YOL. LY. PROFESSIONAL CARDS OF BELLEFONTE. U i. AieaanUel. C. M.BOWeI. ATTORNEYS AT LAW. BELLEFONTE, PA. Office in G&rm&n's new building. JOHN B. LINN, ATTORNEY AT LA W. BELLEFONTE, PA. Office on Allegheny Street. QLEMENT DALE, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BELLEFONTE, PA. Northwest corner of Diamond. Y° CLM & HASTINGS, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. BELLEFONTE, PA. High Street, opposite First National Bank. HEINLE, ATTORNEY AT LA W. BELLEFONTE. PA. Practices in all the courts of contre county. Spec &1 attention to Collections. Consultations in German or English. F - REEDER, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BELLEFONTE, PA. All business promptly attended to. Collection of claims a speciality. J. A. Beaver. J. W. Gepbart. JgEAVER 4 GEPHART, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. BELLEFONTE, PA. Office ou Alb ghany Street, North of High. A. MORRISON, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BELLEFONTE, PA. Office on Woodrlng's Block, Opposite Court House. S. KELLER, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BELLEFONTE, PA. Consultatlons la English or German. Office in Lyon' > Building, Allegheny Street. JOHN G. LOVE, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BELLEFONTE, PA. Office in the rooms formerly occupied by the late w P. Wilson. BUSINESS CARDS OF MILLHEIM, &. Q A. STURGIS, DEALER ID Watches, Clocks. Jewelry, Silverware, Ac. Re pairing neatly and promptly don- and war ranted. Main Street, opposite Bank, M llheiin, Pa. A O DEININGER, *" * NOTARY PL'BLIC. SCRIBNER AND CONVEYANCER, MILLHEIM, PA. AH business entrusted to him, such as writing and acknowledging Deeds, Mortgages, Releases, Ac., will be executed woh neatness and dis patch. Office on Main street. T_T H. TOMLINSON, DEALER ID ALL KINDS OF Groceries, Notions, Drugs. Tobaccos, Cigar-. Fine confectloueiles and everytnmg in tne lin of a flrat-class Grocery st .re. Country Produce taken In exchange for goods. Main st.eet, opposite Bank, Mlilhelin. Pa. I~\AVID I. BROWN, MANUFACTURER AND DEALER IN TIN WAKE, STOVEPIPES, Ac., SPOUTING A SPECIALTY. 8 hop on Main Street, two houses east of Bonk, Mlllhelm, Penna. J EISENUUTH, MILLHEIM, PA. All business promptly ai tended to. collection of claims a specialty. Olllce opposite Eisenhutli's Drug Store. DEALERS IN llaidwaie. Stoves, Oils, Paints, Glass, Wa J'per-, coach Trimmings, hlitl Saddlery Ware. ' • All grades of Patent Wheels. Corner of Main aud penn Streets, Millhelm, Peuna. JACOB WOLF, PASII IONABJ,E TAILOR, MILLHEIM, PA. outing a Specialty. Shop next door to Journal Book atoro. jyjILLHEIM BANKING CO., nilN STREET, MILLHEIM, PA. A WALTER, Cashier. DAV. ERAPE, Pres. HARTER, AUCTIONEER, fiSBMBSSURO, PA. jatisfacuch Guaranteed- iie pilllrittt Soutmvl MEMENTOtS. Down det p in the lowermost drawer. Away from the cold, caieleaa gate, They lie in a liwe-tmtea oover— M tueutoos of earlier Good Luck has been lost a month ago, i dashed on a lee shore, and ground to pieces by the sea, and will never come in—never —never more. If they told her, she wouldn't believe : them, tor the woman and In r child have supreme faith that the brig Good Luck will come iu soon with cargo and crew, though they have been asking the same question and same prayer for many and many a day. Then she goes across the street and winds her way among the bales and boxes and passing carts, and through all the hub bub and bustle of the wharf, and climbs a flight of stairs to where the brig's owners have their otlice. They are used to seeing ! her. They smile sadly when she enters ! with the child, and look significantly at one another, as much as "JO say : "Boor thing! she's mad. No wonder, no wonder!" Mad! Yes, she is luad with "hope de ferred," with anxiety to meet her husband, Caleb Shelter, master of tue brig Good Luck; to meet the master of the brig, her ; husband and the father of her child. \V by does he stay away from her so lougf "Is the Good Luck in yet?" she asks of a clerk. "Not yet, ma'am." "She is expected, of course to-day ?" "Of course." "There's a vessel coming in now. I see the tall masts. Look! Look!" pointing out of the office window to the river front. "Maybe tliat's it! Ellie, dear, look! there's father's vessel, with father on board!" The child clasps her little hands at the sight. "Sorry to say that ain't it, ma'am," says the clerk, relapsing into his calcula tions and paying no more attention to the woman. She stares out of the open window at the approaching vessel drawn by a tug, and then with a blank look upon her face, and a moan that is heartrending, says : "No, Ellie, no 1 That is not the Good j Luck. I see the figure-head. The figure head of Good Luck is an angel; a white and gold angel. No, no! that isn't, it." 4 'But papa will soon come home, won't he, mamma?" whispered the child. Old Mr. Taw man, who is the head of the establishment here, now comes from be hind his desk, and, approaching the woman, says in a kindly tone: "Mrs. Shelter, sit down; make yourself as comfortable as you can in a dingy office like this. Here, little one, come here, give me a kiss. A bright, pretty little dear, Mrs. Shelter." 