VOL. LIV.
PROFESSIONAL CARDS OF
_ BELLEFONTE.
C. T. Alexander. C. M. Bower.
A LKXANDER & BOWER,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW.
BKLLKFONTK, PA.
Office In Garm&n's new building.
JOHN B. LINN,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
BKLLKFONTK, PA.
Office on Allegheny Street.
OLEMENT DALE,
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
BKIXEroNTS, PA.
Northwest corner of Diamond,
Y° CUM 4 HASTINGS,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW.
BELLKFONTE. PA.
High street, opposite First National Bank.
C. HEINLE,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
BKLLKFONTK. PA.
Practices in all the courts of Centre County.
Spec al attention to Collections. Consultations
in German or English.
ILBUR F. REEDER,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
BKLLKFONTK, PA
All bus'ness promptly attended to. Collection
or claims a speciality.
J. A. Beaver. J. W. GepUart.
JJEAVE* A GEPHART,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
BKLLKFONTK, PA.
Office on Alleghany Street, North of High.
W. A. MORRISON,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
BELLEFONTE, PA.
Office on Woodrlng's Block, Opposite Court
House.
JY S. KELLER,
ATTORNEY AT LA W,
BELLEFONTE, PA.
Consultations in English or German. Office
In Lyons Building, Allegheny Street.
JOHN G. LOVE,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
BKLLKFONTK, PA
Office In the rooms formerly occupied by the
late w. p. Wilson.
BUSINESS CARDS OF MILLHEIM, &C.
A. STURGIS,
* DEALER 151
Watches, Clocks, Jewelry, Silverware, Ac. Re
pairing neatly and promptly don* and war
ranted. Main Street, opposite Bank, M llhetm,
Pa.
O DEININGER,
* NOTARY PUBLIC.
SCRIBNXR AND CONVEYANCER,
MILLHEIM, PA.
All business entrusted to htm, such as writing
and acknowledging Deeds, Mortgages, Releas* s,
Ac., will be executed wbh neatness aud dis
patch. Office on Main Street.
~¥~T H. TOMLINSON,
* DEALER IN
ALL KINDS OF
Groceries. Notions, Drugs, Tobaccos, Cigars,
Fine Confectioneries and everything in the line
of a flrst-clasa Grocery st jre.
Country Produce taken In exchange for goods.
Main st eet, opposite Bank, Ml lhelin Pa.
I. BROWN,
MANUFACTURER AND DEALER IN
TINWARE, STOVEPIPES, Ac.,
SPOUTING A SPECIALTY.
Shop on Main Street, two houses east of Bank,
Mlllhelm, Peima.
T EISENHUTH,
* JUSTICE OF THE PEACE,
MILLHEIM, PA.
All business promptly attended to.
collection of claims a specialty.
Office opposite Eisenhuth's Drug Store.
1* USSER & SMITH,
DEALERS IN
Hardware, Stoves, Oils, Paints, Glass, Wall
Paper-, coach Trimmings, and Saddlery Ware,
Ac., Ac.
All grades of Patent Wheels.
Corner of Main and Fenn Streets, Mlllhelm,
Fenna.
JACOB WOLF,
FASHIONABLE TAILOR,
MILLHEIM, PA.
Cutting a specialty.
shop next door to Journal Book Store.
JJJILLHEIM BANKING CO.,
MAIN STREET,
MILLHEIM, PA.
A. WALTER.Cashier. DAV. KRA.PE, Pres.
HARTER,
AUCTIONEER,
REBERSBURQ. PA.
Jatisfaetlon Guaranteed.
lie Pillleiw Smirmtl
Lightly I hold my life with little dread.
And little hope for what may spring tlx ro
from.
llut live like oue that builde hie Summer's
home
For coolness on a dried-lip river bed.
And takes no thought for frescoed blue or
red.
To paint the walls, an 1 pans uo golden
dome.
Knowing the flood, when Autumn rains are
come.
Shall roll its raving waters overhead.
Ai d wherefore should I plant my ground and
sow ?
Siuce, though I know not of the day or
hour.
The Couquerer comes at last, the alien foe
SSliall come to my defenceless place in power.
With force, with arms, with ruinous over
throw,
Taking the goods I gathered for his dower.
The Sister of Mercy.
In the chamber on the first floor in the
Avenue Montaigne, a woman was dying.
From the apartment itself, which was al
most empty, it would be difficult to dis
cover to what class of society the dying
woman belonged. The salon was empty.
Not a siugle piece of furniture remained in
it. Some old blue velvet curtains were
still hanging at the windows, doubtless lie
cause the brokers had disdained to take
them. It was old velvet, yellow at every
crease, and eaten away by dust. In what
had been the dining room, there remained
only a dilapidated caue-seated chair and a
little table of white wood, covered with
Unties of all kinds. On the floor were two
or tliree dirty towels, still wet, a sponge
and a chipped salad bowl, that served as a
washing basin.
