VOL. LV. PROFKSSIOX.IL CJRDS OF BELLEFONTE- O. T. Alexander. C. M. Bower. BOWER, ATTORNEYS AT LAW, BELLEFONTB, PA. Office In Garm&n's new building. JOHN B. LINN, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA. Office on Allegheny Street. QLEMENT DALE, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BELLBFONTB, PA. Northwest corner of Diamond. YOCUM & HASTINGS, ATTORNEYS' AT LAW. BELLEFONTE, PA. High Street, opposite First National Bank, w M. C. HEINLE, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA. Practices In all the courts of Centre County. Spec al attention to Collections. Consultations in German or Knglssh. "yy ILBUR F - R £ eder, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA. All bus'nesa promptly attended to. Collection of claims a speciality. J. A. Beaver. J W. Geph&rt. .JgEAVER A GEPHART. ATTORNEYS AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA. Office on Alleghany Street, North of High, yyr A. MORRISON, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA. Office on Woodrlng'a Block, Opposite Court House. DT S. KELLER, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, FA, Consult at lone In English or German. Office tn Lyons Building, Allegheny street. JOHN G. LOVE, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA. Office in the rooms formerly occupied by the late w P. Wilson. Curious Sea Inhabitants.' There is a continual warfare going on in the deep—a constant struggle for the means of sustaining life. The carnivo rous devour the vegetarians, and the mud-eaters swallow both animal and veg etable forms : and this runs all the way down the scale, from the shark and the equally ravenous bluefish to the least of the annelids. These last—the sea-worms —are wary, but they cannot escaj>e their enemies. If they were to confine them selves to the bottom—where they feed, and where many of them grow to the length of a foot or two —they might in a measure escape, though they would still l>e a prey to the scup and other fish that know how to dig for them ; but they love to swim, particularly at night and in the breeding season, and then they are snap ped up in countless numbers. They have almost every variety of forms, and their structure is marvelous —monsters with hooked jaws at the end of a proboscis,and with sides of bluish green, that throw oft an infinite variety of irridescent hues. Some of the sea-worms have soales, others have soft bodies ; some are sluggish, and curl themselves up into balls when dis turbed ; others are restless, particularly at night; some are round, others flat; some build tubes of sand and cement, woven together till they make a colony of many hundred members ; the tubes of others are soft and flexible, and some, when disturbed, withdraw within their crooked calcareous tubes, and close the orifice with a plug. One variety of the serpulse has three dark-red eyes ; another variety has clusters of eyes on each tenta cle. The ampliipods were accounted of no great value till it was shown by the Fish Commission that these small Crus tacea furnish a vast amount of food for both salt and fresh-water fishes. Indeed, there is not a creature that swims or crawls that does not become the food of some other animal. A beach-flea is caught up by a scup or a flounder,squids make terrible havoc among young mack erel, and sharks and stingrays find some thing appetizing in the gasterpod. "MY brethren." said a Western minis er, "the preaching of the gospel to some people is like pouring water over a sponge—it soik- and stavs. To others it is like the wind blowing th'ourh a chicken coop. Mv experi ence of this congregation is that it con tains more chicken coops than spongps.' WHITE paint may be readily cleaned with whiting moistened with a littte water. Use a woolen cloth for a rubber and wa9h off clean with water. Cold tea grounds are also excellent for rubbing or cleaning paiut. lie piUhetw A PROTEST. Why should It sound cheerless and cold, Wheu a man says he has grown old? Think you of a head bald and grey, of a mortal that's had his day ? should tuy sons call me "old man," And the town folk "Uncle Dan?" Just because my strength is spent. Just because my form is bent? 1 watch the youth as they run alamt. With many a laugh and tncrry shout, And 1 recall my childhood day. When 1 was thoughtless, free and gay. Why not, O youth, tenderly speak, Kindly bo to the old ami weak— Gladly from nnkittdness save, • Smooth their pathway to the grave. Thoughtless youth should rememiter, Quickly comes bleak December, Theu will their forms te bent. Then will their days be