VOL. LV.
HARTER,
AUCTIONEER,
REBERSBURG. PA.
J C. SPRINGER,
Fashionable Barber,
Next Door to JOURNAL Store,
MILLHKIH, PA.
(Opposite Court House.)
H. BROCKERHOFF, Proprietor
WM. MCKKKVKR, Manager.
Good sample rooms en first ffoon
Free bus to and from all trains.
Special rates to jurors and witnesses.
Strictly First Class.
IRVIN HOUSE.
(Moat Central Hotel in the CltyJ
Corner MAIN and JAY Streets,
Lock llaven, Pa.
S. WOODS CALWELL, Proprietor.
Good Sample Rooms for Commercial
Travelers on first floor.
JJR. D. H. MINGLE,
Physician aud Surgeon,
MAIN Street, MILLHKIM, Pa.
JQR. JOHN F. HARTER,
PRACTICAL DENTIST,
Office in 2d story of Tomlinson's Gro
cery Store,
On MAIN Street, MILLHKIM, Pa.
C. T. Alexander. C. M. Bower.
ATTORNEYS AT LAW.
BELLEFONTE, PA.
Office in G&rm&n's new building.
JOHN B. LINN,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
BKLLEFONTE, PA.
Office on Allegheny Street.
QLEMENT DALE,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
BELLEFONTE, PA.
Northwest corner of Diamond.
Y° cum & HASTINGS,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
BKLLEFONTE, PA.
High Street, opposite First National Bank.
C - HEINLE,
-ATTORNEY AT LAW,
BKLLEFONTE, PA.
Practices in all the courts of Centre County.
Special attention to Collections. Consultations
In German or English.
"^Y ILBUR f - KEEDER,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
BKLLEFONTE, PA.
All bus'ness promptly attended to. Collection
of claims a speciality.
J. A. Beaver. J W. Gephart.
-gEAVER & GEPHART,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
BKLLEFONTE, PA.
Office on Alleghany Street, North of High.
A. MORRISON,
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
BKLLEFONTE, PA.
Office on Woodrlng's Block, Opposite Court
Hcuse.
g S. KELLER,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
BKLLEFONTE, PA,
Consultations In English or German. Office
In Lyon's Building, Allegheny Street.
JOHN G. LOVE,
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
BKLLEFONTE, PA.
Office in the rooms formerly occupied by the
late w. p. Wilson.
ADVERTISE IN THE
Millheim Journal.
RATES ON APPLICATION.
lie pilllriii fiitmi
BEST OF ALE.
The world hath very little It can give
To make ua happy ; aud Its precious things
What men call precious, and for which Utey live-
To a sad heart are worthless offerings.
For what are gents and what Is tawuy gold?
And rarest spices from sweet Cyprian blooms?
And silken fabrics shimmering fold on fold,
The costliest products of the
They cannot save the soul a single pain,
Or to the weary heart bring hope again.
What is the flash of wit, the salon's glow?
The wine may shine, aud leap aud sparkle up,
From marble tables white as purest snow.
And brim blood-red ihe gold-incrusted cup;
The air may languish tilled with perfume sweet,
Ftruscau vases burn with roses red,
And velvet carpets sinking 'neatli the feet
Give back no echo from the stateliest tread:
But human hearts crave something more than
this—
Splendor alone can never give us bliss.
Far more, far more we prize a gentle t inch—
The unite caress of lingers on the hair —
A kind word spokeu —oh, how very much
The little tokens do to lessen care,
It matters little If the home be bare
Of luxury, ana what the world calls good.
If we have only one true spirit there
lly whom our better-selves are understood.
Whose deepest heart-throbs ure for us aloue.
With whom 111 thoughts and wishes we are one.
JENNIE'S DISAI'I'OINTMENT.
It wits a rainy dismal autumn day, and
the big country house where Jennie
lived with her parents seemed so unu
sually quiet, that a young lady (who
was Jennie's cousin, and was staying
there on a visit) looked up from her
work—she was at work with Jennie's
mamma in the drawing-room and said :
44 What can have become of Jennie ?
I have not heard "her laugh once all this
morning."