The bed-room was evidently the only
room that the bailiffs had spared. There,
a threadbare carpet still covered the floor.
At the foot of the bed was a large arm
chair placed as if it were a sentry-box. Tlia
stuff curtains had been left, but a practiced
eye would have seen by the rents in the
muslin eurtaius that a rapacious hand had
torn away tlie laee.
Two billets of wood were smoking sadly
in the fireplace, haviug for sole companion
a kettle, from which emerged two or three
leaves covered with a white foam. The
room was lighted from a sanded courtyard
in the midst of which a close-cropped grass
plot humiliated itself at the foot of an
rcacia. The leaves had fallen ; the black,
gnarled branches, twisted iuto knots, were
waiting for the rays of spring in order to
put on a little verdure.
"Madeleine," murmured the sick woman,
"I am thirsty."
A woman of some fifty years, who was
standing by the window, came up to the
bedside and poured a few drops of potion
into a glass. Then she raised the head of
her mistress, approaching the glass to her
lips, and said:
"Does Madame la Comptesse suffer
much ?"
"Yes, there is fire there," replied the
sick woman, placing an emaciated hand on
her breast.
The woman, who was dying thus in a de
serted and desolate room, was no other than
the Comptesse de San Castelii, about whom
there was so much talk a few years ago.
Now, of her past luxury, there remained
only an Indian shawl of a reddish brown,
embroidered with gold, in which, she
wrapped herself up for want of a bed
cover.
The success of the Countess in the world
of fashion liad not been forgotten, and more
than one European Prince still keeps a me
dallion in which the features of the fallen
idol have remained young aud smiling. To
day her black liair seems to fatigue her
enfeebled head with its weight; life has
already retreated from her hollow cheeks
and pale brow. A diy aud jerky cough
tears her bosom; at the age of thirty-five
death has marked her as his own.
A sovereign, who had enriched her, had
left before her for the regions where go the
souls of those who have souls. The Prince
X., her third loved, has ruined himself aud
disappeared. The Banker L., who had
given the Countess her hotel in the Avenue
Jena, can no longer even pay his margins
at the Bourse. It is only by a miracle that
he has been able to escape the hand of the
law. He was not declared a bankrupt
personall)',but the company that he directed
has gone to join the swarm of companies
that are of no account. Raoul is in Africa
with his regiment; Gontran is married ;
Adrien has disappeared. A hurricane of
ruin has blown upon all her old adorers.
The two or tliree who have held out have
been wearied by repeated requests for
money ; another is placed in such an ele
vated position that he is unapproachuble.
The Countess has sold her jewels, one by
one, and after her jewels her toilets, and
after her toilets her furniture.
She has still but one only friend, Dr.
D , whose fortune she made, but Dr.
D himself, whose fortune has been en
croached upon by unlucky speculations,
has scarcely anything to live upon but the
income obtained from his practice. Still
he comes to see the Countess every morn
ing, aud after each visit he leaves a louis on
the corner of the chimney piece. It is this
daily louis that has hitherto kept the Coun
tess and her chambermaid.
Madeleine, who has seen the horses and
arriagesand diamonds, who ri members tlie
days when the Countess had fifteen servants
and fifty admirers, cannot believe that these
times will not return.
As for the husband of the Countess, he
never knew liis wife. The marriage was ar
ranged by the Prince de M , and a post
of three thousand francs a year was given
to the ruined descendant of a great family
in exchange for his title, lie saw his wife
during the marriage ceremony, then lie took
possession of his post, and sometimes read
with mediocre interest in the newspapers
that the Oorntesse de San Castelii was ob
taining great success at St Petersburg and
at Pari6.
It did not seem to him that she was his
wife, and when he was questioned on the
subject tlie Count replied coldly :
"I believe that she is a relation who has
turned out badly.
Madeleine had passed more that thirty
nights in the large arm-chair at the foot of
her mistress' bed. The doctor said: "That
woman needs rest There are Sisters of
Charity who have imposed upon themselves
the mission of watching over the sick. I
will send oue here to-night."
At six o'clock a little sharp aud rattling
THE ONE CERTAINTY.
Ml LI.II KIM. PA., THURSDAY, AUGUST 5, 1880.
noise was heard, produced by a hell-rope
pulling a broken spring. Madeleine went
and opened the door. The Sister of Charity
followed her.
"Here are the potions," said Madeleine,
*'this one every ten minutes, that one every
hour. There is still a little wood in the
corner."
Madeleine went io share the bed of a
chambermaid, a frifnd of Iters, who lodged
in a neighboring hotel, and the Sister of
Charity took her seat at the foot of the bed.
Mine, tie San Cast el li asked to drink.