speuu This home my soul shall soon vacate. Taking on the glorious State; This old form will ne'er appear, In that Heaven blest ami dear. Glorious season of youth, Dwelling in the light of truth. None old or growing old up there, "I'is life beyond all tears and care. THE OLD WILL. Little Blossom, you make it so hard for mo to say good-bye to you.' "When ? " The iimoeeut, surprised, inquiring face—renunciation was indeed, ditticult for John Burrows. He touched a dim ple in her cheek, and then a curl of her hair, as he might have touched flowers on a grave, perhaps. She shook back the silky ripples im patiently. "When, John?" He looked at her for a moment with out a smile, pretty as she was. "Nelly, sit down here for a moment. They sat down on the pretty crimson couch before the fire. Seeing trouble in his face, she put her hand in his, and he smoothed out the little rose-leaf member upon his brcfad palm, more than ever confident, as he looked at it, that he was right. "Nelly, you know I love you." "Yes," with a blush, for ho had never said it before. "And I am very sorry." "Why," after a pause of bewilder ment. "Because you are a delicate little flow er, needing care and nursing to keep your bloom bright; and lam going to a hard, rough life, among privations, fever, and malaria, which will try even my powerful constitution, and where you must not go." " You are going to the Far West ? " " Yes. My mother must have a home in her old age. She is strong now, but time is telling on her. You know all that she has been to me ? " "Yes; she has been a good mother. But you shall take me too, John." She woa her way into his arms against his will. " You will take me, too ? " "No. Did I not tell you that you made it so hard for me to say good-bye to you ? " " John, what could I do without you ? " "He took the little, caressing hand down from his face. " Don't make me weak, Nelly. Do you think that it is nothing to me to leave my little violet—the only woman I ever loved—for a hard, cold life and un ceasing toil. I cannot marry for ten years, Nelly." "And then I shall be thirty years old." "Yes, married, and with little cliil dren ; seeing, at last that your old lover, John Burrows, was right." He rose to his feet. "JOHN ! " in terror. "Yes lam going, Nelly. Little one —you look so much a woman now, with your steadfast eyes—hear me : I did not foresee that you would love me—that I should love Vou. You were a little school girl when I saved you from drowning last summer, and your satchel of books floated away down the river and was lost. I came here to see Gregory, not you. I could not help loving you ; but did not think until to-night that you cared so much for me, Nelly. But, child you will forget me." " Never!" He went on. "Nelly, I shall hunger for you day and night, more and more, as time goes on and I get older, lonelier, more weary. But I shall never hope to see you again. Now, give me your hand." She gave him both. He raised them to his lips, but before she could speak again he was gone. Shivering violently, she went to the fire, and stood there trying to warm her self. She understood it all now—his strangely elaborate arrangements for a trip to New York. He had known that he was not coming back when she had begged him to bring her his photograph from the great metropolis, but was going , on—on —into the dim distance. This is why he had not promised. It was getting late—she was so cold— she had better go to bed. She would not go into the parlor to bid her father and aunt, and Gregory good night; so she crept silently up to her own room. There the very weight of grief upon her , lulled her to sleep. But when she woke, her grief sprang upon her like some hidden monster who had lain in wait for her all night. Her misery terrified her. Why should she not die ? Why should she ever rise from that bed ? . But when they called her, she sprang up hastily, dressed and went down, and they were too busy talking to notice that she did not kng\y what she ww doing. Rut, by ami by, when her brother reach ed for sonic more coffee, ninl observed "John Burrows and his mother went to New York ill the first train this morning, she tried to rise unconcernedly from the table, and fell in a dead faint oil the car pet among them. When Nelly came to, she was un dressed and in bed, and Aunt Mary was darning stockings at the foot. "Oh, let me get up, Aunt Mary ! 