The mamma said rather sorrowfully
that it was one of Jennie's 4 bad days,'
She was a dear good child, but a little
impetuous aud unreasonable. Her papa
had promised to take her for a drive
that morning, as he was obliged to go
to a neighboring town on business.
44 But of course it was impossible to
take the child in the pouring rain," she
added, 44 only Jennie cannot see the
matter in this light, and feels deeply in
jured,"
44 1 will go and find her," said the soft
featured lady, who looked contented and
happy, although certain people had
already sometimes called her 44 an old
maid."
And she hunted the house through,
visiting all Jennie's particular huuuts,
but there was no Jennie.
At last she came upon her, crouched
upon a window-seat in one of the corri
dors looking miserable and defiant, her
lips pouting, her eyes swollen and red.
At first she would not speak.
But at last the coaxing manner and
soothing voice of her good friend melted
her somewhat.
She detailed her injuries.
44 They delight in promising me things
and disappointing me at the last moment.
As for papa, he is cruel."
44 1 cannot bear to hear you say that,
child."
Jennie's cousin seemed transformed.
She looked almost angry.
Jennie felt a little ashamed.
44 Why not?" she asked.
44 Because I once said the same thing,
and was so bitterly punished for it," was
the reply.
44 Tell me," asked Jennie, subdued.
44 1 did not mean anything wrong."
44 That is a poor excuse for your hasty
words, Jennie. However, I won't preach.
My little story will do that."
Then she began :
44 When I was a little girl like you,
Jennie, I had a very dear father. Ho
was a clergyman, and tnougli my love
for him did not keep me from being
troublesome and disobedient to him, I
thought I loved him very dearly indeed.
44 My mother had died when I was a
baby, but I had a middle-aged governess,
who was good to me, in her prim, dry
way.
44 1 had birds, two dogs, a pony, and
a most beautiful cat. Children in the
neighborhood were often invited to
spend the day, aud we were often allowed
to roam about the gardens and grounds
as we pleased. Then I went to spend
the day with them.
44 1 had some cousins, big girls, and
when I was but a little older tliau you, a
grand party was given in honor of the
twenty-first birthday of the eldest one.
The latter wrote to my father, and
begged that I might be allowed to come,
and he consented. These cousins were
rich and had a big house in the city.
44 1 was of course very anxious to go
and made great preparations hut the day
before the one fixed for our departure, I
fell violently sick of a cold.
44 Next day I got up a trifle giddy and
very hoarse, but determined to persuade
them all 1 was quite well. I talked and
laughed and made a great show of being
very hungry at dinner time. But I did
not like the grave look on my father's
face. Surely he could not be thinking
of forbidding my going to the party!
He would not be so cruel!
" But my misgiving proved true. He
said that on account of my illness I
could not go.
"You are cruel!" I said, springing
away from him and rushing away.
"And stubborn and angry, I went to
bed, refusing to speak when I was spoken
to. And next morning I got up late. I
heard my father calling me from below,
and wheels on the drive told me the
carriage was coming to take him to the
station. Then, as I failed to appear, he
came up stairs, and knocked at my door.
" I made no reply. Miss Jones, com
MILLIIEIM, PA., THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 1881.
ing into my room at the moment, said
in u low voice, 4 Mary, you ought to he
ashamed of yourselt,' then opened the
door and said I was dressing and would
not he long. 1 heard him take out his
watch, and say iu a disappointed tone
that he could not wait ; then he said,
4 Good-bye, darling, God bless and keep
you, 1 shall soon be back,' so tenderly
and sadly, that for Ihe moment my
hardness melted—l longed to throw my
self in his arms."
44 lint he was gone. 1 saw the earriage
drive out of the gate and disappear
where the road turns ; then a dreadful
sense of desolation eame over me, that
I never had, either before or since."