4 'She looks pale," said the mother. "She is tired; she has been walking too much." The old gentleman sits down and lifts the little girl on his knee and kisses her. She winds her arms about his neck and exclaims: "You'll tell my papa to come soon, won't you?" "Yes, dear," It was the habit of this firm to pay a sort of pension monthly to the widows of captains who were lost in their service. It was not much of a stipend, lieiug only half-p'iy, but it was certainly a blessing in very many cases. Mrs Shelter had always received her husband's money here, while he was at sea, or it was sent to her when she was sick or the weather was bad. "Ah. Mr. Tawmau, I'm sure the Good Luck will be in to-day." "Certainly it will. What's to hinder it?" he answers. He puts the child down and goes over to his desk, and unlocking his drawer he takes out an account book and begins writing a receipt. Then goes over into the cashier's room- While he is there the telegraph clerk calls him over. Click, clickity click! goes the magic In strument, repeating its dot and dash mes sage. "Hear that?" says the operator. "That's news for you!" The proprietor could read every word by its sound. "It's like a message from God,'' says Mr. Tawman, reverently. "I must not tell her." He comes back to where the woman Is sitting, his face is flushed with emotion; some strange excitement. He throws into her lap a bundle of bank notes. There, Mrs. Shelter, now go home. Take a car at the door. "Oh, I'm not tired, And I should like to be here when the brig comes in. But 1 thank you so much, so much." "Here, little one," says the good-hearted Tawman, "here's something for you to buy I candies with." He puts into her tiny out MILLIIEIM, PA., THURSDAY, JANUARY 27. 1881. stretched hand a bright silver qttarter of a dollar, and laughs at the wonder and de light of the little recipient. "I'll keep this for my pupa." Poor little tr.iug, she is weary unto sleep. She cuddles herself in the big eliair and sinks into slumber in an instant. "Now, Mrs. Shelter, you've had uo din ner," says Taw man. "Oh, yes, sir " "Yesterday, perhaps, but 1 menu to-day. Go down with Mr. Pelton, there, out young man, and get somclhiug to eat. You see we have arrangements for the comforts of our clerks. We give them a hot dinner, auer to waken ike weary child that she may eat also. Then Mr. Tawman says: "Now, you had better go. ill see to the child; I*ll bring the little girl up with me to night." "No, no!" exclaims the mother. "1 must have my Ellie with me always, sir. You are so very good, though, sir; so very . good! And is there uo news of the Good ! Luck?" "Not a word, I'm sorry to say." "It can't be ixwaible. The brig must come in to-day." i "I'm sure 1 hope so, with all my heart anil soul, Mrs. Shelter." "I know you do," she responds, with a sigh. "Now go. I'm sorry you have to waken the child, but 1 suppose you can't heip it." "Come, Ellie," says the mother, touch ing her lightly on the shoulder. The child with a start awakens and cries, "Is it my papal Dear, dear papal" Then, sceiug her disappointment, she burst into tears. "Don't cry, dear, don't cry. The brig will come in. Don't cry!" The good old man speaks soothingly to the sobbing child; and the mother catching her hand walks slowly and sadly away, followed by Mr. Tawman, who lifts the little girl down slair9 and kelps both her aud her mother into a car. The uext morning the woman is again loitering about the wharves with the same agwnized inquiry. She* agaiu puts the question to the wharf men, and agaiu only receives the same answer. Then, as be fore, she seek 9 the office of the brig own i ere, still accompanied by ber little girl, and asks: "Has the brig Good Luck come in yet?" "Not yet, ma'am." She sighs and looks out of the window at the shipping. She says she will wail for Mr. Tawman, aud sits down. When Mr. lawman comes, as usual, he greets her very kiudly, and kisses the little girl and says: "I'm sorry the brig isn't In yet!" "Will it be in to-day?" "1 hope so." And he goes behind his desk and looks over his letters. He has not long been engaged in Ids corres|Kmd ence when a scream from the woman startles him. She lias risen ami is pointing excitedly out of the window. "Here is a ship coming in, look, look!" "That's not it," says a clerk, "that's