1 don't want to lie here ! " "Now, Nell, be reasonable! You're ill." "Oh, Aunt Mary, I'm not." " Nelly, if you will lie still to-day, 1 11 let you have that old box of curiosities in my room to look over. Will you? " I don't know." Aunt Mary went for them. Nelly shut her eyes and let the wave in all its bitter ness surge over her once; when Miss (lolding came back, bringing a box ot old mahogany, black ai.d glossy with time. " There ! " setting it on tin; bed. With a wintry little smile of thanks, Nelly lifted the cover. The old mahog any box contained strange things. Pic tures on wood and ivory, illuminated manuscripts, webs of strouge lace, an tique ornaments, ancient embroideries, great packages of old letters,sealed thusks of unfamiliar perfume, ancient brooches of red gold, linger rings of clumsily-set gems tied together with faded ribbons, a knot of hair fastened together with a gold heart, the silver hilt of a sword,and lastly, a tiny octagon portrait of an old man, done in chalk upon a kind of vel lum and enclosed in a frame of tarnished brass. " Who is this that is so ugly, Aunt Mary?" "That, they say, is my great grand father, Nelly." " What is it painted on—this queer stuff? " " Well, it is a kind of leather, I be lieve. They used to write on it in old times." "He is uncommonly ugly, isn't he?" said Nelly, wearily. As she spoke, the little case fell apart in her hands. A yellow, folded paper was revealed. She ojh'lhhl it, and saw that it was written iqron. "Why, bless my soul, what have you there ? " exclaimed Miss (lolding, rising up in a strange alarm. She snatched it from Nelly's hand. " It can't Ih> the will ! " she cried. Nelly looked on in dumb surprise. Aunt Mary read a few words, then rushed away in wild agitation to the library where her brother was sitting. Nelly could hear them talking, the two; then her brother came; then the old house keeper was called from the dining-room ; and so much confused conversation she never heard before. By and by, they all waited upon her in a body. " Nelly," said her father, sitting down on the foot of the bed, " you are an heir- tf 088. "This is old Grandfather Goldin's will!" exclaimed Aunt Mary, flourishing the bit of yellow paper. " It seems that he was very eccentric,' Gregory condescended to explain. "He was very rich, and had some hard sons and some grandsons who promised to be harder, and he fell out with the whole set, who were waiting for him to die. He declared that no money of his sliould encourage the young people's excesses ; a little po/erty would help the family, and the fourth generation would appre ciate his money, and probably make good use of it. When he died, no will could l>e found ; and though there was a famous struggle for the property,it went into the hands of trustees, through the oath of the lawyer who drew up the will; and there it has been, descending from one person to another, and accumulating in value, until you and I, Nelly, are as rich as Croesus." "How, Gregory?" "Ain't WE the fourth generation? Father was the only child, we are his only children ; all the back folks arc dead and it slides down to us on greased wires. Hurrah for Grandfather Holding ! " "Is this true, father?" "Yes,my dear. The property is chief ly in Leeds, England. The housekeeper who came over last summer, you know, happens to know all about it. It is in safe hands, and our claim is indisputable." What did Nelly do? The little goose ! Instead of flying off in thoughts of a car riage, and dresses of cloth, of gold, and a trip to Europe, she buried her face in the pillows, and murmured under her breath, "Oh, John! Oh, dear, dear John!" And it was no castle in the air. Three months proved that Nelly Holding was the mistress of gold untold, almost. And then a little note went to Kansas saying : " DEAR JOHN—I am waiting for you with a fortune. Will you come for me now ? " NELLY." And he came instantly; and though some might have sneered at his readiness, the heart of the little wife was always at peace. She knew that John Burrows loved her truly. Grandfather Holding's money built up a commodious western town : paved streets, raised rows of shops,erect ed dwelling-houses,founded banks, libra ries, and churches; and Nelly finally lived "out West." But she had oppor tunities of seeing pioneer life; and she said "John was right; I should have died in a year, had I lived here in pov erty." —A morning-glory—til© CQC^-tetf, MI bid I KIM, P A., THURSDAY, JULY 14, 1881. The .leater fei|pig>l. Once Mount Pleasant had the Jester engaged for his great moral entertain ment, but in order to make his next en gagement, he hod to quit talking at the expiration of one hour and twenty min utes and hurry away on u special train. But Mt. Pleasant knew taut he hiul talk ed two straight, solid hours at Heottdale. And was Mt. Pleasant to R. snubbed,and put off with a smaller lecture than Heott dale? Perish tlie thought i All of the lecture or none. So new arrangements had to be made for Mt. Pleasant. And that night, while the Jester was pitting on his cap and belts, he said to lis friends : *'l will make it sickly for them Mount Pleasanters. 