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J C. SPRINGER.
Next Door to JOURNAL Store,
(Opposite Court House.)
H. BROCKEBHOFF f Proprietor
WM. MCKKKVKK, Manager.
Good sample rooms ou first floor.
Free bus to and from all traius.
Special rates to jurors and witnesses.
Strictly First Class.
(Moat Central Hotel in the Cityj
Corner MAIN and JAY Streets,
Lock Haven, Fa.
8. WOODS CALWKLL, Proprietor.
Good Sample Rooms for Commercial
Travelers on first floor.
D. H. MINGLE,
Physician and Surgeon,
MAIN Street, MILLUKIM, Pa.
JJ R - JOHN F. HARTER.
Otfiee In 2d story of Tomliusou's Gro
On MAIN Street, MILLHEIM, Pa.
C. T. Alexander. C. M. Bower.
ATTORNEYS AT LAW.
Office in G&rm&n'a new tiulldlng.
JOHN B. LINN,
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
Office on Allegheny Street.
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
Northwest corner of Diamond.
Y°C UM & HASTINGS,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
High Street, opposite First National Bank.
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
Practices in all the courts of Centre County.
Bpec al attention to Collections, consultations
in German or English.
ILBUR F * REEDER,
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
All business promptly attended to. CoUectlon
of claims a speciality.
J. A. Beaver. J W. Gephart.
JJEAVEK A GEPHART,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
Office on Alleghany Street, North of High.
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
Office on Woodrlng's Block, Opposite Court
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
Consultations In English or German. Ofllce
In Lyon's Building, Allegheny Street.
J OHN G. LOVE,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
O BELLKFONTK, PA
Office in the rooms formerly occupied by the
late W. p. Wilson.
ADVERTISE IN THE
R ATES ON APPLICATI ON.
YOUTH ANl> ACJE.
VN lieu I was young! All woeful wlieu!
All for the haur*' 'tvuxt now and llieu 1
This breath lug house not built with hands,
This body, that does mo grievous wroug.
O'er aery eltffa and glittering sanda
How lightly thou It Hashed aloug!
I.lke those trun skills, uuknowu of yore.
On winding lakes ami rivers wide;
That ask no aid of sail or oar.
Naught eared this body for wind or weather
When Youth and 1 lived tuT together.
Flowers are lovely, Love Is flower-like,
Friendship is a sheltering tree,
o the Joys that came down shower-like.
Of Friendship. Love and Liberty,
Ere 1 w as old 1
Kre I was old : ah, mournful ere.
Which tells uie. Youth's uo longer here!
0 Youth! for years so many and sweet,
'Tls known that thou and 1 were one -
I'll think it but a fond conceit;
ft cannot be that thou art gone !
Thy vesper bell liaih uot yet loll'd;
And thou wert aye a masker bold.
What strange disguise hast uow put ou.
To make believe thou art gone ?
1 see these locks iu silvery slips,
This drooping gait, this altered size;
Hut springtide blossoms ou thy lips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes !
Life Is but thought! so think I will.
That Youth and 1 are housemates still!
— N. T. Co/en'dye.
BETWEEN THE Til>KS.
A flawless Jay was the 23d of April in
the year of our Lord eighteen hundred
and seventy-nine. "The regulation morn
ing breeze had been lured into the jH>p
py fields of Angel Island, and put to
sleep by the narcotic kisses of Circle
And even the Zephyrs—gentle pages to
the era-while brawlers —had l>een shut
up in the weather clerk's aignal-box un
til 3 o'clock in the afternoon. Then the
yachts came out, and the Zephyrs were
released. It was not very good weather
for sailing that the Zephyrs made,
though they blew till their rosy cheeks
were like soap bubbles, and the white
sails were filled with scented breath. The
lumbering schooners staggered in zig
zag pathways, as if they meant to slice
awav the island noses v ith their dull
prows; and, indeed, the yachts sailed
scarcely any faster, only the little plung
ers made unchecked headway, running
at their own sweet will, it seemed. Tho
north harbor was dotted with sails.
Everybody and everybody's wife and
children and friends were out. So there
there was nothing strange about the
mere presence of a young man and a
young womau in a small rowboat amid
the scene of lazy commerce and busy
gayety. Certainly it was not strange,
for there were a hundred other people
out that afternoon in rowlioats, to say
nothing of the professional boatmen, the
men with sculls and the rowing clubs.
