VOL. LYI. HARTER, AUCTIONEER, REBERSBJJKG. PA. J C. SPRINGER, Fashionable Barber, Next Door to JOURNAL Store, MILLHEIH, PA. JgROCKERHOFF HOUSE, ALLEGHENY STREET, BULLEFONTB, ... PA. c. G. McMILLEN, PROPRIETOR. Good Sample Room on First Floor. <9*Free Bass to tad from all Trains. Special rates to witnesses and Jurors. 4-1 IRVIN HOUSE. (Most Central Hotel In the City J Corner MAIN and JAY Streets, Lock Haven, Pa. S. WOODS CILWELL, Proprietor. Good Sample Rooms for Commercial Travelers on first floor. D. H. MINGLE, Physician and Surgeon, MAIN Street, MILLHEIH, Pa. JQR. JOHN F. BARTER, PRACTICAL DENTIST, Office in 2d story of Tonriinsoa'a Gro cery Store, On MAIN Street, MILLHEIH, Pa. Br KIMTI'R, • FASHIONABLE BOOT A snOE MAKER Shop next door to Foote's Store. Main St., Boots, Shoes and Ga.ters ma le to order, and sat isfactory work tniaranteod. Repairing done prompt ly and cheaply, and in a neat style. 8. R. Peaul H. A- McKli PEAL"E Ac McKEE, ATTORNEYS AT LAW, Office opposite Court House, Beilefonte, Pa. C. T. Alexandei. C. M. Bower. ATTORNEYS AT LAW. BKLLEFONTE, PA. Office In Garman's new building. JOHN B. LINN, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA. Office on Allegheny Street. QLEMENT DALE, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLE FONTS, PA. Northwest corner ot Diamond,. U. IIASTIKVS, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BKLLEFONTE, PA. Office on Allegheny Street, 2 doors west of office formerly occupied by the late lirtu of Yocum A Hastings. M. C. HEINLEi " ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA. Practices in all the courts of Centre county. Specal attention to Collections. Consultations In German or English. F. REEDER, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BKLLEFONTE, PA.. All business promptly attended to. Collection of claims a speciality. "J. A. Beaver. J W. Gephart. JgEAVER & GEPHART, ATTORNEYS AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA. Office on AUeghany Street, North of High. ATTORNEYS AT LAW, BKLLEFONTE, PA. JQ SS. KELLER, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA, Consultations in English or German. Offioe in Lyon's Building, Allegheny Street. H. HASTINGS, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA. Office on Allegheny street, two doors west ol office formerly occupied by the firm of Yocum A pasting*. THE DYING CHILD. Mother, lam tired; I long to sleep ao 1 Let thy bosom be my sleeping place: Only promise me thou wilt not weep so— For thy tears fall burning on my face. Here 'tis cold, and there the clouds are fleeting; But in dreamlaud there are aunuy skies: And the angel-chlldren give me greeting, Soon as 1 have closed my wearied eyes. Dost thou see that angel coming, mother? Dost thou hear the music of his wings? White they are; they shluo on one another; Beautiful from Ood the light he brings I Rosy wings are coming, too, from heaven I Augel-chtUlren wave theiu as they fly- Mother, shall 1 live till mine are given? Or, before I get them, must 1 die ? Mother, wherefore dost thou look ao earnest? Wherefore dost thou press thy cheek to mine? Wet It feels, and yet like tire thou buruest; Surely, moihor, 1 shall still be thlue' Thou hast promised mo ihou wouldst not weap so: If thou sobiiest, 1 shall sob with the 1 Oh, lam so tired: I long to sleep so 1 Mother look! the angel kisses me. A lit KIKl) SEC UK F. Even in the kindly shadows of the gathering twilight, she looked older than he. this woman of rare grace and matchless charm, whose eyes rested so worshipfully on the face of the man who had thrown himself on the cushion at her feet—older than the years them selves would warrant for she, Sydney Reed, was in reality but six years George "Winston's senior. But six years leave their impress wiieu their way lies over burning plow shares. There were lines upon the lovely face, aud a sadness m the beautiful eyes, no time unaided could have wrought. She passed her hand now, haif-bewildering ly, across her brow. "Is sorrow for me really at an end ?" she murmured. "I can not grasp it!" "At an end forever, darling, if my strength avails anything to keep it from youi door, for to-night you belong for the last time to yourself To-morrow you beloug to me I" answered the young, confident voice. He was but 22, thia boy. She was 28, and a widow. Her married life had been one of unutterable wretchedness. Four years before, her husband had de serted her. Two years later she had learned of his death, which had taken place in a drunken braal in a far West ern city. She had put on the outward badge of morning in memory of the days when he, handsome and reckless, had smiled away her girl's heart. Sue buried in his unseen grave herweight of woe, and with it all his faults. She thought, too. that she had long buried youth and happiness, but three months since they had resurrected themselves, listening to George Winston's pleading words and loving prayer, she found resistance had failed her, and so granted him the boon he asked of her. And to morrow was to be her second wedding day. Fondly and hopefully he painted to her the coming years, each moment of wh'ch should be to her a recompense for past misery. She said little. It was such joy to hear his voice, to feel his touch, to creep into the shelter of his love and rest