1 w ill teach them to clamor for a long lecture wheu they might just as well have a short one. lam going to talk these jieople to death. lam going to give them all four >f my lectures, one after the other. It vill le a good joke on them. I will talk and talk, you see, unth they are tired out, and one after another, singly and in groups they leave the room, until I alone am left in the hall. That will be awfully funny, and it w ill be sometluig new in the lecture business. Oh, it vill warm them. Well, the curtain rung up and the sliov went on. Audit kept going on And on uid on. And the audience stuck to him Ike a burr, and along about ten o* clock a little later the Jester began to grow uixious. But he kept at it, and by and a couple of men got up and went out. This was the first break, and the Jester'eit encouraged. But in a few minutes tin men, who had only gone out to see a man, both came back. And he felt depressed again. But he kept at it. He was liouid to talk that audience out of National Fall. But it was too many for him. Pediaps seven or eight people l*ft the hall st different times, but that was all; andxt 25 minutes after eleven o' clock the extausted Jester jangled his sweet liells a little out of tune on the closing joke oul fell into a chair, limp and despairing, while the good-natured audience, fresu as a rose, retired from the ring, smilng and ready for another round. You can't talk out a Mount Pleasant auditnoe. " I never talked so long in all my life,' the Jester said, " and to think that they should tire me ont, after all. Anyhow, I wasn't feeling very well. I'll come l>ack next winter when I'm fresh and strong, and I'll give these jieople a little racket for their white alley then." tl—-oLI fKg ,iu*seger, "you're the man, aren't you, that writes such touching things, once in a while, id suit the Watity of silence ? " But the Jester said he was too sleepy to talk }M>liticß, and the stage being ready the pilgrims lighted their cigars, drew up their windows and smoked a clergyman of the Episcopal Church all the way over to Tarr Station, so that when lie got luxne that night he made the parlor smell like a dryiug-liouse, and up to this date has not been able to con vince his wife tint he hadn't been smok ing. Tli YilUj{** ri>tmlp>tri'HK. The son of tils postmistress says of his mother : "t-he's gettin' a little hard a' hearin', though ; but I tell her that ain't strange, sepin' she's heard so much in her day. Ears can't last forever you know, Mis' Linton, an' for fifty years there ain't ln#en nothin' goiu' on among the neighbors that ma ain't heard. Bein' in the post-oftic is wearin' to the hearin' ez well as the eyes. Folks eomin' an' goin' for their letters generally leave as much news ez they jtike away. By the way, Mis' Linton y| i sister, Lisa Brad leigh's, comin' backho-norrow. Ma was readin' the jiostal jeans last night, and she came across on* fron her." 44 ltead ing my postal cads ? exclaimed Mrs. Linlon. 44 Why, res. Ma always reads 'em—leastways si e roads such as isn't tk right off. She says it's her duty. Might be news of sickness or death or suthin' else,that we'd ought to send right along. They're dremlful aggravatin' readin' through. Pbople don't write as well as they used to, an' don't make things clear, nuther. When anybody writes jes' 4 Yes' or 4 No' on a postal, no postmaster in creation can make anything of it. But your sister's postal is plain enough, Mis' Lintou ; thar ain't nothin' indefinite about her. She says : 'comin' Thursday, 5 o'clock train. Have Fac totum meet me'. Ma puzzled a good deal over that word factotum,' and we both concluded that 'twas the name of your help. Furrin' name, ain't it ? I told ma 'twas new, any how, an 'ez we had a young calf't we was goin' to raise, an hadn't named it, we concluded we'd call her Factotum, like that furrin' kitchen girl o' yourn, Mis' Linton." Th Nile. An English capitalist, Mr. Gaston pro poses to dam the Nile at the Cataracts and subject about 8(H), 000 acres of land, which is now desert, to the influence of its fertilizing waters. This is a stupen dous undertaking; but it is beyond a doubt that the present rapids are pro duced by the debris of