She sister raised her head gently ; then the
siek woman, instead of drinking, fixed her
large black eyes on the face of the Sister.
"How old are you?" she asked.
"Eighteen years, madatne."
The Countess murmured to herself:
"Eighteen years !"• drank greedily, and re
sumed, as she let her head fall hack on the
pillow:
"Do you know that I am going to die ?"
"They did not tell me so, Madame; jht
lmps there is still a possibility of saving
you."
"Saving me!" cried the Countess, with
irouy, "and why? Life means youth and
beauty. lam already dead, my child."
The Sister opened the book of her order
which she had brought with her and liegan
to read.
This young girl had the most charming
face that artist ever dreamed of. Hers was
an improbable beauty, shining forth with
sweetness and holiness. The white band
that confined her pure ivory brow hid her
hair, leaving visible only her eyebrows,
which might have been traced with Indian
ink, so delicate and correct were their lines.
The Com tease de Sau Uaslelli contem
plated her with admiration and envy. Sud
denly she exclaimed ;
"Are your vows eternal ?"
"Yes, Madame."
"What is your name ?"
"Sister Rose de Lima."
"But your family name ?"
"It is forbidden us to reveal it, Mad
ame."
"Why?"
"It is the rule of the order."
"Stili, you may tell me if you have any
parents ?"
"None, Madame."
"Your mother?"
"I never knew her."
"Your father?"
' 'lie is dead."
Wearied with so persistent an investi
gation lister Rose de Lima asked gently if
she would have a little tisaue.
"No, thank you," replied the countess,
and then suddenly she added : "You are
more dead than I am, young girl ! To
morrow, perhaps, a spadeful of earth will
bury even my memory, but 1 have had of
life all that life can give. * You will only
have known walls, bars and silence—dry
bread, prayers and austerity. When 1 en
tered a salon I used to raise a murmur of
admiration as J passed along. I have made
queens and princesses weep wit li rage. The
horses pranced at my door and adorers
crowded my staircase. I have worn on my
brow a diamond that Scmiraimus would
have envied, and I have melted more pearls
than Cleopatra. Noise, movement, luxury,
flattery; all that I have exhausted, with
out departing from an inflexible motto:
'Slnne, seduce, and love not.' Poor young
girl, you might have all that if you
wished—"
The Sister of Charity rose:
"What are you talking about, Madame?
Do you not see what these vanities are ?
You have had alt that, and 1 am happier
thau you are. If I had need of consolation,
the history of Mary, the sister of Martha,
would suffice. For me a contemplative life
has replaced an active life. In the depths
of my solitude 1 love to lose myself in mute
adoration, and I forget the world that
passes in view of the world which does not
pass."
The voice of the young nun had assumed
a sonority full of enthusiasm.
"Just now," she added, "you spoke to
me of my father. I received his last sigh
and his last benediction. 1 cultivate that
cherished souvenir like a precious plant,
aud I should tear to see it withered outside
of the retreat that I have chosen
Mme. de San Castilli interrupted her:
"Vanities, did you sa)' ? And what is
life without its cortege of pleasures? In hu
man passions there is sometimes a mixture
of the gigantic. To be beautiful is to reign.
A cavalier who leved me killed himself at
ray feet.; he gave me there what he would
have given to uo other. I have been adored
like a goddess of antiquity. To make one's
self the rival of God is something high and
terrible. Little as our life is, it is enlarged
by pleasures, and takes a peculiar iuport
ance by the profusion of our disdains and
the number of our victims!"
Sister Rose de Lima placed her hands on
the Countess' lips as if to arrest her words.
"You are feverish," she said. "You
blaspheme and pain me."
A Mme. tie San Castelii seemed to reflect.
"Nevertheless, I have loved. 1 have
loved once in my life. I was sixteen. What
has become of htm ? I was carried away in
the whirlpool of life. But if he were here
my life would lie sweeter. Open that casket,
I pray you, Sister. Here are my papers—
My certificate of birth —Florence, 10 Oc
tober—Maria Theodora Dasti."
The Sister advanced slowly toward the
bed, holding out ner hands.
"The mau whom you loved," she mur
mured, "was named Gabriel?"
"Yes," cried the dying woman, "Ga
briel de Beryls, flow do you know that ?
"It was he who brought me up."
"Your father?"
"Gabriel de Beryls."
The Countess continued wildly :
"You were horn in Italy, lie brought
you to France after my treason—and he is
dead!"
The poor woman sobbed. Sister Rose de
Lima had fallen on her knees and hidden
her face iu her hands. The Countess seized
her and covered her with feverish, passion
ate kisses.
"You aid not, then, know who I was
when you came here ?"
"My father never pronounced the name
of Castelii."