a schooner." "Oh. no!" adds Mr. Tawman; "that's ; not the Good Luck." "It is! It is!" She darts fiom the office, dragging the child after her, runs across the bustling wharf out to the very edge of the water. Mr. Tawman rushed to the window, opens it, and calls to her. To no purpose, however. All the clerks cluster about the window to watch her. "The woman is mad I" says. one. "She is going to drown herself." Tawman says quietly to the telegraph operator: "It's the Mary." The schooner is being towed up the river by a tug. She is making preparations to anchor in the stream opposite the wharf. All this time Mrs. Shelter is standing in the midst of a crowd of excited people waving her handkerchief, and the little girl is waving hers. "Look! look! there! There's a man over board! " cried one of the clerks. A cry of alarm goes up from the wharf. "Heavens!" exclaimed Mr. Tawman, thoroughly aroused. "What does that mean?" "He's swimming like a fish,'' says a clerk. "He has landed. Hark at the cheers!" "Look! look!" shouted the operators. "She is hugging him; so is the little girl. It's Captain Shelter!" "Thank God!" exclaimed Tawmau, "aud pray heaven she may not sink under tin shock. Poor woman. How she clings tc the drenched man. Dear! dear!' Then he puts ou his hat and runs dowi; the steps like a boy, and darts over u where husband and wife aud child art united aud happy. "Ah!" he exclaimed, shaking the cap tain by the hand, and not caring for tin gaping and wonderihg crowd all aroum him; "this is good luck, isn't it, eh? Die you get my telegram?" When the man can speak he answers: "Yes." "I planned it all!" chatters old Tawman "You see I got a dispatch yesterday fron the Breakwater, saying that Cap tail Shelter had been picked up on a rait bj the schooner Mary. I told her in the ca yesterday that the brig would come in and come in it did. Over to the office every one of you, and after dinner am dry clothes, cap, we'll have a talk abou business. Come on." AN exchange says: "When inllk sours, scalding will render it sweet again." It is different with an old uiaid. When she is sour, scalding will only augment her acidity. Thit Sncred City. What a singular spot is Benares the sacred city of the Hiiuiooa. From all parts of India, pious Hindoos come to spend their last days and die, sure of thus obt&iu ing their |>eculiar form of salvation. All day long from the earliest dawn till sunset, thousands of people bathe on the steps of the gnats, which run along the river's bank for nearly two miles, in the sure ami cer tain hope that by such ablution their sins are washed clean away. It is au extraordinary sight to sit in a boat and quietly drift with the stream alongside the whole length of this great city, und watch the bathers who fill up the line. Men and women are thus piously engaged, aud the usua] plan ts to bring down a plain robe which they deposit on the stone steps, while they descend into the water in other robes, and there perform the necessary amount of ablutions. While the bathers stand up to their waists in water, devoutly foldiug their hands in prayer, or shedding offerings of leaves into the ruuuing stream from large baskets, the priests are -quattiug on the ahores by scores, each under an enormous umbrella of plaited bAinboo some ten or twelve feet in diam eter, and each with aconllnually increasing heap of small coin presented by the bathers —lor .what purpose we do not know. Oue of the guats is called the "burning gnats," where are staked great piles of lumber, and where the boats that you see coming down the river with enormous stacks of wood upon them uuload their burdens. Here, in the midst of the bathers, the dead are burnt by their sorrow ng friends. The body is brought down lashed upon a small hand bier. If a man, it is wound tightly in white robes, so that every part is cov ered; if a woman, the robes are red. The body is then plunged ovi r head in the stream, aud then left lying in the water half submerged, while the frieuds build the funeral pyre. When the pile is half built the bxly is laid on, and then more wood, ami then the torch is applied, and the smoke of the burning soon pours forth in thick, murky columns. When the wood is burned, all parts of the body that are left uucoiisumed are thrown into the Ganges, down which they float till the birds and fishes finish what the flra leaves undone. This cremation goes on daily, and during one short visit before breakfast we saw aix funeral fires lighted but did not feel called upon to watch the entire destruction of th several pyres. jk retie Ice. The unlucky prisoner tn the immense field ice during the imposing, unbroken loneliness of the long Arctic night, when the wind is calm, can hear the crackle of