ancient works of this description which are now strewn on the bed of the stream, and from an en gineering point ci view the work would be perfectly feasible. The inundation would then be jnder complete control, while the company which should carry out the work would be reimbursed by the lands allotted to it out of nearly a million acres, which would now for the first time be brought under cultivation. It is said that the preliminary capital already been raised, .lami'K Ihiwle. On one occasion Bowie wliose reputa tion reached Memphis, arrived by boat at that city, or rather at what was then known as the Third Chickasaw lilults. The bank from the boat landing to the toj) was about one hundred and fifty feet high and a large number of people were watching the arrival of the strangers. Looking down one of them recognized Bowie as he step|cd over the gang plank and made the remark, "There comes Jim Bowie." "What!" shouted a big tlatboatman, then known us the "Memphis Terror," as he looked down the bluff; "what Jim Bowie? That's the fellow I've lieen looking for months. Jim Bowie ! Why, him, I'll whip him so quick he won't know what hurt him. I'll whip him if 1 never whip another man as long as I live ! Stand by, boys, and see the fun r Bowie came slowly up the bank. In his hand he carried an old umbrella. He had no pistols and wus evidently not ex pecting or in fact prepared for a tight. This fiict did not escai>e the now thoroughly interested spectators. Up went the thitlxiatmau promptly, as Bowie reached the top of the blufl. "Is your name Jim Bowie?" he asked. Bowie replied that it WJIS. "Then," shouted the tlatboatman, as he squared off, "I think you are a rascal and I'm going to whip you right here and now." Bowie was a man of few words. He stood and gazed at his adversary, who was more emlioldeued than ever. "1 think you're a coward," he yell ed, "and I'm going to knock your head off," and so saying the "Memphis Ter ror" advanced to the conflict. Bowie never flinched. His keen eye was fixed on the "Terror," who at this moment was face to face with him. But as the man of Memphis drew a dirk from his breast, Bowie stepped bock a foot and thrust out his umbrella as if to keep his antagonist at bay. "The "Memphis Terror," seizing the umbrella with one hand, made a pass at the inventor of the famous knife with the other. In so doing he pulled the umbrella to himself, leaving free in the right hand of Bowie his murderous weapon, which to this moment hod been concealed in the folds of the impromptu sheath. The sight of Bowie standing there, with the knife in his hand and the gleam of vengeance in his eye, was too uiuv>ii xvft xUC ICiiUl. From the bouncing bully he became transformed into a craven coward in a second. His face turned pale and his knees trembled, while the dirk dropjied from his hands as he gazed on Bowie s weapon with staring eyes. "Put it up, put away that SCYTHE, for God's sake, Bowie. I was mistaken in my mam" Bowie advanced a step. "Don't—don't kill me!" beseeched the bully ; "for God's sake, man don't go for me with that scythe and I swear to vou I'll never attack another man as long as I live." Bowie looked at his now thoroughly demoralized opponent for a moment,'and then turning on his heel with the ex pression, "Coward," walked rapidly away. Thenceforth the Memphis "Ter ror" was a changed man, ami until the day of his death he never lost the sobri quet of "Put-up-tliat scythe." Bowie was very foiul of music and dancing and on occasions where he could enjoy l>oth he invariably appeared in the best of humor, and the reserve which had begun to characterize him at this time api>eared to thaw out. It was on one occasion at a dance, when he was in such favorable conditions, that I had an opjH>rt unity for free-and-easy chat with him about some of the encounters in which he had been engaged. Referring to the disparity in size between himself and some of the men whom he had met in conflict, I asked him how he regarded his chances under such circumstances. "Suppose," said I, referring to a man of herculean build,who stood near, "sup pose you were attacked by such a man as Hob Johnson there. What then?" "Oh," dryly responded Bowie, "1 would cut him down to my size !" Ma£|(U'M .Mission, A plain girl, with a plain face and name, Maggie Gibson,that was all. Short, plump, and twenty-two. Always burst ing buttons off her dresses, tearing rents in skirts and aprons, and ripping open tight seams. A white freckled face, broad, and full of ge. Bhe would go to Philadelphia, and none of aunt Bully's persuasions could