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 <?)*.
There ilea in that pree'oua package
A note ; but the delicate hand
That traced it hath long swayed a sceptre
Afai off in ifeulah'a fair laud.
Beside it a lock, brightly silvered
With time and the toils of the paat,
la laid , but the luAuite*boaoui
That weaty head p.Howe at last
Another, of doep glossy blaokuese,
Recaila a beloved motht r's care.
She went ere the dews of life's evening
Had fallen, the kingdom to share.
These others—ah ! well, tie euongh
The ribbon all soiled to untie ;
Too bitter the grit fa tbey awaken—
Touch not—uudisturbed let thein lis.
Re oulv who fashioued so wisely
The heart can its secrets best keep (
Then, wake not their sad, mournful echoes.
Rut tenderly hush them to sleep.
When the Ship Comes In.
A sweet-faced woman ami a sweet-faced
child are wandering among the shipping
docks of the great city. The womau is
piaiuly dressed, but evidently in her best
attire, and there is a touch of gentility iu
her tiuery. In the real laeo collar, relics of
better days, perhaps, the pearl earrings
and the neat gloves. The child Is neatly
dressed, too, and as she clasps the womau's
hand, looks love at her guardiau. But ihe
woman's face Is not at its Itest now, a caio
worn look, and a faint wriuklc uoou the
pale forehead that ages her and lessens the
charm of her features. .
Siie is inquiring of the dockmen, of the j
stevedores, of the loungers about the j
wharves, whether the brig Good Luck has
come iH. She always receives the same j
reply to her eager question, for the brig >
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,
au<i a good dinner too. There's uoliody
there."
"Go down there and ask the waiter,
• George," addressing Mr. Pelton, whom ho
i had summoued, "to give this good lady a
i cup of tea and a piece of toast, some
? chicken, and all that.' 1 Then, pausing a
1 moment, as if propriety and philanthropy
ure struggling for mastery in his mind,
"No, uo, George. Tell Heuderaou to
scud the dinner up into the room here,
that'B better!" The young man leaves the
room. Then Mr. Tawman enters the of
fice again aud consults the tclcgranh op
j eiator.
"Send this message at once, Mr. Lind
say, if you please." lie writes something,
and the operator clicks it off at once. li s
a long message, a very long message iu
j deed; but the President's message itself is
not half so important, so interesting to
those whom it concerns.
Then by the time the message is sent,
the dinner is ready in Mr. Tawtnau's
private ofllce, when Mrs. Sheher partakes
j of It, but does not think pro]>er 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.