VOL. LIV.
PROFESSIONAL CARDS OF
BELLE-FONTE-
C. T. Aiexaudt-i. C. M. kou.
A BOWER,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
BELLEFONTE, PA.
Office in Qann&n's new building.
JOHN B. LINN,
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
BELLEFONTE, PA.
Office on Allegheny Street.
OLEMENT DALE,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
BELLEFONTE, PA.
Northwest corner of Dlimond.
& HASTINGS,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW.
BELLEFONTE, PA.
High Street, opposite F rst National Bank.
M - c - HEINLE,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
BELLEFONTE, PA.
Practices in all the courts of Contre County.
Spec &1 attention to collections. Consultations
in German or Engl sh.
ILBUR F. REEDER,
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
BELLEFONTE, PA.
All bus ne*s promptly attended to. Collection
of claims a speciality.
J. A. Beaver. J. W. Gephart.
JgEAVE* <fc GEPHART,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
BELLEFONTE, PA.
Office on Alleghany Street, North of High.
r A. MOKKISOX,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
BELLEFONTE, PA.
Office on Woodrlng's Block, Opposite Court
*
S. KELLER,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
BELLEFONTE, PA.
Consultations in English or German. Office
in Lyon' > Building, Allegheny Street.
JOHN G. LOVE,
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
BELLEFONTE, PA.
omce in the rooms formerly occupied by the
late w. p. Wilson.
BUSINESS CURBS OF MILLHEIM, &C.
CA. STURGIS,
DEALER IN
Watches, Clock*. Jewelry. Silverware, A3. Re
pairing neatly and promp'ly don - and war
ranted. Miln Street, opposite Bank, M llhelra.
Pa.
~T O DEININGER,
1 * NOTARY PUBLIC.
SCRIBNER AND CONVEYANCER,
MILLHEIM, PA.
All business en'rusted to him. su-h as writing
and acknowledging Deeds, Mortgages, Relets s.
Ac., will be executed wi h nmtaess aud ols
patcb. Office on Naln Street.
XT H. TOMLINSON,
DEALER IN
• ALL KINDS OF
Groceries, Notions. Drugs. Tobacco*. Cigars,
Fine Confectloue.les and everyth ng in the line
of a first -class Grocery st re.
Conntrv Produce 1 aken In exchange for goods.
Main st eet. opposite bonk, Ml lhelm Pa.
TYAVID I. BROWN,
MANUFACTURER AND DEALER IN
TINWARE, STOVEPIPES, dee.,
SPOUTING A SPECIALTY.
Shop on Main Stre't. two h uses east of Bank,
MUlhelm, Peuna.
J EISENHUIH,
* JUSTICE OF THE PEACE,
MILLIIEIM, PA.
All business promptly at tended X 3.
collection of claims a >penalty.
Office opposite Llsenhuin's Drug Store.
11l UcSSER & SMITH,
DEALERS IN
Hardware. Stoves, Oils, Paints, Glass, Wall
Paper , coach Trimmings, and baddleiy Ware.
AC., Ac.
All grades of Patent wheels.
Corner of Main and Penn btreet , Mlilhelra,
Penna. -
JACOB WOLF,
FASHIONABLE TAILOR.
MILLHEIM, PA.
Cutting a Specialty.
Sbop lioxf- dour tu Journal Book store.
BANKING CO.,
MAIN STREET,
MILLHEIM, PA.
A. WALTER, Cashier. DAV. KRAPE, Pres.
HARTER,
AUCTIONEER,
BXBSRSBCBQ, FA
fntisfaotlOß Guaranteed
®i.e pillfccfm §§!,
TIIK PASTOR'S STORY.
The pas'or'* litt'o daughter
Sits smiling in the sun.
Beei.le her on t e old stone ben oh
The ston-book Just done.
And lurking m her wiue-browu eyes
A story just begun,
For yonder, pruuing tho apple trees,
Behold tho farmer's son-
Slowly adowu tho pathway
Tne pastor oome* and g ies,
And potilss with his long, lean baud
Tne t;UsMt* on hie no ox
Bore ever dry browu branch before
So beautiful a rose ?
Ah. he th nks his blossom only a bud.
Though he watches it as it blows.
Is it the story of Mo see
In his rust.-wiapped cradle fouml.
Or of Joseph and his bret >ern.
He thinks as he g a noes round ?
••You have finished your volume. Amy,
la it something scriptural and sound ?"
And his little daughter blush, s aud starts.
And her book talis to tho grouud.
Go ou wiili your walk, good pastor,
You do not yourself deceive :
It has been a scriptural story
Bitice Adam first kissed Eve.
And ueior blush, little lassie.
The ta e was written above.
No o her so speaks of Heaven
As the o.d Old story of love.
The Hermit of Lone Cabin.
