VOL. LIV. PROFESSIONAL CARDS. C. T. Alexander. C. M. Bower. ATTORNEYS AT LAW. BKLLEFONTK, PA. Office in Qarman'9 new building. JOHN B. LINN, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BKLLEFONTK, PA. office on Allegheny Street. OLEMENT DALE, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BKLLEFONTK, PA. Northwest corner of Diamond. D. G. Bush. 8. H. Yocum. D. H. Hastings. JJUSH, YOCUM. DFC HASTINGS, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. BELLEFONTE, PA. High Street, Opposite First National Bank, W M. C. HEINLE, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BKLLEFONTK, PA. Practices In all the courts of Centre County. Spec.al attention to Collections. Consultations In German or English. F. REEDER, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BKLLEFONTK, PA. All business promptly attended to. collection of claims a speciality. J. A. Beaver. J. w. Gephart. JJEAVEK IT GEPHART, ATTORNEYS AT LAW, BKLLEFONTK, PA Office on Alleghany Street, North of High. 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. Ofllce In Lyon'a Building, Allegheny Street. JOHN G. LOVE, * ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTE. PA Office In the rooms formerly occup'ed by the late w. p. Wilson. BANKING CO., ' MAIN STREET, MILLHKIM, PA A. WALTER, Cashier. DAV. KRAPK, Pres. HARTER, AUCTIONEER, REBERSBURG. PA Satisfaction Guaranteed. ' A man's fortune should be the rule for his sparing not spending. Extrav agance may be supported, not justified, by affluence. Tears are not manly ! Well, the high est type of manhood that ever blessed earth with his presence wept on more than one occasion. It is a very good thing to mean well, but If you expect to get on in the worlu you must also do well. Good inten ti ns pay 110 debts. A man should always look upward for comforts for when the heaven above our beads is dark, the earth under our feet is sure to be darker. Activity, like zeal, is only valuable as it is applied, but most people beftow tbeir praises 011 the quality, and give little heed to the purposes to which it is directed. Let us think much of rest—the rest which is n< tof indol n *e, but of pow ers In perfect equilibrium; rest which is deep as summer sunshine, the Sab bath of eternity. It is in the nature of men and things that education, 110 less than religion, must be personally experienced to be o the largest benefit. Invest your funds carefully and in telligently. Beware of the brillian' bubbles that are blown up to tempt in genious speculators. We esteem in the world those wliodo not merit our esteem, and neglect per sons of true worth ; but the world Is like the ocean, the pearl is in Its depths, the sea-weed swims. Manhood in the Christian life is a better thing than boyhood, because it Is a ripe thing, an old age ought to be a brighter, and a calmer, and a more se rene thing than manhood. The World is a looking glass, and gives back to every man the reflection of.his own face. Frown at it, and it will turn and look surly upon you; laugh at it and with it, and it is a pleasant, kind, companion. Don't flatter yourself that friendship authorizes you to say disagreeable things to jour intimates. On the con trary, the nearer you come into relation with a person, the more necessary do tact and courtesy become. Our sight Is the most perfect and de lightful of all our senses. It Alls the mind with the largest variety ot ideas, converses with its objects at the great est distance, and continues the longest in action wi hout, being tired or sati ated with it, proper enjoyment. ABOUT KISSING. Little child, when twilight shadows. Close the western gates of gold. Then those loving arms of mother's Tenderly about tho fold. Over lip, and cheek, and forehead, Like a shower caresses fail. For a mother's kiss at twilight Is the sweeter t kiss of all. Pretty maiden at the gateway. Shy, sweet face auu downcast eye, Two white trembling hands im; riseued, How the golden moment flies! Lips that softly press thy forehead. All tho rosy blushes call; For a lover's kiss at twilight Is the fondest kirs of aIL Happy wife, thy noLle husband, More than half a lover y<t— For those auuny hours of wooing Are too sweet to soon forgot— On thy smiling lips uplifted. Full of love' his kisses fall. For a husband's kiss at parting Is tho dearest kis-t of all. Weary mother, little chi dreu, With their dimpled hands so fair, Passing over cheek and forehead, Soothe away all pain and care; Lead your doubting heart to Heaven, Where no dreary shadows fall, For the kiss of sinless childhood Is the purest kiss of all. The Wife's Lesson. Myra was pouting. The unmistakable expression of ill-tamper disfigured her pretty face; aud Ernest sighed as he remembered how often it had been there during their brief married ex perience. Upon tho breakfast table were standing the dishes of a substantial meal, in the dis order that followed their use. Breakfast was OVT. but Ernest still kept his s< at, toying absently with a teaspoon, while Myra looked at him with the cross look of u thwarted child. "Then you won't