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.