Away to the base of the beetling crags
anil cliffs of the hoary Sieiras stands a
lonely cabin, where only rnin ami desola
tion mark what might have once been a
pleasant if uot a happy home.
Well do I remember the dark, tempestu
ous night that a lriend ami myself passed
beueath its roof but a few years since.
While seated before a glowing fire, for it
was late in autumn, be gave me the follow
ing veritable history of the place:
Notwithstanding that it was miles from
any habitation, several years before a soli
tary individual had appeared in the vicin
ity, aud out of the material that he pro
cured from the neighboring forest built
this rude cabin.
lie was a stranger to all who met him,
aud seeming to avoid rather than to seek
acquaintance-, he soon became known as
"Tne Hermit of Lone Cabin."
Three years passed, and the unknown
still lived in his sec.usion, sulisisting upon
the game that he readily procured with the
aid of his rifle. *
One day about this time, as the hermit
contrary to his usual habit, visited the
nearest settlement, twenty miles below, he
was met by a new-comer in the phice, who
greeted him with the familiarity of an old
lriencl.
Appearing surprised, he denied ever hiv
ing seen the other, and would fain have
left him, but the would-be associate seised
him by the collar, cxcla luing:
"Y'ou cau't deceive uie, Loren Gray. 1
knew you the moment i saw you, though
five years have changed your looks great
ly. Don't you remember Frank Chap
man. lam he. Come, old l>oy, I want
to show you to another old friend whom
you will be glad to see."
blill the hertn t, confused and excited,
protested that his name was not Loreu
Gray, and that he had never met the other.
"Twon't do old chap; you can't deceive
me by playing off in that way," was the
reply he received. "1 known that you are
Loren Gray, and I have a friend down to
Hie Eagle House who desires lo see you ou
most important business. Come with me,
and if be don't recognize you. I will stand
the drinks for the crowd," for by this
time quite a knot of spectators bad collect
ed around the spot, eager to know what was
up.
Yielding with great reluctance, the her
mit was half dragged by the impetuous
stranger down to the public bouse, follow
ed by a throng ot lookers-on.
"1 tell you it's a mistake," repeated the
victim; "my name is not Loren Gray,
but —"
By this time they had entered the build
ing, and the stranger, turning quickly to
a young man lying on a dry-goods l>ox
near at baud, indolently smoking his pipe,
cried:
"Here Al, I have found him."
Springing to his feet in surprise, the
one addressed, wLo did not seem to be
more thau twenty-cue or two years of age,
but with a tall, athletic form, turned upon
the intruders.
As he caught sight of the hermit he stag
gered back like one shot, and pressing his
hand to his forehead, exclaimed:
"Loren Gray I"
"Yes," cried his friend, triumphantly,
"I found hint less than five inmuies ago;
but he has the audacity to deny his iden
tity,"
Unheeding the words, the younger man
faced the amazed hermit, and as his pierc
ing eyes met the others, lie said hoarsely,
trembling with passion:
"Have you forgotten me, Loren Gray?"
"For mercy's sake, tell me what this
means! I am not Loren Gray, and neither
do I know you."
"Bah! Y'ou need not think to escape by
your lies. I have not hunted for you this
five years to be baffled now that I have
found you. If you do not remember me,
have you forgotten my sister, whom you
betraved and murdereid?"
"I- "
"Not a word, dog! Y'ou can offer no
atonement for the wrongs that you have
done save in the sacrifice of your life. But
I wish to take no advantage, aud I chal
lenge you to meet me In mortal combat."
"No, no!" cried the other. "Y'ou are a
stranger to me and I have no quarrel with
you. 1 must deciine to fight you."
As the hermit spoke the words, which in
the minds of the rough men around him
marked him a coward, the room rang with
their cries of derision.
The young stranger, too, bis face nearly
colorless with rage, uttered a contemptuous
cry as he dealt the man a smart blow on the
cheek.
"There; see if that will not awaken you.
1 say that one of us must die. Take your
choice of weapons and meet me at once. I
am impaiient to have it over. 1 care but
little if I fall, if I can know ere I die that
the untimelv fate of my poor sister has
been avenged. Come, Norman," address
ing bis companion, "you will be my sec
ond, while he can select whom he will. If
I fall, you know my request. Don't let
him escape. Well, Loren Gray, dare you
pieet me like a man, or have yeu only
MILLIIEIM, PA., THURSDAY, JULY 1, 1880.
courage enough to war upon defenseless
women ?"
The hermit, fairly writhing under the
treatment he had received, could only look
upon him in silence.
The excited crowd began to hoot him,
anil the confusion was becoming ominous
of danger to the trembling man, when the
avenger sileuced them with a move of his
hand.
Then, drawing a brace of heavy revolv
ers, he extended them both toward the
other.
"Take one," ho said fiercely. "I see
you are not armed; but they are loaded
alike, and you have nothing to fear from
that score."
Without a word the bewildered victim
mechanically took one of the prollerod tire
arms.
