Millheim Journal. (Millheim, Pa.) 1876-1984, December 09, 1880, Image 1

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    VOL. LIV.
C. T. AlexauUer. U N. bower.
Office in Garmnn's new building.
Office on Allegheny Street.
Northwest corner of DL imond.
High street, opposite F rst National Bank.
Praet'cos m all the courts ot Centre County.
Spec al attention to Collections. Consultations
in German or English.
All hus ness promptly attended to. Collection
of claims a speciality.
jTX Beaver. J. W. GepUart.
Office ou Alleghany Street, North of High.
a. morrison,
Office on Woodrlng*s Block, Opposite Court
Consultations In English or Qor man. OtOlce
la Lyou' Building, Allegheny Street.
Office In the rooms formerly occupied by the
late W. P. Wilson.
Watches, Clocks. Jewelry. Silverware, Ac. Re
pairing neatly and promptly don and war
ranted. Main Street, opposite Bank, M llhelm,
AH business entrusted to hlin. such as writing
and acknowledging Deeds, Mortgages, Releas- s,
Ac., will be executed wt'h neatness and dis
patch. Office on Main Street-
Groceries. Notions, Drugs. Tobaccos. Cigars,
Fine Confectloneiles a?.d every in the line
ofa flrst-eiass t.rocery bt <re.
Country Produce i aken In exchange tor goods.
Pain St.eet, opposite Bank, Ml lhelrn. Pa.
Shop on Main Street, two h uses east of Bank.
Mlllhelm, Peuna.
All business promptly attended to.
< ollectlon of claims a specialty.
Office opposite Elsenhuih's Drug Store.
Raid ware, Stoves, Oils, Paints, Glass, Wa
Paper-, coach Trimmings, and saduieiy Ware,
AC,. Ac.
All grades of Patent Wheels.
Corner of Malu and Penn street , Mlllhelm.
r acob wolf,
tasiiio.vabi e tailor,
cui ting a Specialty.
Shop next door to Journal Book Store.
A. WALTER, Cashier. DAV. KRAPE, Pres.
jAtiaraetlon Guaranteed.
Airily swing the willows over.
Airily to iul fro ;
Dreamily flows the quiet water
Ov r the roeka below ;
Flows in many a nuuuy ritnple,
Iu aud out iu our re aud dim le.
Round about the rooks below.
Where the wiliows bend and quiver,
Long dark shadow* sliift aud shiver.
Shiver to sad fro.
Gray-beard Time, bis sevthe forget tug.
Toys with rosy June,
Loath to part, with st?p unwilling.
Sioxly creeps toward u on ;
Humming-bird from blossom sippiug.
Brown bees into olover slipping.
Fill the air witn drowsy oroou ;
Hut the will ws tossing, blowing.
O'er the waters smoothly flow ng.
Evermore their shadows throwing.
Break the lull of noon.
Twilight gathering iu the valley,
Sunset ou the height ;
Clouds above the mountain breaking
Into rifta of light
Darkness now upon the meadows,
Higher, higher climb the shadows.
Nearer somes the uight. dimp ing flows the river.
With the willows drooping over.
But uo shadow's fltful quiver
S:irs the hush of uight.
Patience and Pride.
il does look strange I'll adiuil. But, at
the same time, 1 insist that uothiug is
wrong. Nothing cau be wrong where Louis
Merrivale is concerned."
The gentle, womanly tones were earnest
aud enthusiastic, and the round smooth
cheeks grew flushed while she spoke.
"Pshaw, Millie : you are too innocent
yourself to believe that guilt can exist in
another. And then your partiality for Mr.
M' rrivale prevents an unprejudiced opiu
"No; lam not interest ed in him to a
sufficient extent to permit me to regard him
as a master piece of perfection; but Ido
admit that Mr. Merrivale is too thoroughly
a gentleman anu a Christian to do anything
absolutely wrong. I, for one, utterly re
fuse to bulieve a word ot this scandal.
Millie Thorno had dropped the fine work
in her lap, but uow took it up again, as if
to end the subject uuder discussion. But
the tall, handsome woman at the other win
dow was not thus easily sileuced.
"But, Millie, admitting that since you
ceased to be engaged to Lu Merrivale you
care nothing for liiui"—and here Isabel
Wild's keen black eyes sparkkd and flashed
as she noted a little spasm of agony flit
across the sweet face bent ovei the work —
"and according you due credit lor your
feelings, why, iu the face of such ixxjitive
evidence, do )ou refuse to regard him as
others do ?"