give me the dreß9!" she said. "I can't MYTH. I really could uot do it without running into debt." "That's just an excuse. Papa always gave me the money for my clothes, even, if he was cross about soiue other things. "Your father was a rich man, Myra, when we were married." "I wish he was rich noiv. I'd ask him for the money- I never thought you would be so stingy, Ernest." This last thrust was too much for the long enduring temper. Ernest Mather's voice was very stern as he answered: "1 am not stingy, Myra. You knew I was a poor man when you married me, and that I could not give you the luxuries of your old home; but 1 have granted you every indulgence in my power without get ting into debt. That I will not do for your sake as well as mine." He left her then, lingering in the hall as he put on his overcoat, hoping she would come for a kiss and a word of reconcilia tion. But she sat tapping her little foot upon the floor until the hall door closed, and then ran to her room crying. bhe was a spoiled child, the only daugh- j ter of a man who had been very wealthy, but who had hazarded his money in an un- i fortunate speculation aud lost. A position abroad was offered him and he accepted it. ilis house and furniture which he had given his daughter for a wedding gift, were settled upon herself, aud not affectod by his change of fortune. He knew Ernest Mather to be an honor able man, who had a good business capacity and a high place in the esteem aud confi dence of his employers and felt no anxiety about Myra's future. So the little wife, as she made her pretty blue eyes all red Avith tears of temper, had no sensible mother to tell her how wrongly she was acting, no sister to sympathize witli her, no one to scold or humor her. Under the circumstances the tears were soon dried and Mrs. Mather weut out for a walk. "It's no harm to look at the dress again, even if I can't buy it," she said, as she tried on a coquettish little bonnet, and otherwise beautified herself for the expedition. The day was bright, a soft warm morning in early spring, and the shops were filled with tempting finery. in Myra's dainty portemonnaie there was enough money to purchase a number of nice little parcels, even though the price of the expensive dress was denied her. So the morning slipped away ami lunch eon time found her chattiug with Julia Maxwell, and quite willing to accompany that friend on a second tour in the after noon. It was after five o'clock when the little matron, "tired to death," as 6hesaid reach ed her home. Her first shock was catching sight of Ernest's maiden aunt, Miss Cordelia Lowry, lier especial aversion and dread, seated upon the drawing-room sofa. "Old horror!" she muttered. "I wish she was at home. I want to make up with Erntst. I donT like the dress half as much as I did yesterday." The second shock met her upon opening the door of lier bedroom. Open boxes, closets, drawers / an air of general confusion everywhere, and that small trunk Ernest always took upon his short business trips missing altogether. Clearly her husband had packed up and .gone, leaving Aunt Cordelia, as usual, to keep Myra company. But where was he. Upon the dressing table was a note di rected to herself, and Mrs. Mather tore it jopen. No loving address to herself, but merely this: I have waited for your return, as long as j possible, and I write this to explain my absence. I told you six months ago of Mr. Agnew's offer to me if I would accept the position of traveler to the house —double my present salary and a liberal commission. 1 1 declined it then because you said the money would never compensate you for the constant separation. To-day the offer is renewed. After our conversation this morning I think your only objection will hardly have any weight; so I have accepted and leave in an hour. I will write you every month, inclosing remittances. I leave the accanspauying baak-aote for the Ml IXII ELM. PA., THURSDAY, APRIL 15, 1880. dress you desire. I have sent for Aunt Cordelia, as usual, to stay with you. Eunkst Mather. a loving word, not a word of regret ! for the long separation. Myra realized then how considerate and loving her husband had been under the weary vexatious of her whims and caprices. Great tears rolled down her cheeks us she bitterly reproached herself. "1 have made him believe I don't care for anythiug but money," she thought, lie leaves me this to console me for his absence. Oh, Ernest, come home again and I'll wear calico and a sunbounet to church before I'll ! tease you for finery again!" It was not an easy matter to go to dinner ! and meet Auut Cordelia, but it must be | done. It was no new thing for that worthy spin ster to see Myra in tears when Ernest was away 011 business, so she only expressed a desire to see "any man ulive she'd cry for," ami said no more about the little wife's red eyes. The days passed very, very wearily. Aunt Cordelia preached only sermons to Myra upon extravagance ami various other I female weakness, till the poor little woman wished she was us homely and ill looking as