YOL. LYI.
BARTER,
AUCTIONEER,
REBERSBURG. PA.
J a SPRINGER,
Fashionable Barber,
Next Door to JOURNAL Store,
MILLHKIH, PA.
JJROCKERHOFF HOUSE,
ALUBOHXN'T STREET,
BULLEFONTE, - - - PA.
c. G. MoMILLENi
PROPRIETOR.
Good Sample Room on Firat Floor.
iVFree Bute to and from all Trains. Special
rates to witnesses and Jurors. 4-1
IRVIN HOUSE,
(Most Central Hotel In the City,)
Corner MAIN and JAT Streets,
Lock Haves, Pa.
g. WOODS CALWKLL, Proprietor.
Good Sample Rooms for Commercial
Travelers on first floor.
D. H. MINGLE,
Physician and Surgeon,
MAIN Street, Millhkim, Pa.
JOHN F. HARTER,
PRACTICAL DENTIST,
Office In id story of Tomiiusou'i Gro
cery Store,
On MAIN Street, MILLHKIM, Pa.
•v
BP KIMTCR,
a FASHIONABLE BOOT A SHOE MAKER
Bhop next door to Foote's Store, Main St,
Boots, Shoes and Gaiters made to order, and sat
isfactory work guaranteed. Repairing done prompt
ly and cheaply, and In a neat style.
ft. R. Peal*. H. A. MoKeb.
PEALE Sc McKEE,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
Office opposite Court House, Bellefonte, Pa
C. T. Alexander. C. M. Bower.
A BOWER,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW.
BELLEFONTE, PA.
Offloe in Carman's new building.
JOHN B. LINN,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
BELLEFONTE, PA.
Office on Allegheny Street.
QLEHENT DALE,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
BELLEFONTE, PA.
Northweet corner of Diamond.
jQ U. HASTINGS,
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
BELLEFONTE, PA
Office on Allegheny Street, S doors west of office
formerly oocupied by the late flrtn of Yocum A
Hastings.
C. HEINLE,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
BELLEFONTE, PA
Practioes In all the court* of Centre County,
■pec al attention to Collections. Ooneultatioas
In Oerman or Engl lah.
F. REEDEB,
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
BELLEFONTE, PA
All business promptly attended to. collection
of claims a speciality.
J. A. Bearer. J. W. Gephart.
JgE AVEB A GEPHART,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW.
BELLEFONTE, PA
Offloe on Alleghany Street, North of High,
A. MORRISON,
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
BELLEFONTE, PA
Office on Woodrlngl Block, Opposite Court
House.
d: S. KELLER,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
BELLEFONTE, PA
Consultations In English or German. Office
in Lyon's Building, Allegheny street.
JOHN G. LOVE,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
# BELLEFONTE, PA #
Office in the rosau fuszaerly eecupied by He
latew. P. WUaen.
ftc JHillkrim §##rtsl.
A SUMXBK KVIC
How hushed the busy hum of ilmj I
How mildly spread* tlio parliug ray
Its yellow light
O'er yonder cloudless western sky:
While dusky night
Mounts up the liquid arch on high
With rapid (light.
The ruah of Kno'a rocky stream.
The cowboy's rustic shout aud scream
Break ou the ear;
And deep wlthiu Die darkening vale
Pale sparks apptar—-
Which fluting fireflies unveil
As night draws near.
Hushed Is the grove, aud still the ueat;
Warmed by the mother's wing to rest
The tender brood
Forget to ope their yellow mouths
Aud cry for food,
Till morning streaks the east wKh red,
Aud wakes the wood.
Soon to you poplars'* towtrng height
The watchful crow will wiug his flight
And perch on high,
To hall, freah mom, thy early biuah,
With Joyful cry,
And wake the minstrel lark and thruah
Jo melody.
A \ LKV ROMANTIC STORY.
Mattie's story was simple enough.
The orhpau girl of a former servant in a
wealthy family, Mattie had shared the
lessons and the play of the younger
daughter of the house, until a time
came when it was convenient to turu
the humble companion adrift to work
for herself. It may have been a piece
of ill-luck his neighbors ascribed to
Drew, that it should have been to his
farm the girl came as help to his sister,
or it may have been a piece of his good
nature that made him agree to take
under his roof this pretty lass, untrain
ed for service and educated far above
her station.