"True; for him I was never anything
but Theodora Dasti. But tell me, how
did he die ? What did lie say ?" •
"He died with one hand in mine and the
other in that of his best friend—an old man
—a priest."
The Countess raised up her daughter.
"You are my redemption," she eried
"I die in peace. Go, fetch me that old
man."
—An Eiigiisn nrin soiu 8000 fire
proof safes in Turkey belore it was as
certained that the tilling was only saw
dust.
Thw Water Lily
Down in the depths of the river near the
shore where Uie mud and slime were not
swept away by the current, grew a humble
plant. The flags pressed about it, and
thrust their leaves like green swords through
the water up into the brightness and pure
air, and the eel-grass made a tangled net
work alxive it. No one expected the little
plant to amount to much.
But lying there in the ooze, it thought;
"The water is luminous over my head.
There is more brightness above than I have
iiad. The tlags aud the rushes swaying
and fluttering up there whisper together of
ihe warm south wind, the gray clouds, and
the glory of the sun. if I only could rise !
If 1 only could !"
By-and-hy the plant sent forth a leaf, an
(Hid, round thing like a fan, and slowly it
lifted the leaf on 'he summit of its flexible
stem toward the surface of the water.
"llo! Ho I" laughed the polliwogs.
flouncing by, "what a droll leaf! When
it gets to the surface, and we are froge,
'twill be a tine seat for us while we sing,
'Trick-sa-trix, Triek-sa-lrix,' and our old
papa plays the trombone."
"Pray, don't be too pushing." said the
duckweed. "You're as well off as the rest
of us. A plant of yoir condition ought to
be modest. Don'the too pushing; no good
will come of it."
The humble plant gave no heed to its
neighbors' comments, but patiently lifted
the round leaf a little higher each day.
One morning it felt a strange electric thrill.
The leaf had reached the surface of the riv
er, and the suu shone upon it; aud the tall
flags parted a little to make room, while
they whispered kindly "G(xxt morning,
neighbor."
Soon the humble plant found a round,
green hall in its bosom.
"All! this is a hud," it said to itself.
"It shall go up to my happy kaf, and there
expand the loveliness I know is hidden with
in it.
Patiently as it had lifted the leaf the
plant lifted the hud toward the sunshine.
The dreamy summer day went by, and
at last the round bud opened its sepals, and
like a radiant, golden-hearted star of snow,
a blossom lay upon the river and looked
into the sky. The red-winged blackbirds
flitting to ami Iro among the flags, sang of
it; the south wind breathed its spicy fra
grance; the tall flags whispered: "How
beautiful! how beautiful! ' and the hope
of the humble plant was fulfilled.
Bertram Krause was the son of a poor
lalx>rer. llis father wanted him to become
a smith.
"Ah! now, if Bertram could shoe an ox,
or mend a cart-wheel, that's all I'd ask,"
lie would say.
But Bertram had different aspirations
for himself. He wished to become an art
ist and paint great pictures like tnose in
the cathedral, into which he often stole to
dream and hope.
With a bit of charcoal he could sketch
anything, and the lads thought it fine spori
to he his models; but his father declared
such idling wicked, and said :
"Who are you, Bertram Krause, to de
spise honest work such as your father has
done all his life? You will never le worth
your salt."
Oue day, Bertram went to the river hank
to cut flags. He worked industriously all
the morning, and at noon, when he sat
down upon the shore to eat his bread and
cheese, he was hot, and after he had eaten
he stretched himself upon the grass and feli
asleep. When he awoke the first thing lie
saw was a water-lily shining white among
the flags.
"Hurrah!" lie cried, "Hurrah! a water
lily!" and quickly springing up, he waded
into the water and picked it. With the
blossom came the long, trailing stem, the
mud and slime still clinging to it. "This
beauty is lowly born," lie thought, as he
smelled its spicy fragrance, and with that
thought a plan and a hope came into his
mind.
His mother was a quiet woman, who had
learned to watch aud wait, and she sympa
thized with, and encouraged Ins dreams.
To her he went with his plan, and she pro
cured for him a sheet of coarse paper and
some crayons.
With all the skill he had, he drew a
sketch of the river, the tlags and the water
lily amidst them and when it was done he
carried it tremblingly to a great artist in
the city.
Years rolled away and at the yearly art
exhibition at Munich a picture appeared
representing a summer sky, a tangle of
reeds and flags, a stretch of sullen river,
and upon the grassy shore a ragged bare
foot boy who was holding a water lily at
which he gazed with' a look of love ana
joy.
"That," said an artist, "is by the cele
brated Bertram Krause, and is called the
dawn of hope."
Supporting tlie Gun*.
Did you ever see a battery take posi
tion ? P
It hasn't the thrill of a cavalry charge,
nor the grinraefls of a line of ba}'onets
moving slowly und determinedly on, but
there is a peculiar excitement about it that
makes old veterans rise in their saddles and
cheer.