her tormentor herself. "You never see me with such a dress in the house as that," the spinster world say 1 with a complacent glance at her dyed I skirts. "1 buy clothes to wear," Myra retorted. ' "If I had as much money as you, Aunt I Cordelia, I'd be ashamed to go about iu such j dresses." And the spinster would shake her head and groan audibly, pityingly, "poor, dear ' Ernest." "You never see me," was her ever open ing address. And Myra grew to hate tho words in the long months of her enforced companion ship. For Ernest did not return. Spring, summer, autuum passed away, ami December was opening, yet still he did not come. Every month a formal letter reached Myra, inclosing a check for expenses ot such liberal value as to prove Ernest was making money; but each one informed her that her husband was just leaving the place from which he wrote and made 110 mention of his next destination. Heart-sick, peiuteut, and oh! so lonely, the little wife spent only what was neces sary for the house, and fairly loathed the sight of the money that was accumulating j in her hands. Letter after letter she wrote and destroy ed, not knowing where to direct them. Sle was growing so pale and worn, so quiet and subdued, that Aunt Cordelia's most hateful speeches went often unan- j swered. She was sitting in the drawing room one ! cold December morning, when Mr. Aguew, ■ Ernest's employer, came in. "I am sorry to disturb you Mrs. Mather," 1 he said, but I wish to inquire of you if you i have heard from Ernest this week." "Not since the first," she replied. "lie wrote us 011 the fifth that he would remain in Cumberland until the first of the year, and was to send some papers 011 th? I seventh. These have not come and we are embarrassed for want of them. I tele- , graphed yesterday but have no reply. How- j ever, if you have not heard tie is ill, he is probably better. "Ill," she faltered. "Well, I judged from his last letter that he had not fully recovered from the fever , he had, although he had resumed business, j If you hear to-day will you be kind enough to send us word?" "Certainly," Myra managed to gasp in a choking voice, and Mr. Aguew was gone. "111! A fever! Sick at a hotel aud she I not near! Ernest, her Ernest!" All the love in the little woman's heart rose to protest. She astonished Auut Cor- ; delia by dashing into that lady's room cry- j ing: "Take care of the house! I'm going to j Cumberland!" and dashed out again as abruptly. The trunk was packed. Myra never knew what went into it. She hugged her hoard of money. Carefuhy she put it in the bosom of her dress. She cried and laughed and acted general ly like a lunatic. The afternoon found her in an express train, rushing to Ernest as fast as steam . could carry her. In a wide, pleasant room, Ernest Mather lay upon his bed dangerously ill. lie had been for months trying to quiet Ins sick, restless heart by over-working his body, keeping such business hours, such cares and labors in bis work, that the firm at home never ceased congratulating them- ; selves on their choice of a traveler. Ho made money fast, supply Myra with a generous liand, and yet saved consider ably. For what! Bitterly he thought that when he was a very rich man he would go home and try to make Myra contented. He tried to fancy that he had ceased to love her; but the unceasing craving of his heart for the sight of her face and the sound of her voice contradicted it. Work, work, work! That was the medicine for his mental pain, till the overwrought brain gave way, the overtaxed body succumbed and he lay ill with fever for two weeks. Up again before his strength was half re-, stored, and now the relapse had prostrated him and he lay suffering, apparently dying, too ill to send for Myra, too ill to give di rections, too ill to do any more than lie helpless at the mercy of strangers. The long night was passing, and the cold gray dawn announced another wintry day, when a vehicle drove up at the door of the hotel, and in a dim, confused way Ernest heard the bustle of the new arrived travel ers. lie was vaguely wondering if any friend would come to him, when the door of his room opened very softy and he heard the waiter say: "Mr. Mather is here." A soft little rustle followed, and then two cool hands fell upon his hot forehead, tears and kisses followed, and Myra was sob bing: "Oh, Ernest, darling! thank God, I have found you 1 Oh, dear, forgive me!" He was too sick to talk much, but he made his wife fully understand his business, and then sank off to sleep in the sweet con sciousness that love had come to him, a uurse and oomfortei. It was a long, tedious illness, but in the years that followed it Eraest and Myra looked buck upon it as the beginning of their true happiness. Doubts and rcp. "ngs were swept away iu the dunger of a separatist! in the grave, ami all M vru's pemlruee went iuto sush self-sacrificing devotiuu as snatched her husbund from Ike very jaws sf death to her side agaiu. VUCHSOB The dry goods clerk receives permission lo go off iuto the country for two weeks to