Drew's widowed sister, Mrs. Bankes,
who lived with him and whose child it
was Mattie had come to nurse, amongst
other duties too numerous to mention,
for there was but one servant kept—
Drew's sister exclaimed in despair when
the farmer brought home the young,
lady-like,delicate-looking girl :
•'We want a strong, hard-working
lass ! This one doesn't know her right
hand from her left. She is as good as
a lady, or as bad, and has never milked
a cow in her life ! What are you think
ng of to bring her here?"
"Ah ! that's just my luck ; well, we
must do the best we can with hor. If
the steward had never mentioned her to
me now—but then he did mention her,
and here she is."
There she was, and there she stayed,
apt to learn, willing to be taught,
grateful for the real kindness she met
with. Mattie was soon the best hand
at milking for miles around, and soon
devoted to the baby. Three years
passed quietly, and then came the ro
mance of Mattie's lite.
She was twenty that summer. Adam
Armitage, a grave man, was fully ten
years her senior. A great traveller, a
member of the world-renowned scien
tific society, a student and a discoverer
—he was between two scientific expedi
tious, refreshing heart and brain by a
walking tour through the home coun
ties.
Adam's walking tour ended at tbe
farm Drew had taken only a year
before, and the dwelling-house it had
been found more convenient to inhabit
than the smaller building on the old
land close to the road. Mr. Armitage
found tli e pure air of the Downs good
for him. He made friends with all the
family. To Mattie it was delightful to
meet once more some one with all the
tricks and manner of the more refined
society among which her youth had
been passed. Little Harry followed
his new friend wherever he went ; Har
ry's mother called him a right-down
pleasant gentleman ; the , farmer called
him a good man.
They all missed him when he went
away, Mattie most of all; but the fol
lowing summer saw him there again, a
welcome old fuend this time, and no
stranger.
Drew, a keen observer of all that
went on around him, was not so much
taken by surprse as his sister was,
when one day toward the end of this
second visit Adam and Mattie were
both mysteriously missing. A strong
armed country lass made her appear
anoe before night. She was the bearer
of a note from Mattie, confessing that
she and Mr. Armitage were married,
and hoping the servant sent might sup
ply her place, so that uo one would I*
inoonvenienced.
Drew might shake his head and look
thoughtful, but Mr. Armitage was his
own master, and it was net the first time
a gentleman bad married a country lass.
Besides, the deed was done and past
recall. They had gone quietly to one
of the churches in the town, and from
whence the sound of bells floated up to
the farm, and had been married by
special license. Adam had taken a
lodging for his bride, and there they
passed one brief, bright week of happi
ness, then one morning they walked
quietly back together, Mattie blushing
and smiling, and looking so lovely and
lady-like in a simple dress that she
used to wear before she came to the
farm that they hardly knew her.
Adam explained that he meant to
leaye his wife for two days —no more—
in the care of her old friend, at the end
of that time he would return and fetch
her. There were arrangements to make
with regard to the scientific expedition
about to start immediately. It would
sail without him now, but it behooved
him to do his best that his place
should be as well filled as might be.
There was also his mother to see, and
prepare for receiving Mattie.
Mattie walked a little way with her
husband and the farmer, along the
breezy uplands and then Adam sent
her back, and hastened his own steps
in the direction of the little station at
the foot of the Downs. When he came
again, he said, laughing, that it would
be from B statical, and that he
would drive hi a fly through the Stone
dene gate and along the track, the only
approach to a carriage road leading to
the farm.
Mattie went away smiling, as he
meant she should do, and only paused
now and then to look after the two men
as long as they remained in sight. It
MILLHEIM. PA., THURSDAY, APRIL 13,1882.
was natural that she should feel a lit
tle afraid of this unknown lady, Adam's
mother, but that fear was the only
shadow on Mattio's path. It was an
idyl, a poem, as true a love story as the
world has seen, that had written itself
here in this out-of-the-way spot on the
lonely Sussex Downs.
On the third day they might look for
Adam to return, but that day passed,
and many another, until the days were
weeks, and the weeks months, and he
neither came nor wrote. Muttie re
membered how when she had turned
to look back for the Inst time upon that
homeward walk, she had seen his fig
ure distinct against the sky for an in
stant, and the next lost it entirely as he
passed out of sight over the swelling
lines of hills. Just so she seemed to
have lost him in one instant out of her
life. And yet she never lost faith and
trust in him—never ceased to watch for
his coming again.