We have been fighting at the edge ot the
woods. Every cartridge-box lias been
emptied once and more, and a fourth of the
brigade lias melted away iu dead and
wounded and missing. Not a cheer is
heard iu the whole brigade. We know that
we are being driven foot by foot, and that
when we break hack once more the line
will go to pieces and the enemy will pour
through the gap.
Here comes help!
Down the crowded highway gallops a
battery, withdrawn from some other posi
tion to save ours. The field fence is scat
tered while you could count thirty, and the
guns rush for the hill behind us. Six horses
to a piece—three riders to each gun. Over
dry ditches where a farmer would not drive
a wagon, tin ougli clumps cf bushes, over
logs a foot tlnck, every horse on the gallop,
ever}' rider lashing his team and yelling—
the sight behind us make us forget the foe
in front. The guns jump two feet high as
the heavy wheeis strike rock or log, but
not a liorse slackens Ins pace, not a can
noneer loses his seat. Six guns, six cais
sons, sixty horses, eighty men race" for the
brow of the bill as if he who reached it first
would be knighted.
A moment ago the battery was a con
fused mob. We look again, ai*l the six
guns are in position, the detached lie rses
hurrying away, the ammunition chests
open, and along our line runs the command,
"Give them one more volley and fall back
to support the gnus!" We have scarcely
obeyed when boom! boom! boom! opens
the battery, aud jets of Are jump down and
scorch the green trees under which we
fought and despaired.
The shattered old brigade has a chance
to breathe for the first time in three hours
as we form a line of battle behind the guns
and lie down. What grim, cool fellows
those cannoneers are! Every man is a
perfect machine. Bullets plash dust into
their faces, but they do not wince. Bullets
sing over and around them, but they do
not dodge. There goes one to the earth,
shot through the head as he sponged his
gun. The machinery luses just one heat—
misses just one cog in the wheel—aud then
works away again as before.
Every gun is using short-fuse shell. The
ground shakes and trembles—the roar shuts
out all sounds from a battle-line three miles
long, and the shells go shriekiug through the
swamp to cut trees short off—to mow great
gaps in the hushes—to hunt out and shatter
and mangle men until their corpses can not
he recognized as human. You would think
a tornado was howling through the forest,
followed by billows of fire, aud yet men
live tlumigli it—aye! press forward to cap
ture the battery ! We can hear their shouts
as they form for the rush.
Now the shells are changed for grape and
canister, and the guns are served so fast
that all reports blend into one mighty roar.
The shriek of a shell is the wickedest sound
in war. but nothing makes the flesh crawl
like the demoniac singing, purring, whitt
ling grape shot and the serpent-like hiss of
canister. Men's legs and arms are not shot
through, hut torn off. Heads are torn
from bodies, and bodies cut iu two. A
round shot or shell takes two men out of
the ranks as it crashes through. Grape
and canister mow a swath aud pile the dead
on top of each other.
Through the smoke we see a swarm of
men. It is not a battle line, hut a tnob of
men desperate enough to bathe their bayo
nets in the flame of the guns. The guns
leap from the ground, a* most as they are
depressed on the foe, and shrieks aud
screams and shouts blend into one awful
and steady cry. Twenty men out on the
battery are down, and the firing is inter
rupted. The foe accepts it as a sign of
wavering and come rushing on. They are
not ten feet away when the guns give them
a last shot. That discharge picks living
men ofl their feet and throws them inlotke
swamps, a blackened, bloody mass.
Up now, as the enemy are among the
guns! There is a silence of ten seconds,
and then the flash and roar of more than
three thousand muskets, and a rush for
ward with bayonets. For what? Neither
on the right, nor left, nor in fiont of us is
a living foe! There are corpses arounu us
which have been struck by three, four and
even six bullets, and no where on this acre
of ground is a wounded man! The wheels
of the guns can not move until tli block
ade of dead is removed. Men cannot pass
from caisson to gun without climbing over
wiurows of dead. Every gun and wheel
is smeared with blood—every foot of grass
has Its horrible stain.
Aerial Navigation.