rusticate, lie receives his fortuight's pay iu advance, und is as happy as a buttertly iu the bosom of a tulip as he glides out of the city. He generally goes to visit some farmer relative, tor then he cau have all tho fresh milk he wants, and besides won't be obliged to pay any board. The latter is the feature which makes tho farm prefer able to a fashionuhle watering place. He never visits the fanner a second time, as he is discovered to be a philosopher of no mean order. He tells the young man that as he has been confined in n close store for a year, all he wants to brace him up is to dig a little, so he takes hiiu out and intro duces him to a two-acre lot of potatoes which needs hoeing. Of course he can't decline and offend his host, so lie shoulders tho hoe and goes to work in a manner which would lead a casual observer to imagine him to be committing murder under special contract. The way he makes the hoe tly around his head and the number of potatoes be chops in half ought to be warning to the agriculturist to call him off. This he would do if he knew the damage that was being done ; but be doesn't—he only sees the hoe fly around, and that makes him smile and exclaim : "Well, now, I swan if ho ain't a gosh blauied lively boy." After that lie is asked to chop some wood and turn a grindstone for an hour or two, the farmer, asserting that these things are extremely healthful in their tendencies, and withal quite the thing for a young man who works iu a store all the year. On tho following day he is asked to help fix a stone well, and, being rather slender and light, is selected as the most available person around the place to be lowered down the well to fasten tho bucket to the chain. After he has been in tho country for about two days lie begins to sigh for the city, aud to be back again in a store in charge of a cross-grained employer with yel.ow hair. He is by that time complete ly used up, and wonders if lie has fallen down stairs or beea run over by a lumber wagon. He thinks oven a residence of Zuzuland, with lever and ague thrown in, would bo sweeter, lie feels like asking the larmer to pension him. In an ecatacy of despair lie gets his brother to telegraph to him saying there is a death in the family and ha must return immediately ; and as he departs, the farmer remarks that he docsa'l seem to "take on" much, and that he is about the happiest mourner ho over saw iu his life. TUo Socio* of Sucocoa. # A few days since I met a gentleman— the owner of large p .per-mills. He took me through the mil s, and showed the great vats of pulp, aud tbe great pilee of paper ready for tbe market; and a world of things which I did not comprehend. After seeing all the machinery, and hearing his praises of his men, and how tlicy 9rnt for United Stales stocks, fifty and a hundred dollars at a time, every time he went to the city, I said: "Will you please sir, tell me the aarret of your (jrcat successf For you tell me you began life with nothing." "I don't know as there is any secret al>out it. When 16 years old I went to S. to work. I was to receive forty dollars a year aud my food, no more and no less. My clothing and all my expenses must come out of the forty dollars. I then solemnly promised the Lord that I would give llim one tenth of my wages, and also that I would save another tenth for my future capital. This resolution I carried out, and after laying aside one-tenth for the Ix>rd, I had at the end of the year much more than a tenth for myself. I then promised the Lord whether He gave me more or less, 1 never would give less than one-tenth to Him. To this vow 1 have conscientious/ adhered from that day to this; and if there be any secret to my success, I attribute it to this. I feel sure lam far richer on my nine-tenths (though I hope that I don't now limit my charities to one tenth) than if 1 kept the whole." "How do you account for it?" "In two ways: First. I beiive God has blessed me, and made my business to pros per; and secondly, 1 have so learned to be careful and economical that my nine-tenths go far beyond w hat the whole would. And 1 believe that any man who will make the trial will fiml it so. Popular FaUiioien Night air and damp weather are held in great horror by multitudes of persons who are sickly or of weak constitutions, conse quently, by avoiding the night air, and damp weather, and changeable weather, that is considered too hot or too cold, they are kept within doors much the largest por j tion of their time, and as a matter of course continue invalids, more and more ripening for the grave every hour; the reason is, ! they arc breathing an impure atmosphere uineteen-twentieths of their whole exist ence. As nothing can wash us clean but pure water, so nothing can cleanse the blood, nothing can make health-giving blood, but the agency of pure air. So great is the tendency of the blood to be- I come impure in consequence of waste, aud useless matter mixing with it as it passes through the body, that it requires a hogs head of air every hour of our lives te un load it. of these