YOL. LY. PROFESSIONAL CARDS OF BELLEFONTE- C. T. Alexander. o. M. bower. A BOWER, ATTORNEYS AT LAW* BELLEFONTE, PA. Office In German's new building. JOriN B. LINN, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BELLEFONTE, PA. Office on Allegheny Street. QLEMENT DALE, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA. Northwest corner of Diamond. Y° cum & HASTINGS, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. BELLEFONTE, PA. High Street, opposite First National Bank. C. HEINLE, ATTORNEY AT LA \V, BELLEFONTE, PA. Practices in all the courts of Centre county. Bpec al attention to Collections. Consultations in German or English. iLBUR F - kkedek, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BELLEFONTE, PA. All bus oess promptly attended to. Collection of claims a speciality. JTA. Beaver. J W. Gephart. JgEAVER St GEPHART, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. BELLEFONTE, PA. Office on Alleghany Street, North of High. A. MORRISON, ATTORNEY AT LAW 7 . BELLEFONTE, PA. Office on Woodrlng's Block, Opposite Court House. S. KELLER, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA. Consultation? In English or German. 001 oe In Lyons 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 MILLHKIM, & Q A. STURGIS, DEALER IE Watches, Clocks, Jewelry, Silverware, Ac. Ra pairing neatly and promptly done and war ranted. Main Street, opposite Bank, Millheim, Pa. A O. DEININGER, * NOTARY PCBLI®. SCRIBNEB AND CONVEYANCER, MILLHEIM, PA. AU business entrusted to him, such aa writing and acknowledging Deeds, Mortgages, Releases, Ac., will be executed with neatness and dis patch. Office on Main Street. ItY USSER be introduced to her, and iiua'ly under Mrs. Wood's auspices, she made her appearance in the concert room, bt iug simply announced as 'a young lady.' Her success was sufficiently pionounced to determine her to continue in that mode of file, or at least until fier betrothed should have become able to marry her; but he took great umbrage at what he stigmatized 'an uuwomanly proceeding,' and declared she had disgraced liim. Hot words fol lowed on lier side, and after much alterca tion and mutual pain the engagement was broken off, ami Charlotte Cushman was free to follow- out her destiny as a great artist, fehe went her way, and he went his. After much hard struggling it led bun into the establisumeot of a store —a sort of trimming store combined with ready made clothing for ladies and children —in which he prospered. He is uow one of the loiemost merchants of the kind in Boston. Long years elapsed before the two met again. Charlotte was famous, and he affluent and influential. They met as strangers meet, were introduced, and ever a Iter ward ma ntained am cable but not amatory lelauons, lor ne had inarr ed in the meantime. A few years ago 1 was in Boston and dropped into his store to make some pur chases It happened that Miss Cushman preceded me a few steps. As soon as the door-walker caught sight of her he hurried off and returned with the proprietor,a haie ruddy-faced, white-haired gentleman, ot quiet and dignified bearing. They took rather than shook hands, he holding hers for a moment, and then side by side they waiked to the back of tbe i store. To see those two calm, self con tained, old silver-haired peopie, one would have little suspected the heartrending ro mance which hungover their youth. It is all very fine to despise money, but the lack of it frequently changes the destinies ol entire lives. Had Miss Cushman's lover been only sufficiently well off to have married her at the blooming of their love, in all probability the stage would have ! never known h<>r brilliant genius. She once remarked to a friend who was cognizant of the circumstances: 'When I see him now, ricli and respected, but not great, and think what a good liusbauu lie had made, I sigh for what I have lost and rejoice for what I huve gained. Never theless, fame and fortune only cannot com pensate a woman for the lite-long absence of a husbaud's affection, children's love, and the peace and happiness of private life. When I returned from New Orleans with my voice all gone and in despair, if he had come forward then and offered me a home, 1 would gladly have acceoted it, and would have lived my lite untroubled by ambi'ious dreams, unsuspecting the divine utllatus within me. I have had a thousand limes over in my hand more than the money which would have secured my happiness when a girl, and alway think