"Isabel, you are cruel, you are harsh to
me. Still, I will speak ou this subject
further. You ask me to regard him as
others do. Who do you mean by 'others?' ''
"Why, everybody, of course. You
know as well as I, Mdlie Thorue, that Lu
Merrivale's crime is on every person's hps
in the town. Go ask that six year old hoy
out yonder"—and she point 3d to a little
lellow draggiug his toy cart after him—
"and he will tell you that Mr. Merrivale
stole five hundred dollars in the city, and
ran off with it."
A faiut rosy tinge suffused Alillie's cheeks
while Isabel was Talking.
"I am aware of that," she returned.
"But his friends firmly deny the statement.
lam one of them. Y'ou ought to be."
"Why, let me ask, should I be?
"You took him away from me, Isabel;
you wear his ring; you have promised to
marry him."
"1 took his ring off when I heard the
news," was the heartless response; 4 he is
nothing to me now, more than to you."
Her cold, bitter words seemed to stab
Miilie, and she tossed her work on a has
sock beside her, as she sprang to her feet,
and walked over to Isabel.
"What have you done, then? You came
between us, and I made no complaint, be
cause, if Lu Merrivale loved you, 1 never
was the woman to desire to be called his
wile. Then, Isabel Wild, after you bail
taken my all from me, you wound me
afresh by cruelly deserting him iu the hour
of need —the time when yoL of all women,
should stand ready to clear his name, ami
vindicate his honor!''
Pale and tearless she stood before Isabel
Wild, in all the commauding glory of her
noble womanljpod.
Miss Wild's low. metallic laugh came
ringing in her ears.
"You are welcome to do it yourself, Mil
lie. Besides, I accepted George Halliday
this morning!"
A cry burst from Millie Thome's lips.
"Heartless —cruel! Poor Lu!"
Isabel Wild arose, with freezing court
"After such unparalleled politeness, 1
could not presume to annoy you longer
with my unwelcome presence. Good morn
ing, Miss Thome."
Millie bowed, as in a waking dream, and
Miss Wild departed.
A fortnight before, the inhabitants of the
quiet town of Croydon, wherein dwelt the
characters mentioned, had been petrified by
the news of Louis Merrivale's sudden dis
appearance from the city; horrified and
grief-slrieken to learn that the sum of five
hundred dollars had been simultaneously
missed from the safe of Merand & Merand,
the great mercantile firm in the city, for
whom Louis Mrrrivale was confidental
clerk and head bookkeeper.. He alone,
besides the proprietors, possessed a key to
the safe: consequently, he alone could
have opened it.
Circumstances thickly combined, went
far to prove his guilt, among which the
two most telling were, that, first, he had
been alone in the counting-house from nine,
the evening previous to his departure, un
til after midnight, which had often been
the case before, and had never execited the
least suspicion until it was proven as such.
Further, a note had been found in his city
lodgings that read as followp:
"Tell Messrs. Merand for me that pur
suit is useless. Tell them I have served
tliem well for seven years, and they can
afford to lose the paltry sum I have taken.
Tell I. W. that when it blows over, she
may expect to hear from me.
"L. M."
Everybody in Croydon had learned the
contents of that note, for it had been pub
lished in the papers; everybody, save a
lew firm friends, had made up their minds
I that Mr. Merrivale was a rogue. One of
the former class was Isalicl Wild, who, her
pride quickly up in anus, loudly de
clared site would never marry a man upon
whose uanie even a shadow of a doubl hail
ever rested.
Two hours later a gentleman called to
sea her.
lie was a One looking man, this George
Hiuliday, with black eyes, oeard, and hair,
with a complexion as fair as 1 salad's own.
And yet, after one had pruuouuoqd him
handsome, they would steal a seeou'd look,
ami decide that there was something hid
deu uuder this iuanly exterior that was
evil, uuprinciplett.
lie seemed to he wt 11 off; ami although
comparatively a stranger, was known to,
uud aquainted with, every family of im
portance in the town.
lsaU'l Wild liad attracted his attentions
months lief ore, ami when she had noticed
his admiration had sneered.
"1 marry George llalliday? Never,
while such a man as Louis Merrivale
But now, after Mr. llalliday had come
iuto the fortune left him, and the* decora
tions of his new mansion were being com
pleted; now, when her lover hud clouded
his reputation for ever, Isabel listened to
llalliday's overtures; and when be went
irom her house that morning, and she has
tened to Millie Thome's, she wore a glit
tering diamond ring that hail beeu placed
theie as a seal of their lietrotkal.
1 ucensed ami iuffamed by Millie's enthus
iasm, Isabel returned to her own home
thoroughly satisfied that Millie Thore still
loved lAiuia Merrivale, despite her faith
lessness, despite his mysterious conduct.