Drew, after a time, either goaded to
the step by his sister's loud-voioed ar
guments, or prompted to it by las own
sense of what was due to Mattie, not
only took pains to ascertain that the
marriage was real enough, but the fur
ther pains of searching for and finding
the uddress of Adam Armitage in Lou
don. It was strange how this girl and
her former master both trusted Adam
in the face of his inexplicable silence ;
in the face of even a more ominous dis
covery made by Drew when in town—
the discovery that lie had never men
tioned Mattio's name to his mother, or
alluded to Muttie at all. As for Adam,
Mrs. Armitage had declared he was not
with her then, and that she could not
give an address that would hud him,
au assertion that confirmed Mattie in
the idea that he had so often spoken to
her.
As autumn passed aud the evenings
grew chill with the breath of the com
ing winter, Mattio's health seemed to
fail. The deep melancholy that op
pressed her threatened to break the
springs of life. In order to escape Mrs.
Bunkos the gill took to lonely wander
ings over the Downs ; wanderings that
ended always at Stonedene ; until, with
the instinct of a wounded animal that
seeks to bear its pain alone, or from
the ever present recollection of the hist
words of Adam, when he said it was by
way of Stoncdcne that he would return,
she besought the farmer to send away
the woman in charge of the house and
allow her to take her place.
Drew yielded to the wish of the wife
whose heart was breakiug with the pain
of abse' ce and the mystery of silence,
and Mattie on this foggy day had al
ready lived months at Stouedene, on
the w itch always for the coming of
Adam.
The fo£ increased instead of dimin
ished with the approach of evening.
Drew could not see his own house until
he was close to it; as ho had remarked,
the mystery of Mattie's a flairs was not
more impenetrable than the veil hiding
all natural obj cts just theu. When he
hnd put up the horse and gone into tea,
Mrs. Bankes, as she bustled about pre
paring the meal which Mattie's deft
little fingers had been wont to set
with so much qnietness as well as celer
ity, did not lail to greet him with the
question :
"Well, how is she?"
"She" had come to mean Mattie in
the vocabulary of the farmer and his sis
ter.
"About as usual in health," Drew re
plied, lifting the now five-yeara-old
Harry to his knee, "but troubled in
mind, thongh to be sure, that is as
usual, too."
"She is out of her mind," exclaimed
Mrs. Bank as, irritably.
"Everyone but yourself knows that;
and if you do not know it, it is only be
cause you ate as mud as she is—or any
one might think so from the way you
go on."
"Nay, nay," said Drew gently, as the
butter dish was set upon the table with
a vehemence lhat made the teacups rat
tle. "There are no signs of madness
about Mattie—unless you call her trust
in her husband by so harsh a name."
"Husband ! A pretty husband, in
deed 1 I've no patience with him, nor
you neither. As if it were not a co n
mon tale enough ! It would be better
to persuade the gitl to come home
and get to work again than to en
courage her in her fancies, while you
pay another servant here—and times so
hard as thev are."
"I was 1 Linking to-day," the farmer
went on, softly passing his broad palm
over the blonde head of the child upon
his knee, "I was thinking as I came
along of how it stands written : 4 He
that loveth not his brother whom he
had seen, how can he love God whom
he hath not seen ?'
At that moment the shadowy form of
some one going to the front door passed
the window, against which the fog
pressed closely. Drew set little Harry
on his feet, and rose slowly, listening
with intentuess aud a surprised look
that made his sister ask what ailed him.
"Rover I—the1 —the dog does not bark;
who—by the mercy of Ueaven, it is the
man hi.t.self 1" cried Drew, as the door
opened witli a suddeunoss that caused
Mrs. Bankts to drop tho plates upon
the biick floor. For Adam Armitage
stood upon the threshold. Adam, pale
and worn, a shadow of his former self,
but himself unmistakbly,
Adam looked around the room ss
though seeking some one, smiled in his
old fashion at Harry, gave a half-curi
ous half-indifferent glance to Lnm
Bankes, and he turned to the farmer.
"Drew," he said simply, "where is
my wife?"
"Mrs. Armitage is waiting for you at
Stouedene, sir. There,was some talk
of y our coming back that way."
"Waiting?" Adam threw up his
hands with a passionate gesture.
"What can she have thought?"
"She has thought you were gone,
after all, upon that voyage, and that
your letters miscarried. Sometimes
she has thought you were dead, Mr.