the snow under the stealthy tread of the polar bear at an astonishing distance, and hear what a man, speaking loud, says at 1,000 metres distance. It can, therefore, le well understood how the sound of ice pressures must travel to his oar from enor mous distances. ''ftomdtlmos," the author writes, 4 the noise of the ice movements was scarcely to be beard—-a mere murmur —and env tn imf V ttrr V in 3 the waves ou a steep coast from the far distaucc. Sometimes it hummed and roared closer to us, as if a whole columuof heavily laden wagons were being drawn over the uneveu ice surface." In the sound was combined all manner of noises caused by crackling, grinding, falling of blocks, crushing, and many other phenomena of ice life. It is astonishing how far and how clearly every noise is conducted in the ice. The uoise at the veiy margin of the field on which we were seemed to occur immediately at our feet. If we placed our ears to the ice, the sound was heard so loudly that we might have expected the ice to open under our feet the uext mo ment. The whole dry ice-covering was a vast sounding-board. Whenever, as I lay down to sleep, 1 placed my ear agaiust the dry, wooden ship's side, 1 heard a hum ming and buzzing which was uothiug else bu' the sum of all the noist s which oc curred in the ice at a great distance from the ship." The surface of an expanse of young salt water ice on which no snow has yet fallen is soft so that the footstep is impressed upon its white covering as in melting snow. This is to be observed even at a tempera ture of 40 degrees (J. The unfrozen fluid i 9 not water, but a concent rated solution of salt thrown out by the freezing of the ice beneath. When summer begins the thawing „ mt Occurs is very local and unequal. Any dark body, such as heaps of ashes, or the dropping of bears, eats its way into the snow, absorbing the rays of heat which are reflected oil again by the general white surface. The be&r-droppiugs eat their way into the suow, and then into the ice, and the conical hole thus formed fills itself with water. It may at last eat its way right through the ice where not very thick. Thus are formed the greater part of those holes in drift-ice which are usually ascribed to seals. The author never saw a seal's hole in winter. Winter Traveling In Colorado. A recent traveler in Colorado says the train discharges its freight into a dozen coaches, which set off for the mountain pass that lies between Norton and Lead ville; they rattle off through the whirling snows towards the range of mountains, which is already thick with storms. Our own way lies across the South Park to wards a lower part of the Arkansas Valley; fo i ten miles the lour horses hurry the light open wagon over the snow-cove ted plain, through the blinding snow that flies before the blasts rushing down from the mountain ravines. Then we And our way upon the regular freighting road that leads in a de vious course through the mountain gorges to Ixiadville. It is away for which little has been doue except by the wheels of the endlei-s trains of wagons; but nature meant this land for roads; the scant foliage and slight rain-fall leave each of the ravines a natural road, and the frost has now bound mud and stones together. Every mile of this trail is occupied by a long caravan of the freighting teams that carry in provis ions aud take out bullion. The ordinary p-ain consists of many teams, each com posed of two wagons, the hinder one being without a tongue, and the two coupled to gether as closely as two railway cars. Sometimes there are three wagons in the string. Eight or ten mules and a single driver supply the motive power. With this "outfit" one dexterous driver will drag about ten thousand pounds of freight at the rate of twenty-hve miles a day. Borne of these trains are individual ventures, but commonly a dozen teams are under one wagon-master, who fixes the marches and determines the places where the train shall halt to pass the tides of wagons that set the other way. These caravans give us the most picturesque aspects of this mountain life; the driver's are a strange selection from the vigorous frontiermen. The lalor is extremely arduous and the life of the rudest, but the profits aie very largo; many of these teams earniug from thirty to fifty dollars per day, net, for a half year at a time. The men live aud generally sleep with their animals, even in this fierce cold. They are silent, indefatigable fellows, bru tal in every outward aspect, yet withal sin gularly pal lent with their difficulties and helpful of each other, unless the other is a "greaser." A courteous word or two will always get their aid in passing through the perplexing blockade, where trains going in opposite directions