'Mid the applause of the crowd, the duel
ist led the way to the door, aud out into
the open air.
Jostled and pushed by the excited spec
tators, the hermit slowly followed.
Once outside and the young stranger's
second began to measure oil the ground for
the duel.
As the preliminaries were arranged, the
duelists took the positions assigned them.
The challenger emphatically waited the
slow movement of bis fix*.
"1 call upon you to witness," said the
recluse of Lone Cabin, addressing the spec
tators, "that this is no quahrel of mine.
But, after this treatment 1 have received
from this man, whom 1 positively say 1
never saw before, I ain driven to this. If
I fall, please see that I have proper burial.
As a last favor 1 beg that you will not in
any way try to discover my identity. Will
you promise that ?"
Receiving the hearty assent of the by
standers, the man signified that he was in
read incss for action.
There succeeded the ominous "one, two,
three, tire," when the young stranger rap
idly discharged his weapon and with such
accuracy that his antagonist rented forward
and fell to the earth without making a hos
tile movement.
Smiling grimly the slayer remained mo
tionless as the spectators rushed to the side
of the fallen man.
"Is he dead?" cried one.
"Dead as a stone!" exclaimed a tall
weather-beaten mountaineer who was bend
ing over the silent form.
"Then my work is done, and the wrongs
my poor sister suffered are avenged!" said
the younger stranger as he turned to join
his companion.
Meanwhile some of the others began io
make preparations for the burial of the un
fortunate hermit.
While a couple were in act of raising the
body to bear it away, they were surprised
to see the long, flowing beard worn by the
unknown person fall to the ground, and a
face as white and smooth as a maiden's
suddenly disclosed to their gaze.
A glance told them that it was false, and
that the Hermit of Lone Cabin was a
woman!
In the height of the excitement following
the discovery the stranger duelist reached
the spot, aud as he haught sight of the fair
countenance he cried:
"My God! It is my sister!" and fell sen
seless.
To cut the story short, by the time the
speaker recovered his consciousness after
the fearful shock he had received, the
wounded one began to show signs of re
turning life.
it was then found that though the Shot
had barely eScaped being fatal, it was not
likely to prove so.
A long sickness followed, however, aud
it was mouths before the wliole story was
known.
"The Hermit of Lone Cabin" was in
deed tiie sister of hixi who bad nearly be
come her murderer. Years before she had
met and loved a man by the name of War
ren Arnold, but on the day before that fix
ed for their wedding he had disappeared,
and she, nearly broken-hearted, was a few
days after abducted and borne away to the
mountain retreat of a band of road agenrs,
the leader of whom was none other than
her false lover.
More grief-stricken than ever, she suc
ceeded in escaping; hut, somewhat crazed,
instead of returning to her friends, she had
sought a life of loneliness. Her brother
Ralph, who liad been away at school for
three years, learned of her misfortunes and
supposed death, and returned to his home
to begiu a search for the villain who had
been the cause of so much suffering.
Warren Arnold's true name was Loren
Gray, and Ralph ever spoke of him by that
name, though his sister had never kuown
him by it.
Accompanied by his friend, Norman
Ar.iu, he had sought far and w ide for him,
but to make at last that well-nigh fatal
error in mistaking the "hermit" for his foe.
As his sister had not seen him for eight
years, and at a time there is most change
in one's appearance she had not recognized
him.
When she was able, they all returned to
their homes a happy company.
Later, Norman Arlin became her hus
band, and a new life dawned for her.
The Lone G'abin still stands, a memento
of the past.
I'reinier Gladstone.
In personal appearance Mr. Gladstone i
an active, lithe, muscular man, rather tall
and of well-proportioned frame. His face
and figure have that clear-cut contour
which generally indicate several generations
of intellectual activity aud personal leadei
ship. Mr. Gladstone is the dccendant of a
long line of Scotti h lairdmen of small
wealth and limited possess.ons, but accus
tomed to stand first in their community, to
think and to lead. The face is scholarly,
cultivated, its outlines boldly defined by
that meagreness of muscle
guishes the intellectual athlete. re is
not an ounce of supefluous flesh on it. The
thin lips and well-cut mouth and chin be
token firmness, determination aud endur
ance. Seventy summers have sat lightly
on Mr. Gladstone, but the years have
brought their blessings of rest, and his face
in general wears the repose of strength and
experience—strongly lined with the record
of trouble and thought. A new fact, how
ever, or an aggressive opinion, wakes the
whole man iu the tire ff youth, and the eye
flashes with eager light, aud the body bends
quickly forward as if to grasp a fresh ac
qieition. Like all strong Englishmen, Mr.
Gladstone is a man of large ph>sical pow
er and endurance, fond of out-door air and
work, and the ring of his axe at Uaw
arden, so familiar to England, has echoed
1 evn across the Atlantic.
Moloney's Goat.