Armitage. but never—"Drew broke off
and held out his hand. "We knew you
could expluin what has happened, sir,
he concluded.
Adam drew his hand across his eyes
in the way a man might do who has
lately been roused from a bad dream
and has some trouble to his
thoughts.
"That has happened," he said,
"which, if it had not befallen me my
self, and become a part of my owu ex
perience, 1 should find it difficult to be
lieve possible. A strange thing has
happened"—hero the old smile they re
membered so well broke the light over
his face—"aud yet a thing not more
strange, tut the world goes, thau that
you—l say nothing of Mattie—but that
you should have trusted me thrifUgh
out. I detected uo distrust in your
voice, uo doubt in your eyes, not even
when they first met mine just now.
They call mine a rare case, friend ; they
might say the samo of your belief iu
me. But—Stouedene. did you say ?
Walk with me there and hear my tale
as we go."
"This evening, and iu this mist, and
you, sir, looking fur from well," began
Eliza Bankes. "Mattie has waited
so long already that one night more
will make hut little differcuoe."
One night, one hour more than I can
help will make all the difference be
tween wilful wrong and a misfortune
that has fallen on all alike," said Adam.
He would not be dissuaded frotu set
ting out at ouoe, and in another minute
the two meu were pursuing their way
through the driving mist, Adam talking
as they went.
After parting from Mattie ho had
taken a train to London, where, arriv
ing in due course, he drove into a cab
to his mother's house in Grosveuor
street, within a few yards of which his
cab overturned, aud Adam was thrown
out, falling heavily upon his head.
After a long interval, however, he ope -
ed his eyes and recovered conscious
ness, and, as he did so—slowly at first,
but after a time more fully—the as
tounding discovery was mode that his
memory was entirely gone.
However, this state was one from
which, so said his friends, science could
at will recall him, and the operation
necessary to restore Adam to himself
was deferred only until his health per
mitted of its being attended by a mini
mum risk.
It was while Adam was iu the state
al>ove described that Drew had seen
Mrs. Armitage. A proud woman, Bhe
was ill -pleased to hear that he had mar*
ried alarm servant; for that was tho
one fact that, stripped of Drew's pane
gyrics upon Mattie's superior education
and refined mauners, alone stared her
in the face.
Hastily resolving that there was
no need to embitter her own life by ua
attempt to recall to her son this ill
fated marriage, she did not hesitate to
deceive the unwelcome visitor. Change
of scene had been ordered for the pa
tient, and before Drew colled at the
house iu Grosvencr street for the sec
ond time, Adam and his mother were
gone. It was in Paris, months after
that, that the operation was finally and
successfully performed, aud the first
word of Adam was Mattie's name. The
first effort of his newly recovered pow
ers was to relate to his mother the his
tory ol his marriage and to write to his
wife.
"God grant the suspense has neither
killed nor driven her mad 1" he exclaim
ed. v
It was to his mother's hand the letter
was confided, and with that exclama
tion ringing in his ears, Mrs, Armitage
stood beside the brazier filled with
charcoal and burning in the ante-room
of their apartment in the Champs Ely
sees. She was not a bad woman, but
the temptation was too strong to allow
this affair to unravel itself, and what
would turn up. If the girl were dead,
why no harm had been done, and this
terrible mistake of her sou's was recti#
tied at onco. If the other alternatives
were to prove true and Mattie had lost
her senses, Adam would be equally free
from her, or measures oould be taken to
insure so desirable a result. Mrs.
Armitage tore the letter into pieces,
and awaited by the brazier until tho
fragments were charred. Adam asked
no awkward question, aud was not
even surprised at receiving no answer
to his epistle, siuoe in it he announced
his coming. The first day his health
admitted of it ho set out alone for Eug-
Und.
Such was the story. When Drew
had told of his efforts to seek Adam,
and hail mentioned that uo letter had
reached Mattie, Ada n was at uo loss t#
understand the part his mother played.
But he uever spoke of it theu or at any
future time.
The house door at Stonedeuo stood
ajar; evening had closed in now, aud
the chilly fog was still abroad, but the
figure at the gate was dimly discernible.
Adam hastened his steps.
"For heaven's sake, sir, be careful;
the suddenness of it might turn her
brain," cried Drew, laving a detaining
baud upou the arm of his companiou.