If the people on the yachts which they
met noticed them, they doubtless viewed
them with pity mingled with contempt,
or else looked at them artistically, and
thanked God for poverty and the pictu
As for the couple in the boat, they did
not notice anything but each other—at
least except as the young man found it
necessary to change his direction in row
ing to avoid being run down. After a
while even this became unnecessary.
They were rowing with the ebb tide,and
after they hail passed the newly-finished
bit of sea-wall east of the old Meiggs
wharf, the channel was comparatively
clear. It-was then about half-past three.
"Let us float," said the young man;
"pretty soon the tide will turn; then we
"Very well, Tom," said the young
lteally, she was as yet a girl. She
could not have been more than nineteen.
Her figure was slight, but indicative of
rare gracefulness. Her face was not
pretty—that is, most would not think it
pretty. Both mouth and nose were large.
Her eyes were blue and held an odd look
—half earnest, half careless—difficult to
define, yet impossible to disregard. It
was a striking face, almost fascinating,
withal a good face—a face in which
heart showed first and intellect after
The man was, exteriorly, common
place. You might take a description at
random from your scrap book of conven
tional current fiction, and it would be
likely to do him more than justice. But
what of that. She was "Laura" and lie
They had been talking gayly ever
since they left the landing at the foot of
Washington street. When Tom spoke
they hail apparently reached some com
mon and very satisfactory conclusion,
for she looked very happy, and she said
tenderly—for she had a sweet, low voice,
tunable as a perfect bell or a wave sob;
"You will ask her to-morrow, Tom?"
"Yes, Laura, or to-night, if yon
"She will look at you wild-eyed and
perhaps scold you a bit."
"Oh, lam not afraid. How could I
be with such a prize to gain ?"
They had passed the point, the swim
ming beach, the Presido; they were
nearing the fort at the gate. A sudden
swirl in the current twisted the bow of
the boat sharply around. Tom had been
leaning forward, the better to talk to
Laura,the more easily to hold her hand,
perhaps. As the boat shifted its di
rection. he instinctively reached for the
oars. His hands touched the empty row
locks. The oars were gone. He looked
around, but they were nowhere to be
seen, A cry of horror rose to his lips.
Luckily he stilled it there. He looked
quickly, furtively at his companion. She
had seen and understood. He forced a
MILLHEIM. PA., THURSDAY, OCTOBER 6,1881.
laugh, and his companion wan deceived
"Thou it was tint so wry bud?'" alio
said, and the color came back to lier
"No, it is a good joke, he replied.
"Only we will be out rather lat ". \\ hen
the the tide turns we will go buck boom
Really he hud very little hope. His
judgment told him that the tide had not
vet turned, atul unless it did turn almost
instantly, the swift current would earry
them out into the oiling, and amid the
breakers at the bar, where their trail
boat would not live an instant. And
then —. lb' could not swim a stroke.
If he could, the distance to the shore
was too fur to make that ot auv use. Il
only they had a rudder thev might run
the bout asliorejbut, unfortunately, they
had been in time to secure only the very
last, rudderless skiff. "Thank the fates
it does not leak." "Does not leak?" He
looked down, and, and saw that the ir
regular I>ottorn of the boat was covered
with water to the depth of almost half u
foot. When they had started aw ay from
the pier landing Tom hud braced his
feet against a broad crosa-eleet, and
and Laura's stout boot rested on the
same dry foothold. Until then neither
had noticed the water.
Tom had searched the bottom of the
bout for a bailing-can. He could not
find one. Laura moved so as to look
in the little locker under the stcru scat.
There was no can there.
"What shall we do?" she said.
"I must bail with my hat," lie replied
slowly, as if thinking it out; "the water
must come in very slowly, it is a long
time since we left Washington street
wharf." He looked at his watch; it was
then past four and they were nearly op
posite Fort Point. So far as they could
see there was not a single sail iu the
oftiiug: They looked back at the city;
there were uo out-comiugtugs or steam
ers, or schoouers even. Then they KM ik
ed out through the gate and wondered.