A Spanish Artillery officer has con
structed a new Aerial machine. The ma
chine, which is of considerable extension
horizontally, but of very small vertical
dimensions, can de made to ascend or de
scend at pleasure, and can,according to the
statement of the inventor, tie turned in any
required direction. It consists of two air
bags, as they are called by the inventor,
one of which is filled with hydrogen gas
and the other with compressed air. When
the latter is so far filled that its weight, to
gether With that of the oar and its load,
exactly counterbalances the lifting power
of the former, the machine naturally will
neither rise nor fali. If the compressed air
is allowed to*escape from its bag the whole
weight will lie reduced and the machine
will rise, the altitude it will attain depend
ing upon the amount of compressed air
liberated. If, on the other hand, it is de
sired to make the machine descend, air
can, by a simple mechanical contrivance,
be pumped into the compressed air hag
until the total weight of the machine ex
ceeds the buoyancy or lifting power of the
hydrogen bag. To change the direction of
the machine a rudder is provided, to be
worked by a small steam-engiDe, while by
a simple arrangement the position of the
center of gravity of the whole apparatus
can he altered so that the resistance of the
air shall affect the machine in the most
favorable manner possible. The machine,
in fact, is designed to act in the same way
that a bird does. When a bird wishes to
change the direction of its flight it lowers
one wing and raises the other, and as it
works the latter rapidly and diminishes
the speed of its flight, the resistance of
the air on the oblique surface presented
to it turns the bird around into the re
quired course. In the new aerial ma
chine this principle is applied; but
whether it will he possible to overcome
the difficulties which may arise remains to
he seen.
A Salt Old Joke.
Sudors are proverbially jovial; but they
are generally a contented, unambitious
class and do not seek to go out of the nar
row and beaten track of the part for their
amusement. Moreover they are loyal to
traditions of the sea and would prefer a
joke three hundred years old, provided it
bad done regular duty during all that time,
to the choicest selection in the finest orig
inal st(Kik that could he set before them.
I bis is not as strange as it might be, for
the sailor's life is not a very varied one,
and he misses the myriad suggestions that
excite and stimulate the fancy of the lands
man. The sailor is a practical joker, but
his lange is about as limited as that of the
last surviver of the crew of the Nancy Bell,
who would "sit and croak, and a single
joke he had, which was to sify," &c. The
sailor lovs his single joke and he practices
it at odd intervals whenever he finds time
banging heavily upon his hands. It may
be called the bottle joke, and the jolly tars
are not as simple as they may seem in re
peating what we might suppose would be
too familiar by this time to deceive any
one. But the reverse is the fact. Land
lubbers are easily impressed by the mys
teries of old ocean, and whenever a fresh
tale of woe in its water-proof case of a de
pleted grog bottle is cast overboard, the
chances are that it will in time find its way
into wandering circles ready to believe
any things that comes back by .his round
about route from those who go down to
the sea in ships. As long as this ancient
sell does its work, why should the sailor
fret his brains to devise anything new for
the mystification of credulous and snper
stitous landsmen?
A Poetic l.treune Wauled.
He was a tall, square man, with a sharp,
sunburned ucse, an J an unshaven face. He
wore a chip hat, well sweated through in
front, with a rim turned down all around,
and a dark, narrow hit of braid for a hand.
His butternut pants were neatly tuckled
into his cowhide Ixxits, and the thumbs of
his bronzed hands were thrust into the
arm holes of his vest. He entered the
Mayor's office with the air of a man of busi
ness, and marching up to his Honor, said,
inquiringly:
"Be you the Mayor?"
"Yes, I have that honor."
"Well, I want a licemse for my (laugh
er, Maria Jane."
"Ah, I see; your daughter is about to get
married and you wish to procure a mar
nag licensee. We do not issue those pap
ers here. You must go over on the north
side to the county building."
"No, 'squire, you arc mistaken—as
much mistaken as if you had burnt your
last shirt or had accidhntally got into the
wrong pew in meeting; but Marin Jane doesn't
want a license to get married, not by no
means—not by more than considerable.
She is a darned smart girl, if she is my
daughter, and if 1 do say it, as hadn't
ought to. She has been keepin' school and
hoarding round up in the persimmon dees
trict and writing verses for the Summer
field Weekly ISaglc. She thinks now of
giviu' up teachin' and devotin' her hull
time to literary pereoots, and, 'squire, as
I'm a law-abidin' man and loyal to the
core—tliree of my hoys went dean through
to the sea with Sherman —"squire, and I
want to do the business for the girl on the
square, and so 1 called to take out a poetic
license for Maria Jane. You see, Will
Morrison, who has been to college, told
Maria that anybody must have a license
before lie writ much poetry."
Here the Mayor's face turned very red,
as if suffering from some intense internal
emotion, and it was observed that his eyes
were suffused with tears. His secretary
suddenly approached the window and
gazed abstractedly out upon the trees in the
tubs, whose emerald branches " ere grace
fully swaying-in the summer breeze in
front of the saloons across the way. The
former fixed his cut ions eyes upon the
Mayor for a moment, w ho finally sufficient
ly recovered himself to say:
"My dear sir, your daughter needs no
license to write poetry. She can write as
much as ever sue pleases, and it will he all
right."
hU Ttd-plioii.
"I guess I have to give up my delephonc
already," said an old citizen on Gratiot
avenue, Detroit, recently, as he entered the
office of the company with a very long
face.
"Why, what's the matter now?"