A few days ago, a boy sat in the dock of
the |Milice court at San Francisco, weeping
bitterly. Ho was charged by bin father with
disturbing the ix*aee and leading a disso
lute life. His name was Moloney. His
father was a contractor who, at the expense
of the oily, earned an honest jmlitical liv
ing. They took a newspaper, and the un
fortunate boy read an incendiary item to the
effect rtiat Frank Buckland, the naturalist,
had discovere I that a goat was an excellent
thing to keep in a stable along with horses,
as it would face fire and the horses would
follow it through Haines. He thought it
over. He wanted to show his fHther what
a thoughtful and considerate boy he was.
Besides, he wanted a goat. He went down
on Kinoon Hill and found one. It was a
goat of Irish proclivities and ownership,
and of tho male gender. Would it face fire/
It would. It wasn't expensive to keep. It
hail lived for a month on shingle-nails ami
oyster cans and the different ropes with
which it had been tethered. Would the iim i
sell him ? He would give Pius one away be
cause he liked the little Ixiy's looks. And
the poor, unsuspecting little boy started for
Natoiua street, down First, the goat leading
the boy. He felt pretty good for a goat.
Whenever ahorse went by or a dog hove in
sight he would get up on his hind legs aud
walk Spanish, while the dogs let out for
the Mission, and the children on the front
piaz/.as had fits on an averageof about eight
to the block. Finally he got an idea and
ricoeuetied up Mission street in jumps that
would have sprained the ankle of any goat
hut him. The boy acted as rudder ami
steered him to Natoma street, li was ufter
dark. There was hay in the stable visible
through the open door. The goat debated
the matter aw hile and then went in. The
boy said nothing about the investment to
bis kind and lovirg parents. Fortunately
his father was down at the grocery store
ami knew nothing. Ho would come home
so full ot i>liiics that he couldn't tell a goat
from a six-bit umbrella unless the goal bad
lime lo explain. He hoped that his father
would uot go to the stable. He prayed that
ho wouldn't. He had faith and confidence
iu his father, but he doubled that goat
The $3 clock in his bedroom struck 11, ami
he knew by that that it was 12:45, and that
the old man would be along shortly. He
heard him coming, heard the gate slam and
then, tirst trembling and then in anguish,
heard his father's footsteps going towards
the stable. He beaid the padlock rattle,
heard the door swing open, and then he
heart! a whizz, a spasmodic puff as if a
small balloon had hursted, and then a skiff
ling noise as the heels of his father's bonis
slid along the planks and ho fell backwards
iu the mud, about eight feet aad three quar
ters from the door. He raised the window
and looked weeping and silent upon the
scene. He knew what the goat c mid do,
and It was hard to heat his dear father gasp
like a gold-fish us he tt|ed to inflate himself
again. Finally he forced down enough
wind for meagre conversational purposes.
He said :
"L.'iii out here'n (hie) gimme a show.
Y'ee bloodi coward!"
blill no response except a faint clattnr of
hoots that told the listening son ihut the
concealed thunderbolt wa* prancing aroi-nd
on his hind legs aching for auolher Shot.
"Is that you, Moloney ? I'd shpake wid
you." The voice came from the bed-room
window where the night cap of the boy's
dear mother appeared surmouullng her kind
lace a.id the top of a broomstick.
"Can't c'm up. Got soincfin here (hie.)
Sumtiu blowed up."
"Whart is it P
"Don'uo (hie.) Guessr roof fell in."
"Why don't yer go an* see ? Air ye goin'
ter shlape there all night, yedhruukeu ould
freckle in nche ?"
Braced up by the canuumbial indorse
ment, the failier arose, as did also a large
portion of the loose SJ.I in the yard along
with him. Triangulating with some diili
culiy to tue windward side of the door, he
unroofed himself and peered in. No ex
plosive agent was visible in the darkness,
aud the spavined mare dedvered a reassur
ing whinny. Mr. Moloney had prize-fought
in his younger days, and it occurred to him
thai it would be strategic and defiant to shv
liis bat at the ambuscade. The ambuscade
took in the shy but remained quiescent,
save for the motion necessary to masticate
it.
liaTing regained his wind and some cour
age, he concluded to enter. He placed him
self temptingly iu the doorway, lacing out
ward. No sign! He took as ep back
ward. still with safety. A tmrd, and stili
no trouble.
Moloney struck a match, and there stood
revealed a meek-looking billy-goat, largest
size, copper-fronted and sweet of express
ion, who, as the last two inches of hat rim
disappeared down his oesophagus, promul
gated a geutle "baa!"
The kiud ju ge noticed that the little boy
had been standing up all the time he was in
the dock, though thtre were plenty of
benches, and uuuerstood why he wanted to
go to the Industrial Sch >ol until his lather
broke his arm and his mother caught the
paralysis. He told him to cheer up, how
ever, and he would see alxnit his case, and
the little boy wiped his nose on the sleeve
of his coat and went below.
