VOL. LIV.
PROFESSIONAL CARDS OF
BELLEFONTE.
C. T. Alexander. c. M. bower.
ATTORNEYS AT LAW.
BKLLKFONTK, PA.
Office In Qarman's new building.
JOHN B. LINN,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
BKLLKFONTK, PA.
Office on Allegheny Street.
QLEMENT DALE,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
BKLLKFONTK, PA.
Northwest corner of Diamond.
Y° CUM & HASTINGS,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW.
BKLLKFONTK, PA.
High Street, opposite First National Bank.
C. HEINLE,
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
BELLEFONTt PA.
Practices in all the courts of Centre County.
Spec al attention to collections. Consultations
in German or English.
F. REEDER,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
BKLLKFONTK, PA.
All business promptly attended to. Collection
of claims a speciality.
J. A. Beaver. J. W. Gephart.
JGEAVER & GEPHART.
ATTORNEYS AT LAW.
BKLLKFONTK, PA.
Office on Alleghany Street, North of High.
A. MORRISON,
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
BKLLKFONTK, PA
omce on Woodrlug's Block, Opposite Court
House.
U S. KELLER,
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
BKLLKFONTK, PA
Consultations In English or German. Office
In Lyon's 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 XILLHEIX, *.
f 1 A. STURGIS,
* DEALER IS
Watches, Clocks. Jewelry, Silverware, he. Re
pairing neatly and promptly don- and war
ranted. Main Street, opposite Bank, M Uhelm,
Pa.
~A 0 DEININGER,
* NOTARY PUBLIC.
SCRIBNKR AND CONVEYANCKR,
MILLHEIM, PA.
All business entrusted to him. such as writing
and acknowledging Deeds, Mortgages, Helens* a,
he., will he executed with neatness and dis
patch. Office on Main Street.
TT H. TOMLINSON,
* DEALER IN
ALL KINDS OF
Groceries. Notions, Drugs. Tobaccos, Cigars,
Fine Confectloneiies and everything in the line
of a first-class Grocery st >re.
Country Produce i aken In exchange for goods.
Main Ist eet, opposite bank, Ml lbelin. Pa.
TpvAVID I. BROWN,
MANUFACTURER AND DEALER IN
TINWARE. STOVEPIPES, Ac.,
SPOUTING A SPECIALTY.
Shop on Main Stre< t. two h uses east of Bank,
Mlllhelm, Penna.
J EISENHU I'H,
* JUSTICE OF THE PEACE,
MILLHEIM, PA.
All business promptly at tended f.
collection of claims a specialty.
Office opposite Rlsenbuih's Drug Store
~|AjJ USSER & SMIIH,
DEALERS IN
Hardware. Stoves, Oils, Paints, Glass, Wa
Papers coach Trimmings, and Saddlery Ware,
Ac,. Ac.
All grades of Patent Wheels.
Corner of Main and Penn Streets, Mlllhelm,
Penna.
TACOB WOLF,
FASHIONABLE TAILOR,
MILLHEIM, PA.
Cutting a Specialty.
Shop next door to Journal Book Store.
jyjILLHEIM BANKING CO.,
MAIN STREET,
MILLHEIM, PA.
A. WALTER, Cashier. DAV. KRAPK, Pres.
BARTER,
AUCTIONEER,
REBERSBURQ, PA.
JaUsfaetloa Guaranteed.
ikt pitllicim giirial
DEAR GRANDMOrHKR.
Grandmother paoea witli stately tr* ad
Forward and back through the quaint old
room.
Out of the firelight, dancing and rid.
Into the gathering dusk and gloom ;
Forwaid and back. In her silken dress
With its falling ruflioi of frost-like lace ;
A look of the deepest tenderness
In the faded lines of her fine old face.
Warm on her breast in bis red uight-gowu
Like a scarlet lily the baby lies.
While softly the tired lids droop dowu
Over the little sleepy eves.
Grandmother sings to h m sweet and low,
And memories oome wi h the cradle-song
Of the days when she sang it long ago.
When her life was young and her heart was
strong.
Grandmother's children have left her now,
'lie large old house is a shadowed place ;
1 ut abit iff i it in the sunset glow
Of I cr life, like a star, comoe the baby's
He lire wi ere of cld bis father lav ;
i silly sl e eings him the same sweet strain
Till the 'ears-rtcivcrirpere swept si ay,
And the jcy of life's n orninp is 1 ere sgsi
Grandmother's gray bead is lending low
Over the dear little downy one
The atepe of her pathway are few to go ;
The baby's journey is just begun.
Yet the roey dawn of his childish love
Brightens the evening that else were dim ;
And m after years from her home above.
The light of her bles-ing will rest on him.
On The Heights.
"I will stand up to shout." Hugh said.
"Will you lean back against this hill? I
will lay your cousin down with her head
in your lap. she is sound as a top. Now
for it!" and standing up Hugh gave a shout
with all the power of his lungs.
There was a pause in the movement of
the lanterns and then a shout.
"Hallo-a-a!" Hugh shouted again; "this
way!"
Rapidly the lauterns came flittering
along the road till they were d wn in
front of them.
"Here we are! here are the ladies!"
Hugh shouted.
"Any one hurt?"
much: but we can't get either up
or down. You must let a rope dowu to us
from above. Here we are," and Hugh
struck a match and lighted a large piece of
paper. "Have the party above got ropes?"
There was shouting backward and for
ward, but the party above had not got
ropes.
"Send back for them at once," Hugh
shouted, "and be sure and tell the lady
that no damage is done here."
"How do you feel now?—l was going to
say cousin Amy," he laughed; "but I
really haven't the pleasure of knowing
your name?"
"Amy Herbert."
"How do you feel now. Miss Herbert?"
"I feel weak, and rather headachy," she
said; "but there is notlung really the mat
ter with me. What an escape I have
had!"
"Yes, you had a narrow 9queak of it,"
Hugh said frankly; "just another pound
or two of impetus and you would have
gone over the ledpe."
She was silent, and he went on.
"Do you object to smoke? Because if
you don't I should really like to light my
pip®."
"Not at all," Amy said.
"There's something comfortable about a
pipe," Hugh said, when it was fairly
alight; "somehow one can talk when one
gets a pipe alight."
"I think men can talk at all times, * Amy
said, with a flash of her usual spirits.
"Bom# men can," Hugh said. "I can
talk with men; but, do you know, some
how I can't talk with women. I can talk
with you now because I don't see you,
and because lam smoking; but I should
feel horribly uncomfortable if I met you in
the morning."
"I did not know any men were shy with
women, nowadays," Amy said.
"Shy?" Hugh repeated. "Well, yes,
I suppose it is a sort of shyness witn me.
I never had any sisters, and so, you see,
I never got in the way of talking to girls.
It is very annoying sometimes, and makes
people think me a bear. I suppose you
thought so. You must have done so."
"Yes, ' Amy said. "1 did think you
rather a bear, I am not accustomed to
shy young men, and simply fancied you
did not want to speak to strangers. And
now, please tell me exactly what hap
pened, because I shall have to ted aunt,
and I have only a confused idea of what
has taken place."
Again Hugh told her the facts.
• Then I owe my life to you," the girl
said, when he had finished.
"I really don't think you do," Hugh
said, in a matter-of-fact way. "I ques
tioo very much if you would have come
roundout of your taint before I could
have brought help from Barmouth. How
ever, of course, I acted for the best, and
it avoided all risk. There was no danger
in getting down to you; the little one and
1 slipped down as easily as possible.
If I thought you were going to tell me
to-morrow that you were very grateful,
or anything of that sort, I give you my
honor I should go right away by the coach
to Carnarvon."
The g irifelt by the tone of Hugh's voice,
that there was no affectation about him;
that he really meant what he said.
"I may just say 'thank you,' now? " she
asked quietly.
" Yes, just thank you, '" he said light
ly.
"If I were a man you would shake hands
over it?" the girl asked.
"Yes," Hugh said.
"Please give me your hand."
He stooped down, and she put her hand
into his
"Thank you," in a deep, quiet, earnest
roice.
Then as he rose again, she went on, in a
changed voice.
"Now mind, it is a bargain. We have
shaken hands on it. lam not to be grate
ful, and you are not to be afraid of me, but
are just to be as natural with me as with
Ida."
"That is a bargain," Hugh said, with
a laugh. "I don't think I shall feel shy
with you in the future. I never talked
so much with a woman in my life. I sup
pose it's because I can't see your face."
"I doa't know whether to take that for
a compliment or the reverse," Amy laugh
ed.
MILLHEIM, PA., THURSDAY, NOVEMBER IS, 1880.
"The reverse, of course," Hugh said,
laughing, too; "compliments are not in my
line. Ah, here they are with the rope.
They have Iteen precious quick about it."
And Ainy Herbert felt there was a real
compliment In the tones in which bespoke.
"Now you must wake Ida. How souudly
she sleeps! Now let me help you on to
your feet."
Eveu with the aid of the rope It was a
work of considerable difliculty to get Amy
Herbert up to thet op of the slope; for she
was weak and shaken, and unable to do
much to help herself. At last it was
managed; anil then she was helped down
a steep path close by the road below,
where a carriage from the hotel was waiting
for them.
"Will you come up ami see my aunt?"
Amy asked, as they stopped at the door.
"Not to-night, thank you. I will come
in the morniug to see how you are after the
shake; and, please," he "tell your
auul of our bargain. It would be awful to
come up to be thanked."
"Good night," the gill raid. I won't
forget. Come early. Now, Ida, come
along; you will soon be iu bed.''
Two mouths later Mr. Ilcrbort was walk
ing up and down his breakfast-ioom in a
towering passion. Amy was sitting in a
great arm chair.
"It is monstrous, it is incredible," Mr.
Herbert exclaimed. "Here you, for whom
I have looked for a capital match, who re
fused three of the very best men iu the dis
trict last year, are away for two months
and a half at this beggarly Welsh village,
and you come back and deliberately tell
me that you have engaged yourself to an
artist, a fellow I never heard of."
"Dear old daddy," Amy said quietly,
"don't get angry about it. Come and sit
down and talk it over reaaonly, as you al
ways do things with me."
"No, no, Amy. I know what your
reasonable talking means. lam not to be
coaxed or wheedled or made a fool of. It's
all very well when you want a pair of new
ponies or anything of that kind you have
set your mind on, but there is a limt to
everything."
"Well, but we must talk the question
over, daddy."
"Not at all, not at all; no talk is neces
sary. You tell me you waut to marry this
fortune-hunting artist. I say at once I
won't hear of it; that it's out of the ques
tion; that 1 wdl not hear a single word
about such a ridiculous affair."
"Now, why should you call him a for
tune-hunter?" Amy said, seizing at once
upon the weak point. "He has not an
idea that there is any fortune in the case.
He saw me staying in poky lodgings at
Barmouth, and, beyond the fact that I live
at Manchester, he knows nothing. lie
tells me that he has enough for us to live
on very quietly, in addition to his profes
sion. So, yox ses, he can't be called a
fortune hunter."
"Well, well, it makes no matter. The
thing is monstrous, and 1 will not hear of
U."
"Well, daddy, I will do just as you like,
and I won't say any more about it now;
but, of course, to-morrow 1 must talk
about it, because it is out of the question
that 1 should break my word which 1 have
given, and should make him unhappy, and
be awfully unhappy myself. So i shall
have to talk about him, and you will have
to listen" —the father had sat down now —
"because though, as my papa, you have a
perfect right to say, *1 will not consent to
your marrying this man,' still you know, 1
must talk about a thing which is making
me very unhappy. And it will be so much
better and nicer, daddy," and she went
over to him now and sat herself down on
his knee, with her arm around his neck,
"if you give in at once. Because, you
know, you can't keep in a naughty temper
with me long; and besides, you would be
very unhappy if I was unhappy; and at
last, you know very well, you will have to
give up being cruel and cross, and will tell
me to be happy my own way.
"Amy," her father said, trying to look
very stem, "I have spoiled you. I have
allowed you to tyrannize over me."
"No, daddy, I can't allow that—cer
tainly not tyrannize. I have led you for
your own good, and you have been as
happy as the day is long—"
"And now," he continued, ignoring the
protest, "I am to reap the reward of my
folly. That you should have married a
first-rate man of business I should have
been contented. But an artist!"
"Well, daddy, we wont talk any more
about it to-day. Now I'll just smooth
those naughty wrinkles, and I'll kiss you
on each cheek and in the middle of your
nose. There, now it looks like itself.
There! ten o'clock striking, and you not
off I Mind I shall expect you up to lun
cheon."
Bo Mr. Herbert went off shaking his
head, and although still determined, yet at
heart very doubtful as to his power of re
sistance. Amy went to her special sanc
tum, and wrote her first lc ter to Hugh.
The following sentences show that she had
no doubt whatever on the subject:
"Daddy noes not take quite kindly to
the notion as yet. He doesn't know you,
you see, and it has of course come up on him
a little suddenly, but he is the very best
and kindest of all the daddies in the world,
and in a very few days he will see it in
quite the right light. It is no use your
writing or coming to me here till ho is
quite reasonable: but I expect by this day
week to have everything arranged. I w ill
let you know what train to come by, and
will meet you at the station."
It is to be presumed that Amy thorough
ly understood her father; but at any rate, it
was exactlly that day week that Hugh
Carson, having olieyed instructions, and
got out at the station directed, five miles
from Manchester, was a little surprised and
much disapDoiuted at not seeing her upon
the platform.
"Your luggage, sir! Are you the gen
tlemen for the Hawthorns? Very well, sir,
I will send up the portmanteau; Miss Her
bert is in the pony-carriage."
"Bless me. Amy, Hugh said, after the
first greeting, as they drove off, "you used
to talk about your pony-trap, but this turn
out is pretty enough to attract attention in
the park. Amy" and he looked at hei
with a puzzled glance, "you're not a swell,
are you?—because that would be dread
ful."
"Well, Hugh, if being a swell means
having lots of money, I suppose I am one.
for daddy has lots upon lots. He's got
cotton-mills, you know. But there's noth
ing dreadful in that."
"You ought to have told me, Amy,"
Hugh said, a little gravely.
"PcMribet*,'" the girl said. "In the
first place, it was nice to that % yoi& tell in
love with me without knowing whether I
hail a halfpenny; iu the second place, you
would be very likely have run away It you
hail thought 1 wasrich;aud to know tell you
the truth, Master Hugh, 1 had no idea of
letting you run away. There, Hugh,
there's the house; isn't it pretty ?"
"It's almost a palace," Hugh aaid iu
disuiny.
"Yes; noil there's papa at the door wait
ing to greet you. Now, look quite pleu
sant and bright, Hugh, for, of course, 1
want him to like you almost as much as I
da"
Fatal Duel*.
A noted duel occuroil at Paris in the
winter of 1858 59, between Count Trepan
co, a Neapolitan nobleman, and the Mar
quis tie Pierrefonds. The Marquis had
preseuteil to a young woman of the demi
moude a vase of cardenias of unique beauty.
On the same evening he accompanied her
to a ball, which, by the way, was given by
the notorious Me rope Uarucci. While
dancing the lauciers with the girl, the Mar
quis noticed in the same set a handsome
youth. He wore a cardenia iu bis button
hole. He questioned his partner, aud was
satisfied that she had given the flower to the
Italian. He went straight to the Count
anil tore the flower flora his la-east. A
eliallenged followed. Pistols were select
ed. Twelve shots were exchanged, at a
distance of twenty feet, without a result.
T he Italian insisted on continuing the duel,
saying that he could not be an actor in a
farce. At the thirteenth shot he received a
bullet in his heart, and expired. In his
testamentary letter he entreated, in case he
should be killed, that the Marquis de Pierre
fontls would place upon his cold heart the
cardenia which had been the cause of the
strife. Six mouths later Pierrefonds, who
was aid de-camp to Geueral l'Espinassc,
was entering a village during the battle of
Magenta. The first shot from the neigh
boring houses struck him in the heart,mak
iug a wound identical to that received by
the Italian Count. The dry reaves of a
cardeuial were found in an envelope above
the dead Marquis' heart.
A bouquet of violets was the oause of a
fatal duel. The young Count de Seiguelay,
attache to the French Legation at the
Hague, was visiting Brussels. The youth
ful diplomat hail been desperately in love
with Diane de Chanceray, a beautiful wo
ma i. Cue eveuing, as the Count was wit
nessing a performance at the Theater de la
Mouuaie,he suw her,covered with diamonds
and laces, in a box with the Prince de
Klostercamp. The heart of the young
lover beat violently. All the souvenirs of
his former happiuess flashed before him.
Diaue grew paler than the lace she wore.
She leveled her opera glass at him, and
kept it fastened upon him for a long time.
Then she tore a bouquet of violets from
her bosom aud began to kiss and bite them.
They gazed at each other like Italian
lovers. As the performance was drawing
to a close she arose to depart. Seignelay
placed himself in the loyer at the foot of
the marble staircase. He requested a frisnd
who was acquainted with Prince Kioster
camp to engage him in conversation for a
moment, so as to give him an opportunity
to exchange a few words with the lady.
His friend Fervailyues did af
ter kissing the violets thrust them benoath
the open vast of the young lover. The
Prince, however, saw the action. Next
morning two of his friends called on the
ht ache with a challenge. [A duel followed*
Swords were the weapons. Seignelay was
pierced through the heart after five assaults,
and expired in the arms of his friends, ut
tering the name of Diane. He was buried
in a cemetery near Brussels. Two years
later the witer visited the cemetery and
saw a bouquet of fresh violets ou the stone
that mrrked his grave.
A Rath in the Dead Sea.
Greatly relieved and refreshed, we pur
sued our journey. As we came in sight of
the Dead Sea we noticed that peculiar hazy
appearance of the atmosphere, reminding
us of Indian summer in our own country,
and we found ourselves subject to that
singular optical delusion sometimes pro
duced by a very transparent and highly
rarefied atmosphere, in which distant ob
jects appear quite near. At a certain
point, when we were some five distant, it
seemed as if we were within half a mile of
the shore. Reaching, at length, this most
remarkable of all the seas and lakes on our
globe, we prepared to take a bath—and
such a bath I can hardly expect ever to
take again. I had previously bethed In
numerous seas, lakes, and rivers, but never
did I enjoy such a bath as this. The spe
cific. gravity of the water is such, from its
holding in solution so large a proportion of
salts, (twenty-six and a half per cent.)
that one floats upon the surface like a cork.
At the time there was only a gentle ripple
upon the sea, and being a good swimmer I
at struck out into deep water. I soon
f<mnd out that 1 could swim and float with
wonderful ease, and that I could actually
walk in the water, sinking only to the arm
pits, Discovering this fact, I made for
the shore, and taking Dr. C., one of the
party, who could not swim, by the band,
led him out into the sea where the water
was many fathoms deep. At first he was
quite reluctant to follow me, but he soon
gained confidence on finding there was no
danger of sinking, and he enjoyed the nov
el bath as much as if he bad been an expert
swimmer.
Shaker Dietetics.
Their diet is simple but sufficient. Pork
is never eaten, and only a part of the Shaker
people eat any meat at all. Many use no
food produced by animals denying them
selves even butter, milk and eggs. At
Mount Lebanon, and in some of the other
societies, two tables are set, the one with,
the other without meat. They consume
much fruit eating it at every meal; and
they have it always fine and extensive
vegetable gardens and orchards. Father
Evans (the Shakers call him Elder Evans,
but jve like father better), now about
seventy years old, and at the head of one
branch of the Shaker community at Leba
non, has not eaten flesh for neaily forty
years, and he is hale and hearty, much
more so than most men of his age; yet
when he commenced his vegetable diet he
was in a declining state of health; as he tells
us, "a candidate for consumption.'*
THK greatest gun from sheep hus
bandry is in saving as much AS possi
ble of labor and loss in management of
the deck, and much disappointment
and discouragement will follow early
j lambing of ewes if comfortable quar-
I ters and good care are waiting.
A Ittnarkable Dream.
Two ladies, sisters, had been for several
days iu attendance upon their brother, who
was ill witlra common sore throat—severe
and protracted; but not considered as at
tended with any danger. At the same
time one of them had borrowed a watch
from a female frieud, in consequence of her
own being under repair. The watch was one
to which pailicular value was attached, on
account of family associations; aud some
anxiety was expressed that it might not
meet with any injury. The sisters were
sleeping together, in a room couunuyicaling
with that of their brother, when the elder
of them awoke in a state of great agitation;
and having aroused the other, told iter that
she had a frightful dream. "I drcain't,"
she said, "that Mary's watch stopped; and
that, when 1 told you of the circumstance,
you replied, 'Much worse than that has
happened, for James's breath has slopped
also!'" naming their brother wiio was ill.
To quiet her agitation, the younger sister
immediately got up, and found the brother
sleeping quietly; and the watch which had
been carefully pnt up in a drawer, going
correctly. The following night the same
dream occurred, followed by similar agita
tion, which was again composed in the
same manner; the brother be
ing again found in a quiet
sleep, aud the watch going well. On
the following morning, soon alter the family
breakfasted, one of the sisters was sitting
by her brother, and the other was writing
a note in the adjoining room. Wiien her
note was ready for being sealed, she was
proceeding to take out for this purjKise the
watch above alluded to which had been
put by in her writing-desk, when she was
astonished to find it had stopped; and at
the same instant she heard a scream of in
tense distress from her sister in the other
room. Their brother, who had still been
considered as going on favorably, had beeu
seized with a sudden fit of suffocation and
hail just breathed his last.
Sophie Potokl.
Hophie Potockie was born in Pera. Her
parenU were of Greek extraction, and
closely allied to the distinguished families
of Ghika and Mauro&ordatoa. But they
were then impoverished ; and Sophie was
earning a livelihood In a coffee house. Here
she attracted the attention of Boakamp,
the Polish ambassador. Some writers say
that Bosk amp had received private orders
from Stanislaus Augustus to bring home
with kirn a beautiful Greek girl; others
assert that it was his own conception
to take her to Stanislaus, knowing well
how acceptable such a gift would be. How
ever that may be, he purchased the young
Greek girl of her parents for 1,500 pias
ters —equivalent to $76 —and started with
her for Poland. For some reason he was
obliged to leave Sophie in Chozim, a fron
tier town, while he hurried to Warsaw.
Her picture, however, he carried with
him. Young men quickly learn of the ar
rival in their neighborhood of a pretty
girl. De Witt, son of the commander of
Kamieuec, was among the first to visit the
young beauty. Their acquaintance ripen
ened into love, and led to & secret mar
riage. The father of De Witt,learning of the
mar. iage, has'ened after his son, arrested him
and put him in irons, swearing he would
not release him until he bad promised to
give up Sophie. Hereupon the young wife
threw herself at the feet of the angry father,
who, won by her looks and tears, finally
relented. Sophie now sought to fit herself
for her new position in life. She became
a good linguist, and accomplished in many
ways.
In Paris, which city she often visited
with her husband, she was greatly admired,
counting among her conquests the subse
quent King Louis XVIII. At last her
husband became jealous and treated her with
such harshness and severity that she lied
to Constantinople. After a time, however,
a reconcilation was brought about, and she
consented to return to Poland. There she
passed five or six uneventful years. In
1788 she went with her husband to
Warsaw. Years had only added to her
charms. In Warsaw every one was intoxi
cated with her beauty. Whenever she ap
peared in society the guests mounted chai;s
and tables to gaze upon her. She was
called the "Goddess of Beauty" and the
"Grecian Venua" The intimacy between
her and Count Potocki dates from this visit.
Felix Potocki was born in 1763; at Krys
tynopol, one of the many estates of his
father. He grew up under the supervision
of his mother and the instruction of the
pianist. Wolff. In 1770 the Turks, then
waging war in Europe, threatened to de
stroy Krystynopol. Felix, a lad of 17
years, under the plea of a necessity for
bodily exercise, obtained permission of his
father to oversee the frontier guard. His
youthful fancy had been caug;it by the
pretty face and graceful figure of the
daughter of a neighboring Castellan. The
war, however, had interupted their inter
course. His new military duty would
allow tne young man frequent opportuni
ties of meeting this girl, and of arranging
a secret marriage without the knowledge
of either parents. The Cas e!l*n belonged
to the middle order of nobility; conse
quently, a marriage between the two fami
lies could not but be regarded by the
Potokis as most derogatory to their
pride and position. Count Potocki
had also other views for his son. A dis
tinguished lady, Castellanin Mnizech, had
proposed a betrothal between her daughter,
Josephine, and the young count. When,
a few months later, Count Potocki learned
of the marriage of his son his indignation
knew no bounds. Threats of violence to
himself and his young wife led Felix, in a
moment of weakness, to consent to a sep
aration. He hoped thereby, to ward off a
gi eater danger to his wile. His submis
iion was, however, of no avail. Count
Potoki ordered the Cossacks to make a
night assault on the house of the
Castellan and carry off the daughter.
The young wife was torn from her bed at
midnight, hurried into a sledge and driven
towards Krystj.)[.ol. A long train of ]
heavily-laden carts barred the way and
compelled a halt. The Cossacks, fearing
their prisoner's call for help would betray
them, sought to suppress her cries by
stifling them with wraps and cushions.
When, finally, the road was clear and they
had removed the wrappings which they
had wound about her head, the young wife
was found to be dead. To remove all
traces of their guilt the Cossacks cut a hole
in the ice of a near stream, into which thev
thrust the body of their victim.
The blow fell heavily on Felix. In the
first moment of despair he sought to take
his own life. Frustrated in this, he sank
i into a state of profound melancholy. He
never recovered entirely from the shock.
His character changed. He grew moody,
unsocial and gloomy. He married the
same Josephine whom his father had chosen
as a bride for him. This marriage entered
into with little love or inclination, proved
far from happy. Josephine was gifted
with bodily and mental charms, which
kept her husband faithful to her for a time.
She, however, was not equally faithful to
him. Still their life was outwardly calm
and peaceful until 1782, when political
business drew Count Potccki to J assy. Here
he again met Sophie, at that time a visitor
of Potembin, and here matter? came to a
crisis. Although Potocki was over 40 years
and the father of a large family,he became
so infatuated with Sophie thai he resolved
for her sake, to seek a separation from his
wile. Negotiations were entered into with
I)e Witt, who readily consented, for a
stipulation, to give up Sophia. Once more
the bca utiful woman was sold. We
are not this time made acquainted with
the terms of agreement. Apparently the
lovely Greek was not averse to an arrange
ment which gave her for a husband one of
the wealthiest noblemen of Poland. The
marriage, however, was not consummated
until the year following. The bishop
Siorakowski, influenced, it is is said, by
bribes, dissolved the tie which bound him
to Josephine. Sophie was likewise freed
from obligations to her husband. . The
ue wly-married pair departed for Hamburg,
where they remained several vears. On
his return to his native land Potocki de
voted himsell to the creation of that bit of
of fairy land, that lasting monument of his
infatuation for the beautiful woman, then
his wife, that celebrated spot which bears
her name, ' 'Sofijowka." Out of a barren
waste, upon which 10.000 laborers were
employed, grew this beautiful country seat,
which even to this day is the admiration
of all visitors. The immense parks, the
artificial lakes, rocks, streams and woods
liave often been described by travelers and
immortalized by the Polish poet Trembecki
in his poems entitled "Sofijowka." In this
spot, absorbed in his love for his wife,
Potocki passed the last 10 years of his life.
Here his Nemesis met him. Potocki'a
eldest son, likewise called Felix, had been
banished by the czar from St. Petersburg
on account of his enormous debts. His
father uot only paid these debts amounting
to two millions, but gave his son the con
trol of two large estates. In return, Felix,,
the younger, rewarded his father by win-
Ding the affections of his stepmother. The
connection between the two lasted many
years. When at last discovered by Count
Potocki it is said to have hastened his
death, which took place at Sofijowka in
1805. Sophie inherited one naff of her
husband's estates and continued to live at
Sofijowka with her five children, leading
an active, hospitable and apparently res
pectable life. Her house was thronged
with guests and admirers. She died in
Berlin m 1823.
"Contrlbutive Negligence n
The snow was falling fast, and Isaac Sil
berstein was slowly making his way
through the pelting storm. His melodious
cry of "Eee-chaw-glass-pud-in" sounded
muffled, and he staggered under the weight
of his lrame of window-glass, which he had
carried all the way from Bayard street.
Patrick McGuire, one of the laborers on
the Elevated Railroad, had been into
Henry Knubel's saloon to warm his heart
with a hot whisky, and emerging, crowbar
in hand stepped on a large coal-grating ia
front of the door. Isaac also stepped on
the grating. In the next moment an in
stantaneous change took place in the posi
tion of the parties. Isaac lay prone on
the snow, while on the other side of the
grating Patrick floundered like a fish out
of water, In their sudden fall the crow
bar collided with the glass frame, and
poor Isaac's stock in trade lay shattered
around. The crowbar flying off at a tan
gent made a Bodtne bull's-age in the crown
of Pal's tall hat. When they regained
their feet, Isaac and Patrick looked wildly
around and glared fiercely at each other.
Isaac ejaculated, "Mine Gott, my glass;
fehr dollar, fehr dollar," and Patrick re
spondent, "Bad luck attend ye; luk at my
hat"
An officer came up, and Isaac, said that
Pat tripped him up with the crowbar.
Pat was takon into custody, and Isaac,
carefully gathering up the fragments of
glass, followed him to Court to obtain bis
"fehr" dollars.
Pat was all indignation, Isaac all suavity.
"Will you swear," said the Court, "that
he tripped you up with the crowbar!"
"I bring a hundred, thousand vitness,"
answered Isaac promptly.
"Thin, why don't ye bring them! "said
Patrick. "It's a lie he's telling. He
shlipped on the gratin' and stumbled
against me, and 1 fell with him. It was
all his own fault, and he ought to pay me
for me hat.
4 'Coutributive negligence is the defense,"
said the Court, "and I never knew any
one obtain damages against a railroad com
pany when that defensa was set up. This
court cannot on the evidence furnish a
precedent in so important a matter. Isaac,
1 don't believe Patrick tripped you up
with the crowbar. Patrick, what county
are you from?
Patrick (promptly)— 44 County West
meat h, your Honor."
The Court—"The finest wrestlers in Ire
land. Isaac, he would have used his foot
instead of the crowbar. Sue him for dam
ages. Patiick you are discharged."
Then tliev stood on the sidewalk, Patrick
gazing at the bole in his hat, and Isaac
contemplating sadly the wreck of matter
and the crash of glass which Patrick's
crowbar had created.
Indians.
The whole number of Indians In the
United States, except Alaska, is placed at
260,864, though it is obvious that the enu
meration of the savage tribes is guess work
merely. The number of Indians who wear
citizen's dress is given at 127,458. In 1868
the number of Indians who occupied houses
was 8,646. In the decade this has been
increased to 23.060. The number of In
dian schools is 366, more than double the
number of ten years ago, and the pupils,
increasing in like proportion, number 12,-
222. The amount spent on education is
given as $363, 125. The number of In
dians who can read is given as 41,309. The
church membership includes 30,000. Pas
toral and agricultural products have greatly
increased within the decade. For instance,
in 1868 the number of sheep owied was
7,968; in 1878, 594,574. The statistics
are drawn cipefly from the Indian Terri
j tory, though they prefess to cover the entire
Indian population.
Tattooed bj Savages.
Alonzo Hewitt, belonged to the crew of
the ship Angelica, which went ashore
during a severe gale on the Patagonian
coast. The vessel was manned by thirteen
men, all of whom were captured by the
savages and taken into the interior. The
men were separated from each other and
riven to different native chiefs as slaves.
Mr. Hewitt never knew what became of
his shipmates. He was taken by a savage
named Minehoo, and compelled to carry
heavy loads of provisions and hunting
materials on long journeys. At night his
hands would be tied behind his back, and
one end of the leathern thong was fastened
to a tree, so that he could not run away.
No knife or shaip instrument of any kind
was left within his reach, and he was as
effectually a prisoner as though he had
been locked up within strong walls. The
whole story of his troubles and sufferings
while in the hands of the savages would
fill a whole volume, but the most Interest
ing portion, which can be confined to the
limits or newspaper account, is hia ac
count of the manner in which he was tat
tooed by the Pat agon ians.
Almost the entire surface of Mr. Hewitt's
body is covered witli indeilible representa
tions of beasts, birds and reptiles. He
said that the savages occupied over a
month's time in making these unique pic
tures. A preparation in many respects re
sembling India ink, was used, and the
method of producing the pictures was to
puncture the skin with the points of small
fish bones, and then rub the ink upon the
wound thus produced. The ink thus pro
duced a discoloration of the skin that can
never De effaced.
"What caused the Patagonians to mark
you in this manner?" inquired the report
er.
"1 presume, the chief who held me cap
tive wanted to disfigure me for the amuse
ment of himself and his associates," was
the reply.
"1 hen you do not think the chief meant .
to punish you?"
"Not especially. In my mind he wished
to display the artistic skill of one of his
young braves in the pictorial line. He un
doubtedly regarded my skin in much the
same light that a painter does the white
canvas. I was a good groundwork for or
namentation."
"Was the chief proud of you after the
work was done?"
"He was, indeed. I was taken about
among the people and exhibited to admir
ing eyes. The young men and maidens
would point at the pictures and then
look at each other and smile.
Older savages would admire me by the
hour, and 1 was one cf the greatest objects
of interest in Patagonia."
"Do you know the meaning of the pic
turea?"
"I only know that the pictures represent
beasts, birds ana reptiles; but why they
were selected as subjects, baffles my own- *
prehension. 1 suppose that lam a sort of
Patagooi&n obelisk and although unlike the
Alexandrian monolith, I am not 8000 or
4000 years old, I perhaps represent relig
ious ideas and historical facts."
The tattooed man brushed his locks of
shaggy hair back from his forehead, and
disclosed a blue-and-yellowish representa
tion of a bird. Although the bird has out
stretched wings and beak and claws like
an eagle, it is far from being a good repre
sentation of the glorious American bird of
freedom. On either side of the man's face
is a bird that looks more like a young
chicken than anything else. Lengthwise
on the nose is a tiny picture of a blue snake
with red eyes. A red snake with blue
eyes encircles the man's neck. Rolling up
his sleeves and baring his arms, Mr. Hewitt
exhibited pictorial representations of more
than a dozen different kinds of animals
Borne of them resembled goats, others
sheep and foxes. There were animals
with horns and others without horns.
There was a singular looking creature that
reminded the reporter of a centaur, above
the elbow of the right arm. There were
more figures on the left arm than on the
right one. The total number of distinct
pictures on the man's body, he said, was
188. Only three colors are shown—red,
blue and yellow. The inks were obtained
by pressing the juice from vegetables and
mixing it with fine earthy pigments. Mr.
Hewitt thinks that the inks were of a
poisonous nature, because they caused the
limbs to swell to twice their normal size
while the pictures were being made.
A Baboon Dinner Episode.
Bishop Oolenso gives this incident m the
early lite of a South American baboon.
There is something quaintly human about
it: "It was a hot day and a number of
baboons were sunning themselves along
the bottom of the i Donga. They lay upon
their bacfcs with half closed eyes, rubbing
their stomachs in a state of placid enjoy
ment. Two or three young baboons had
wandered a little distance down the i
Donga, searching for scorpions from stone
to stone just below them. They were not
very successful, and it did not appear that
their movements were of much concern to
their elders. Presently, however, one of
the young ones, turning up a stone, lit
upon a particular fine and tat scorpion,
which, with a f uritive glance around at his
elders, he seized and put into his mouth,
having first pinched olf the sting. He at
once proceeded to turn the stone over again
wit a great assiduity, as though in further
unsuccessful search for scorpions. ' He had
not escaped notice, l 7wever, for down the
gully in a sluggish; >' ; ame a great baboon
who seized the young one by the cuff of
the neck, shaking him vigorously until the
plump morsel dropped from his pouch.
Having gobbled this up, the elder baboon
at cmce regained his lounge, and all went
on as before in the sleepy hollow."
The Number of Plants.
In the Bible about 100 plants are alluded
to; Hippocrates mentioned 238; Theo
phrastus 500 and Pliny 800. From this
time theie was little addition until the
Renaissance. In the beginning qf the fif
teenth century Gesner could only enumer
ate 800 butat its close B&uhin described
6,000. Tournefort in 1694 recognized 10, -
156 species ; but Linnaeus, in the next cen
tifty working more cautiously, defined only
7,294. In the beginning of this century,
in 1805 Persoon described 25,000 species,
comprising, however, numerous minute
fungi. In 1819 De Candolle estimated the
known species at 80,000. Loudon in 1889
gave 81,731 species; in 1846 Professor
Lindley gave 80,887, but in 1868 these had
increased to 92,920. At present the known
speeies are estimated at 126, *#o.
NO. 46.