keep her back. Three years later, we find her, the same Maggie as ever, a little older, a little plainer, and a little stouter. Bhe j has worked hard, studied well, and it seemed her ambition was to lie realized. There wits a light in the eyes that hail not been there l>efore, a love-light, that made the plain face almost beautiful, sometime.s Maggie was in lov'e, in love with a heavy-bearded foreigner, hand some, proud and rich,such a contract to little Maggie, he was, but he loved the little maiden, only he did NOT love her ambition, he would never submit to it, he talked with her pleaded and coaxed, but no, she would not give it up—"either give up this ambition, or mk" and the proud spirit would plead no longer. Maggie's blue eyes flashed as she cried out impetuously, "Then I will give YOU up!" That was all, he went away, with never one word more. "He will come to-morrow," she would say to herself, as the tears would come to her eyes; "he has told me he loved me l>etter than his life ; he w ill come, I know." To-morraw, and weeks went by, still KM *•*- —— - where all the drems of her ambition had fled to,what made the world such a dark place. Perhaps there would be comfort in something else. She would try and see if she could not call back the same steadfast ambition that she had pursued for years. Poor common-place girl! While she was not a wicked woman, far from that, she had never attended church nor paid any devotion to her Maker. Was that the cause of her un rest? She would see. She went to church one day, she liked it, it quieted her mind, the earnest, tender pleading of the pastor, the quiet, attentive faces of the listeners, she went again, until she found it a necessity to drive away other thoughts. There was a "cry from Macedonia" for helpers to come teach the way of salvation to heathen souls. A thought struck her, had she mistaken her mission all these years ? She would be a missionary ! Bhe would heal souls, as she lisul studied to heal bodies. Bueli an awakening! She hurried to the minister's house, poured out her desires to the pastors's wife. She was taken at once as a can didate and every preparation was made. Ladies of the church devoted their time to her outfit, while she devoted her time to spiritual preparation. All was finish ed, the day for the God-speeds and fare wells had arrived,even the hour. Where was Maggie? No one knew. Search was made.. Not one trace of trunks or Maggie! It was such a blow to the church that it was deemed best to keep it quiet. Borne two years afterwards a fairfaced, bunchy little woman rang the bell at Rev. B. 's door, was shown to the parlor by a servant, but refused to give her card. When she heard Mrs. B. coming down the stairs she ran to meet her, cry ing out, as she held up a dimpled hand, "See, see, I have my diamond and my ambition too !" Maggie it was, surely, with a strange story to tell. The very hour that she was to have sailed as a missionary she re ceived word of the serious illness of hei father in a distant country; she had the money the church had given her and the trunks of clothes; she took them anc went to her father ; he was ill for month* and months, demanding her constant at tention. When he had but slightly re covered she was stricken down, and la] 1 at death's door for many days. Whei she had regained strength enough sin 1 wrote to her old-time lover; he was ' faithful; he came to her, married her ii ) spite of her protest that she would stud] medicine. "I have come now to repa] ■ what I carried off so slyly, it wouli : seem. I want to repay it doubly; m] s husband is rich. I use my own maidei ; name in my practice; my husband wouli t not allow me to use his." A REGULAR BONANZA : Her hand was evidently not on good terms with soap and water, but was heavily loaded with jewelry. "By George!" said Fogg, there's rich digging over there. I should say that dirt would assay a dollai; an ounce," Arctic Flower* and Berrie*. It might be supixised that in the utter barrenness of the Arctic landscape flowers never grew there. This would lie a great mistake. The dweller in that desolate region, after passing a long, weary winter, with nothing for the eye to rest upon but the vast expanse of snow and ice, is in a condition to appreciate beyond the ability of an inhabitant of wanner climes the little flowerets that peep up almost through the snow when the spring sunlight liegins to exercise its jx>wer upon the white mantle of the earth. In little patches here and there, where the dark-colored moss absorbs the warm rays of the sun and the snow is melted