Uonttou Lure-
Ft'W people need reminding for what
Honiton, England, is famous, as they are
whirled through its delightful vulley,
which so strongly impresses the traveler
who here first makes acquaintance with the
varied sceuery of Devon. Lace-makiug,
however, is uot confined to liouitou, but
extends over a large triangular district of
joulhtrn Devon, from the little village of
Seaton at the mouth of the Axe river aloug
the coast by Beer, Bransconibe, Saleombe,
bidmeuih, and Olterton to Exmouth, in
cluding most of the villages between Honi
tou and the sea, and especially the town
of Ottery St. Mary. It even reached to
Lyme Regis in Dorset, where, at the end
of last century, lace was made as high as
four or five guineas a yard, which rivalled
Brussels in estimation; "a splendid lace
dress for the late lamented Queen Char
lotte was fabricated at Lyme," says its
hisrorian, "which gave great satisfaction at
Court." The usual type of Honiton lace
consists of sprigs made separately, like
Brussels lace, on a pillow, und then appli
qucd, or sewn on to a net grouud. In the
last century this was a plain pillow-ground
made of the finest Antwerp thread, which
in 1790 cost £7O per pouud, though even
moie was given for it. Eighteen shilliugs
a yard, scarce two inches in width, was
paid for this ground. The ordinary way
•f paying for veils of this fabric was (as
jeweiers now weigh sovereigns against gold
chains (by spreading shilliugs over them,
and giving as many as covered the lace. At
present the sprigs are generally sewn, as
they are completed by the work-women,
on blue paper, and then united by another
hHiid, cilheron the pillow by "cut-works"
or "purling." or else Joined with the
needle by various stitches. The patterns
of these sprigs are In the first place pricked
with needles on a kind of ahining brown
millboard knowu as "parchment paper,"
by women who often devote themselves
exclusively to this branch of the business.
Among the commonest sights of a fine sum
mer evening in East Devon are the lace
makera, each seated at her door, with their
lace-pillows (which resemble ihiok circular
pads) on their laps, and the small children
around them on their little stixils, all busily
occupied ic making these sprigs, whether
*'' turke y-tails," "blackberries," or "stars."
Similarly in winter the steady "click, eliek,
chck," of their pius proceeds from every
cottage, just as in a Nottinghamshire vil
lage IJ heard the incessant jar and rattle of
the sloe kin gers' frames
The picturesque village of Beer, near the
chalk headland of the same name, so famous
of old for smugglers,, is now celebrated for
its exquisite Hi.niton lace. Here the
Queen's wedding-dress was made at a cost
of £l,OOO. It is composed of llouiton
sprigs connected on a pillow by a variety of
open-work stitches. The Princess lioyal,
Princess Alice and Princess of Wales also
wore wedding-dresses of llouiton point
made at Beer and the neighborhood. Capi
tal workmanship in this lace was shown at
the International Exhibition iu 1802, but
the patterns were conventional uud clumsy,
aralH'sques, n.ade lions aud poor imitations
of nature. Hence may be trarted in great
measure its decline iu public estimation,
though its costliness must always militate
against its general use. In consequence of
this deficiency prizes were offered in con
nection with the Bath and West of Eng
land Society for natural work iu Honitou
lace, which produced such admirable speci
mens that the Queen ordered them to be
sent to Windsor Castle for ber inspection.
From very tender years children are taught
to make Honitou lace in what ar termed
lace schools. The little things collect iu a
dame's room, and under her tuition, fre
quently seconded by a cane, are taught the
niy.-teries of the art. They are appren
ticed to the trade in Devon at eight, nine,
aud ten years of age (but iu Bucks and Beds
commonly at HX years, often at four or
live), earni.ig uothmg iu their first year,
and sixpence per week iu the second.
A Iter wards they are paid so much pei
sprig, the price varying with the demand,
value ot cotton, etc., but being generally
1 Jd., 2d., or 3d. per sprig, "i caa make
lour turkeys' laiL a day, and get ljd. for
each," a girl of ten lately told us with par
d 'liable pride. A child of five year- old
wi.l earn a penny in tour hours by making
six "flies." One master iu the trade is
said to employ as many as 8,000 of these
workchiidrcn. A clever adult band will
easily earn a shilling a day at lier lace-pil
low in good times; in many parisof Devon,
however, the work is paid for on the truck
system. Tne average earnings of a quick
hand may be put down at three shillings or
three shillings and sixjK'iice a week. At
Valenciennes the workers used to toil in
underground cellar* from 4in the morn
ing tilt Bat night, and scarcely earn tcn
|O iceaday. Tue abuse connected with
tue lace-schools were lately exposed by the
Children's Employment Commission, it
was touud thai the hours of work iu them
were geneia ly excessive, and the atmos
phere extremely bad, owing to the crowded
state of the small rooms in which the
children work. Discipline is rigidly en
forced, and in sotuc schools, iu order that
the lace may be kept clean, the children sit
without shoes on brick or stone floors.