There is an untranslatable jiootie some
thing al>out our Golden Gate that the
sympathetic beholder, incoming or out
going, or gazing upon it from any stand
point, never fails to realize— something
which, perhaps, he acknowledges, but
may never put into fitting phrases. Per
haps it is because it seems so to hold
the keys of our California life, that we
may not dissociate it from eitherour his
tory or our future. Perhaps it is because
in looking at it one can never quite dis
cern its big beyond, of weal or of woe,
of sunshine or of tempest.
"We should uever have had this sun
set anywhere else, Laura," and Tom
pointed to the declining sun, hanging
without a cloud ahove the wilderness of
waves. They looked hack at the city,
and all the western windows were
"I did not think there was so much
gold in 'Frisco," said Tom.
"Oh, Tom, I don't want to die and
leave it all," said Laura, tremblingly.
The dallying breeze had shaken ofl'the
spell. The air had grown suddenly chill.
Far ahead they could see the ominous
white of the careening swell, ami long
the shore they heard the dull boom of
the surf. Lower and lower sank the
white, electric dazzle ;buff and pink, and
orange toning into narrow belts of opal.
Right ahead rose the black Farallones,
and as the sun still sank lower, they
stood out in unkroken outline against
With his soft hat Tom made slow
progress in bailing. Until then the
water had oozed in so slowly that danger
from leakage had not alarmed him until
then; the current, too, had carried them
along so gently that the dinger of upset
ting had not presented itself. Rut after
they passed the fort the motion of the
waves changed, net suddenly but gradu
ally, until at last the boat was rocking
like a cedar chip in the eddies of a mill
race. And still the tide had not turned.
Ceasing his bailing for an instant, Tom
thought he heard the sound of water
trickling iuto the boat. Perhaps it was
his instinct of danger and not his ears
that warned him, for the waves were
splashing against the outside, ami the
motion caused a constant lapping of the
water within the boat. Tom made a
careful examination, and at last found a
hole through which the water poured in
a fitful stream as to the boat rocked from
side to side.
"I must stop that leak," he said.
"Can you bail ?"
The sun had set, and the flush was
fading out of the western sky. Laura
took one long look around. In all the
waste of waters there was no moving
object. If there had been a ship in sight
she could have seen it, she thought, al
She began to bail as well as she could,
with the felt hat, and in her cramped
position. A long lin§ of gray was com
ing up from the south.
"It is fog," said Tom, whisper.
Until he said, "it is fog," she did not
realize the almost utter hopelessness of
their position. Even if the bar, it
would be impossible to protect them
selves in a fog. For a moment she tliougt
she should quite break down, the fate
before them seemed so terrible. Tom
had succeeded in stopping the leak, and
had resumed bailing. To make that task
easier, he had cut the brim from his hat.
The fog was now all around them, and
'it was quite dark. They thought they
beard the surf more distinctly.
"The tide has turned," said Tom.
And so it had,but just how they would
be affected by the change they could uot
tell. Tom kept on | bailing until the
amount of water liadi materially decreas
ed. Thev had not spoken to each other
for some moments. At lust Laura leaned
forward. Her hand touched Tom's, and
he took it HI its own. That baud-clasp
meant to them things unspeakable. Her
hand was very cold, almost as cold as
his own. In his pocket was a silk hand
kerchief; lie handed it to her, and bade
her tie it about her qeck, for he dared
not rise to fasten it there himself. Then
lie took both her hands between his own
striving to keep them warm.
Laura was the first to speak, and her
voice was quite even sor
rowful: "Tom, dear.lt do uot want to
die; and yet death cannot take from us
the boon of baling died together."
"But we shall not die now, Laura; I
know we'll not." There was the ring of
conviction in his tones. The profound
resignation underlying her words ha<l
struck the right key ill his own nature,
and the thought of his first despairing
mood made liiiu almost angrv. "But
it's awfully hungry wre are, my dear,"
were his next words.
"I'm ashamed of you," said Laura,
and she actually laughed. Tom laughed
When two jiersoiw in such a position
can laugh, it is either "very brave" or
"very shocking." according to the creed
we first sucked and the "so forth" of
our salad days.