meet ou u narrow defile. Their life is one of trials. We are rarely out of sight of dead horses or mules winch have broken their legs or died of over work, and every precipice along the road shows the wreck of wagons that have slipped over the edge into the gorge below. In two huudred miles' travel with them I did not hear a brutal word from one man to another, and I was indebted to them for many considerate acts. They are a niar velously profane lot, but their swearing lias a curiously impersonal character. In his difficulties with the teams a man will lift up his voice and address the Infinite in a diabolic homily that would befit Milton's Satan, and then, subsiding like a geyser, remain silent for the rest of the day. At night, when they gather around the fire, in the low-walled, turf-covered ranches, they are peifectly mute; they sit on the benches as still as mummies, until they slip down upon the floor and snore until morn ing. They seem wrapped in their own thoughts, or in the place where their thoughts ought to be. 'lhey often camp alone by the roadside; indeed, many of them seem toprefer the absolute isolation that they find in bivouacking in the scrub woods ten miles from neighbors. One night I sought directions from one of these solitary men. lie was a huge, grizzly-bearded fel low, whom 1 surprised cooking his supper by a little fire in a niche in the rocks near his team. His ugly visage stood out tn the blaze of his bacon, which he was toasting on a stick. He gave me sufficient answers without looking up to see who it was shout ing at hun out of the darkness. Vanilla, Cinnamon, Coooanut; The vanilla plant is trained on poles placed about twelve or eighteen iuchea apart—one planter has a line of plants about three miles in length. Like the car damon, it yields fruit after three years, and then continues producing its pods for an indefinite period. The cinnamon is, as its name indicates, a native of Ceylon, it is cultivated on a light, sandy soil about three miles from the sea, on the southwest coast of the island, from Negumbo to Matura. In its culti vated state, it becomes really productive after the sixth year, and continues from forty to sixty years. The superintendent of the largest estate iu that neighborhood, "7*:*** *V nn varieties of cinnamon, sufficiently dtMis.. i n e„ V( ,r to be easily recognized. The production of the best so injures the plants that it does not pay to cut this at auy price under 6. iid. to per pound. The estate aliuded to above, yields from 30,000 to 40,000 lb. per annum; a uniform rate of 4 per lb. of finished bark is paid for the labor. Cin namon oil is produced from the bark by distillation; the mode is very primitive and wasteful. About 40 lb. of bark, previous ly macerated in water, form one charge for the still, which is heated over a fire made of the spent bark of a previous distillation. Each charge of bark yields about three ounces of oil, and two charges are worked daily in each still. The cultivation of the cocoanut tree and the production of the valuable coco&nut oil are two important Cingalese occupa tions. These trees, it appears, do not grow with any luxuriance at a distance from hu man dwellings, a fact whichmay perhaps be accounted for by the benefit they derive from the stnoke inseparable from the tires in humau habitations. The cultivation of cocoanuts would seem to be decidedly pro fitable, as some 4,000 nuts per year are yielded by each acre, the selling price bc iug £3 per thousand while the cost of cul tivation is about £2 per acre. In extract ing the oil, the white pulp is removed aud dried, roughly powdered, and pressed iu similar machinery to the linseed oil crush ing mills of this couutry, The dried pulp yields about 60 per cent, by weight of limpid, colorless oil, wluch in our climate forms the white mass so well known in pharmacy. M*rrt,g (en in Hugnla. A schoolmate in the district of Jucknow, Russia, was engaged to wed the daughter of a landowner in the neighborkood, whim 1 wealth was not at all proportionate to his acres. The bridgegroom, bride and the parents of the latter called on the priest of the lady's village, in order to settle the amount of the wedding fee. The clergy man fixed it at twenty Ave roubles. Un happily, the bride's father was determined to make a show more in accordance with his ancestral dignity than with his impov erished condition, and invited all his kin sfolk and acquaintance from far and near to attend the ceremony. The result was that the procession to the church included no fewer than eleven carriages, all full of wedding guests. When the priest saw this magnificent preparation, he hurried to the bridegroom, and informed him that the fee for a marriage of suck pretensions