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
t<K>k 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 g<Kxl humor when quiet, a wavy mass
of reddish hair, that would never stay
smoothly braided, wicked ringlets falling
down into the saucy eyes, blue eyes
they were, pretty some times, when
lighted up by life and excitement, dreamy
and common-place when the soul was
quiet; a snubby little nose, 110 character
there, a pouting mouth, pale, colorless
lips. Although a person well suited to
the name, "a decidedly common-place
girl," we would say, at a mere glance,
yet, that heart nursed dreams of a re
splendent future. Not a soul to think
deeply, yet, every day there were desires
and longings and ambitions crowding
the soul, and expanding the body, it
would seem.
We find her pouring out her wrath on
aunt Sally's head, because that worthy
lady had remonstrated against an ambi
tion she called "manly," because it re
quired a man's strong nerves,a man's clear
cool braiu, his steady hand, big stout
heart, and so many other things. Maggie
wanted to study medicine !
How can one describe such an ambi
tion in a woman, yet,it must be as noble
to her as it is to man, and we have
known young girls to) put the whole ol
their life's dream in this one desire.
One of the sweetest girls we know of,
a person of such delicate refinement, a
face that shows ull the sweet nobleness
of the soul, so beautiful and so perfect
in its moulding, said to us a few weeks
ago:
"I have hal but one ambition in my
life, that is : to lie a physician, to begin
nbw. I could not afford it,it would take j
years of faitlifunitudy, I must give it
up."
Maggie had made her home with her
aunt Bally, since her mother's death,
when she was twelve years old ; her fa
ther away off in distant countries, no
brothers, no sisters, 110 one but prim
aunt Bailie, who loved so to keep things
in a straight row;no wonder poor i. .'aggie
grew tired of the holly-liwks and petu
nias, tasteless green blinds, and stiff
hair-cloth chairs. Bhe w anted a change,
and a change she was Ixiund to have.
Bhe has not been idle as to what her
chances in a large city might l>e. 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.