Ad'im gently shook him off.
"Suddenness," he repeated. "Aye,
it is sudden to you—and to Mrs.
Bankes, but for me aud for Mattie,
whose thoughts are day aud night,
night aud day full of each other, how
cau it be sudden ?"
Drew stood still and Adam went on
alone until his footsteps became audi
ble and Mattie turned her head to see
him standing at her side.
Adam had been right; no fear was
there L>r Mattie's brain. All exjite
ment, all surprise and wonder came
afterwards ; at the first supreme mo -
ment, and with a satisfied sigh, as of a
child who has got all it wants, Mattie
held out her arms to him with one
word—
"Husband 1"
As Adam drew her to him it was not
only the mist or the darkening evening
that blinded Drew so that for a moment
or two lie saw neither of them.
People say Drew's luck has turued
from that day Stouedene found a tenant.
It is newly done up and prettily fur
nished now; Mr. and Mis. Armitage
come down here once or twice a year
with their children for a breath of fresh
air aud to visit old friends.
,Aw exchange ualts: "What would a
twemy-tiva cent cigar amount to if you
had no match?" Juat a quarter oi a Uol
ia brother, Uiv us another,
KxpctaUon
The whole Mohammedan world is
excited over the expected end of the
world this year. The Moslems say that
most of tho signs which are to precede
that dreadful hour have already been
accomplished, and that but two more
are wanting. Those in which they pro
fess already to see the fulfilment of
prophecy are many, some of which are
tuiuHlts and seditions, innumerable
earthquakes aud eclipses, and the de
cadence of faith among men. In the
late war between Turkey and Russia
they see tho fulfilment of the prophecy
that Gog and Magog, the fair haired
tribes oT the North, should break forth
across the barriers which Dhu'l Kar
vein built against them in the mountains
of Armenia. Iu Gla Istone they see tho
anti-Christ.
The two signs wanting are the descent
of Jesus upon the earth and the appa
itiou of the Malidi. In anticipation of
the early coming of Christ,tho cleansing
and repairing of the Eastern Minaret of
Jesus, of the great Mosque at Damas
cus, was begun about two years ago.
The apparition of the Malidi, is. how
ever regarded as the greatest of all the
signs foreshadowing the end of the
world.
Mohammed it is said, prophesied
that the world should not have an end
till one of his own family should rule
over Islam, whose name and whose fa
ther's name should be the same as his
own and his father's own (Abdullah)r
It has loug been the belief of tlie Mos
lems that a descendant of the Propliet
of the tribe of the Koreish will rule over
the Arabs about the boginuing of the
fourteenth century of the Hegira, aud
that At that time the Mahdi will r veal
himself at Mecca and the era of the Ca
liphate be brought to an end. The be
ginning of the fourteenth century is uea.
at hand; the Caliph of Mecca, Abdul
Mutt&llio, is reported to have raised the
standard of rebellion and proclaimed
himself ruler over the Arabs; and to cap
the climax, so to spsak, the Mahdi him
self has appeared at Mecca iu the per
son of Abdullah, the son of Mohammed,
by a mother of the name of Einiueh.
The names of the Prophet, his father
and mother, are properly grouped to
gether, aud ihe circumstances of time
and place all answer to the prophecy.
If anything else were needed to convince
the faithful that the end of the world is
at hand,may be found in the cholera now
raging iu Mecca, and which the Arabs
call "the yellow wind of fire." aud this
is the fire which, according to prophecy
shall consume the Hedjaz at the mo
ment when the Mahdi makes his appear
ance.
These things are now regarded by
♦he Mohammedans as of greater im
portance than the settlement of finan
cial questions, Government reforms,
etc. indeed, in comparison, those
things which so deeply interest other
people are th# merest trifies to Moslem
nations.
High Heel*.
Kecently a modest young gentleman at
tended the morning service in a fashioua
bie church, and was kindly shown into a
luxuriously cushioned pew, and had hard
ly settled himself, and taking observation
of his neighbors, before a beautiful young
lady entered, and, with a graceful wave of
the hand preventing our friend from rising
to give her his place, sunk into a seat near
the end. When a hymn was given out she
skillfully found the page, and with a sweet
smile that set his heart a thumping, hand
ed her neighbor the book.