"Audi? Millie sjxike truly when she
said he needed a friend in this dark hour."
A pale, liaggared tinge was ou her face
as she ascended the steps of her residence,
telling of the struggle within.
"'But the blur—the stain ! Can I ever
bear a muno that has been sung through
the country, and published in no honorable
way in the papers? Cau 1 bear it, and the
cold taunts it will bring me, for love's
sake? Can 1 endure it for his sake ?"
Jslie paced the tlooriu her restless indeci
"George llalliday is rich; I shall be
mistress of his splendid house, envied by
half the women in town, and alx>ve all, 1
shall bear a name pure and unsullied."
The gleaming of the diamonds in their
shining splendor caught her eye, ami on
the tndiug delight they occasioned she
based her decision—a choice she learned to
bitterly regret.
"From henceforth I shall give to Louis
Merrivale uo thought, if 1 cau help it. 1
shall regard myself as belonging to my
affianced husband, and lot Mildred Thorue
scorn or reprove as she will. Perhaps she
will turn comforter in chief to her faithless
lover. n
A bitter, bitter heart pang—one yearn
ing longing for her loved one, then it died ;
or rather, in a moment, Isabel NV ild burned
alive the love of her life.
Day after day passxi by, briuging their
share of joys ami heart-achiugs, and still
Louis Merrivale nevercauie; the affair had
ceased to be a seven days' wonder, and
people had forgotten about it, save wheu
they saw lus aged mother, bowed and in
firm, leaning on Millie Thome's strong
young arm, as they walked through the
streets of Croydon.
Millie bad grown more beautiful during
these weeks of trial; and the aged mother
of the missing young man had many an
occasion to bless the loving, trusting girl.
The days wore on, bringing to Millie, in
her patient waiting and hoping against
hope, to Isabel, in her overwhelming pride,
the glad autumnal days. To one it brought
a bridal, and George llalliday took his wife
to their handsome home.
The setting October sun was flinging its
rosy banner over the brown wixxlland,
when Millie Thorue entered the house
where her tender ministrations had made
her an augel of sympathy.
Mrs. Merrivale met her half-way to the
door, her eyes streaming with tears, her
face all alight with an overjiowering joy.
"Millie—oh, Millie, my prayers are ans
wered ! God has been so merciful to me,
and to you, my Millie. See, it's from
She handed a letter from her bosom to
Millie, who, in a tremor of agitation, had
gained the door, and was leaning against
the wall, unable for a moment to speak.
"Come in, child, and iet us thank God
together! Come, Millie, while I tell you
my boy Is alive, is well, and—oh, Millie,
didn't we say it? —is innoceent!"
Millie neither sjioke nor moved; she
neither laughed uor cried. She ouly mur
mured a wordless prayer in her heart.
"Let me tell you, my dear child, all
alxmt it, and then let me tell you the mes
sage he sent to you."
"A message tome? Tell me, what is
it?" said Millie, eagerly.
"He has written it to you on a slip of
paper, and in his letter tells me to read it.
and then give it to you. Isn't that just my
Louis over again ?"
She handed Millie the precious treasure,
who read, with greed) eyes:
"To-day, for the first time since my re
covery—l've been near uuto Llie stream of
death, Millie—-I ain able to write; first to
my mother, then to the only woman in the
w rld besides that I care for—to you, Miilie
Thorue. To-day I have given up Isabel
Wild, because I love yuu, because I have
always loved you; because 1 care nothing
for her, or she for me. I knew all, Millie,
my precious, patient darling! I have
startling news when I come back; and
then, when I am reinstated in the public
confidence, even though 1 break a proud
heart, and uncover a foul one iu the act,
you will be mine, nr'ne, my own Millie ?"
"At last—oh, mother, at lastl" ex
claimed the overjoyed Millie.
"Shall I read you his letter, or shall I
tell you? Or will you read it, Millie?"
"Let me read it. His dear handwriting
alone will be a feast."
A week after, Louis Merrivale came
home, pale, haggard, but handsome as
Then the news came out; then the in
nocent was righted, the guilty rewarded.
It was a thrilling story. How George
Halliday had waylaid Louis Merrivale
while returning from the counting-house to
hie city lodgings; how he had stolen the
money from his person—money that Merri
vale had taken, perhaps imprudently, for
the purpose of paying a number of bills
before he went to the office the following
day; tow he had previously prepared the
forged note; and how, after drugging his
victim, he had him conveyed to a sailing
vessel, aud registered him as a sick friend,
who desired to return to his home in the
West Indies. Sickness had followed the
drugging; and, iu a strange place, among
strangers. Is mis Merrivale had wailed till
returning strength brought back memory
aud the ability to act.