These causes, coupled with the constrained
position of the worker, who must bend
over the pillow which rests in her lap, lay
the seeds of illness and frequently of con
sumption in after life. The morality
amongst the lacemakers of Devon, we
can testify, from personal knowledge, is
large. They are thin and sallow, inclined
to that bold, false independence which is
ill ways engendered when women neglect
the domestic virtues. The children are
often defiant an i disobedient to parents,
and, ou the whole, the occupation of lace
making cannot lie called one favorable to
morality.
lie was a i'eare Officer.
In Presque Isle county, toward Macki
nac, is a beautiful lake—liight Grand lake
—ou whose shore stands a club house
owned by sundiy fish-loving citizens o!
Adiian, Michigan. The couutry around is
pretty much as nature made it—rough—
and the few bn kwoodsbien living there are
much like the country. One of them,
named Crawford, was la'elv elected Justice
of the Peace. A wood-chopper made com
plaint that a certain raftsman had lieaten
him. and asked for a wai rant for the of
fender's arrest. The Justice's entire stock
of leg;l blanks consisted of a summons and
a subpoena. After spending: some time
vainly in trying to make these papers fit
the case, be got marl, flung down his
papers and addressed the complainant thus:
"See here, mister, this court is bound to see
Justice done in this township. Y'ou pay me
two dollars ami a half, costs of court, show
me the man, and the Court will lick the
evil out of him in two minutes.'' Com
plainant paid the costs and pointed out the
man. The "Court," with majesty on his
brow and his sleeves rolled up, went fer
the offender, aud in sixty scoouds thrashed
iiim to the full content of both parties.
The Court then put on his coat and re
marked that "he was a peace oilicer, and
wished it understood that this Court would
preserve the peace, and any man who
thought he ceuld raise thunder iu that neck
of woods would have to try the case with
the court personally." No other case has
since been tried by' Squire Crawford.
lie Felt a Trifle Flat.
An Oregon womau threatened to cut her
husband's nose off. and lie overheard the
threat, and in the night he awoke and found
her tying bis feet aud hands. But he didn't
give himself away. He determined to
stop her in the very act of committing the
crime, and so feigned sleep until she had
got him securely t'ed, and had got the
knife all ready to do the deed, when he
opened his eyes and cried: "Ah! hu-sy,
I've caught you in the very act 1" But she
didu't drop the kuife or seem dismayed.
She asked him what he was going to do
about it, and then he diiccvered that he
couldn't do anything, and as she whacked
the nose off he didn't feel thai he'd been so
blamed smart, after all.
Puw and the Sparrows.
The other day a number of gentlemen
were sitting In the detectives' room in the
| City Hall, Clevelaud, Ohio, when an Eng
lish sparrow flew near the window, peeped
in ami darted away again. Captain Holz
worth, who saw the little fellow, said that
whenever he taw a sparrow flit it reminded
him of a little scene which occurred in his
1 yard one cold day last winter. The spar
i rows, it seems, ascertained the fact that
theic wus a knothole in the gable of his
house, and took advantage of that know
' ledge by taking possession of the hole and
a portion of bis attic, where they passed the
winter is snug as bugs in a rug. The cap
! tain's wife has a warm spot in her heart for
| birds. So when the ground was covered
with snow, aud the little fellows ran a risk
of starving to death, Mrs. H. would sweep
away the snow and spread upon the ground
a fine repast of crumbs. The sparrows
soon learned to depend upon her, and told
their friends what a tine landlady they had.
In consequence hundreds of then congre
gated daily about the Captain's house aud
partook of his charity. Close to the spot
where the birds were usually fed was a pile
of bricks, ami upon this pile the Captain's
I cherished mouser used to station himself
for the purpose of watchiug for prey. As
soon as the birds woqjd get comfortably
settled Hbo>jt the eruuibs the cat would
l>oiuice upon them aud invariably get a
tender sparrow for dinner. Finally the
birds became accustomed to the cat's mode
of procedure and would be on the watch
whenever they were feeding. Tney were
so alert that the cat would hardly get ready
for a spring before they were up iu the air
and out of danger. One day they were
eating as usual, and the cat as usual was
watchiug them. Like a bolt of lightning
the mouser jumped into their midst, but
they were too quick for her, aud escaped
unhurt. Miss Tabby, not discouraged,
mounted the pile of bricks again and await
ed their return. The sparrows, after flying
about for some time, dually settled upon
the fence at the foot of the lot, where th -y
held a long aud interesting confab. After
chattering away for several minutes they
cautiously returned to their crumbs aud re
sumed tbeir eating, keeping all the wbile a
sharp lookout for the euemy. After the
cat had become satisfied that they were too
much interested iu satisfying their appetite
io think of her, she made another spring.