44 The morning seemed as if it would
never pass. There were to be no les
sons. After dawdling about I went to
the window which overlooked the road,
and the drive to the front door."
4 4 4 Whatever can these men be doing?'
1 thought, as four or five men 1 knew
by sight came in at the gate, slowly,
each one seeming to talk without listen
ing to the others."
44 1 felt something was wrong. I
watched the men till they disappeared
behind the hushes; they were going
round to the baek door ; then 1 listened
and waited."
44 Suddenly I heard a seream—mv
heart seemed to stop —then some one
rushed in."
44 It was the housemaid looking so
white and scared."
44 4 Don't you go down, Miss Mary,'
she said, 4 it's only somebody got a fit
or something,' but she shivered and
wrung her bauds."
44 1 made oue spring and darted down
stairs. But nurse caught and drew me
aside, I don't know why, but I felt I had
lost my father."
44 There had been a serious accident
to the train by which lie was traveling.
The car he was in had been overturned,
and a fellow passenger who knew him
saw him taken out from among the ruins
lifeless, and had brought the terrible
news back with him. I lay like one half
dead too on Miss Jones's bed, listening
to the cruel tale, and half hoping it was
a cruel dream, a nightmare from which I
should awake.
44 Then, the storm of sorrow sjH'nt, I
was worn out, and fell asleep.
"When I awoke, the last rays of sun
set were streaming into the room. Some
one had drawn up the blinds and the
noise had awakened me. Dreamily I
listened to a whispering behind the cur
tain of my bed. 4 Do you think it
would be prudent to*tell her to-night ?'
Miss Jones was saying, 4 Certainly !'
Then followed a long sentence delivered
in a voice I recognized as that of the
village doctor. I caught the words 4 joy
does uot kill.' Then bv their very mock
ery I remembered all. I pushed aside
the curtain and cried: 1 Why do you
come here to torment me ? Why did
you not let me sleep ?'
44 Then I stared in astonishment! Miss
Jones, beaming, smiling, kissed me—
wildly for her—and said, 4 Mary, com
pose yourself, make up your miiul for a
great surprise, a great mercy.'
444 He is alive !' I cried, and would
have rushed to find him, but they held
me lawk."
44 The good Doctor sat down and
talked to me, quietly and gravely. It
was true that my father was not dead,
as had been supposed ; but he had been
brought home iu a most critical state,
and his recovery depended entirely upon
quiet."
44 For mai.y weeks we did not know
whether he would live or die. But at
last he began to get better, and before
winter set in he was being wheeled
about the garden, and I was walking by
his side, an altered child, because the
daily auxiety had taught me more than
I had learned during the years I lived in
the world; I knew how selfish I had
been what a useless life was mine com
pared to that precious one I had so lit
tle valued, and had so nearly lost.
"I have told you this story, dear, as a
little warning. I cannot wish you to
learn the value of your parents at so
great a cost."
"I shall not said Jennie wiping her
eyes, and nodding her head, "next time,
I will indeed think before I speak: I did
not really mean what I said, you know."
A" 01<1 Acquaintance.
Charles Chapman, who was in his day
the foremost criihinal lawyer in Con
necticut, once so ably defended a
man who was charged with the crime of
murder, that he got him off with man
slaughter, although there was scarcely
a doubt of his guilt of the graver offence.
A very prominent citizen who was con
vinced of the man's guilt was so annoy
ed to think that Chapman had saved the
fellow's neck from the halter that he re
fused to speak to the distinguished ad
vocate for a long time after. A number
of years later Mr. Chapman's door bell
rang,and a visitor was announced. 4 4 Good
morning, Mr. Chapman," was the salu
tation. 4 4 You have the advantage of
me," replied the lawyer; "I do not
recognize you." "My name is—. Don't
you remember that you got me off for
ten years for killing so and so?" 44 Yes
I do remember it and I got through with
you then and there. I want nothing more
to do with you," 44 You needn't be so up
pish about it," muttered the fellow.