The fog was all around them and
neither could see the other's face. The
fog was cold, and from time to time
Laura luul shivered once or twice, audi
bly, though quite involuntarily, for she
was a brave little woman. When the
ripple of the young girl's laughter rang
out amid the fog (alove the Ixxun of the
surf, the far away barking of the sea
lions on Seal Bocks, and the near, yet
distant screams of the fog signal), and
when his own laughter was smothered
in the fog folds, Tom repeated: "But
lam hungry, awfully "
What he might nave gone on to say is
forever sealed. Th£ next moment the
boat struck something with great mo
mentum. and that if all Laura remem
bered till she wdkefc the queer little
cabin of the SayaraEmma, brigantine,
inbound from "Aus;.Alia.
A woman's gentle face bent over her
own in anxious, motherly regard, and
dear Tom sat on a looker behind the
gangway, with glad tears in his eyes to
see the color steal back to her cold
"And now you must have a bit to eat,"
said the eaptaiu's wife, in hospitable ac
But Laura shut her eyes, half mali
ciously, and murmured: "Give it to him
please; he's always hungry."
"That's what you'll not dare to say
when you liecome Mrs. Tom," said the
young man, triumphantla; and as the
matronly figure of the captain's wife
disappeared in the shallow of the gang
way, he kissed her shut eye<esoftly, and
TIII-UUKII 111** K.ipiiU.
There are two rival lines of steamers
on the St. Lawrence this year, which
run through the Thousand Islands, down
the rapids to Montreal. One of these,
the Canadian Royal Mail Line, which
has been in existence for a year, runs
from Hamilton to Toronto, touching
only at American line has l>een started
with one steamer, the Rothesay, which
rans from Cape Vincent to Alexandria
Bay, and thence on to Ogdenshurg and
Morrisburg. At the latter place, which
is eighteen miles below Ogdensburg, a
transfer of passengers is made to a
smaller steamer, for the purpose of
running the rapids on the way to Mon
Great rivalry exists between these two
lines. Last Tuesday the Royal Mail
Line steamer Spartan started from Pres
cott on her trip down the river. Shortly
after the Rothesay of the American
Line left Ogdensburg. The Rothesay
was perhaps two miles behind the Spar
tan. At Ogdensburg or Prescott the
current proper of the St. Lawrence be
gins. Both boats dashed along under
full steam. Before long it was evident
that the Rothesay was gaining. How
ever, she did not fully approach till just
at the commencement of the rapid De
flau, some seventy-two miles below
Ogdensburg. Common prudence would
have caused the captain of the Rothe
say to slacken speed till the rapids were
passed. But, no ! steadily the steamer
went ahead, until she came abreast the
Spartan and but a few feet distant, when
conversation was carried on between the
passengers. The current at this point
is very swift, and the channel narrow,
tortuous and full of dangerous rocks.
The current pushed both boats together
till the paddle boxes touched and thus
joined together the two boats passed
down the rapids. At one moment the
rapids, pressing the bows in together,
would careen the boats outward, till it
seemed as if they mast capsize, and then
the noise of the rudder chains and the
chafing of the boats impressed one with
the idea that two monsters were locked
in a death grapple. Several passengers
fainted away and all were terribly
frightened. Neither boat was able to
draw away from the other, and thus fas
tened they ran the rapids for four miles.
Then the Rothesay, with her wheels
stopped, and her side all staved in,
floated to one side and steered into the
port of Morrisburg.
In thu li(i Svm.
All the islands in the Red Hen, with
the exception of Nowruh, Great llar
uish, and Dallaee, are barren rocks, un
iuhubitod and without water. Three or
four of the largest, between Akubuh and
Jiddah, are generally taken possession
of during the pilgrim season by water
carriers, wood cutters, and fishermen
from the main land They erect tem
porary habitations for themselves and
families, and chiefly live on fish which
abound along the coast. They Catch
I the fish by nets, hooks, und spears; hut
the turtle they generally catch while
asleep on the waters, which they ac
complish by suddenly turning it upon
its bae.k. However, should the turtle
l>e disturbed before capture, and disap
pear beneath the water, it seldom es
capes its pursuers. The turtle is both
u slow and awkward swimmer, und is
quite defenceless, even iu its own ele
ment, when attaeked by an expert di\-
er. Each fisherman carries a large net,
mode of strong twine, to which is at
toehed u long rope about twenty feet in
length. With this net iu his left hand,
and u short speur in his right, the fish
erman dives, pursues, and generally
overtakes the turtle which he uiunuges
to entangle in the net, und at once hauls
it to the surface. In this manner they
capture thousands; but they are uot so
valuable as an article of food us those
procurable in the MtMliterrauean or
West Indies. They are caught for the
value of their shell, which has liecome
a great article of commerce between the
lied Sea, Ceylon, and Europe. The na
tive turtle of the lied Sea ami Levant,
when fully grown, generally weighs
from one hundred and fifty to two hun
dred jxuinds. The Arabs on the shores
of the lied Sea, having never found a
dead one, seriously lielieve that the tur
tle species are endowed with everlasting
life. It is stated as a matter of certain
ty that the turtle lives over two hun
dred years. In bringing forth its
young, nature has taught it to take the
same advantage of the saiul and sun as
the ostrich in the desert. The female
turtle generally selects a soft, sandy
spot oil shore, beyond the reach of the
tide, where she makes a hollow nest, ill
which see deposits I>etween one hundred
and twenty and one hundred and fifty
fRK 14 , which she covers with sand; and
then, like the lazy and selfish cuckoo,
she abandons her offspring forever.