from its surface, the most delicate flowers spring up at once to gladden-thc eye of the weary traveler. It needs not the technical skill of the botanist to ad mire those lovely tokens of approaching summer. Thoughts of home, in a warmer and more hospitable climate, fill his heart with joy and longings as meadows filled with daisies and butter cups spread out l>efore him while he stands upon the crest of a granite hill that knows no footstep other than the tread of the stately musk ox or the antlered reindeer, as they pass in single file upon their migratory journeys, and whose caverns echo to no sound save the howling of the wolves or the discordant cawing of the raven. He is a l>oy again, and involuntarily plucks the feathery dandelion and seeks the time of day by blowing the puffy fringe from its stem, or tests the faith of the fair one, who is dearer to him than ever in this hour of separation, by picking the leaves from the yellow-hearted daisy. Tiny little violets, set in a background of black or dark-green moss, adorn the hillsides, and many flowers unknown to warmer zones come bravely forth to flourish for a few weeks only and wither in the August winds. Very few of these flowers, so refreshing and charming to the eye, have any perfume. Nearly all smell of the dank, moss that forms their bed. As soon as the snow leaves the ground the liillsides in many localities are covered with the vine that bears a small black berry, called by the natives parwong, in appearance, though not in flavor, like the huckleberry. It has a pungent, spicy tartness, that is very acceptable after a long diet of meat alone, and the natives, when they find these vines, stop every other pursuit for the blissful mo- BMltu of nui gl/tinU ■' l ie fruit. This is kept up, if the crop only lasts long enough, until they have made themselves thoroughly sick by • their hoggishness. But the craving for some sort of vegetable diet is irresistible, and with true Innuit improvidence they indulge it, careless of consequences. Fortunate for them is it that their sum mer is a short one and the parwong not abundant, or cholera might be added to the other dangers of Arctic residence. But the days of the buttercup and daisy, and of the butterfly and the mosquito, are few. With the winter comes the all pervading snow and the keen, bracing northwest wind, the rosy cheek and the frozen nose, but with it also comes rugged health and a steady diet of walrus meat An Olii Fashioned Nunc. Bhe was old—in fact, she was a great grandmother—but she still retained the vigor of middle age, and pursued her profession of nursing the sick. Her face was seamed and wrinkled, the wrinkles being so cris-crossed that one was in voluntarily reminded of the tanned alligator-skin used in making belts and satchels ; but her hair retained its nat ural color, and she kept it in order by means of her patient's brushes and combs. She had her peculiarities, as most old nurses have. Her excessive economy was equaled only by her acquisitiveness. She had worn her black lace veil for forty years, her "reps" dress, in whose pattern red gourds chased each other over a yellow ground, dated back to a past generation, and her other garments were chosen for their lasting quality. Of these she seemed to have as many layers as an onion. The layer exposed to view, when she prepared herself for rest at night by her patient's bedside, consisted of a quilted skirt and a bodice of com mon blue and white striped bed-ticking. In her leisure moments she wandered about the house and lot communing with herself concerning the family's waste and extravagance. She picked up strings, nails and tin cans ; she gathered three shriveled apples that hung on a tree in the back end of the lot; and she dug down into a pile of ashes upon which the rains for months had beaten, tasted them, and finding them still strong and good, upbraided the mistress for not extracting the lye and making soap. Nothing that was offered to her came amiss. Bhe accepted old clothes with avidity, old shoes and joints of rusty stove-pipe had a value in her eyes, also crippled umbrellas and rubber boots with holes in them. She was not consciously mirth-provok ing in her talk; her conversation ran mostly toward lugubrious recitals of sickness, death and misfortune, but her patient extracted amusement from her words and expressions. Besides these traits, peculiar to herself, she had many common to old-fashioned nurses, but was excelled probably by none in her capacity for spilling things, for losing her sj>ectaeles and for guttering, NO. 28.