would not be twenty-five, but one hundred roubles. When the man pleaded his pov erty as a schoolmaster, the pastor replied by pointing to the signs of his father-in-law's wealth. The wedding party held a con sultation, and, indignant at the priests con duct, resolved that the whole procession should drive off to the next village. The priest outwitted them, however; his mes senger arrived at his brother cleric's door long before the lumbering coaches, so that when they reached the church, and asked the price of the sacerdotal function, the parish oriest was ready with the reply, "One hundred roubles." The procession started again for a further village, but the messenger had been there before them; the priest of the place could not marry them for less than one .hundred roubles. They experienced a similar discomfiture, accord ing to the reports, at no less than four vil lage churches, and it was only after a long drive across the country that they suc ceeded in finding "little father," who read ily consented to bestow the sacramental benediction of matrimony for the fee which the lady's own pastor had originally asked. A Dueling KrmlnUeonce. The recent unveiling of the statue of Alexander Hamilton, in New York, brings up recollections of the ground upon which the duel between Hamilton aod Burr was fought, in a recent conversation with an eldeily gentleman, an old New Yorker, this subject was brought up, and he gave a graphic account of a duel between one Dr. Barton and Mr. Graham, not far from the very spot where Hamilton hail lost his life some years before. In the spring of 1820 or 1821 the narrator, being then a young man and the owner of a fast White hall boat, was approached one evening by two gentlemen who wished to know if he would take a party from the foot of Cort laudt street the next morning at 5 o'clock This the narrator promised to do, anJ at the time appointed he was on hand with his uottt, manned by four oarsmen, and himself at the tiller. Three gentlemen got on board, and he was directed to steer toward Paulus Hook, (now Jersey City.) From there they proceeded up the river to a spot on the beach above Holioken, and about 100 yards from where the memorable duel had been fought. They all landed, and about fifteen minutes afterwards another boat, owned by a "Capt." Anthony B. Fountain, put ashore, with Mr. Graham and another When this last boat landed, and while stepping ashore, Graham stumbled and fell over a rock, saying to the gentleman with him, who turned out to be his second, "Eddy, it won't doto fall yet.'' This was the first intimation the nar rator and "Capt." Fountain received that a duel was about to take place. While the seconds were measuring the ground, an old farmer and several men with hoes over their shoulders, approached the spot, and one of the men hurried as though he were about to try and stop matters where they were, but the old fanner said, "Stop, John, them shoot one another " After some ten paces were measured off on the beach, the seconds tossed for choice of position, the principals took their pistols, and Barton took his stand facing the south, Graham facing north. The narrator and "Capt." Fountain stood near the beach about mid way between the combatants, the seconds and the doctor who was with them stand ing opposite. When the signal was given they fired, Graham's shot striking the ground about midway between the oombatanta, and Bar ton's shot almost grazing Graham's right side. After the first fire a short conversa tion ensued between the principals and seconds, which the narrator did not over hear, after which they again took their positions. At the second fire Graham fired first without hitting Barton, and Barton, after taking deliberate aim, fired, hitting Graham in the groin. The injured man jumped about two feet into the air, and the narrator and "Capt." Fountain ran to tbe spot and caught him us he fell. Dr. McLeod then examined liitn, and observed, "It is all day with him." Graham said, "Barton, my dear fellow, you have shot me; I forgive you." Barton said, "I am sorry." The old farmer and his men then °IT"~ - • FT IKOIL MMISOTCW? the place the parties had taken to their re spective boats. Gn first leaving the shore the boats were somewhat separated, but they afterwards came together, and Barton took from his pocket a fiask containing brandy and passed it to Graham. Tiie two boats then took different directions, the narrator taking Barton back to Cort landt street, and on the way the narrator asked Barton why he shot Graham after the latter's pistol went off, and his reply was, "My God, I never thought of it," and the narrator was convinced from his man ner that it had never occurred to him that he might have thrown away