The turtle and land tortoise are of the
same family, for they can faith live in
close confinement without fixxl for a
jieriod of from twenty-five to thirty
days. When this process is adopted in
their shipment from their native seas to
Europe, they become very weak and
lean, and many of them die on being re
stored to their liberty.
Hand I'aiiitiui; Difuvi.
The application of haml-paiuting to
accessories of dress is daily gaining
fresh importance. The latest novelty is
painting on the corner Imm of China
silk handkerchiefs. These small pock
et foulards are made in Paris of plain
red, blue, or ecru for the centre;
around this a figured hem is stitched,
and this is of printed silk, but the four
corner* are always of the same color as
the centre On one of these corners
comes the painting by hand. The sub
jects are very decorative; there are birds
of paradise iu a tangle of exotics; chari
ots drawn by swans or dolphins, and
plenty of white foam splashing up and
oven to the centre part of the foulard
climbing plants that form a mass of
bright color on tlie corner hem, and
that diminish as they taper up to the
centre; Venus rising from the waves and
holding above her head a shell, in the
luiilst of which was a large shining
pearl. It is the proper thing to exhibit
the painted corner. This decoration
does not exclude a worked crest and
monogram, executed in embroidery on
an opposite corner, but not on the hem.
A handkerchief of the kind here de
scribed costs in Paris from fifteen to
eighteen francs. The artist gains from
five to ten francs for each subject. I
is not supposed easy to finish two in one
day, as the painting is as fine as niina
turo; but even should three be got
through in two days, this is not despi
cable employment, and ladies might en
deavor to introduce this novelty at
home. There also are exhibited new
perfumed sachets to be laid on the cen
tre of quilts and smaller pocket sachets,
now used for cardcases and photos, in
stead of the stiff leather and pasteboard,
ivory, or tortoise-shell pocket eases of
the past. These sachets owe their suc
cess to a fragrance with which the lin
ings and the inside are impregnated.
It is so lasting that a coat front retains
the mild perfume long after the sachet
has been removed. Sachets are also
painted on the outside by hand: they
have two pockets, one under each cover;
these and the inner fiaps are outlined
with silken cord. Another suggestion
for the industrious is the application of
embossed designs applique on the. quar
ters of velvet parasols. They are of
stamped satin, tacked on all round the
contours with stitches that disappear
under a thiu silken cord, which is guid
ed round over the first tackings on.
We can never have much confidence
in the uprightness of others until we
have discovered some degree of upright
ness in ourselves,
Now that lace, for trimming all kinds
of material, is having its day again af
ter long disuse, people who have an
cient, luce-bedecked finery laid away,
will do well to resurrect the obsolete
garments, mid rip off the trimmings to
use again. No feature of white lace is
more highly vulued than the peculiar
creaminesH which is given by age; so it
is no matter if a score of years has
passed since it saw the light—if time
has spared its strength, it is all the
more desirable for the use of to-day. It
is not u very long time since imitation
laces found no market in America. Our
English sisters have ornamented their
pretty evening dresses with them freely
fr the last half-dozen years, but here
we have eyed them with scorn and sus
picion, till of late, imported dresses of
undoubted style converted us to their
use. This summer dealers offer us fully
twenty-five varieties of imitation lace,
many of them exceedingly pretty, and
some expensive enough to demand con
sideration from those whose admiration
for an article is governed by its cost.