"The way you talked to that jury almost
made me believe I didn't do it, and now
you've gone back on me;" and he walk
ed disconsolately away.
The Iron Vli'Kiu.
Please do not imagine from my title
that I am uhout to relate any thrilling
tale that has to do with the so-called
"Iron Virgin" of the Middle Ages which
crushed a man in its iron embrace as
easily as you would crack a uut. No!
my heroine belonged to what at the
time my story opens was the smull toviu
of Springfield, in Massachusetts.
When it was, comparatively speaking,
in its infancy,there stood on S street,
little away from M street, a stove
store, and visited its door byway
of sign, stood the figure of a
girl, made of iron. Ido not know what
the connection was between the stoves
within and the interesting female, ex
cepting the material of which they were
both composed; but there she stood,
eight feet in her shoes and weighing
perhaps 800 pounds.
She stood there year iu and year out,
one of the notable signposts of the place.
The suns of summer la-ut down upon
her until heat visibly irradiated in every
direction from her. Many a winter's
cold had sent a freezing chill through her
and had given her a nightcap and epau
lettes of snow, and formed icicles on her
nose; and yet she had borne all with the
most supreme indifference, —kept her
place and remained faithfully on her
post. If you put yourself in her line
of vision she would stare ut you in the
most impertinent manner, though to tell
the truth, she had not a particle of lu*ass
in her composition.
She was in a countijr town and in
truth she was a rustic object generally.
Every summer, however, her owner,
"Old Steele" as he was* called, had her
scrubbed and polished with stove-polish
and she would come forth resplendent.
She was ail old friend of the small Imys.
Not even their annoying tricks had power
to move her—not even the indignity of
u putty-ball on her nose. In summer
when the sun had made her burning hot,
they would entice some green hand to
touch her and would shriek with delight
to see him jump. In winter when Old
Steele was not by, they would i>eg snow
balls at her until she broke out into a
rash of big, white spots all over her
body. But she was cast iu an iron mould.
She bore all with the most ironical in
difference.
One exciting incident, a little while
before my story opens, had varied the
monotony of her existence. One night
some "larkey spirits" (called so, I sup
]Mse, because they rise to early—alnmt
10 o'clock P. M.) some larkey spirits, I
say, removed her from her position, and
set her at the door of the Union Bindery
where a sign gave notice "Girls Want
ed." That same night, the "jovial band
of ardent spirits" removed two large
coffins that acted as signs in front of an
undertaker's shop, and placed them by
the door of a "Dye-house" much to the
amusement of passers-by in the morn
ing.
"Mr. Steele, the owner of the stove
store, was n queer, old fellow, and we
boys delighted in playing jokes on him.
lam going to tell you of one that we
played on him, which was connected
with the "iron virgin." Mr. Steele's
and we boys Iwmrded at a small hotel, a
few blocks off from Mr. Steele's
store. One evening, a few days after
the "virgin" had been placed in front
of the Bindery, we boys felt like some
mischief. So we concerted the plan,
which I shall unfold to you,in my story.
We first sought out the hotel-keeper, a
man named Sharpe, full of fun, aud a
prime favorite with us boys. We un
folded our plan to him and he promised
to help us as much as he could. Mr.
Stelle was in the parlor warming him
self before the fire. We went in and
joined in conversation with him; one by
one, however, we boys feigned sleepi
ness and started off apparently for bed.
But before Igo on, I must explain a
peculiarity of Steele's.
You have seen a piece of seaweed
hanging by the side of a wharf at low
tide—how dirty it looks and how list
lessly it hangs there ? And you have
noticed, too, what a change comes over
it when the tide comes in—how its color
becomes bright and how it is tossed
about by the waves? Well, so it was
with Mr. Steele. Ordinary subjects
stirred him but little, but when politics
were touched upon—O, he was all ex
citement ! His face shone and his arms
gesticulated wildly, as the discussion
stirred him up. After we boys had
gone out, Sharpe turned the conversa
tion to politics, and immediately Steele
became very excited, so excited that
when I slipped into the room in my
stocking-fact and took the key out of
his outside pocket, he did not notice it.