The birds were up in an instant, and in
stead of flying away ss usual they formed
themselves into a hollow square aud charged
upon the foe. Some got upon the cat's
nark and scratched and picked with all
their might; otherstiew right into her*ace,
while the balauce made it interesting in the
rear. The cat was so surprised at first that
she was unable to move. The birds be
came more and more infuriated and fought
such a savage bfcttle that they drove the
foe down the garden path on a tail gallop
and under the barn. They returned to
(heir least and were left to themselves the
balance of the winter, thecal making herself
scarce when they put in an appearance.
Strange Voc-tliona.
A lady-retideut of the Faubourg St. Ger
main, Paris, is credited with earning a
good income by hatching red, black, aud
brown ants for pheasant preservers. One
Parisian gets his living by breeding mag
gots out of the foul meats he buys of the
chiffoniers, aud latteuing them up in tin
boxes. Another breeds maggots for the
special behoof of nigtingales; and a third
"mareband d'asticois" boast* of selling be
tween thirty and forty millions of worms
every season for piscatorial purposes. lie
owns a great pit at Moutmartre. wherein
lie keeps tiis store. Every day bi9 scouts
bring him fresh stock, for which he pays
them from five to ten pence per pound, ac
cording to quality; reselling them to ang
lers at just double those rates, and cleariug
thereby over three hundred pounds a year.
No wonder he professes great fondness for
his "children" as he calls them; although,
like other fond fathers, he is ready enough
to part with them when opportunity offers.
This curious vocation is not unknown in
England. Some twelve years ago, we are
told, Mr. Wells, a fishing-tackle maker of
Nottingham, in order to ensure a constant
supply of bait for bis customers, started a?
farm for the rearing of lobworms.-cock
spurs, ring-tailed brandlings, ami other
worms in demand among the deciples of
Walton, who abound in the old lace town.
To keep bis farm stocked, men and boys
go out at uight collecting worms in the
meadows add pastures; a moist warm night
yielding from two to six thousand worms.
As 6oon as they are brought in they are
placed in properly selected moss, field moss
for choice, to scour until they become little
more than skin —freshly caught worms be
ing too tender for the anglers to handle;
while "when a worm is properly eJucated,
he is as tough as a bit of indis rubber, and
behaves as a worm ehould do when put
upon the hook." When this condition is
attained, the worms are packed in moss,
and put up in light canvass bags for the
market. This worm merchant does not
entirely depend upon the industry of his
collectors, but breeds large quantities him
self in his own garden; the component
parts of his breeding-heap being a secret he
not unnaturally keeps to himself.
A Diplomatic Answer.
The old man Smith, of Richfield, is a
Belf-BufiieienY sort of an old fellow, and
prides himself upon his riding abilities
One clay lie espied his young hopeful lead
ing a colt to water rather gingerly, and re
marked :
"Why on earth don't you ride" that
beast ?"
"I'm 'fraid to; 'fraid he'll throw me."
"Bring that hoss here," snapped the old
man.
The colt was urged up to thq fence, and
braced on one side by the boy while the old
man climbed on to the rails aud stocked
himself ou the colt's back. Then he was
let go, and the old gentleman rude proudly
off. Paralyzed by fear the colt went slow
ly for about twenty rods without a demon
stration. Then like lightning his four legs
bunched together, his back bowed J.ke a
viaduct arch aud the old man shot up in
the air, turned seven separate and distinct
somersaults aud lit on the small of his back
in tne middle of the road, and with lioth
his legs twisted around his neck. Hasten
ing to him the young hopeful anxiously in
quired :
"Did it hurt you, pa ?"
The old man rose slowly, shook out the
knots in his legs, brushed the dust from his
ears and hair, aud rubbing bis bruised el
bows growled:
"Well, it didn't do me a bit of good.
You go home."
A suiile** GirL
.
Henry Kichter and his wife were married
in the old country about thirty years ago,
and in succession they lost four children,
each of whom came to the age of two or
three years and then died of something
which seemed hke inanition. They faded
away, and the best medical talent in the
Grand Duchy—they are Badeneat—could
assign no cause for the deaths. Kichtei
and his wife came to America and settled
in St. Louis, where they lost two more
children in the same way. Shortly before
the birth of the present girl, Kichter met
the Karon von Michseloffsky, who was stop
ping m 8. Louis at the time, and to him
he told the story of tho blight wliich had
fulleu upon his family. The Baron was a
member of a number of mystical societies.