impurities, but in propor tion as the air is vitiated, in such propor ; tiou does it infallibly fail to relieve the < blood of these impurities, and impure blood is the foundation ol all disease. The great fact that those who are out of doors most, sumnior and winter, day and night, rain or ' shine, have the best health the world over, does of itself falsify the general impression that night air or any other out door air is unhealthy as compared with indoor air at the same time. Air is the great necessity of life; so much so that if deprived of it for a moment we perish; and so constant it the necessity of the blood for contact with the atmosphere that every drop in the body it exposed to the air through the medium of the lungs every tw# minutes and a half ef our existence. 1 —Sound moves 743 miles per hour. Our Small Boy's frlrst Circus. It was an event in the early life of our boy Charley, and, as he suys, he derived a lesson from it that has been of use to hiiu since—a lesson to the effect ot making sure of a lauding place before leaping,— lie shall tell the story himself: I was twelve years old when the big cir cus came to our village, of Conway, N. 11., and exhibited 011 land belonging to Sain Thorn. For many days before its advent the great flaming posters hud glared 1 upon the sides of barns, upon fences, and 011 the walls of our stories, and I was eager to see the sight. But 1 must earn the mo ney, for my mother had it not to spare. It was during the planting season, and I found odd jobs enough ut dropping corn and po tatoes, and such like, to enable me to earn he coveted quarter. The day came, clear and hi ight, and those who have passed the ! entrancing ordeal, and can remember tho feelings of boyhood, will know how the ; grand entry of the circus, with the baud playing, the performers and their horses bedecked iu glittering array, und the two elephants grandly hoping along—how it all affected me. It did not seem as though I could wait for the opening hour; but I waited, nevertheless. When dinner had been eaten, aud we were ready to set forth, my mother, believing that the men-folks would not bother themselves in looking out for me, gave me particular directions for my conduct. "Now, Charles." she said, "you will look out for your money; you will see where the people are going in ; and do you look sharp and go in with them. Give your money to the man that you see others paying, aud be sure you don't make any mistake." But I didn't get half of her directions. If I had been patient to listen, I might have been spared the grief to which I was destined; for she afterwards declared that stie had warued me against that very thing. But I was only a l>oy, aud 1 suppose I had a boy's lesson to learn. I got off at length, and ran all the way to the village. I stood in a crowd for an hour, listening to music which I could not see; and at length I saw men pushing towards the entrance to a tent, and 1 join ed in and pushed with them. 1 saw folks give money to a red-faced man who stood in a passage-way of canvas, and I-heard music beyond. I gave Mm my quarter, and 110 gave me baok twelve cents. I thought I was getting in for half price, and looked around. Mercy ! How my heart sank ! I don't know how many spectators were there; but for a show I saw what the man who exhibited called the Five-legged Horse! Then there were two White Negroes, on a platform; and a man grinding a hand organ. And that was all! 1 had just seen so much, when Bomebody cried out thai the circus was open! and upon that there was a rush for the entrance. 1 went out, and looked up at the tent 1 had been into, and then discovered that it was but a small affair—on* of the catch-penny side shows always accompanying the big circus. I looked around for our men-folks—men who lived with us—but could not find them. Mast likely they had gone in. I asked the man at the entrance if he would let me in for twelve cants. He said I must go ami buy a ticket. I found the man wiio sold tickets, and when I asked him a like ques tion he laughed at me. And then I went home, crying all the way; and when I bad told my mother of my grief she soothed me by declariug that 1 was the biggest fool she had ever seeu, and she would take me over bar knee if I did not stop crying. Well—l got over it in time; and it taught me a valuable lesson. From that day I have never paid money to enter a show, or for any other purpose, without being first assured that I was beaded in the right direction. Fifty Miles sf Sheds. Oa the Central Pacific raiiroad, in the Sierra Nevada mountains, are near fifty miles of snow sheds. They are built with timbers from 12 to 13 inches square, to support a roof of 3 inch planks, laid two or three inches apart, the opening to let in light and let out the smoke of the locomo tives. In some places for hundreds of feet they are built upon the sides of perpendicu lar or sloping rocks, and protect the track from the immense masses of snow and ice that slide down the mountain side from hundreds of feet above. The compara tively small amount