"Oh! efrytings. I got dot dclephone
in mine hoHsc so as 1 could sphcak mit dcr
poys in der saloon down town, and mit my
relations in Springwells, but I haf to gif it
up. I never haf so much droubles."
"How?"
"Vbell, ray poy Sbon, in der saloon, he
rings der pell und me oop utid says
an old frcnt of mine vhants to see how she
works. Dot ish all right. I say: "Hello!"
und he says: "Come closer." 1 goes
closer and helloes again. Den he says:
"Sthand a little off." I sthand a little off
und yells vunce more, und he says: Spheak
louder." It goes dot vay for ten minutes,
und den he says: "Go to Texas, you old
Dutchmans!" You see?"
"Y(*B."
"And den my bruddir in Springwells
he rings de pell und calls me oop und says
I vhas feeling like some colts, und he says:
"Who vhants to buy some goats?" I
saj': "Colts—colts—colts!" und he an
swers: ••Oh! coats, I thought you saidt
goatß." Vhen I goes to ask him if he feels
petter I hears a voice crying out. "Vhat
Dutchman ish dot on dis line!" "I doan'
know, hut I likes to punch his head!"
You see ?"
"Yes."
"Vbell, somediraes my vhife vhants to
spheak mit me vhen I am down der saloon.
She rings ruein pell und 1 says, "Hellow!"
Nopody spheaks to me. She rings again,
und I suv's "Hello!" like dunder! Den
der Central Office tells me go aheadt, und
den tells mein vhife dot I am gone avhay.
I yells oudt dot ish not so, und somepody
says, "How can I talk if dot old Dutchmans
doan' keep sthill!" You see ?"
"Yes."
"And vhen I gets in pedt at night, some
pod}' rings der pell like der house vas on
fire, und ven I schumps oudt und says
hello, I hear somepody saying: "Kaiser,
doan't }'ou vliant to puy a dog?" I vhants
no dog, und when I tells 'em so, I hear
somebeobleslaughing "Haw? haw! haw!
You see.
"Yes."
"Und so you dake it oudt, und vhen
somepody likes to spheak mit me dey shall
come rigtit ava}' to mein saloon. Oof my
brudder ish sick he shall get petter, und if
somelxxlv vhauls to puy me a dog, he shall
come vh i 'can puuch him mit a glub!"
Flhlilqk for Mnkeya.
Walking careless j through their haunts
I strewed some iimm upon a place, on
which I dug with my knife a few round
holes about four inches deep. Coming
hack to the spot in half an hour I dropped
a grain into each hole and left a noose
round one of them, concealed with earth.
The other end of the line was in a bush.
1 was there in a short time, and monkeys
were busy picking the grain. An old
fellow would look into a hole and chatter;
others came and looked and all chattered.
By and-by a plueky little fellow popped in
his paw, and out again. Next time he got
the corn, then others dipped in till they
finished that hole.' In due course they got
to the noose, with some chatter and the
same results till the line was pulled. A
sudden scream, a general hustle while the
captive was hauled home and enveloped in
a horse-rug. By this time the troop ran
up in the trees, screaming and shaking the
boughs most Gerociously, following me as
I went away, with the lost one kicking till
he was tired. I believe this noose plan is
frequently practiced. I once caught a
moukey on the Trimluck Hill Fort that
fell down the face of the scarps, knockii.g
his head against projections till he was
brought up with a thud ou a slab. He
was nearly senseless when I picked him up.
No bones were broken. In a few minutes
I let him go to his relations, who had never
ceased, letting lnm know w here they were,
lie crawled quietly up the scarp rock, and
seemed to be received with anger. Possi
bly they only wished to know what had
been said to him by the fellow without a
tail.
Talking Twenty-nix Honra,
Tbe longest speech on record is believed
to have been made by a member of the
Legislature of British Columbia, named l)e
Cosmos. It was in the interests of settlers,
who were to be defrauded of their lands.
l)e Cosmos was in the hopeless minority.
The job had been held back till the eve of the
close of the session. Unless legislation
was taken before noon of a certain day the
act of confiscation would fall. The day
liefore the expiration of the limitation De
Cosmos got the floor about 10 o'clock A. M.