his fire. Bar ton to'd the narrator (and at such a time it is to be supposed that he would have told the truth) that the pistol with which he had shot Graham was the identical pistol with which Burr had shot Hamilton. Barton went to the City Hotel and packed his trunks, and was rowed to Staten Is land. He was then driven across to Am boy, thence to Cape May, where a pilot boat conveyed him to a ship bound for Havre. The narratoi understands that he remained in Paris for some time, and was engaged in the office of the United States Consul. Graham died before tbe boat reached shore, and there was considerable excitement at the tmie over the affair. The narrator, "Capt." Fountain, as also the oarsmen in the two boats, kept shady for a few days, but upon being advised to go to the proper authorities and make a clean breast of it, they did so and were discharged. Winter Care of Late Brood*. Late broods of chickens frequently oc cur where fowls are allowed their liberty. It is a waste of eggs, hen's time, and chicks. They will come out sometimes on the very borders of winter. Oftentimes these broods are as fine and promising as any brought out earlier in the season, but there is small hope of rearing them. If not 100 late some may grow up, but they can never be any profit. They soon become stunted and mature In a dwarfed condition. By con fining them in a warm, sunny building, they may be comparatively comfortable if well fed (and winter chicks consume an enormous quauiity) but the nights are too severe. This tells on the growth. The better plan is never to allow a hen to sit late in the season, and it may be avoided if strict watch be kept. It is only neglect that permits heus to sit in the fall. Chicks that are brought out in July are little ex pense in rearing, and become profitable, as well as those in August and many times in September, but later than this the balance in their favor is small. If given three or four weeks with a majority of fine days, they obtain so great a start that the coming cold weather does not pinch them so much. In that time they become feathered, and if confined during winter, with plenty of feed they will grow finely, and by spring, the pullets will be ready to lay. The fowls should be assorted well, and the late broods and hens that are net laying sliould be kept separate from thus.' that are in lay ing condition. They th mid not be crowded together m a email place on scanty rations. The better way is to give ail an equal chance and sufficient food. Do not permit the pres ence of two or thiee young roosters, but behead all such useless fowls as soon as fit for the pot, and keep only the breeders re quired. If there be no convenient place where they may run separately or singly, allow them to run with the layers. Never confine two or more fine cocks together, unless they are for the shambles, for they will fight and destroy each other's beauty. Too many cocks are a detriment. Laying hens are CTOSB and pugnacious. For this reason it is better to make two flocks in winter —the layers and the non-layeral There are generally both sorts even among fowls of tl e same breed, and in different breeds the variation is still greater. Late broods require some nursing, and more frequent feeding. It is a good plan to give soft feed, which is a little warm, in severe weather, as a crop full of cold grain chilis the inunature bodies and brings on indi ; gestion. Where hens arc kept inlaying all the time during cold weather, the grain must be warmed, it is better to feed fully matured birds on whole grain. Com should be either boiled, or baked with a little tp-ease (either tallow or lard) melted in while hot. This is excellent for laying hens and is relished. Care should be taken, however, that it be not too hot. The kern els, although cool on the surface may be scorching inside, and may be an injury in stead of a benefit. Smaller grains do not require this preparation. Late broods, when kept in a thrifty condition, often make fine fowls for another season, and frequently become show birds, as their season of moulting occurs so much earlier, that they are generally in feather and con dition at the early autumn shows. The Home of SC. Column*. At the western extremity of the Gurve loch group there is a small island separated from its larger neighbor by a narrow strait Its cliffs are lower, more broken and rug ged; and far down over their beetling brows appear patches of grass and wild flowers, which give them a softer appearance. Fronting the mainland, the land rises abruptly in a wall-like face, but at the back it slopes gradually down to the level of the sea. In some places its trap-dykes have been isolated by the action of the tides, and project from the rocks like