of snow that passes through the apertures between the plunks of the roof is easily removed by the snow plows aud the shovels of the nen who are constantly on duty in these sheds. Were it not for the'Sc sheds along the grand mountain peaks of the Sierras and the great canons the track of the Pacific railroad would of ten be covered with snow and ice for miles, at a depth of twerty or thirty feet. But while protecting the railway tracks, these masssive sheds hide from view of passen gers some of the grandest views of those majestic mountains. A few weeks since, an immense snow slide down the steep de clivity above a portion of the sheds crush ed in the massive timbers and covered up several workmen. It did considerable dam age. A San Francisco writer tells of the way an approaching train dashed into the pile of snow and crushed timliers as follows: Shortly after train No. 6 came dasliiug into the debris and tore down more sheds, in juring the engineer, George Ilamiltou. Three other men, who were buried for quite a time, were finally pulled out and found to be slightly injured. The snow plow from Truckee, which reached the wreck soon afterward, took that portion of the train which remained intact back to Ciasco. On Saturday morning, early, five hundred feet more of slicd tumbled together and threw more obstacles in the way of de layed trains. At Tamarack nearly a thou sand feet of snow sheds succumbed to the heavy weight of the snow which the ter rific gale had blown upon them. The storm has been the most destructive one which ever occurred since the opening of the over land route. The passengers who arrived from the scene further stated that they were astounded on seeing the huge masses of snow piled as high as the housetops on either side of the track. The big timbers of the snow sheds snapped like matches when the irresistible avalanches came roll ing down the mountain sides and tore down everything in their way. The wind is said to have blown at a terrific rate and has done an immense amount of damage among the timber." _ How in the world can a floating debt be paid out of a finking ' uud't Victoria on her Throne. When Victoria opened Parliament, she acknowledges the grave meeting of her lieges by scarcely more than a glance of the eye. The head bent slightly, perhaps, but I 11111 not sure. She, too, walks slowly; there is 110 vulgar hurry about any part of the business. As she rounds the corner of the dais, her face is turned full toward our gallery. It is the business of courtiers to say that the Queen looks always well. For my part, I thought Bhe had grown gray since last I saw her, aud that the lines of the temples and about the mouth were tcu deeper than ever. It can never have been more than a comely face, and there is noth ing, strictly speaking, in its contour, and nothing in the figure, which can be called beautiful or noble. What strikes you, nevertheless, is the air of authority aud the uir of stern sincerity which sits ujHm this royal brow and marks the least gesture of the Queen. The suduess of the lace is pro foundly touching; the dignity with which the burden—the all but intolerable burden of her life—is borne, appeals to your re spect. She is here, they say, to mark once more her sympathy with the First Minister of the Crown; and with the parly which, under his guidance, has been leading the country so strange a dance these three years past. But politics arc forgotten in such a presence; and any criticism one has to offer is put decently aside so long as the woman and Queen is present. When she has seated herself upon the royal robes spread over the throne—which she might have worn, one would think—there is again a pause, almost solemn, and there is time to observe the gown which the majesty of England has on. The Majesty and Beautv of Eng land are face to face, for the Princess sits nearly opposite; and as the Princess is per haps the best dressed woman in the room, so is the Queen almost the worst. Her gown is of velvet, -with broad longitudinal streaks of miniver or ermine running dowu the skirt and horizontal trimmings to match about the body. But you need not stop to look at it, the Koh-i-noor glows in her cor sage, and a miniature crown of diamonds shines above the stony head. The Princess Beatrice, in blue velvet, stands by her mother's side, with traces of the womanly attractiveuess which belongs to her sister Louise, now reigning over the hearts of our Canadian friends. There was some manoeuvering with footstools aud arrange ment of trains, and the Queen's veil had to be extricated from the netted woik of the throne. Then the Queen said "Pray, be seated," and once more came silence. The Changing Earth, The student of history reads of the great sea-fight which King Edward 111. fought with the French off Sluys; how iu those days the merchant vessels came up to the walls of that flourishing sea-port by every tide; and how a century later, a Portugese fleet cofiveyed Isabella from Lisbon, and an English fleet brought Margaret of York from the Thames, to marry