilated
nostrils and ears well back, the frightened
beasts know that flight is their only safety,
and strongly they plant their feet into the
hard and often icy road. Jehu keeps them
well in hand, holds the wheel horses up to
their work and plies the vigorous lash to
the leaders. So long as his steeds keep
their feet, he knows he can control the
movements of his stage, but if on goes
down, a frightful disaster is almost certain.
Down the rugged road the coach plunges—
now grazing the solid wall of the moun
tain and anon trembling on the very verge
of the brink—that appalling evidence of
the narrow line between life with all its
hopes and aspirations and death with its
cheerless uncertainty. A few moments
and the studded growth of hardy ever
greens struggling for life amid the chaos of
loosened rock appears, announcing the
approach to fairer lands; the road gradu
ally loses its perpendicularity, corduroy
bridges threaten to demolish, the quaking
vehicle; the horses slacken their pace;
the way widens; vegetation assumes a
larger growth; birds of broader wing,
more varied plumage and wider range of
song dart from tree to tree; stunted grass
sere and yellow and late autumnal flowers
give a happier face to the landscape; the
austerity of the heights above disappears,
the driver slowly and carefully draws rein,
and one passenger, at least, indulges iu
silent thanksgiving. Hut it is a grand, ex
citing, magnificent ride anyway, and every
body should take it once, at least, in a life
An Inseparable I'air. .
A Duke of Savoy, who made some pre
tensions to the city of Geneva, sought to
gain it by surprise; he scaled the walls in
the night, but his success was not equal to
his wishes. The alarm being given that a
great number of besiegers had mounted the
walls, the citizens ran to arms and repulsed
their enemies, who were too weak to resist
them. Those who fell into their hands
were led to an ignominious death. Among
the number of the prisoners was an officer
who had particularly distinguished himself
for his valor. The news of his misfortune
being carried to his wife, she flew to the
place where her husband was to perish,
and demanded to embrace him for the las:
tune. They refused this favor, and the
otlicer was hung without her being permit
ted to approach him. She, nevertheless,
followed the body of her husband to the
place where it was exposed. She there
seated herself by the melancholy spectacle,
and remained without taking any nourish
ment or suffering her eyes to be abstracted
for a moment from the object of her affec
tion. Death, which she had waited for
with impatience, came at last, and closed
her eyes while she was stretched over the
dead body of her husband.
"The proof of cue pudding is in the
eating," says an old proverb, but it
almost takes away our appetite when
we see a "proof" of the waiter's
thumb on the edge of the dish.
Duty is the little blue sky over every
heart and soul—over every life—large
enough lor a star to look between the
clouds, and for the skylark Happiness
to rise heavenward through and sing
Beautiful things are suggestive of a
purer and higher life, and fill us with
mingled love and fear. They have a
graciousness that wins us, and an ex
cellence to which we involuntarily do
' reverence.
A Mg Mustard Planter.
I>r. Henry C. Chapman, Coroner's Phy
sician ia Philadelphia. Pa., whose genial
nature age has not withered, and whose in
finite variety of cheerful speech custom, has
anything but staled, rushed excitedly into
the drug store at the northwest corner of
Twelfth and Chesnut streets and cried in
peremptory tones:
"Give me three feet of mustard plaster;
and give it to me right away!"
The apothecary "with overwhelming
brows" looked up from amidst his "green
earthen pots, bladders and musty seeds" and
said in a dazed sort of way;
In this single word was expressed both
interogation and surprise.
"I say," replied l)r. Chapman, "I want
three yards of mustard plaster, and I want
it just as quick as you can make it. Patient
is in imminent danger. Delay may mean
"Three of mustard plaster? Good
heavens, Doctor, what are—"
"I said three yards, not three feet; at
least, when I said three feet I meant to say
three yards and I immediately corrected
myself. And 1 think that I mentioned the
fact that this was a case in which there was
no time to be lost."' The Doctor was grow
ing testy. .
"Cut three yards of mustard plaster;
why, bless my soul! • You wouldn't want
that much if your patient was a hippopota
mus with the stomach-ache; surely, Doc
tor, you don't really mean to say yards;
you must mean inches."