Cyclopean walla; while at the south end there are deep caves mantled with ivy, and .huge arches like the fantastic rock scenery df Carisaig, on the opposite shore of MulL A fringe of rugged rocks, with sharp teeth-like projec tions, standing out in the water, guards it on the western side: with tortuous channels, runmng in among them to the shore like the reef around a coral island. By the na tives of the district this island is called "Eile&n na Naoioh," or the "Isle ot Saints." It has been identified almost be yond doubt as the "Insula Hinba," or "Hinbina," to which Adamnan refers in his "Life of St. Columba," as one of the islands on which the great Celtic apostle had founded his earliest monasteries. From time immemorial it has enjoyed a sacred reputation, a rcligio loci. Before the time of St. Columba it was, probably, like lona, tbe seat of so-called Druidlc worship, or whatever kind of nature-cult the primitive inhabitants had favored. SL Brendan, whose name is still commemo rated in that of the neighboring parish of Eilbrandon, had placed upon it a Christian establishment, supposed to have been a col lege for training preachers of the Gospel, previous to its occupation by the monastery was, in au nKeluiooa, swept away firffie severe struggle betweeu the Picts and the Dairiadic Scots, in the year 560, which ended in the defeat of the latter. The old Gaelic word for college, viz., Aileach, is still preserved in the name of Klachnave, by which the island is best known in our guide-books. Between it and Oronsay there was once a close ecclesiastical con nection; its parsonage and vicarage feinds having, previous to 1630, belonged to the celebrated priory of that island, which in its turn was an appanage of Holyrood Ab bet, near Edinburgh. Latterly it has been included in the parish of Jura. For many centuries it has been uuinhabited, and with the exception of shepherds who pay an oc casional visit to it to look after their sheep, and a few zealous antiquaries who land on its shores at long Intervals—its stern silence is never disturbed by the presence of man. Lafayette's loub. AU Americans should make a pilgrimage to the last resting-place of the great Lafay ette at the cemetery of Picpus, Paris. It has been said that it became necessary to abandon this cemetery because it was gorged with dead. This is an error; the room was not lacking, but the place of in terment was badly situated in the midst of a quarter thinly populated, but rich; it was beside the "subject of the diatribes of the aristocrats and of thecontre revolutionists." The result was its removal. During the early part of the Reign of Terror, a ceme tery being needed, choice was made of a sort of desert, which backing up against the very walls of La Folie Chartres, that is to say the Parc-Monceau of to-day, was bounded by the old waU d'enciente the Rue Valois and the Rue du Roche. This was called the Cemetery de Mousseaux, as known officially, but all the people of La Petite Pologue caUed it the "Cunetiere des Errands." It was ''inaugurated" in July, 1795, by the burial of Charlotte Corday, one of the very first to be interred there. It received also all the "hard cases" of the revolution. The cemetery was very soon closed and never again used. Before the 18th Brum&ire no more interments were made there, and its very existence seemed to be ignored. A "cabaret" was estab lished on its site, and people drank, sang, and danced there. The annexation of that suburb of Paris caused this "petit Tivoli" to disappear. The .construction of the Boulevard Maiesherbes and the extending of the Rue Miromenil scattered nearly the last remains of this ancient cemetery. All that is left ol: it now is a fragment close to the walls, and some ball players come together there occasionally to enjoy them selves. Picpus, La Madeleine and Les Errancis were, therefore, the thrt e deposi taries of the victims of the guillotine. The Bellatl-Chlotto H*Uo*cope In military manoeuvres on a large scale, one of the principal causes wh ch prevent the understanding of the development and result of m tactical operation is the difficulty experienced by troops of the one side in distinguishing the direction in which the artillery of the other is aimed. To meet this difficulty the Bellati-Chiodo helioscope has been introduced in Italy. A reflector, mounted on a small frame, is directed so as to throw a beam rf solar rays on the point aimed at by the artillery, and the troop fired on may thus be enabled to take the tactical formation best suitea to the ef fects the fire might be expected to produce. A subsidiary reflector is used when the solar rays do not strike the chief reflector directly. The apparatus can also be used as a heliograph. NO. 4.