The minister raised his hands in prayer,
and the fair girl knelt, and in this posture
perplexed our friend which most to admire
uer beauty or her devoutneas. Presently
the prayer was concluded, and the congre -
gation resumed their seats. Our friend
respectfully raised his eyes from the fair
form he had been so earnestly scanning,
lest when she looked up she should detect
him staring at her.
After a couple of seconds he darted a
furtive glance at his charmer, and was as
tonished to see her still on her knees. He
looked closely and saw that she was much
affected, trembllug in violent agitation, no
doubt, from the eloqueut power of the
preacher.
Deeply sympathizing, he watched her
closely. Her motion became more violent;
reach tug behind her, she would convulsive
ly grasp her clothing,and strain, as it were,
to rend the brilliant fabric of her dress.
The sight was extremely painful to behold,
but still he gszed, like one entranced with
wonder and astonishment.
After a minute the lady raised her face,
heretofore concealed in the cushion, and
with her hand made an unmistakable
beckon to our friend. He quickly moved
along the pew toward her, and inclined his
ear, as she evidently wished to say some
thing.
"Please help mo, sir,* she whispered,
"my dress is caught and I cau't get up."
A briet examination showed the caune of
the difficulty. The fair girl wore fashioni>
bio high heeled boots, kneeling upon both
knees, these heels, of course, .were aimed
out at right angles, and in this position
the highest hoop of her now skirt caught
over them and thus rendered it impossible
for her to raise herself or straighten her
limbs. The more she struggled the tighter
was she bound, so she was constrained to
call for help. This was immediately, if
not scientifically rendered, and when the
next prayer was made she merely inclined
herself upon the back of the front pew—
thinking, no doubt, that she was not in a
pray&g costume.
—The average pay of the St. Louis
school teacher is $615.51 a year.
—Austin has been very kealtny this
i year.
Heading Signs in Use Iky.
It s easy enough to bo a weather prophet.
All you've got to do is to keep your eye
on the sky, and it will be a very sly storm
indeed that steals a march on you. : '
The speaker was a gentleman living on
Columbia Heights, Brooklyn, who has
done a great deal of sky gazing, but says
be has uo desire for a public reputation as
a weather-wise man.
"Look out of the south window. Do
you notice fcnose long, narrow, misty
looking clouds in parallel rows that seem
to be advancing upward from behind
btaten Island with the precision and
steadiness of a line of battle? They are
the advance guards of an approaching
storm. The barometer has not given the
sligntest sign, aud it probably will not
until that skirmish line has rescued the
zeuitn, which may take hours, and yet I
am as cei lain that a storm is comiDg as
though I saw the ram falling."
"Do you mean that you can foretell a
storm by the clouds sooner than by a
barometer ?"
"Anybody can. These winter storms,
especially, announce their approach some
times two or three days in advance.
Whenever you see those parallel stripes of
clouds rising tn the southwest and moving
in ranks slowly across the sky, you may
be sure that wet or snowy weather is at
baud. Why should not the clouds tore
tell the weather? There cannot be a
storm or any considerable change of
weather without clouds, and there is al
most as much difference perceptible in
clouds as in faces, if people would but
notice them closely."
"Do clouds always foretell storm f"
"No; some clouds give assurance of fair
weather. A very little practice will en
able anybody to read this language of the
clouds. It is more like studying a lan
guage thau you would suppose. You
know in Latin a chauge in the termination
of a word changes its meaning. Just sea
change in the form of clonds changes
its meaning. It is no mere chance vork,
but a certain change always means the
same thing, if *cirTi' turn into *cirro
strati,' every meteorologist knows what
that means just as well as the boy at the
head of the Latin class knows the differ
ence between 'Hie' and 'liujua.'
"Then clouds are not all of one kind?"
"By no means. About eighty years
ago Luke Howard, an English Quaker,
whose business required him to take long
walks in the open air, completed a classi
fication of clouds that have ever since
been in general use. One of the most
wonderful phenomena ever witnessed in
the sky led Howard to study the clouds.
This was in the great dry fog of 1781,
that overspread the whole of Europe and
part of Asia and America, reaching to the
summits ot the AJps, aud lasting from one
to three months, according to locality.
The greatest terror prevailed aud the end
of the world was thought to be at hand.
"Howard noticed that there are three
principal kinds of clouds, which he call.'d
cirrus, cumulus and stratus. Anybody I
can see the difference between these clouds I
at a glance. Ike cirrus is the highest of
all the clouds, kou must have often
seen it in the form of white filaments,
sometimes called 'mare' tails' aud 'cats'
tails.' Stretched across the blue sky like
delicate lace work, it is very beautiful.