Dr. Chapman assumed an air of severity
becoming his professional dignity and
municipal oilice. He seemed on the verge
of expressing a forcible opinion forcibly.
There was a significant pause. Then his
severity faded away, his dignity relaxed
and he chuckled:
"The fact of the matter is," he said,
"one of the giraffes out at the Zoo lias an
acute attack of bronchitis. His throat's
sore all the way down. That's what the
plaster's for. Now then, let's have it.
And then the puzzled apothecary saw
day-light and set about manufacturing the
largest mustard plaster that the world lias
ever known.
A Spanish Dinner.
We returned to our hotel for another ex
perience—tliat of a genuine Spanish dinner.
This harrowing theme is not to be avoided,
since life cannot be supported on cathedrals
and curiosities. To describe one is to des
crilie all. The dining room has a bare floor,
seldom visited by soap of Castile or of any
other region, but the walls try to attract
your attention by hideous oil paintings and
photographs, and occasionally dingy gilded
columns support the ceiling. The table
linen is very coarse and rough and the nap
kins are put in rings for further service.
The soup is generally good, because thick
ened by a sort of pea, which some writers
says ''tries to become a bean and very
either in the dignity of a separate dish or
SIX WMaaw with another. There are
seven or eight courses, the fish loitering in
at the third or fourth, and some of them
mierht be good but for the revolting presence
of some untranslatable flavor and especially
of garlic. If this villainous plant does not
positively mix itself with all the viands it
can at least boast that it breathes upon
them. The young lady of our party ven
tured to say that she did not really dislike
it, whereuj>on she was assailed with such
a storm of scornful incredulity that she
went straight over to the enemy's camp for
ever, much to the disgust of her admiring
cavalier. The vins ordinal res of Spain
are agreeable aud pure; the sweet dishes
were to us insoluble mysteries, usually to
be avoided; the fruits excellent, especially
grapes, which in October are abundant,
enormous clusters selling for two or three
sous. This is the land of chocolate, which
nearly usurps the throne of coffee; with it
are served long frosty morsels of a mixture
of sugar and white of eggs of deadly sweet
ness. The bread is always good; as to
butter, bid it a fond good-bye when you
leave France, for here no one eats it, and
if you make the attempt once, surely you
will never make it again.
Sir*. Oakey's Advice.
A woman chooses for her profession the
head of a household Let her not enter on
it lightly. Properly viewed, it is the most
elevated of all professions. She has in her
hands the welfare and direction of a few or
many people, but it is a work which can
not be neglected. it is her duty to see
that her home is clean, airy, cheerful, hap
py, and its various economies attended to.
A mistress should go through her house
ever}' morning, praise where praise is due,
and quietly find fault with any carelessness
or omission, thinking nothing beneath her
notice, but with a gentle authority which
admits of no question.
Do not live with a fine house over your
head and subsist in the basement. Few
people out of your family know or care how
you live. Let your house, large or small, bu
kept for the benefit of those who live in it.
Warmth and light are better than fine fur
niture, and good beds better than fine bed
Live in your drawing-rooms; have books,
•work, music, fire, all to make it the pleas
antest place for the members of the family;
a place for rest, comfort, conversation, with
nothing too fine to sit upon.
Curtains are not for ornament, but use,
drop them, shut out the cold, and have an
open fire. It is the best of luxuries, an or
nament and a cheerful companion.
Early rising is desirable. Ido not mean
getting up before daylight. It is useless to
begin the day by making every member
of the family uncomfortable.
The mother should set an example of be
ing neat and appropriately dressed. She
will see no one during the day before whom
she should desire to appear so well, or to
appear so attractive.
Treat your servants with confidence and
consideration, and do not suspect them of
doing wrong.
They must have time to do their wash
ing and keep their clothes in order, or they
cannot be clean and tidy.
Without wholesome intervals of amuse
ment, uninterrupted work becomes intoler
able. There are and must be differences
in the modes of enjoyment, but there is a
common womanhood.
—The first coffee nouse was opened
in England in the year 1692.
It is more beautiful to overcome In
jury by kindness than to oppose to it
the obstancy of hatred.
NO. 12.