Steps were takuu to prove Mr. Merri
vale's accusation. The bauk-notes were
flually traced to llallidrty. Thus disgraced
and dishonored, he left his proud, heart
broken wife to the mercy of an iudiguant
circle of relatives.
The elegant mansion was deserted, aud
was pureha-ed by Merand A Merand, who
insisted on Merrivale's acceptance of it as
his wedding present; and in that mansion
Louis and Millie now reside, as happy as
mortals ever can be, while both daily bless
the trusting patience that wrought their
A I'rlncely Hoy.
In (tie palace of a small German capital
a German duchess, distinguished for her
gixxl sense and kindness of heart, was
celebrating her birthday.
The court congratulations were over, and
the lady had retired*from the scene of fes
tivity to the seclusion of her private room.
Presently she heard light foot-steps com
ing up the stairs.
"Ah," she said, "there are my two lit
tle grandsons coming to congratulate
The rtxiv lads of tea or eleven years of
age came iu, one named Albeit and the
other Earnest. They affectionately greeted
the duchess, who gave them the customary
present of ten louis il'or (alxmt forty-eight
dollars) and related to them the following
suggestive anecdote:
" I here once lived an emperor in Rome
who used to say that no one should go
away sorrowful from an interview with a
Prince, lie was always doing good aud
caring for his people, and wheu, one even
ing at supper, lie that he had
uot done au act of kindness to any one dur
ing the day, he exclaimed, with regret and
sorrow, 'My friends, I have lost a day.'
My children, take this emperor for your
model, and live iu a princely way, like
The boys went down the stairs delight
ed. At the palace gate they met a poor
woman, wrinkled and old, and bowed down
with trouble.
"Ah, my good young gentlemen," said
she, "bestow a trifle on an aged creature.
My cottage is going to be sold lor debt, and
1 shall not have anywhere to lay my head.
My goat, the only means of suppoit 1 had,
has been seized, pity an old woman, and be
Earnest assured her that he had no
change, and so passed on. But Albeit hesi
tated. lie thought a moment of her pitia
ble situation, was touched by her pleaiing
looks, and tears came to his eyes. The
story of the Roman emperor came into his
mind. He took fioin his purse the whole
of the ten louis d'or and gave them to the
woman. '1 urmug away with a heart light
and satisfied, he left the old woman weep
ing for joy.
The boy was Prince Albeit of England
Justly called "Albert the Good," and alter
wards the husband of Queen Victoria.
1 IV an tlie IUD.
"Yes," said tlie Custom House man re
flectively, "we have to exercise a good
deal of judgment in these things and soon
get to know prioes as well as men iu the
selling business. Invoioe the goods t<x>
low ? Well, mostly even'body invoices the
goods low, but they run a risk, of course.
We may add ten per ceut, to the invoiced
value and take the goods. So if a person
tries to bring iu #2 worth of stuff at $1
valuation, we can give him $1 10 and take
the article. Chance for speculation? Well,
not as much as you would think. One
of the younger members of the force some
time ago was alone in the ofl'.ce, when a
man came in and for a word in pri
vate. 'You see 1 don't want my name
mixed up in this business, 'said the stranger
'but I've been tryiug to sell Jacob Ryders
—you know RvUers? No? meanest cuss on
earth—to sell him an organ, aud he's gone
aud bought one over the river. I admit
it's a good investment—cost him $325 —
but 1 could have sold aim just as good a
oue. Now he'll be over with it to-day very
likely, and will try to sneak it through at
$l5O or S2OO to save duty. Wouldn't you
just watch out for him?"
"My friend was musically inclined and
though he might get an organ cheaply, lie
stayed around till a dray with an immense
box appeared and a Hurried mau appeared
with an invoice in his hand that
set forth that.the accompanying organ—
built by Blower A Co., of Waydowueast,
was sold to Jacob Kyde:s for sl25 —re-
ceived payment, J. W. B.
"Let's look at that organ, "said my friend
as he knocked off a board Irom the packing
case and peered inside, 'seventeen stops,
eh? Rather a cheap organ at $125.'
"Oh, it's all right," said the impatient
Ryders. 'Here's the invoice you see.'
4 'Well, I'll give you $137 50 and take
the instrument."
"But I won't sell it for that," cried the
excited Ryders.
"My friend showed him the ten per cent
and confiscated the organ in spite of Jacob's
prayers. Good bargain? Oil, 1 dun'no. He
found afterwards that few of the steps had
any effect on the inside of the instrument
and that the organ was oue of the $95 73
oues made by Blower <SB Co., Yes, I uiusl ad
mit he was sold, rather. 1 never found
Ryders and have made a respectable
wash-stand out of that organ. Oh, yes, 1
was the man."