Travelers say that on the summit of lofty
mountain peaks, from which they could
look down upon tne heavier clouds, they
have seen these wispy cirri floating over
head, apparently as far away as when
seen from the earth. In calm summer
evenings, long after sundown, these clouds
may be seen reflecting the most t delicate
lints ot color from the last rays of sun
light that illuminate the higher regions of
the atmosphere.
"The cirri are composed of little crys
tals of ice. These clouds and their de
rivatives cause the h&los that are sometimes
seen about the sun and moon. It was
probably cirro-strati that caused the great
display ot moondogs and circles the other
day at Denver. Cirrus clouds* indicate
storms aud clear weather, according to
its appearance. If they appear in their
most delicate forms alter stormy weather,
theu a period of settled; weather is at hand.
When they show themselves in parallel
streaks fair weather has lasted for
some time, they are the first indication of
approaching change. Cirri, when greatly
tangled and knotted, show stormy weather
close at h&id. If their borders grow
taint aud indistinct, there is rain coming.
"Cumulus clouds are characteristic of
EummejL The farmers call them thunder
heads when they poke their sm<X)th, white,
rounded summits, glittering in the sun
like silver, above the horizon. In that
form they are the fore-runners of local
thunder storms. These mountainous
looking clouds sometimes actually exceed
the greatest peaks of the Audes or Him
layasinsize. When cumulus clouds ap
pear in a warm, pleasant day, not very
large, distinct though soft ui outline, aud
resembling foiton balls, they indicate con
tinued fair, dry weather. Ou the other
hand, when they grow larger, darker and
more formidble-looking they foretell storms
Just before a rain they sometimes seem to
throw off little fleecy clouds around their
edges. Goethe, the great German poet,
who was fond of studying the clouds, said
that as long as cumuli have sharply defined
borders aud a white color a continuance
of good weather may be expefted. Cum
ulus clouds often form soon after sunrise
and temper the heat of a midsummer day.
it they gradually disappear toward even
ing the weather will remain serene, but i f
as the sun goes down they grow darker
and more numerous, then look out for
raiu. The cumuli are the capitals, or
condensed summits, of invisible columns
of vapor rising fiom the earth. They do
not attain nearly so great a height as the
cirri. Cumuli are generally from half a
mile to two miles high. Cirri vary in
height from two or three miles to six or
eight
"The stratus is most common at night
and in winter. Those long ranks of clouds
that I pointed out to you in the southwest,
and which show a coming noctheast storm,
are a variety of stratus. They always ap
pear in the form of stripes or broad, low
curtains, covering more or less of the sky.
The night stratus is formed of mists from
swamps, rivers and moist ground. It
generally rises and change! into small
cumuli on summer mornings. The other
kind of stratus, appearing at considerable
heights in the fall, winter and eariy spring,
is, as I have said, an invariable forerunner
of stormy weather.
"lliese three kinds of clouds do not al
ways appear in their simple forms. They
are frequently mingled together, and four
varietiea of theee derivative clouds have
been distinguished. The cirro-cumulus
' cooaists of little roundish white clouds,
1 floating at a high elevation and often re
sembling a flock of sheep resting upon the
1 blue background of the sky. In winter
> these clouds frequently appear before a
1 thaw. Between summer showers they
1 accompany increased heat. They are
common in dry weather.
• "The cirro-stratus commonly appears
in shoals resembling fish in shape. Its
popular name Is the 'mackerel shy.' It is
almost a sure indication of approaching
stormy weather. When it settles dowu
into a thin veil, covering the sky, and
making the sun and moon look dim, It is
certain to be followed by snow or rain.
You will see in it that form following
hose streaks that are now rising in the
outh west and covering the sky before the
torrn comes.
"Did you ever see a battle in the clouds
The cirro-cumuli and cirro-strati are nat
ur&l enemies. The first-named is a fair
weather and the last a foul weather cloud
Wheu they meet, as they sometimes do,
after a summer storm has partially cleared,
there is war in the sky. The cloudy
squadrons encounter in mid-heaven to set
tle the question whether sunshine or storm
shall prevail. It the cirro-cumuli succeed
the weather will clear; if the cirro-strati
are victorious, there will be more foul
weather. It is a war of destruction, and
the battle usually ends by the total dis
appearance of one or the other of the two
kinds of clouds, ail assuming the form of
the successful party.