for what a paltry sum mv whole domestic happiness was sacrificed.' After Miss Cusuman had achieved fame in England, she made a tour to this coun try. She was thou a woman of middle age, with a remarkably ugly face, but with a tall and well-modeled lrauie. She played at the Natioual theatre, Cincinnati. Conrad 11. Clarke was the leading man, many years her junior. He had been brought up as a gentleman, being the son of a (Quaker in Philadelphia. He soon evinced a liking for the stage, and nothing could keep him from it. As for theatrical talent, he had not mistaken his vocation. Miss Cushman was struck with his polish and wit, his talent and cuitnred tone. From conversation on acting in the theatre,Clarke soon began to call at the hotel to receive particular instructions in tne parts he was to play with her, then ho escorted her home from the theatres at nights, and it was plainly to he seen she looked with marked favor upon the young actor. One evening she was at the wing, ready to go on as Meg Merriles, I playing the boy IU 'Guy Man uering.' 1 was standing by her side, and Mr. Ciarke was a few steps off, flirting desperately with a lovely young actress, who had been christened 'the poodle dog' from the way she dressed her hair, which was just as they wear it now-a-days, but then ihouvht a wild, crazy style. The star had been giving me a few stage directions, and, impelled by 1 know not what impulse, 1 suddenly asked: 'What, of all things in the world, Miss Cushman, would you rather be? She replied as impulsively, glancing at Clarke and sighing: '1 would rather be a pretty woman than anything else iu this wide world,' and on the stage she rushed to shriek through Meg Merrilies. After this he assumed a bolder trout, flirted no more about the scenes, and became obsequiously attentive to her. it became the recognized fact that he was the great star's protege, and next it transpired mat she had engaged him to go to England wiili her. This was a happy period for them both. Frankness being one of her chief characteristics, she made no secret of her admiration of uis talents and liking for him personally, and of her intention tiward his interests so far as lay within her power. Whether she loved him as she loved another in her girlhood days is diffi cult to determine, but her manners became more gentle and womanlike, she was less imperious with her underlings, and spared a giert deal of time teaching nini his par is. His feelings were easier probed; Conrad Clarke did not love Charlotte Cushman. Hie nature was too selfish to permit him to leel so pure and disinterested a passion as love iu its highest sense. Matters had thus stood for some months. One evening Miss Cushman was going to the theatre alone, when a weak, haggard looking woman approached her with a baby in her arms. iShe was a small, red-haired, fragile creature. Laying her hand on Miss Cusliman's arm, she said: 'Miss Cushman, I think a woman of your genius and position might have plenty of admirers without taking up with the hus band of a poor woman like me.' The tragedienne paused in blank amaze ment. 'Are you talkiug to mc?' she asked. 'I am.' 'And you say 1 have taken your hus band from vouf' 'Yes—you—Charlotte Cushman,' *1 don't know you; ma> 1 ask the name of this precious husband of y.rnrsf' 'Conrad Ciarke,' was the reply. The great actress hurried away. She had received a blow, but she met it with a brave front, as she had many others in her not altogether smooth* path in life. All smiles, bows, and honeyed words Clarke greeted her tnat night. She gave a death blow to all his hopes, uot tenderly, as many a woman so situated might have done, but with characteris'ic decision. On learning from his wife what she had done, he became furious at what he declared to be a malicious scheme to ruin him, and, leaving her, swore never to live with her again. Annie Clarke easily obtained a divorce from him, and shortly after mar ried an actor, named Forest, of Cleveland, liy a strange concatenation of circum stances, Clark's child was adopted and most tenderly reared by one of our bright est wits, the only one of his peculiarly caustic kind left, a man who wields a powerful weapon in his pen—who has two parties for and against him —oue that nates and fears him, tiie other tnat loves auil praises him. Alguau Suldle , The relations between the officers and men remind one of those existing in the Turkish army. It an Afghan officer driuks tea, a number of soldiers are sure to 3it around him. If he smokes a kaliana, all the soldiers gather near him and await their turn; the kaliana , having gone the round of the privates, returns again to the officer. If a soldier smokes a pipe, the officer asks him to let him have a draw at it. Should a soldier take from the folds of his dress a tobacco pouch, in order to put a plug of to bacco uuder his tongue, the officer inserts his tiuger and thumb into the pouch also, and takes a pinch of tobacco. On the other baud, should the officer take out his own pouch, the soldier helps himself in a similar manner to his tobacco. I did not observe that the mutual freedom of manner had any detrimental effect on the descipline of the troops. The men obeyed the com mands of their officers with docility, and never displayed insubordination when sen tenced to be thrashed. Indeed, it is ex ceedingly rare that officers employ the lash. During the whole of my sojourn in Afghanistan, I only saw the punishment inflicted twice; on both occasions on men who had stolen hay from my horses. Ihe Flowery Island. Right out of the sea, 450 miles from the Florida coast, rises a huge rock, twenty two miles long by seven wide. It is the smallest of the Bahama Islands and is called New Providence. It nestles in a wilderness of flowers, plants and fruits. There is not a tree, shrub or flower thai thrives in any warm climate that does not grow luxuriantly there. It is a r >ck upon which these beauties grow and blossom, and over which a never-ending summer hrecse blows the seeds of health by tem pering the warmth of a tropical sun until it strikes a happy medium where all season is summer and manaind basks in an at mosphere practically invariable twelve months in the year, and trees, shrubs and flowers thrive in chaotic profusion all the year round. It is a calcareous rock of coral, soft and pliable to the mechanic's hand, filled with shells and sand, and spit upon by the ocean until cemented with its brine. The surface iu places rots, forms a thin soil, and in this, and wherever a crack or crevice is found, the gayest flowers bloom. To de scribe its inhabitants would be to parade before you a mass of colored men, women and children, cheaply but ueatly dressed, barefooted aud bonnetless, but happy, po lite. Out of a population of 15,000 more than 12, (XX) are uegroes, an (J unusually intelligent. Shining out from this dark ness is now and then a native white face, intelligent and healthy, and at this season numbers of foreigh faces, which look as if in search of health. The houses are as neat as the people, aud all of them are smothered in flowers and shrubbery. In almost every yard, as well as growing wild, are coco&nuts, oranges, guaves, sola dill os, mangoes and all sorts of fruit hang iu all stuges—bud, blossom, half grown and the matured fruit. The drives over the towu and through the island are su perb, smooth as a floor and of solid rock, lined on either side with tangled sweeping vines, stunted trees and flowering plants. The oleander lowers its high hi ad among the more prelentiojs tropical plants, while our own modest morning glory, so dear to our childhood, peeps out from behind the leaves with the dew resting upon its purple lips to be kissed away by the morning sun. No tongue can tell or pen write the leau ties, cither of land or sea, wnich are every where visible. Fruits are the principlo staples, and upon these the natives live to very great extent. All tropical varieties grow in abundance, and are remarkably rich und nutritious. Every variety of fish is taken and enters very largely into the domestic economy of the natives. The chief industry of the island is sponge gath ering. Rlnniarck. His name v&s Bismarck, mit only vone eye, on accoundt of a old plack cut, vot pelongs to a serfant Irish gals mit red haired hair. Also he has only dree legs, on accoundt of mocolotif engines mitout any bull-ketcher. He vas a dog, Bismarck vas. He vas paldt -headed all ofer himself, in gonsequense of red hot vater, on accoundt of fightin' mit a cat. On vone endt of himself vas skituated his head—und his tail vas py de oder endt. He only carries about vonc-half of his tail mit him, on occoundt of a circular saw-mill. He looks a goodt teal more older as he is already, but he ain't quite as oldt as dot until de next Christmas. De vay dot you can know him is, if you calls him "Shack," he von't say notings, but he makes answers to de name "Bis marck," by saying "Pow vow vow?"— und. in de meantime, vagging half of his tail —dot oder nafs vas cut off, so he can't, of course, shake it. Also, if you t'row stones on top of him, he vill run like de tuefel, aud holler "Kyyi! ky yi!" Dot's de vay you cau told my dog. He looks like a cross between a bull foundtlandt und a cat mit nine tails—but he aiu't. He got not efen vone whole tail, und he ain't cross not a bit. Anoder vay you could told if it vas my Bismarck is dot he vas almost a dwm. He vould be half of a bair of dwma dot time, only dere vas dree of them—a bair of dwius und a half. I pelieve dey calls dot a tr plet. Also he got scars on de top of his side, vhere he scratched himself mit a Thomas cat —but dot Thomas cat nefer recovered himself. You can also tell Bismarck ou accoundt of his vonderful iushtinct. lie can out iushtinct any dog vot you nefer saw in my life. For inshtance, if you pat him on top of his head mit my hand, he knows right avay del you like him, but if you pat him on the head ixiit a pavement shtones or de slitick of a proom, he vill shuspect right off dot you care not fery much about him. t HHlilutiMbie Cutis. (Callers seated in the parlors of au up town mansion.) 'l've heard she gave three hundred dol lars for that group, I'd just as soon have a chrouio, wouldn't you ?' 'H-u-sh I' 'And just look at that center table— looks like a fancy fair for all the world; one would think—' 'H u-s-h, she's coming.' (Enter lady of the house.) 'Oh, you dear darling creatures! What an age since I've seen you. Where have you been? Enjoying the holidays,no doubt. 1 'in so glad to see you both.' (Together.) 'And we are so glad to see you! how perfectly sweet you do look! What have you been doing to yourself? Oh, it's that lovely new dress 1 sobeooiningl but then you look well in everything I' •Oil 1 oh! Who's got a new seal skin cloak ? Dear Mrs. Smith, I j ust envy you; it's a be a-utiful tbiug!' Mrs. Smith —'Well, it ought to be James gave four hundred and twenty-five dollars for it.' 'Yes, but that's nothing for Col. Smith, you know 1 How is he ? 1 do admire the Colonel so much! But then he never looks at any one but you.' 'Oh 1 yes! make me believe that! He's a regular old flirt 1 but I forgive him for everything since he's got me this cloak. Well, we really must go; ever so many more calls to make. Now, return tins soon, there's a darling. By-by sweetness.' (Lady of the house to next caller.) *Yes, that Mrs. Col. Smith aud her sister —what a dowdy that sister is—did call here, and, do you believe, she had the im pudence to tell me—me —that her hus band gave four hundred aud twenty-five dollars for that shabby old seal skin, as if I didn't know exactly what it was north I He'd much better pay his debts,' etc., etc., adinfinitum Bridal Bill*. I For a quiet wedding at home there are, • first, the invitations, which involve, as a i rule, two card-plate* and a note-meet k r r inted on the finest of heavy white paper. | M onograms and special design* have been nearly discarded, and the fashionable text is a plain, simple, legible script, beautifully i engraved. The cost depends upon the number of letters, but, on the average, for ■ 100 invitations, the cost will be S2O, with an additional $5 for each additional 100, unless the order exceeds 600, when a moderate discount is given. For 500 guests the stationer sends in his bill for from S4O to S6O. The rsge at present seems to be for floral decorations; and although nature scatters her blossoms and verdure with a generous hand, and never sends in a bill, the florist is by no means so liberal. A plain unostentatious display of smilax and flowers may be procured for fifty dollars, and that is about the lowest figure for which a fashionable florist would think of sending his bill. Exotics, oriental palms, and ferns are not included in such a decoration; nor are bridal bells, and hearts, and canopies, beneath which the happy pair receive the congratulations of their friends. Single pieces of their de scription—and very ungraceful ones at that though woven of rare exotics—often cost from $75 to $l5O and where a number are required, the bill soon crawls up to a good sized figure. Good taste snd fertility of suggestion can, however, accomplish wonderful results with SIOO, particularly where elegance is preferred to a dumb show of magnificent profusion. Then comes the collation—say for 150 guests—served quietly in the dining-room, it is a moot point whether it pays to em ploy a caterer and commit the whole item of collation, wines, and attendance to his hands, or to undertake the woik one's self, with the training of servants, and the illimitable protiabilitiesof broken porcelain and mislaid silver. Those who have had most experience in wedding and dinner parlies aver, as a rule, that it costs less n oney and gives better satisfaction, inde pendent of personal trouble and the vex ation arising from the blunders of hired attendants, to take the former coarse. For a simple collation for 150 guests, about the lowest figures given by caterers are $2 per capita, and from that to sl2, which was regarded as embracing all the requirements that could possibly be asked. For a wedding breakfast, served in a very quiet way, $1.50 per capita represents tne lowest limit of caterers' prices; and this is probably less than it would cost the bride's father to buy the materials and make provision for their preparation and service. It is not unusual this winter however; on very quiet occasions, to be content with a service of cake and wine only. Wpdcing cake for one hundred per sons, done up in pretty boxes, stamped with monegrama, is furnished at from S3O to SSO, according to the style of the box; for one of these dainty little trifles, with painting by hand on the lid, all satin and gilding, may be rendered as expensive as a casket of gold, or, in the extreme of sim plicity, furnished for next to nothing. Of course, after all, the main item of expense is the bridal trousseau. The attire for the ceremonv, the white satin, brocaded or not, with bridal veil, orange bljasoms, and toilet accessories, may—exclusive of laces and jewels—be procured for SSOO. In fact, one can readily spend from SI,OOO upwards in order to give one daughter in marriage in harmony with the ritual ot top society. '•K'rct-Frew<>ll." No cat could have walked into the Cen tral Station, Detroit, more softly than did a long-waisted, low-voiced stranger about 40 years old, whoee hands wen: encased in badly worn cotton gloves, hat brushed clear down below the nap, boots wanting new heels, and dress coat showing a cot ton edge all around. He was neither a great general, statesman nor'orator. He simply desired to make a few inquiries, and he softly said : 'My arrangements are such that I shall be in Detroit until after Washington's birth day. lam a great admirer of the lamented gentleman, and I always make it & point to celebrate his birthday. * 'Which is patriotic and all right,' replied the captain of police. '1 wanted to ask what latitude the police would allow me on such an occasion?' continued the man. 'I shall certainly get drunk; but will I be permitted to tear dowu stoves, smash up bars, break windows and kick in doors ?' 'Certainly not. The first move you make in that direction will result in your being run in.' *Woi id, eh? Well, 1 simply inquired for information. 1 supposed would be doing the lamented gentleman full honor if I sim ply got drunk ?' '1 think so.' 'Very well, I don't want to seem cap tious in the matter, nor do 1 care to get into any trouble. I think I will get drunk early in the morning.' 'Yes.' 'And wave the American Hag from the window of my boarding house —wave it gently.' •Yes.* 'And make a speech to my landlady on thwajooduess and greatness of the lamented gentleman —make it very gently and quiet ly, without any cheers or applause.' 'Yes, that would do.' 'And then go down into the back yard and hurrah about three times —not yell like u Pawnee Injun, nut softly and quietly hurrah for George Wellington, the father of his couutry.' 'Well, don't disturb anyone.' 'No, of course not- Alter hurrahing 1 will return to my room, take another drink read the Declaration of ludepandence, and make a speech to myself—not a ranting, blatant oratoncal effort, but a soft and mild sort of peroration, ending up with the song entitled, 'My Country, 'tis of Thee,' and so forth.' 'Yes, that's good.' Then I'll take another drink and go to bed and lie there daring the remainder of the day, unless the landlady insists on an other speech, and I don't think she will. Now, then, are my terms perfectly sal La factory ?' -Yes.' 'Very well, then —adieu. A mild, gen tle drink —subdued oratory —gentle wav ing—repressed hurrahing—harp-like peio ration, and you are satisfied, I am satisfied, and the lamented gentleman has got to be satisfied or provide his own brass bands. Perfectly k'rect—farewell 1' NO. 20.