A dress worn at a Saratoga hotel by
one of the visitors in race week recalls a
hint for making sueli a dress, given a
long time ago iu these articles. The
present fancy for lace makes the idea
even more worthy of attention than
when first mentioned. While the slight
cost of the costume, as made at home w ill
be its recconnuendation to economists,
there is no reason to lielieve that the
dress which was admired at the water
ing place was inexpensive; on the con
trary, the probability is that it was im
portod for the wearer. The dress was
made of white Brussels net, it was once
called, but the nearest approach to the
fabric sold as such then is now the fti e
mosquito lace, uot the coarse stuff with
the square bar, but a net with mesh,
like in kind, but not size, to the cane
seats of chairs. The overskirt was
darned in a showy pattern, such as is
frequently seeu ujxin tidies, with linen
thread. The back of the skirt was cov
ered with three wide ruffles of the lace,
Inirdered with a darned pattern, and
the lowest mfile extended all around
the bottom of the dress. The waist
was thickly covered with stripes in the
darning stitch representing inserting,
and the sleeves were decorated in the
same way. The umlerdress in this ease
was of white Surah satin, sleeeveless
and low square ntH'k, but any old white
or pale evening silk drees could lie
worn iu its place; even a very indiffer
ent silk could lie used without its de-
fects being perceptible through the
rutlling and figuring of the lace. Darn
ed tidies are so easy to make, and have
lieen for a long time such a iHpular
style of fancy work, that most vouug
ladies have had some experience in that
line, and if a handsome evening dress
happens to lie the desire of any young
lady's heart, she will not shrink from
the labor involved in getting up a dress
like the one described. The cost will
be next to nothing, if the edge of the
overskirt is finished by deep scallops
run with several rows of linen, and a
deep hem turned on the bottom of the
nifties just below the darned border.
Countless yards of ruffled lace added to
the dressiness of the costume just de
scribed, but to many tastes the sim
plicity of the finish just suggested
would give the dress a charm besides
making it much easier to wash if it ever
needed to pass through that process,
which is doubtful, as laee does not catch
dirt as easily as other fabrics.
French writers predict a reentrnnee
into fashion of striped materials. They
were considered out of date last season,
and merchants reduced the prices of
those on hand so much that some great
bargains are still to be scoured. Shop
pers with slender purses would do well
to avail themselves of some of these op
portunities, as some very durable and
excellent goods are being sold at the
bargain counters, to leave room for new
fall stock. It is the habit of many ex
perienced housekeepers to make most
of their purchases between seasons.
The opportunity for choice is small, but
compensation for that lies in the prices,
which are far below those of new goods.
Black silks have been out of favor for
the last few years, in consequence of
the popularity ot satins and brocades,
but there is no danger of their staying
out of style any great length of time,
and now is the time to purchase them,
for botli the French and those of Ameri
can manufacture are being sold very
cheaply. A black silk dress is always
handsome and desirable, and for people
who rarely buy a rich dress, and must
of necessity make that dress last forev
er, there is nothing to equal a black
silk, for it goes triumphantly through
the changes of fashion as no other gar
ment can. Even if more sliowy styles
prevail, the wearer of a well made black
silk dress can be certain, under all cir-
cumstances, of being ladylike in ap
This is a time when dressmaking is at
rather a standstill in most families, and
people are generally at leisure to do
other things. In houses where ready
made underclothes are not the rule, the
time can be well applied to replenishing
the stock. Better cloth is usually put
into the homemade garments, and
where nightgowns and chemises have
given away at the yokes and sleeves,
the lower portions will be worth making I
up into children's under-garments.—
Dressing sacks or sacks to wear in sick
ness can also be made from the skirts of
worn-out night-dresses, and there are
various uses which can be made of half
worn underclothes in families where a
sewing machine is used. Of course it
would not pay to spend time in sewing
by hand uj>on any but new muslin.
Another economy that may be new to
some people, is making pillow cases
from the corners of worn out sheets.
There will be more seams than is quite
orthodox in such pillow covers, because
the centre piece on each end is gener
ally too thin to be available, and cutting
it out, necessitates a join of the pieces.