We believe he belonged to some lodge of
ltosicrucians, which the great Liebnitz
adorned; and touched by the taie that tho
father had told him, he cast the horoscope
of the child at the moment of its birth,
carefully noting the aspects of the planets
and making a chart of the future of the
I tmby which at the moment was crying in
! its nurse's arms. Just wluit that horoscope
was has never been told to any one but
Kichter and nis wife, and the result was
that they have never moved away from the
houso in which they then lived and have
carefully kept the girl out of the sunlight
eve" since. Henry is a wealthy man and
can gratify every whim which an idle fancy
1 could perceive, but he has chosen to live
always in a mean neighborhoxl, surround
ed by people with whom he has not a
thought in common, all for the reason of
preserving the daughter whom he idolizes.
| A writer gained access to the lady's cham
ber and had a pleasant cliat with her. Bhe
evinced a strong desire to get out of doors
and see a world of which she knew noth
ing. The writer thus describes tbe lady:
Margarctha was reclining in an easy chair
before the grate, in which a rather bright
. fire was burning. The room was also
lighted by gas, and every detail was very
apparent. There were no windows in the
I room, and the furniture was of the most
; costly character, but it may easily be im-
I agined the scribe had eyes for nothing and
for nobody but the pale girl by tne fireside.
I She looked fully her ge—nineteen—but
her face was blanched and white; not a
tinge of red could be made out in the
cheeks, although it was evident enough in
the rather full lips. Her eyes were blue
almost to blackness, and her hair, which
| rolled off the cushioned back of the chair
I and fell in masses on the floor, was black
as night. There was not a feature or ati it
! to suggest German origin in her face or
lithe form, and she looked rather sweet and
amiable than pretty, although her fea.ures
were regular enough. She was attired in
a laced and frilled white wrap, gathered
about the waist by the strings of an old
fashioned sontag of white wool, the only
bit of color in her dress being a blue silk
kerchief wrapped negligently about her
throat. On the whole she resembled noth
ing but a crayon picture brought to life.
Sne seemed all black and white.
A Boy and a Pole.
Of course it is wrong to go fishing on the
Sabbath day, and the clergyman of a Berk
shire county church felt that it was so when
he addressed his Sunday School and earnest
ly exhorted the boys to refrain from such a
proceeding. But there was one boy in the
school who, instead of being led away from
the evil by the pastor's address, merely got
the idea from it of going out that very after
noon, and when the reverend gentleman,
who, on six days in the week, was as ready
to pull a trout from tbe water as the next
man, was strolliug n the meadows later in
tiie day, he was pained to co ne upon that
wicked small boy seated under some bushes
and angling in a deep hole in a brook. He
sopped and said to the confused and blush
ing youth : "My boy, I'm sorry to-see that
you pay so little regard to what I said this
mornug." The boy had dropped his pole
at being addressed, and at that instant the
hnestraightened with a yank that betokened
a big trout on the hook. The lad saw it,
but be dared not touch the pole until the
olergyman said: "You bad better take your
pole and go home. Be quick, too, boy !"
i'hen the youngster tried to obey, but he
was a very small boy, and the fish didn't
come out very easily, and the way that
clergyman fretted and fumed for a minute
was a caution, and then he said: "I—l—
afraid—if I leave you with the pole,
you'll use it again when I'm gone—go home
and I'll take it home for you," and he
seized the po!e and the small boy skipped
away and in a minute there was a splendid
three-pound trout in thee ergyman's hands,
and then before he could hide the, pole and
wrap tbe fish in his handkerchief to put it
in his pocket, along came one of the dea
to is, and the pastor had a terribly embar
rassing time explaining the matter, and had
to raine seven different days that he expect
ed the deacon to dine with him before the
latter would believe that the pastor found a
boy there with the pole and fish, but that
the youth ran off on the pastor's approach.
Beat tne Thermometer.
When the toiling, prespiring masses dis
covered that the tnermouieters down town
marked plump 100 degrees in the shade, they
wiped off their chins and congratulated
each other on having lived to see such a
period. About the time that everybody
was happiest, along came a small boy
whose face was as red as a beet and whose
eyes shone like glass.
"Where's a doctor ?" he called out as he
entered a crowd.
"Here, boy—what's the matter ?" replied
one of the men as he reached out to detain
the lad.
"Hull family fr >zin' to death at the
house?" he explained. Dad is in the
downstairs bedroom, shakin' and chatterin'
and callin' on me to bring him red-hot tea
and put bricks to his feet. Mam, she's up
stairs, with four quilts and a carpet over
her, but I heard her shiver clear down to
the corner. My sister she's got her feet in
the cook-stove oven, and is writing an ode
to winter, and bruthcr Bill he's lyin' iu the
sun on the sidewalk an' axin' everybody to
leDd hitu some Kvann pepper to help start
a circulation."
"Is—that —so?" slowly queried a citi
zen.
"Course it isl Hain't I down town after
a doctor an' some soft coal ? I wish some
of you fellers would tell me if the Prob.
report predicts a change to farmer
weather."
The thermometer still marked a plump
hundred, but as the crowd agaia turned to
the figures there seemed to be a goneness
somewhere —a sort of aching void which
figures couldn't tUL
NO. 26.