This I was the easier able to do since he
wore a style of coat very common at
that time, with very large pockets styled
ala prop rid aire. He invariably kept
his key in the right pocket—at least I
mean two of his keys—his store-key and
the key of his room in the hotel. Chuck
ling with delight at our success, we
hurried down to the store which, as I
have already said, stood about four
blocks off from the hotel. Having
brought our prize, the iron maiden, out
from her retirement from beside the
stove that glowed dimly in the darkness
of the store, we carried her to the hotel,
Oh ! but it was a hard pull carrying
her. It was bitter cold, and the frost
bit our fingers that could not help clasp
ing the cold iron from very stiffness, It
was fearfully heavy too, for our five
pairs of arms, and we hud to stop and
rest several times before we arrived at
our destination. There a new difficulty
presented itself. How were we to got it
into Shade's room, for that was what
we contemplated. There was no back
stuirway, and tin* only one ran in full
sight of Steele in the parlor. At last
we succeeded in hauling our burden in
at the window by the help of Sharpe's
well rope which welairrowed. Then af
ter snugly tin-king her up in bed,we left
her iu quiet, and softly made our way
down stairs.
We had occupied but a short time
ami Mr. Steele had not vat emerged, so
h> speak, from his fit of excitement. Af
ter replueing the keys in the same man
ner by which I had stolen them, we
boys dropped casually in one by one so
as not to excite suspicion. When all
our number were seated around the fire,
Sharpe changed the subject by asking
Mr. Steele if he hud not had his sign
post stolen. Mr. Steele, his late ex
citement all vanished carelessly answered
"yes."
"Ain't you afraid of having it stolen
again?" said Sharpe.
"No" answered Mr. Steele, "I lock it
up every night in the store."
"Well!" said Sharpe, "I'd being will
ing to bet you she's in your bed now."
Steele immediately set up a roar, we
boys joining in.
"Ho ! ho !" cried he, "that's a good
joke!" "Why he continued, taking the
keys from his jxx-ket, "here are the
keys of the store and of my room. What
have you got to say now V Why I'd be
willing to treat these boys here to all
the eider they wanted out of the that
cask you bought recently, if it was so!"
And he laughed at the idea.
4 * All right !" said Steele, quietly. "I'll
tre -t 'em ut my own exjiense if it is not
•o."
"All right !"said Steele, still laughing,
"the boys are sure of their cider any
how !"
Upstairs stumped the old man with
the cane which he always carried, un
locked the door and entered the room.
"There !" he cried, pointing to the bed,
4 "nothing there !" He went up and
struck it to add force to his words. I
never saw a face change as his did. We
hid the figure up very cleverly but the
clank of the metal when struck betrayed
her hiding place.
He fell back a step or two with his
mouth open. 44 8y JUJH !" he cried, a
favorite exclamation of his, 4 "she is
here." I wish you could have seen him.
It is useless to try and dcscrilie it. A
more wonderstruok man was never seen.
They say jwople enjoy a thing which
they have fairly earned and I can assure
you we IH>VS enjoyed that cider and the
laugh oil Ml*. Steele.
llow h IVoiiiitu Doe* It.
Some crusty old curmudgeon thus
tells how a woman goes to work to mail
a letter. It is a libel ou the sex. Some
of the girls will make it red hot for him
if he is discovered. Any day when you
have time you can see how she does it
by dropping into the postoffice. She
arrives there with a letter in her hand.
It is a sheet of note in a white envelope.
She halts in front of the stamp window,
opens her mouth to ask for a stamp, but
suddenly darts away to see if she has
made any errors in the names or dates.
It takes her five minutes to make sure
of this, and then she balances the letter
on her finger, and the awful query arises
iu her mind : 4 "Perhaps it is au over
weight." She steps to the window and
asks the clerk if he has a three-cent
stamp, fearing he hasn't. She looks
over every compartment in her portrno
naie before she finds the change to pay
for it. The fun commences as she gets the
stamp. She fiddles around to one side,
removes her gloves, closely inspects the
stamp and hesitates whether to "lick it"
or wet her finger. She finally concludes
it would not be nice to show her tongue
and wets her finger and passes it over
envelope. She is so long picking up the
stamp that the moisture is absorbed and
the stamp slides off the envelope. She
tries it twice more with like success, and
getting desperate she gives the stamp a
"lick" and it sticks. Then comes the
sealing of the letter. She wets her fin
ger again, but the envelope flies open,
and, after three minutes' delay she has
pass her tongue along the streak of dried
mucilage. She holds the letter a long
time to make sure that the envelope is
all right, and finally appears at the win
dow aud asks : "Three cents is enough,
is it?" 44 Yes, ma'am." "This will go
out to day?" "Certainly." 44 Wi1l it
go to Chicago without the uame of the
county on ?" 44 Just the same." 44 What
time will it reach there?" "Tomorrow
morning." She sighs, turns the letter
over and over, and Anally asks : "Shall
I drop it into one of those places there?"
44 Yes, ma'am." She walks up iu front
of the six orifices, closely scans each
oue of them, finally makes a choice and
drops—no she doesn't. She stops to
see where it will fall, pressing her face
against the window until she flattens her
nose out of shape, and she doesn't drop
it where she intended to. She, how
ever, releases it at last, looks down to
make sure that it did uot go on the floor,
and turns away with a sigh of regret
that she didn't take one more look at
the superscription,
HlrdJe.
Everylnidy about the depot knew
Chub, the basket-boy, for he was
always limping through the rooms cry
ing "Apjfles ! Peanuts—Peanuts —bin
cents a quart! Apples—two for a penny !
Right this way, Mister, for your fresh
baked i>eanuts and ripe red apples !"
Where Chub came from, or to whom
he belonged, seemed a mystery. He
was always at his |x>st, from early morn
ing till nine at night. Then he would
disapjieur, hut only to return punctually
the next day.
He wasn't at all communicative, and
said little to any one in the way of gen
eral conversation. Yet everybody liked
him ; his pale face und withered limb
were sure to apieal to their sympathies.
I used to like him myself, and it always
pleased me to see him get a good day's
custom.
But it's over a year, now, siuce Chub
sold apples and peanuts at our depot,
and I miss him yet. There is a real
lonesome place over in the corner ; here
he used to sit and eat his lunch at noon
time; it was his favorite seat, and it
never seems filled now.
I often hear our agent and workmen
remark, "It seems kind 'o lonesome not
to see Chub around."
I rememlier, as if it were but yester
day, the lady coming in leading that
little witch with a blue silk Ininuet
crowning her curls. It was the sweetest
baby I ever saw. As she ran al>out the
depot laughing and singing, she hap
pened to espv Chub limping his rounds.
She ran right up to him, and putting
out her tiny hand, touched his crutch.
"Oh, oo pair 'ame boy," she cooed,
"I'se dot a tins for oo."
Chub's face fairly glowed with delight
as he bent his head to receive the kiss
from the rosebud lips. He reached her
a handful of peanuts, which she took
and placed in her little sack-pocket.
44 1 loves 00, poor 'ame loy," she said,
softly, "tause oo was dood to me."
4 'Come here, Birdie," called the lady.
44 N0, mamma, no! I's doing with
jK>or 'ame boy," she said, resolutely
sticking close to Chub.
But the lady eame and took her away,
and Chub hobbled into the other room.
The lady was busy with her l>ook and
didn't notice her child slip out; but I
did, and every now and then caught a
stray glimpses of the little ligure as she
ran up and down the platform.
Bv-and-by I heard a whistle. 'Twas
the fast mail going up, but it didn't
stop. I thought of the baby aud so did
her mother.
"Birdie," she called, but no 4 Birdie'
answered. Just then I glanced out,
and there stood the little one iu the silk
l)onnet right upon the track.
I fairly stopped breathing from terror.
The mother rail shrieking forward,
"Will no oue save her? will 110 one save
her ?"
44 Yes," shouted a voice. I saw Chub
limp wildly out and snatch the little
form from its perilous position, and
throw it on one side just as the train
thundered by.
The baby saved ; but uiou the
track was a crushed and mangled form.
They lifted him sadly, and laying him
down on one of the seats, went for help.
It was too late, for he only opened
his eyes once and whispered, "Is she
safe ?"
They brought her to him but he did
not heed. She stroked the still, white
face with her tiny hand and cooed in
sweet baby fashion as she looked around
U]H)U the crowd :
4 'Poor'ame boy done fast seep! done
fast seep."
About l)'Htli'N Doing*.
What mouth most people die in and
what they die of is interesting question,an
to which the last bulletin of the National
B< >ard of Health makes an answer for 1880
based on mean population of 8,100 000
representing the majority of the cities in
the United States. The answer is given
in tabulated form, with death rate per
thousand. Nine diseases are given as the
chief causes of death. They are consump
tion, acute lung diseases, diphtheria,
enteric fever, malerial fevers, scarlet fever,
measles, whooping-cough and small-pox.
This list follows the order in which the
greatest number of deaths occur, aud it
must please nervous people to learn that
small-pox is the least cause of death.
For consumption the highest death rate
is 3.32 j)er thousand in December, and
acute luug diseases, beginning with Jan
to the lowest rate is 2.59 in June. The
.uary at 2.32 per thousand; rise regulars-
April, then decline regularly to August,
with 1.04 deaths per thousand; then again
it rises to December, in which the rate
is 3.20 per thousand. The highest death
rate for diphtheria is 1.49 per thousand
in November; the lowest 0.56 in June.
Malarial fever is highest in September
and October, with 0'65 and 0.58 as the
death rate, while naturally it is very low
from December to April. Scarlet fever
runs unevenly throughout the year; the
highest death rate being 0.65 in Decem
ber and the lowest 0.33 in July. Whoop
ing-cough runs very evenly throughout
the year, the highest rate being 0.27 in
March and July, and the lowest 0.11 hi
December. Small-pox did not rise over
0.10 per thousand except in November
and December, when the rates were 0.17
and 0.36 per thousand. The highest
death rate from measles was 0.46 in May
and the lowest 0.03 in October. From
this it appears that above all other lung
diseases carried off by far the largest
number of persons last year, and that
such diseases far beyond any others are
the bane of American city life—a fact
which has often been maintained before,
but not so thoroughly shown as by this
black table and chart of th§ National
Board of Health,
"I Forgot Mina."
On Dupont street, not very far from
Market, Han Francisco, is the shop of a
young German theatrical "shoemaker,
who is doing a thriving busines, and
who has every reason to be contented
with his lot. Among tlie treasures he
had brought from the Fatherland on his
arrival here, some three years ago, was a
pert little bullfinch; whose merry piping
—for bullfinches can be taught to
whistle almost any tune—kept time to
the cordwainer's hammer. A more in
telligent and companionable bullfinch
never lived, and this one's aptness was
the wonder of all Heinrich's customers
and neighbors. It was his companion,
liis encourager, his "bird of luck," and
his only friend. But there is no rose
without its thorn, and it was Heinrich's
one grief that among all its accomplish
ments the bird positively refused to
learn the one air dearest to all German
hearts. "The Watch on the Rhine."
Day after day, and hour after hour, the
shoemaker would patiently whistle and
hammer out the tune, but without suc
cess. Either from inability to master
this strain or from some peculiar orni
thological perverseuess of its own, the
finch remained provokingly mute. Even
a day's deprivation of its food did not
bend the stubborn little will of the saucy
pet, and Heinrich was about giving up
in despair when something occurred
that engrossed his whole attention. The
hearts of shoemakers are not quite so
tough as the leather they hammer, and
one fell in love. His sweetheart was a
pretty and shapely young girl, who was
playing minor parts at the Baldwiu,
whose gorgeous stage shoes he had
made, and whose symmetrical 11 last he
had professionally fallen in love with
from the first,
A month or two rolled by, and as poor
people have no time for a long court
ships, Heinrich's wedding day came
around, and the handsome and hearty
young couple were married amid the
good wishes of everybody, the bride
groom's wedding present being a pair of
white satin shoes, whose perfection of
workmanship rendered his rivals in the
trade ready to wax their own latter ends
with envy and despair.
The bridal trip lasted just a week, and
was quite a journey through fairyland
to the simple-minded and obliviously
happy couple. As the train that brought
them back again to the city entered the
depot, however, a sudden change come
over the groom's happy face.
"What is the matter, man ?" said his
wife, terrified at his emotion.
"The curses of heaven will follow me
for a heartless wretch. / forgot all about
Miruz /"
It was indeed true. Absorbed by his
happiness, and in the hurry of depart
ure, he had left the bullfinch locked up
in the dark shop with only one day's
seed in his cage. Leaving his wife to
look after the baggage, Heinrich sprang
from the scarcely stopped train and tore
through the streets like a madman. He
dashed into the corner store where the
key had been left, snatched it from its
nail and hurried to his door. As he
placed the key in the lock his trembling
hand refused to turn it; and, sick with
dread of what he was about to see, he
leaned for a moment against the door
frame.
Hark ! Faintly from witliin came a
weak, quavering chirrup, painfully striv
ing to form a familiar tune.
It was "The Watch on the Rhine."
After exhausting all its repertoire to
fetch its cruel master back to its gloomy
prison, the little starved thing bethought
itself of one last means to bring what it
considered its punishment to an end,and
strove to whistle the disputed air.
But the succor, so pitifully pleaded
for, came too late. It gave one little,
feathery fiuff of joy as the door opened,
and the next moment the master, as he
knelt beside the cage, saw, through the
tears that wet his cheek, the little head
droop slowly over as the song and singer
died together. #
Colic m Horses.
Attacks of colic most frequently are
the result of carelessness, and generally
may be traced to a horse having drank
cold water when heated, or imme
diatly after being fed, by being gorged
with food after long fasting, or be
ing chilled by currents of cold air.
Some horses are constitutionally more
liable to it than others. The first symp
toms are a general fidgetiness accom
panied by lifting of the feet very quickly,
followed by violent rolling. These symp
toms also indicate other disorders, re
quiring very different treatment from
colic. There are two that distinguish
colic from inflammation of the bowels.
In the former, the horse will strike his
belly violently with feet between the
the paroxsms of paiu; but in the latter,
though he may lift his feet, he will not
strike, and the pain is continuous.
Wheu colic symptoms are accompanied
by constipation, the first care must be to
empty the bowels by "back raking"
and injections of warm water. Here,
clearly, the stimulating medicines prop
er to flatulent colic would be inappropri
ate and most likely produce inflamation
of the bowels. Flatulent colic is the
more frequent and sudden form, requir
ing prompt treatment, and perhaps with
what may be at hand in a country place.
A horse got quickly well after the ad
ministration of one-quarter pint of gin,
and two ounces of ground ginger mixed
with water to fill a soda water bottle,
from which it was poured down his
throat. Equal parts of whiskey and
milk, and from half a pint to a pint at a
time has been useful. A veterinary
prescription for colic, is: Spirits of tur
pentine, four ounces; linseed oil, twelve
ounces; laudanum, one and one-quarter
ounce, to be mixed, and given every
hour until the pain ceases. Bathing
the belly with lior water, and friction,
are both useful. If a horse is led about
quietly, not galloped, as will be done by
ignorant grooms, it will aid the action of
tlia medicine, and prevent a horse from
hurting him self by rolling as he w ill be
apt to do, during the paroxysms of pain.
NO. 35.