Where old linen pillow cases are good
at the corners, small square napkins for
washstands, bureaus and toilet tables,
can be mode by raveling out a deep
fringe. It will be beautifully soft and
silky on coarse, old linen, and working
an open button-hole stitch all around,
in colored crewel, to keeping it from
further raveling. If the linen ifj worth
it, a letter, or little figure, can be put
in the centre in outline stitch, with
crewel or iudelible silk. Useful table
napkins for everv day can be made from
the corners and sides of worn out table,
cloths, and it would l>e well not to con
sign the worn out cfiitres to the rag
bag, but keep them in the bag or lx>x,
which in every family should be appro
priated to old liueu and cotton, to be
ready for any emergency. Bandages
and strings of the right sort, physicians
say, are seldom at hand in private
houses when accidents demand their
use, but they should le ready, even if
there seems but little ]toasihility of their
Half an Lour before the f aciric express
left for the West yesterday morning a
big giant of a chap, lugging a satchel
in one liand and leading a big dog with
the other, entered the depot, folio we* 1
by a clean-faced, tidy-looking man with
a grab-bag and an umbrella. Both
reached the ticket office at the same
time, aud while the giaut inquired the
price of a ticket to some point in Kansas
the other laid down the cash for a trip
"Thunder and blares and wild cats!"
shouted the giant as he learned the price
of a ticket—"why, I hain't got no such
"Can't help it—regular rate," said the
"And extra for the dog?"
"I'll l>e hanged if I pay it!"
"Very well," and down went the win
"Say, mister !" called the giant as he
beckon**l to the man ticketed for Jackson
—"say, see here."
"What can I do for you?" askei the
other as he came up.
"Say, I want to go to Kansas."
"And 1 haven't got quite 'uuflf money.
I'm bouud to go, fur I've left home and
sot out, and I must raise some more
money. Say, do you ever carry a re
"Well, you orter," he said as he pulled
out aii old navy and worked the cylinder
around. "Times is mighty scrumpshus
jist now, and every man orter protect
his life. I'll give you this old barker
for seven dollars. I'll warrant it to
shoot blazes out of a boss thief twenty -
six rods away."
"My friend, lam a minister"of the
Gospel, and I never have use for such
"Preacher, eh ? Say, I'll knock off a
•lobar on the price. Say six and take
"It would be useless to me."
"Useless? Say, suppose you are
goiug home from prayer-meeting and
some rough tackles you ? Click ! click !
biff-bang! aud where is your rough ?
You may get into a dispute over at the
church with one of the deacons. He
thinks he has the dead wood on you as
he peels his coat, but you keerlessly
draw this out and wipe your nose on tho
barrel, and whar's your deacon ?"
"Oh, but I do not want it at any
price. I should never sleep easy if it
was in the house, even."
"Then take this 'ere," said the mau,
as he drew out a buck-handled knife
with a blade a foot long. "She don't
burn any powder nor make any noise,
but she's chuck-full of business."
"My friend, a preacher does not want
such weaj>ons as that."
"They don't eh? S'posen you were
over to the hoss-race and a crook
smashed your plug hat down your
shoulders? S'posen some feller comes
along and spits on yer boots ? Say, I'll
part with this 'ere home-defender for
$5, though she cost me 'leven and I
never stabbed but one man with 'er."
"I couldn't—couldn't think of it. As
I told you before I am a clergyman and
have no use for weapons."
"Say, take the dog! A pieaclier can't
lie tlirode over the bar for keeping a
dog, and if you're looking fur sunthiu'
alxmt four times as wicked as ab'ar-trap
here's the anamile. Say "
"I do not want a dog.
"Don't? Great hooks ! but do you let
tramps git outer your yard with two hull
legs? Do you drive hogs outer your
garden with switches ? Say, I'll part
with old Typhoon for $lB, and I'll swear
on four Bibles that I've been offered $25
more'n a dozen times."
"No—no. I should not know what to
do with him. I hope you'll get to Kan
"I'll say sls, though it's a burniu'
"I'll say sl2, if you'll agree to keep
still about it."
"No; that's my train and I must be
going. I hope—."
"Say, I'll sell ye a recipe to tame a
b'ar. I've tried it, and if it don't tame
him higher'n a kite in a week I'll chaw
* I N o —no —good day,"