and began a speech atrainst the bill. Its
friends cared little, for they supposed that
by 1 or 2 P. M. he would be through, and
the bill could be put on its passage. One
o'clock came and went, and De Cosmos
was still speaking, Two o'clock—he was
saying, "In the second place." Three
o'clock—he produced a fearful bundle of
evidence and insisted on reading it. The
majority liegan to have a suspicion of the
truth—he was going to speak until noon
and kill the bill. For a while they made
merry over it, but as it came on dusk they
began to get alarmed. They tried inter
ruptions, but soon abandoned them because
each one afforded him a cnance to digress
and gain time. They tried to shout him
down, but that gave hiin a breathing
space, and finally settled down to watch
the combat between the strength of will
and the weakness of body. They gave
him no mercy. No adjournment for din
ner; no cliauce to do more than wet his
lips with water, no wandering from the
subject; no sitting down. Twilight dark
ened, the gas was lit, members slipped out
to supper in relays and returned to sleep in
squads, but De Cosmos went on. The
speaker to whom he was addressing him
self was alternately dozing, snoring, aud
trying to look awake. Day dawned, aud
a majority of the members slipped out to
breakfast, and the speaker still held ou. It
can't be said it was a very logical, eloquent
or sustained speech. There were digres
sions in it; repetitions also. But the
speaker kept on, and at last noon came to
a bbfiled majority, livid with rage and im
potence; and a single man who was
triumphant, though his voice had sunk to.
a whisper, his eyes were sunken, bleared
and blood-shot, his legs tottered under
him, aud his baked lips were cracked aud
smeared with blood. De Cosmos had
spokeu twenty-six hours, and saved the
settlers their lands.
Jewish Coins.
The New York collection is chiefly in
teresting as showing how the coins—from
the first, struck Simon Maccabteus, from
140 to 37 B. C., to those coined after the
revolts which gave Rome power in the
Holy Land —improved in artistic qualities.
The silvt r shekels and the divisions of that
coin struck by the Maccabees were rude
and bore no figures or images, it being for
bidden by the Jewish religion to have im
ages or "Idols," on the coins. This shekel
was the first coined money of the Jews,
though it existed as a value and was men
tioned in the Bible before this time. It was
upon the coin of Herod Agrippa, the rule
of whose family succeeded from B. C. 37
to A. D. 100, that the umbrella first ap
peared. Of the coins of the Roman Pro
curators, those of Pontius Pilate are chief
They bore the head of the Emperor Ves
pasian, and were commemorative of the
captivity of J udea. Then followed in or
der the coins of the second revolt in 97 A..
D. With these Jewish coins ot silver and
bronze Mr. Feuardent has arranged sev
eral gold and silver pieces of the foreigu
neighbors of the Jews circulated as money
among the Jews themselves after their re
turn from Babylon. They bear most art is -
tic designs, being portraits of the Em
perors and figures of warriors on horse
back, and show the greatest possible im
provements in artistic work over the early
Jewish coin.
Blarkimltliiiig in Germany.
In the interior towns and villages of Ger
many, it has been the custom for many
years for the farmer to purchase the irou
for his tires and horseshoes, and in some in
stances, when having a new wagon built,
to purchase all the iron entering into the
same, the lengths of ever}' piece being fur
nished him by the smith. One part of the
contract is that the smith shall return
to the farmer all ends and cuttings from
the iron, and it frequently occnrs that the
farmer remains at the shop until the iron is
all cut up, in order that the smith shall not
indulge in too much cabbage. Each smith
shop has what is termed "the hell," and in
cutting off a set of tires, if the farmer be
not present, the largest half of the end cut
off finds its way to "the hell," the duty of
putting it there devolving upon the young
est apprentice. From this always plentiful
store the smith furnishes his materials for
the manufacture of bolts, horseshoes, etc.,
for transient customers. The horse shoe
ing part is also a feature; the farmer will
bring with him the end of some piece of
iron or tire, with which to make the shoes,
or perhaps a dozen or more old horseshoes
to be converted into new ones. The farmer
must blow the bellows until the work is
forged or the shoes all made, and must
then hold up the horse's foot while the
shoes are being driven on or taken off. and
invariably carries the old shoes home with
him, unless he prefers to give the old shoes
in payment for the apprentice's service iu
holding up the feet.
Walklug-Stlcks.
Walking-sticks for ladies, so we are tolti
by an oracle ot fashion, are coming intc
favor again. Thus does the whirligig ol
lime bring round his revenge for a discard
ed custom. The Empress Eugenie made
the carrying of canes fashionable for her
sex during the gay days of the second Em
pire. But back in another century we find
the women appreciatve of tue walking
stick. Ladies advanced iu life walked
with a staff between five and six feet iu
height, taper and slender in substance,
turned over at the upper end in the manner
of a shepherd's crook, and "twisted
throughout the whole exteut." Some
times these wands were formed of palegreen
glass, but oftener of wood, ivory, or
whalebone. A writer of 1762, speaking of
the most fashionable sticks of this period,
says: "Do not some of us strut about
with walkings-sticks as long as hickory
poles, or else with a yard of varnished
cane scraped taper, and bound at one end
with a waxed thread, and the other tipped
with a neat ivory head as big as a silver
penny ?" It is, indeed, as an appendage
of personal utility that we regard the walk
ing-sticks of modern times, though in all
ages man has made the sons of the forest
contribute to his support under weariness
and old age.
NO. 31.