successive I>ukes of Burgundy at the port of Sluys. In our time, if a modern traveler drives twelve miles out of Bruges, across tle Dutch fron tier, he will find a small agricultural town, surrounded by cornfields and meadows and clumps of trees whence the sea is not in sight from the top of the town-hall steeple. This is Sluyp. Once more. We turn to to the great Baiedu Mont Saint Michel, be tween Normandy and Brittany. In lioman authors we re id of the vast forest cal'ed "Setiacum Nemus," in the centre of which an isolated rock arose, surmounted by a temple of Jupiter, once a college of Druid esses. Now the same rock, with its glori ous pile dedicated to St. Michel, is sur rounded by the sea at high tides. The story of this transformation is even more striking than that of Sluys, aud its adequate narration justly earned for M. Manet the gold medal of the French Geographical So ciety in 1828. Once again. Let us turn for a moment to the Mediterranean shores of Spain, and the mountains of Murcia. Those rocky heights, whose peaks stand out against the deep blue sky, scarcely sup port a blade of vegetation. The algarobas and olives at their bases are artificially sup plied with soil. It is scarcely credible that these are the same mountains which, ac cording to the forest book of King Alphonso el Sabio, were once clothed to their sum mits with pines and other forest trees, while soft clouds and mist hung over a rounded, shaggy outline of wood where now the naked rocks make a hard line against the burnished sky. But Arab and Spanish chroniclers alike record the facts, and geographical science explains the cau-e. There is scarcely a district in the whole range ot the civilized world where some equally interesting geographical story lias not been recorded, and where the same val uable lsssons may not be taught. I bis is comparative geography. rl.iwers on the Table. Set flowers on your table —a whole nose gay if you can get it, or but two or three, or a single flower—a rose, a pink, a daisy, and you have something that reminds you of, God's creation, and gives you a link with the poets that have done it most honor. Flowers on the morning table are especially suited to them. They look like the happy wakening of the creation; they bring the perfume of the breath of nature into your room; they seem the very representative and embodiment of the very smile of your home, the graces of good morrow; proofs that some intellectual beauties are in our selves or those about us, some Aurora (if we are so lucky as to have such a compan ion) helping to strew our life with sweet ness, or in ourselves some masculine wild erness not unworthy to possess such a com panion or unlikely to gain her. Hints on Starting a Fire. Starting a fire is a familiar daily exercise for thousands of thousands throughont the United States at all times; but there are many who do not know the best way. Con centration is the leading feature iu this lit tle, but very important domestic duty. Ist, the fuel should be concentrated, that is, put together in a compact heap; and 2d, in a place on the grating where the draft can be concentrated upon it. These two points gained, it is an easy matter to produce a brisk fire. When the kindling, which we have presupposed was dry and in sufficient quantity, is well started,- the wood or coal, as the case may be, is so put on that the draft and flame will pass directly through the fuel. In starting a fire, all de pends upon having the conditions all right, and great loss of time, and even patience, is incurred if they are not provided. images In lee. a " r "Come out here," said the ice-image man, , leading the way to his back yard, "and I I'll show you some work lam doing now.* The ice image man's back yard was not r larger thac the average Philadelphia back f yard. It had the conventional brick paving, . and upon this paving were strewn various , tokens of the image man's calling. First . and foremost there was a huge square block of ice, fresh from the ice-house. • Next there was a large pile of ice shavings and small crumbs, the immediate result of the latest effort in the way of a large ice globe which at that instant sat on the top of the table, not yet relieved from its base, the image man having been, in fact, enga ged upon this piece of work when the ring at his door hell called him away for a mo ment. Next there was a three-cornered chisel and a large knife, and lastly, there were a number of tabs standing around in the yard, all covered with heavy pieces of can vi is. "Now there," said the image man, point ing out his latest work, "is a globe. That is made to go on this—l'll show you." He went to a barrel and lifted up the image of a crooked-hacked individual in his shirt sleeves, and with his arms bent akimbo and his head bowed as if he had the world on his shoulders. It was Atlas, a gentleman not unknown to those versed in mythology. On his back was a smooth place for the globe to rest. "Now that," said the image man, indica ting the globe, "goes on here. We make a hole in the hack of the