"Cumulo-stratus is the grandest of all
clouds, and so it is the appropriate fore -
runner of great storms. If you ever hap
pened to go up the Hudson when a thun
der storm was gathering in the Ustskilli
' you must have seen this cloud dropping
on the mountain tops and hiding the great
peaks like a vast curtain. Whenever you
see these clouds looming up you may be
sure that a violent change in the atmos
phere is close at hand The cumulo-stra
tus consists of a layer or foundation of
dark-colored stratus cloud nearest the
earth, surmounted by bulky piles of very
dense cumulus, not wnite aad smooth like
the fair-weather cumulus, hut rough, dark
and threatening.
*'oo6 of the grandest sights in the world
is the majestic march of the cuinuio
81rat us clouds across a hilly country dis
trict in advauce of a violent storm. Ani
mals, as well as men, are intimidated by
the fearful appearance of the heavens, and
show their fear by trembling and hurrying
to places of shelter. These clouds com
monly uiake their appearance first in the
uortbwest, rising black and threatening
above the horizon. Soon the rumbling of
heavy thunder is beard, and as the clouds
approach the zenith, blotting out the sua,
fitful gusts of wind arise, followed by
periods of oppressive calm. Sometimes a
whirling motion is seen in the clouds to
the earth, it is a tornado, and nobody
ca.i tell what damage it may do. The
cumulo-str&ii foretell a storm sev
eral hours in advance. The longer they
linger near the horizon the more vioieut
the storm is apt to oe.
"The last class, or rather tab class, of
clouds is the nimbui, or black rain cloud,
which spreads over the heavens just as
the storm begins. , it is made up of a
mixture of all the other kinds, and appears
in every storm, but is seen in its most
characteristic form in a thunder storm.
Sometimes it approaches, within a few
hundred feet of the earth, and at other
limes it is 2,000 or S,OOO feet high. While
it always appears black or gray from be
neath, it is, in fact, surmounted by a
snowy-white cap of cirrus or cumulus.
I have sometimes, in the hills of Central
New York, seen from an elevated station
the passage of a storm through a distant
valley. The glittering uppers urf aces of
the clouds then preserve a beautiful ap
pearance, while underneath they are dark
and forbidding, and the pouring ram hides
the landscape.
'"On account of the mixing together of
the various classes of clouds, it is some
times diihcult to accurately distinguish
them apart. A little practice, however,
will enable any observant person to de
tect the prevailing characteristics. In
dications vary slightly tor different locali
ties, aad some kuowledge of local pecu
liarities is therefoie necessary. Any one
who watches the clouds <ua form many
weather rules for himself tnat he will dnd
at least as trustworthy as tae predictions
of Old Probabilities."
Losing a Day by Traveling.
The phenomenon ot a day being
gained or lest, in the calculation of
time, has recently been explained by
Professor Davidson, who, by illustra
tion, started a traveler, westward from
London, or rather from the meridian of
Greenwich, precisely at noon, making
him travel around the globe at ex ustly
the rate of speed that the earth carries
us eastward in its daily whirl of twenty
four hours. Now, the traveler i al
ways in lofal time at meridian. He
goes around the globe in twenty hours,
and it is always noon with him. At
New York his application of time agrees
with the olooks of the city, but his
watch, which wax at twelve, noon, when
he left London, is now 5 P. M. He
goes still westward, and in longitude
120 the border meridian of Nevada aad
California, he is still at noon locally,
and his watch indicates the Greenwich
time to be eight P. M. In longitude
Iso the sun is at meridian, and his
watch shows that the time occupied by
hia journey is twelve hours —at the
longitude of the Ganges eighteen hours
have elapsed—and continuing his tran
sit to Greenwich, he has still the sua
in meridian, and finds that twenty-four
hours have been lost. The actual ris
ing and setting of the sun for one day
has been witnessed by the people of
London and not by the traveler.
Actual time is the same, but in his case
the division has not been marked.
Going west, at 180 degrees longitude,
the navigator ad is a day if it is Fri
day, Saturday is skipped and Sunday
is proclaimed. Coming eastward a day
is gained, and if it is Saturday when
the meridian is reached, Sunday Is
made into another Saturday and Mon
day becomes Sunday.
NO 15.