Old limhur. *
Probably the oldest timber m the world
which has been subjected to the use of man
is that found in the ancient temples of
Egypt in connection with the stonework
which is known to be at least four thousand
years old. This, the only wood used in
the construction of the temple, is in the
form of ties, holding the end of one stone
to another at its upper surface. When
two blocks were laid in place, an excava
tion about an inch deep was made in each
block, into which a tie shaped like an hour
glass was driven. It is therefore very
difficult to force any stone from its posi
tion. The ties appear to have been oi the
tamarisk or shittein wood, of which the
ark was constructed, a sacred tree in an
cient Egypt and now very rarely found in
the valley of the Nile. The dovetailed tics
are just as sound now as on the day of
their insertion. Although fuel is extreme
ly scarce in the country, these bits of wood
are not large enough to make it an object
with the Arabs to heave off layer after
layer to obtain them. Had they been of
bronze half the old temples would have
been destroyed years ago. so precious would
they have been for various purposes.
Nloo<lenius Uodc*.
Wliru 1 was tt l>oy in a printing office in
Missouri, a loose-jointed, long-legged low.
liuudtMl, jeans-clad, countrified cub of about
sixteen lounged 111 oue day, and without re
moving his bund from the depths of his
trousers pockets, or taking off his faded ruin
of a slouch list, whose broken brim hung
limp and ragged alsmt his ears like a bug
eaten cabbage leaf, stared indifferently
around Lben leaning his hip aguinst the edi
tor's table, crossed bis mighty brogans,aimed
at a distant fiy from a crevice in bis upper
tooth, laid him low, and said with compo
"Wha's the boss?''
"I am the lines," said the editor, follow
ing this carious bit of architecture wonder
iugly along up to its clock face with his
"Don't want anybody fur to learn the
busiuees, 'tain't likely?''
"Well, 1 don't known. Would you like
to learn it?"
"Pap's so po' be can't run me no', so 1
want to git a show som'ers if 1 can: 'ta n't
no difference what —I'm strong ami heartv,
and I don't turn my back on no kiud ot
work, hard nur soft."
"Do you tbluk you would like to learn
the printing business?"
"Well, I don't re ly k'yer a dutu what I
do learn, so's 1 git a chance to make my
way, I'd jist as soon learn priut'u's any
thing. "
"Can you read?"
"Well' I've seed people who could lay
over me thar."
".Not gotxl enough to keep store, 1 don't
reckon, but as lur as twelve times twelve I
ain't no slouch. Totherside of that is what
gits me."
"Where is your home?'"
"I'm from old {Shelby."
"What's your father's religious denomi
"llim? Oh, he's a blacksmith."
"No, no—l don't mean his trade. What's
his religious denomination?''
"Oh—l didn't understand you befo'.
lie's a Freemason."
"No, no—you don't get my meaning yet.
What 1 mean is, does he beloug to any
"Now you're talkin'. Couldn't make out
what you wiii trying to git through yo'head
no way. B'long to a church? Why, boss,
he's been the pizeuest kind of a Freewill
liaptis' for forty years. Tbey aint no pizc
uer ones'u be is. Mighty good man pap is.
Everybody aavs that. If they say any
different they wouldn't do it where I wuz
—not much they wouldn't."
"What is your own religion?"
"Well, Ixss, you've kiud o' got me thar
—and yet you hain't got me so mighty
much nuther. I think't if a feller he ps
another when he's in trubble, and don't
cuss, and don't do any mean things, nor
nuthia' he ain't no btisiuess to do, and don't
spell the Saviour's uauiu with a little g, he
ain't runnin' no rea's—he's about as saift as
if he belonged to church."
"But suppose he did spell it with a little
g—what then?"
"Well, if he done it a purpose I reckon
he wouldn't stand no chance; lie ought 'nt
have uo chance, any way, I'm most rotten
certain aliout that."
•'What is your name?"
"Nicodemus Dodge."
"I think maybe you'll do, Nicodeuius.
We'll give you a trial, anyway."
"All right."
"When would you like to begin?"
So, within ten minutes after he had first
glimpsed this nondescript, he was one of us,
and with his coat off and hard at it.
Beyond that end of our establishment
which was furt lie rest from the street, was
a deserted garden, pathless, ami thickly
growu with the gloomy and villainous
4 jimpson" weed and its common friend
the stately sunflower. In the midst of this
mournful sjot was a decayed and little
frame house, with but one room, one win
dow and no ceiling. It bad been a smoke
house a generation beiore. N codenius
was given this lonely aud ghostly den as a
The village sniarties recognized a trea
sure in Nicodemus right away—a butt to
play jokes on. It was easy to see that he
was inconceivably green aud confiding.
George Jonos had the glory of perpetra
ting the first joke on him. He gave him a
cigar with a fire-cracker in it, and then
winked to the crowd to come; the thing ex
ploded presently and swept away the bulk
of Nicodemus' eyebrow and eyelashes. He
simply said:
§|"l consider them kind of seeg'yars dan
gersonie," and seemed to suspect nothing.
The next evening Nicodemus waylaid
George and poured a bucket of ice-water
over him.
Une day, while Nicodenius was in swim
ming, Tom McElroy "tied" his clothes.
Nicodemus made aboutire of Tom's by wa\
of retaliation.
A third joke was played upon Nicodemus
a day or two later—he walked up the mid
dle aisle of the village church, {Sunday
night, with a startling hand bill pinned
upon his shoulders. The joker spent the
rest of the night, after church, in the cellar
of a deserted house, and Nic<xienuis sat ou
the cellar-door till toward breakfast time, to
make sure that the prisoner remembered
that if any noise was made some rough
treatment would lie the consequence. The
cellar had two feet of stagnant water in it;
and was bottomed with six niches of soft
But I wander from the point. It was the
•lbject of skeletons that brought this l>oy
back to my recollection. Bifore a long
time had elapsed the village sniarties began
to feel an uncomfortable consciousness of
not having made a very shining success of
their attempts on the simpleton of "Old
Shelby." Experiments grew scarce and
chary. Now the young doctor came to the
rescue. There was delight and applause
when he proposed to them the plan of
frightening Nicodemus to death, and ex
plaire 1 how he was going to do it. He
had a noble new skeleton—the skeleton of
the late and only local celebrity, Jimmy
Finn, the village drunkard —a grisly piece
of property he had bought of Jimmy Finn
Himself, at auction, for fifty dollars, under
great competition, when Jimmy lay very
sick in the tanyard a fortnight before his
death. The fitty dollars had gone prompt
ly for whiskey, and had considerably hur
ried up the change of ownership in tlie
skeleton. The doctor would put Jimmy
Finn's skeleton in Nicodemus' bed.
This was done —about half-past ten in the
evening. About Nicodemus' usual bed-
time —midnight- -the village jokers came
creeping stealthily through the jimpson
weeds and sunflowers toward the lonely
frame deu. They reached the window and
peeped in. There sat the long-legged pau
per on his lied, lu * very short shirt and no
more. He was dangling his legs content
edly back and forth, and wheezing the
music of "Caraptown Races" out of a pa
per-overlaid comb whiclrbe was pressing
against his mouth; by him lay a new jews
harp, a new top, a solid india-rubber ball,
a handful of painted marbles, five pounds
of 'store' candy and a well-gnawed slab of
gingerbread as big and thick as a volume
of sheet music. He had sold the skeleton
to a traveling quack for three dollars, aud
was enjoying the result.
Tlie hound of Thornier.
A remarkable feature of the storm is the
thunder, corresponding, of course, on the
large scale, to the snap of an electric spark.
Here we are on comparatively sure ground,
for sound is very much more thoroughly
understood than is electricity. We speak
habitually and without exaggeration of the
crash of thunder, the rolling of thunder,
uud of a peal of thunder; and various
other terms will suggest themselves to you
as being aptly employed in different cases.
All of these are easily explained by known
properties of sound. The origin of the
sound is, in all cases to be looked for in the
instantaneous and violent dilatation of the
air along the track of the lightning flash,
partly, no doubt, due to the disruptive ef
fects of electricity, but mainly due to the
excessive rise of temperature which renders
the air for a moment so brilliantly incan
descent. There is thus an extremely sud
den compression of the air all round the
track of the spark, and a less sudden, but
siiil rapid, rui-li of the air into the partial
vacuum which it produces. Thus the
sound wave produced must at first be of
the nature of a bore or a breaker. But as
such a stale of motion is unstable, after
proceeding a UHxlerate distance the sound
becomes analogous to other loud but less
violent sounds, such as those of the dis
charge of guns. Were there few elouds.
were the air of marly uniform density,
and the flash a short one, this would com
pletely describe ihe phenomenon, and ws
should have a thunder crash or thunder
clap, according to the greater or less prox
imity of the seat of discharge. But as has
long been well known uot merely clouds,
but surfaces of separation of masses of
air ol different density, such as constantly
occur in thunder storms, reflect vibrations
in the air; and thus we may have many
successive echoes, prolonging the original
sound. But there is another cause olt n
more efficient than these. When the flash
is a long one, all its parts being nearly
equi-disiant from the observer, he hears
the sound from all these parts simultane
ously; but if its part 9 be at very different
distaiices from him, he hears successively
the sounds from portions larther and farther
distant from him. If the flash be much
zigzagged, long portions of its course may
run al one aud th<- same distance iroui him,
and the sound from these arrive simultane
ously ht his tar. Thus we have no diffi
culty iu accounting for the rolling and
pi at ing of thunder. It is, in fact, a mere
consequence, sometimes of the reflection
of sound, sometimes of the finite velocity
with which it is propagated. The usual
rough estimate of five seconds to a mile is
near enough to the truth for all ordinary
calculation of tne distance of a flash from
the observer. The extreme distance at
wliich thunder is heard is uot great, when
we consider the frequent great intensity of
the sound. No trustworthy observation
gives in geneial more than about nine or ten
miles, though there are casus in which it is
possible that it may have been heard four
teen miles off. But the discharge of a
single cannon is often heard at fifty miles,
and the noise of a siege or naval engage
ment has certainly been he aid at a distance
of much more than 100 miles. There are
two reasons for this—the first depends upon
tne extreme sueldenness of the pioductioa
of tliHutier; the second, and perhaps the
more effective, on the excessive variations
of density in the atmosphere, which are
invariably associated witu a thunderstorm.
In certain cases thunder has been propa
gated, for moderate distances from its ap
parent source, with a velocity far exceeding
that of ordinary sounds. This used to be
attributed to the extreme suddenness of its
production; but it is not easy, if we adopt
tuis hypothesis, to see why it should not
occur in all cases. Sir W. Thompson has
supplied a very different exp auation,
which requires no uuusuai velocity of
sound, because it asserts the production of
the sound simultaneously at all parts of the
air between the ground and the cloud from
which the lightning is discharged.
Blue-Tinted Pi>er.
The origin of blue-tinted paper came
about by a mere slip of the hand. The
wife of William East an Euglish paicr
maker, accideutly let a blue-bag fall iuto
oue of the vats of pulp. Tlie workmen
were astonished when they saw the peculiar
color of the paper, while Mr. East was
highly iueensed at what he considered a
grave pecuniary loss. His wife was so
much frighteued that she would uot confess
her agency in the matter. After storing
the damaged paper for four years, Mr. East
sent it to his agent at London, with in
structions to sell it for what it would bring.
The paper was accepted as a "purposed
novelty," aud was disposed of at quite an
advance over the market price. Mr. East
was astonished at receiving an order from
his agent for another large invoice of tlie
paper. He was without the secret aud
found himself in a dilemma. Upon men
tioning it to his wife, she told him about
the accident. He kept the secret, and the
demand for the novel paper far exceeded
His ability to supply it.
Why t
Why do women always step off horse
cars facing the wrong way ?
Wliy do women always—particularly
those who hate each other most—kiss when
they meet?
Why do Germans with the most unpro
nounceable names drink less beer than
plain Yankee John Smiths?
Why are the wooden lorxs one finds in
restaurant horse-radish pot., invariably be
reft of at least one time ?
Why are blood-curling stories of vice,
crime and suffering most eagerly read by
people whose sensibilities are so delicate
that they couldn't see a fly hurt?
Why do people who knows the least
about newspapers alway shed the most
advice for the editor's benefit.
The Choice of Food.
First, as regards butcher's meatjattention
to the following simple directions will aid
the housewife in deciding upon that all-im -
port&nt point—its freshness. All lean
meat, when fresh, shows a deep purplish
red tinge with a bloom over it on the out
side of the muscle, and a paler vermilion
red with just a shade of purple in the cut
surf act?. Mutton lean should be quite even
in hue, and have no tiavor whatever of tal
low; beef lean may be a little marbled with
fat, but it must have no flavor of suet
The surface of the meat must be quite dry,
even a cut scarcely wetting the finger, and
the substance moderately soft, but at the
same time so elastic that no mark Is left
after a pressure from the finger. Keeping
the meat for a day or two in the larder
should make no difference as regards this.
Then, there should be very little odor in a
single joint of meat; it should not waste
much in cooking, and when brought to
table roasted, should retain its gravy well
until tbe knife causes it to gush out in a
rich, appetizing stream, full of inviting
scent and flavor. This Is particularly the
case with mutton, and for ascertaining its
value, is the easiest test we know of. But,
generally, for all meat, a good test is to
push a clean knife up to the hilt into its
substance. In good, fresh meat the resis
tance is uniform, hut when some parts are
softer than others we may be quite sure
that DUtrefaction has set in. The smell of
the knife is also a good aid—and this, by
the way, is always useful in choosing a
ham; for, by pushing a knife deep in,
withdrawing it and smelling it, one can tell
whether the flavor is very salt or the con
trary. As regards fat. The raw fat of
beef should be of a slightly yellow color,
like fresh butter; that of mutton should be
very white. Lamb and veal should also
have very white and translucent fat,
whilst the lean of both should be pale, but
perfectly evenly tinted.
A young and therefore tender fowl maybe
kno vn be! ore plucking by the largeness of
the feet and the leg joints and after pluck
ing a tliiu neck aud violet thighs may be
taken as invariable signs of age and tough
ness, especially in turkeys and fowls. The
age of ducks and geese is tested in a differ
ent manner —that is, by their beak, the
lower part of which breaks away quite ea
sily when they are young. One of the
chief aud most objectionable drawbacks to
an old fowl, duck or goose, is the rank and
disagreeable savor. Young birds of the
gallinaceous tribe may be known by their
undeveloped spurs, and young partridges
by the pointed long wing feathers, which
grow rounded at the tip with age. In the
case of fish, many people trust to the sense
of smell; but this is not always to be de
pended upon, as it may be deceived by the
use of ice. The best tesis of freshness are
the fulluess of tbe eyeballs and the bright
piuk hue of the gills when raw, aud when
cooked the firmness of the flesh, which in
the case of stale fish is flabby and stringy,
even if preserved by cold from visible pu
trefaction, The cheapest sorts of tish are
best to buy, for when any kind is cheapest
it is sure to be most plentiful, in fullest
season, and therefore most wholesome.
He reward.
He was a younger brother of the Earl of
Mercia and devoted to the Saxon cause. At
one time, when the fens and Uke were in
vested by tbe conquering army of William,
the latter commenced making a road from
Aldreth for himself aud his army to reach
Ely. The marsh was only twelve miles
wide at the point, but the road was not
constructed on scientific principles, snd it
gave way while the greater portion of his
army were marching over it, causing fear
ful loss of life in the deep fen. The King
afterward mustered another army at Al
dreth, aud compelled the tisbermeu to col
lect immense stacks of brush-wood, which,
of course, would afford the foundation for
a fine road. Here ward d'sguised himseif
as a fisherman, and was tne most active
worker in the King's employ, but he man
aged to set fire to the vast pile and escaped
to the Isle, where his fellows were. Short
ly after this the Earl of East Angles raised
an army to tight the King, from whom he
had received much kindness; but he was
joined by tbe islanders, and the King did
what we wonder he had forborne doing at
an earlier period—he confiscated the estates
of the monastery that ly on the main
land; and while ilereward was away lead
ing an expedition at some distance for
toraging, the monks gave one thousand
marks to have th<*ir lands restored and al
lowed the King's troops to enter their
stronghold. Hereward never . submitted;
but, though he could not expect such
clemency, he lost neither his lite nor his
liberty, nor even his lands. These contin
ued till comparatively recent times in the
hands of his decendauts, who founded the
families of Hullos, Fitzgilbert and Wake.
I te of Evergreens,
No surburbau or country residence can
be considered complete without its sur
roundings of beautiful trees. Evergreens
should be extensively employed, because
they add greatly to the beauty of the sur
rounding scenery in the most gloomy part
of the year; but they should never be em
ployed to the exclusion of the ceciduoua
trees and shrubs. Extensive drives and
walks are often bordered with evergreen
trees; but usua'ly this displays bad taste,
inasmuch as the yield within such close
lines of dense foliage becomes monotonous,
and the eye experiences satiety instead of
pleasing variety. With deciduous trees
the most charming change Is continually
going on; from the bursting of the buds in
the spring is one continual progressive ad
vance from day to day.
It Shall be Done.
A department clerk having to solicit a
favor of his chief, who is horribly deaf,
asks an audience of the great man, and on
being ushered into his presence shrieks:
"1 am glad, sir, to see that your deaf
ness has almost entirely disappeared. 1 '
"Hey?" says the great man, putting his
band to his ear.
"I am glad, sir, to see that your deaf
ness has almost entirely disappeared," bel
lows the clerk.
The great man puts bis baud down from
liis ear and shoves a pencil and a pad of
paper over to the clerk.
The clerk hesitates a moment, but then
resolutely writes: "I am glad sir, to see
that your deafness hai almost entirely dis
The great man reads, smiles a beatific
smile and says warmly:
"Thanksl It has! And now my dear
young friend, what can Ido for jor :
Name the thing, and it shall be done."
NO. 49.