image and leave a little tenant or bolt on the under side of the globe and slip it in, which joins the two firmly together. The globe had been hollowed out until it was perhaps about one inch in thickness. In the top was a hole large enough for a ten year-old hoy to thrust his fist in—any boy who has ever purloined his mother's preserves from a slender-mouthed jar will understand this—and inside there was a capacity for about a half a gallon of raw oysters, the use to which these ice images are mostly applied at banquets, entertain ments, weddings, or other festive occasions. After exhibiting this, his latest product ia the line of art, the image man. growing more enthusiastic as he saw the interest of his visitor on the increase, went to one of the several tubs, raised a canvas and dis played a wooden cover on which was placed a lot of ice chips to keep that which was beneath cool; then he raised the cover aud disclosed the image of an ice swan afloat in a large dish of water. The wings were carved in the most skilful manner, and were almost as thin as glass and nearly as transparent. While the interest was centered on this object the basement door opened and the image man's wife, like the good wife she was, came out to share the admiration which was being lavished on her husband's work. 44 'Taint nothing like it would be if the ! ice was good and clear. Sometimes, when he has good ice, you can't teil his image from glass." "Yes," said the image man, "this ice— referring to the yet uncut block that stood in the yard—"is not as clear as I have been used to working up. I make up things in many different designs—elephants, camels, diamond dishes and Atlases, as you see here. I have some diamond dishes," said the image man, going down into a tub, "which look very much like glass." He brought up one of the dishes in ques tion, the sides of which were nicely orna mented by the carving of flowers aDd vines thereon. 4 'That dish," he said, "isn't as clear as I sometimes make them. Must have crystal ice to do good work in that way." "I do wish the gentleman could have seen the elephant," said the wife, whose interest in her lord's work had not been di minished by repeated descriptions; it was beautiful, liad a Hindoo sittin' on a sad die, and in this saddie was a hole where the oysters went in. Aud there was a camel, that elephant and that camel, I do think, were the beautifulest things 1" ever saw in my life." Further talk revealed the fact that the image man had a monopoly of the business, and combining it with his vocation as a caterer drove a quite flourishing trade. Out side of the immediate demands for various entertainments, demands that came to him directly from headquarters, he did an ex tensive business in the image line through the various caterers of the city, who inva riably went to him for supplies on great occasions. His designs were in many cases the result of instructions from those order ing the images; they would give him thu ideas and he would work them up. ISome designs would be popular at this place, while others would be more appropriate in that place. His best work lies in the di rection of camels and elephants with Hin doos on their hacks. Here he is entirely at home, as he also is in fashioning out mytho logical characters, in all of which the utili tarian and the ornamental spirit are happily combined. The quadrupfdal and the fish designs are usually sold as receptacles for raw oysters; the designs in the way of diamond and Bohemian va3es are some times used for fruit as well as for oysters. The business of making them during the past year or so has grown in importance. The image man during the fashionable sea sou before the advent of Lent used up on an average 3,500 pounds of ice a week in image making alone. The cost of ice during the winter has been twenty cents a hun dred. He sells the images for from $ 1.50 up te $5 apiece. A Swimmer's Peril. Thomas Coyle, a laborer in Roach's ship yard at Chester, Pa., who will be rememb ered by the sporting world, as the opponent of Johnson, the English swimmer, in the race on the Delaware, from Chester to Gloucester, August 24, 1875, and for his various swimming exploits, boasted recent ly that he would enter the river in March and swim a distance of two miles without injury. The feat was set down for the 6tn • of March, and at half-past five, amid a large crowd of people who had collected at the ship yard to witness it, Coyle entered the water. The course was to be up the Delaware to Chester Creek and thence up stream to the Real House. Coyle started out evidently in good trim, but before he had been in eighteen minutes signs of ex haustion and cramps indicated that he would not be able to hold out. His condi tion soon became so alarming that he was picked up and conveyed to the Beal House, where he remained in an insensible and precarious condition for some hours. Coyle is about forty-three years of ace. How mucti puiu uie evils nave COit OS thit never happened. NO. 15.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers