Millheim Journal. (Millheim, Pa.) 1876-1984, May 19, 1881, Image 1
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 <fc SMITH, ' DEALERS IN Hardware. Stoves, Oils, Paints, Glass, Wa Papers, coach Trimmings, and Saddlery Ware Ac,. Ac. All grades of Patent Wheels. Corner of Main and Penn Millheim, Penna. JACOB WOLF, rASHIONABLE TAILOR, MILLHEIM, PA. Cutting a Specialty. Shop ii£x*. cloor to Journal Book Ptoro. TT H. TOMLINSON, DEALER I* ALL KINDS OF Groceries. Notions, Drugs, Tobaccos, Cigars. Flue Confectioneries and everything in tho lino of a flrst-class Grocery store. a Country Produce taken In exchange for feoous. Main Street, opposite Bank. MMhelia. Pa. T~\A VID I. BROWN, MANUFACTURER AND DEALER IN TINWARE, STOVEPIPES, Ace., SPOUTING A SPECIALTY. flbcD on Main Street, two houses ca3t of Bank Mlllbeim, Pcnna. "T 3CISENHUTH, " * JUSTICE OF THE PEACE, MILLHEIM, PA. All business promptly attended to. mUecttou of claims a specialty, omoe opposite Eisenftutu's Drug Store. BANKING CO., RAIN STREET, MILLHEIM, PA A WALTER, Cashier. DAV. KRAPE, Pres. HARTER, AUCTIONEER, REBERBBUBG, PA. AatiafacUon Guaranteed. olic pillletut Sonrmvt i wAir. If oulv the rain would oeaae to beat. If only the witnla w. uld cease to blow, If only the cloud* would but ri treat, Aud the summer sun-shiu glauco aud glow, 1 should be perfectly happy 1 kuow. All day and every day, I wait For something or other to oome and go To make my pleasure a perfect state, To make my heart a summer glow Of suto delight that will never go. But all day, ai d every day, I wait, Aud the days ruu by, and the days run low, Aud everything seen s too soon or too late. And I never find what 1 seek, you kuow, Never get just what I want, you know. There's always something or other amiss, The tide is at ebb when I want it at flow, A fleck and a flaw to mar the bhss That might be easily I erftot 1 know, if 1 ecu d but make th.ngs come and go ! I've waited uow so long and so late, That the hope I had, like the tide runs low, And I begin to think that i thall wait Forever aud ever like this, you know. For things to come, that always go. And I begin to think that perhaps, puliap-t, When time is so swift and joy so low, I'd better make most of the hours that elapso. And the best of the days that come and go, Or tue years w ill be gone ere ever I kuow, And 1 shall Bit weary, old and sad, l.iko a weary old wornau 1 kuow, And think of the days I might have been glad. Of the pleasures 1 dropped and the things 1 let go, F'or the thiuga I never could Aud you know- The Broken Boat. 4t is too bad,' said Alice Ford, with a quiver of her scarlet lower lip. 'lt i 3 what might be expected,' said Mrs. Ford, sitting serenely at the breakfast table, 'when a girl will dirt with two gen tlemen at once.' 'But I haven't flirted,' said Alice, ready to cry. 'I don't know what else you can call it,' said Mrs. Fcrd. 'Will you have another cup of tea, Alice?' ' lea!' flashed out the girl; 'as if one could drink tea when one's heart is break ing! Oh, aunt, if Mr. Errett were a gen tleman he would release me from this galling engagement.' 'You promised him, my dear?' said Mrs. Ford. 'Yes; but 1 hadn't met Arthur Kelham then; and I have written to Mr. Errett,and implored him to release me from this hate ful bond,' cried poor Alice. *1 have told him that since our engagement —an en gagement that was your doing, aunt ' 'I know it,' said Mrs. Ford, 'and 1 am proud of it.' 'That since that engegement,' went on Alice, l I have discovered that my heart is not my own; and he has written back that he sees no necessity for alteriug the origi nal state of things, and that if it is agree able to me—agreeable indeed! —the wed ding may still take place on the sixth of October. Horrible, cold hearted, calculat ing old ' iTOod morning, ladies; I hope 1 see you welll' And Alice's tirade was unexpectedly cut short by the apparition of Mr. Bartholo mew Errett. She had scarcely uttered a disjointed word or two of greeting when the maid opened an opposite door and announced: 'Please, Miss Alice, Mr. Kelham.' And Arthur Kelham came in, young, handsome and dobonnair , as unlike his mature rival as is blooming May to ripened September. Mr. Errett put up his eye glass at Arthur Kelham, and Arthur Kelham stared Mr. Errett full in the face with well-bred amaze ment. 'Sir,'said Mr. Errett, 'I am at a loss to imagine what brings you here!' 'Sir,' retorted Mr. Kelhan, 'I suppose I have as good right to visit my friends as you have to call on yours 1' 'You mistake,' said Mr. Errett; 'I am engaged to Miss Ford.' 'Do you mean to say,' retorted Kelham, hotly, 'that you would marry the girl against her will? Why, you might as well be a Turkish slave-driver at once!' 'Sir!' gasped Bartholomew Errett, turn ing a livid pallor, 'I am at a loss to con ceive what business all this is of yours!' Alice stepped between them. 'You shall not quarrel about me,' said she, with a dignity that would scarcely have been expected from one so small an i slight. 'Arthur, I have carved out my own destiny and must abide by it. Mr. Errett. I beg you to remember that you are in the presence of ladies!' 'Am I to stand here and see you insul ted?'demanded Kelham, with flushed brow. 'I have promised to be his wife,' said Alice; 'and until he himself absolves me from my word, 1 have no power to assert my freedom.' 'Do you then bid me go?' 'Yes,' the girl answered, almost inaudi bly. And Arthur Kelham turned and left the field in triumphant possession of Mr. Bar tholomew Enett. 'Mr. Errett!' * * * 'Eh!' said the middle-aged swimmer; 'is it you. Kelham? Boating, eh?' 'Yes. Do you think it's quite safe for you to be here, so far from land? You are not afraid of that shark, then?' 'Of the —what?' said Mr. Errett. 'Haven't you heard? There has been a shark along this shore since yesterday;and, by Jingo! I believe he is there now. Don't you see something that shines white through the spray?' Mr. Errett- reared himself up in the MILLHEIM, PA., THURSDAY, MAY 19, 1881. water like a new species of sea-serpent. •Good Heaven!' said he, "there is some* tiling like a shark there. Why didn't they tell me? Why did they allow me ' 4 1 wouldn't be nervous.' said Kelham, coolly. 'Perhaps he dou't see you.' See me! Why those fellows can scent human lle-h a mile off 1 1 should have been a dead man in ten minutes if you hadn't come along.' And he began to paddle iugloriously to ward the little boat in which Arthur Kel ham was sitting. 'Hallo!' said Kelhaia, putting an oar's length between himselt and the swimmer, 'what are you about?* "1 am going to get into your boat, to be sure.' 'Are you though,' said Kelham; 'there may be two opinions about that.' 'Eh!' said Errett. 'What should I take you back to land for#' demanded Kelman. 'lf the shark eats you up, I'm all right with Alice.' 'Man a ive!' gasped Mr. Errett, 'you wouldn't leave me to die a horrible death, would you?' 'As 1 remember,' coolly remarked Ar thur Kelham, 'y.m hadn't much mercy on me.' 'That was different.' '1 don't see how,' with another stroke of his oars, just as Errett was about to clutch at the side of the boat. 'Don't hurry— now don't.' *1 say. Kelham, look here,'cried Errett, with a scared glauce over his left shoulder towards the suspicious white object. 'Hold ou, 1 say.' 'Well?' said Kelham. 'l—l ain't so very particular about the girl. Hold on.' ile was beginning to lose breath in the battle with the waves, aud said: 'lf you really insist ' 'Oh, i dou't insist. I don't care to peril Mrs. Ford's fortuue by getting Alice into disgrace with her. I must have a volun tary cession of all your rights or none.' 'lt—it shall be voluntary,' cried Mr. Errett with chattering teeth. *1 will tell the old lady I've changed my unnd; 1 wili make any statement you wish; only save my life.' 'I have your word of honor?' said Kel ham. 'My word of honor,' replied Errett. 'Jump in, then.' And Bartholomew Errett scrambled, more dead than alive, into the other's boat and was pulled to the shore. 'l'll just leave you here on the beach till your uiau comes,' said Kelham,h&lf laugh ing at Mr. Errett's doleful appearance. 'I see his boat now rounding the point. Good afternoon. I siucerely hope you will take no cold.' When Philip Gaul pulled up on the shingly sand his employer hailed him with opprobrious epithets. 'You villaml' cried Errett; 'wny didn't you tell me of the shark?' 'Of the wnat, master?' demanded old Gaul, scratching his grizzled head. •Of the shark; you can see him now when the sun s.rikes the point. Good Heaven! to think of the peril I have run.' 'Lawk, master,' said old Gaul, his hard features relaxing into a grin; 'that ain't no shark. That's Boon's broken boat,stranded there on a bit of reef. I could show it to you plain if I only had my spy glass.' Mr. Errett's lower jaw fell. 'Are you sure?' said he. •Quite sure, master. I seen it as I come by this morning. Sharks indeed! There ain't never no sharks about here.' Mr. Errett resumed his garments in si lence, feeling that he bad heen out gene raled by his enterprising rival. 'But after all,' said he to himself, 'if the girl don't like me Gaul, look here. How much do I owe you? —because I shall not need your boat any more.' 'Going away from here?' asked the as tounded sailer. 'Yes,' was the reply. And so Mr. Errett left the coast clear for Arthur Kelham, to Alice's infinite delight. 'Wasn't it good of him, dear?' said 3he to her lover. 'Very,' said Arthur But be kept his own counsel about the shark and how he had out-generaled Bar tholomew Errett. Au wld-Tline senator. General George W. Jones of lowa, left the United States Senate on March 4th, 1859. On the 4th of March. 1881, he was an honored guest of the Senate, entitled as an ex-senator to the privileges of the Moor. All the membere were new to him except one, Mr. Hamlin of Maine, and the next day even he was gone and a younger man was in his seat. General Jones is to-day the most historic and, perhaps, the most re markable character in the west. lie sat in the Senate with Clay end Webster and Cal houn, with Silas Wright, Benton, Critten den and Jeff Davie, with Sumner, Seward, Chase and Douglas. In the early part of the century, when General Jackson was president, he sat in the House of Represen tatives with Henry A. Wise and John Quiuey Adams. His district included all oi Michigan, Wisconsin, lowa and Minne sota ; it now has over thirty representatives in congress. He left the senate, not be cause of personal defeat, but because nis party had gone out of power in lowa. The intimate and trusted friend ot Andrew Jackson, the partner of Daniel Webster, he remembers Jefferson. On terms of per sonal acquaintance with nearly all of our celebrated warriors and statesmen, he num bers among his friends and enemies the mighty red kings Black Hawk, Keokuk and Poweshiek. A soldier in the war of 1812, General Jones is a young man yet. He walks erect, without a cane, with a light and springy step, and claims none ol the indulgences and immunities of old age. Kffplokr's Towu. Although this strange locality iu Paris, is moie widely kuown than some others to which we may presently refer, it is yet so much out of of the way as to make it worth while to describe its exact wliereabouls. It lies, then, beyeudthe northern slope of the hill of Mentni&rtre; it is bounded to the south by the Rue des Cloys and to the north by llie Rue Marcadet, and is com* pietely surrounded by a high stone wall. Jt covers a considerable tract of ground, and was used during the Commune as au artillery park. The entrance to it is through a .arge wooden door in the Rue Marcadet, opposite the cemetery of Mont martre. ' Before we go auy farther, It will be well to warn any inteudiug visitor that the inhabitants, although a very tolerant folk, cauuot endure the sight of decent clothes, aud that amongst uiauy healthy svmptons to be noted in them, the most prominent is a deadly abhorrence of the tali hat of civilization. To attempt to take them iu, on the other hand, by auy assumption of 'blouse' or of silkeu eiu' is absurd,' owever 'qubiatand carious' your kuowleuge of Parisian slang may be; but they will be pleased by the attention, aud wbeu you come among them will com ment pleasantly upon your good breeding aud taste iu adopting the outward habits of the country in which you happen to find yourself. Such, at least, was our ex perience. The coup d (Ft/ when you Ami yourself within the entrance is a striking oue. Immediately before you lies au op n space with grass growiug here aud there betweeu heaps of rubbish. In the centre is a sort of avenue of young treei and plants in every stage of decrepitude, lead ing up to the houses, or, 'to speak by the card,' boxes, in which the chitfonuiers live. These are about six feet Bquare, and the roofs are kept in their places by heavy stones, such as one sees on till cottages in exposed sit ualious iu o.ber places. The roofs ara for the most part of wood, where as the walls are c imposed of all things which are generally considered until to build with, so that lbs appearance of a Rue Marcadet chiffonnier in his house may oe beat likened to that of a caddis in bis strangely constructed abode. Ou the occa sion of our visit a high wind bad beeu blowing, aud more than oue member of ihe commuuity was busy rebuilding bis house, which bad beeu blown down in the night. Ou all sides a bustling acUvnty pre vailed, men and women busily sorting the contents of tbeir baskets, while numbers oJ dogs of au uuauown breed barked lustily a, our approach. Strangers are, indeed, lew aud iar between iu the chiffonniers' town, for no mau from the outer world ev- r comes to sell them anything, a street of shops kept by their conciioyws exist lug, not indeed within their own walls, but in another enclosure close by. Here dwell bootmakers, a butcher (a great ex pert at making a cat found dead into a toothsome dish), tailors and lainpmakers, who provide the triangular lanterns with which the members of the 'prole-siou' go their rouuds at night in search of prey. Go through that strange Utile street, ot which the houses come up to your shoul ders, at what hour of the night you will, 3ou will still see the bootmakers at work ou the cast off shoes which their customers have picked up iu the Paris gutters. Charlotte l'uhiu#n. lVrbajw the last aetr ss that anyone w oukJ suppose ever experienced that tender passion, much less suffered from the pangs of unrequited love, was Charlotte Cush inan; and yet twice in her life she was ready to sacrifice everything for the mau of her heart. Miss Cushman received a common school education in Boston. Her desk-mate was the daughter of an actor, which led to frequent conversations upon theatrical matters, and took au interest in them to such an extent that Miss Cushman determined as a child that,should fate ever compel her to adopt a pubic life,the stage would be her preference, fche had barely reached the age of sixteen liefore she was deeply enamored of a young gentleman who had his way to make in the world, and a speedy marriage being thereby prevented, slie had little thought of hope but to do away with the obstacles which separated them. Circumstances soon compelled her to cast about for some means of self-sup port, her mother being a widow with seven children to provide tor. Miss Cushman had a pretty, sympathetic, siuging voice, of no great power, but much sweetness. Mrs. Wood was an English ballad-singer, among the first of that class to make a great sensation in this country, and during an engagement in Boston Miss Cushman managed t~> 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.