there, grateful and content. It was 10 o'clock when she bade him good-night. She still felt the tender pressure of his lips upon her as she mounted the stairs to her room. She had made him leave her thus early be cause some of her preparations were yet to be made for to-morrow, and she had promised him to retire befoje midnight —though her waking dreams, she said, were so much sweeter than any slumber might bestow, she hardly thought the exchange a fair one. There were some letters she wanted to look over—some to be destroyed, others to oe preserved. Among these latter were a few he had written her, during a short absence, a month pre vious. She took out the first from its wrap per to re-read, but had not turned the page when there came a low rap at the door. "Come in!" she replied, half-impo tiently without looking up. She had given orders to her servants not to be disturbed. She had told Maria, her maid, to come to her at midnight. It was not yet half-past ten. The door opened at her summons,but no one entered or spoke. "Well, Maria, what is it?" she ques tioned and slowly raised her eyes, to fiud—no Maria, no servant, but a man's form, gaunt and haggard, darkening the threshold —a man's eyes, hot and burn ing, fixed upon her face. She sat carved into stone. It was pitiful to see the blood recede from her face, leaving it white and drawn. If three hours previously she had looked older than her lover, ten years were now added to her age. Her lover? No longer baa she aright to the sweet title, for he whose gaze held hers was her living husband—the man whom for two years she had mourn ed as dead. He came forward at last closing the door behind him and advancing, with feeble, tottering steps toward her "Speak to me!" h® said. "Give me one word of w®loome, one word of for giveness!" She opened her lips then, but no sound came. "I—l know," he went on. "You need not tell me You were to have been married. It would have been a i crime. But for this, I would not have MILLIIEIM, PA., THURSDAY, MAY 11.1882.. come. I would still have let you give credence to my death. Oh, Sydney, will you believe me when I swear to you that, both for your sane and my own, I wish to Qod I ware'" The utter misery of his tone brought her own desolate anguish more fully be fore her. With a low cry she buried her face in her hands. The letter she held fell from them. Still she heard her husband speaking as though from afar off. ••Courage, Sidney!" ho said.. "You will only need patience, dear. Look at me! It is uot hard to see that I am a doomed man. 1 have never recovered from the wound I received iu the affray in which they reported mo to have been killed. Dissipation helped the work along though since that night, Sidney, no drop of liquor has touched my lips. Wheu a man stands so close to death that he recognizes his icy breath, he set's things with a new clearness. Dur ing my long and desperate illnoss, I thought of you with a iougiug you cau never dream of, but I dared no t send for you. I felt that all my right was for feited. Nor will I trouble you now. Wheu I am dead you shall learn of your freedom. Until that time you will hear of or from me never again." He stooped as he fiuishod. She knew that ho lifted up the material of her dress and pressed it a moment to his lips. Slowly and falteringly he again cross ed the room. His hand was on the knob of the door, wheu she broke the spell that bound her, and rose up to her feet. "Stay, Harold!" she said. "Your place is here. It was you who deserted me. You shall not say that I deserted you." He staggered against the wall. "Oh, my God!" he cried; "is this an angel or a woman who thus speaks to me?" "It is no angel," she answered "only a woman, striving to do her duty so plaiuly marked before her.'' But the strength which had upheld him in his hopelessness now failed hiai. With a great cry he cast himself down at her feet, striving in vain to catch the sobs which so cruelly rent him. Very gently she soothed him. She had no time to realize her own misery, until, at last, she left him, quiet, and sleeping, in a room beneath lier feet. How the night had passed she never knew. With locked hands clasped be fore her she sat watching the dawn break conscious neither of heat nor cold,of day nor darkness, until at 9 o'clock, iter maid brought a cup of coffee to her door. The servants had been apprised of the master's return the night before. She took the coffee now nnd drank it." "When Mr. Winston comes," she said, "admit him yourself, Maria, and bring him imediately here to me." An hour later ber door opened. "Not dressed, my tinning!" cried a happy voice. "Sidney, in God's name what has happened?" With marvelous strength and calm she told him all. He listened silently until she had quite finished, and then, with one bound, he had gathered lier to his arms. "What is this man to you, that be should take you from me? You are mine—mine! I never will forego my claim!" At the old tender masterfulness of his tones, her womanhood reasserted itself, She bowed ner head upon his breast and burst into a passion of sobs. "My love—my own!" he whispered 'This is but a chimera of the darkness. Our wedding day has dawned—you are mine! Oh, my darling come to mel' But now she lifted up her face. "He is my husband, George," she said. "My duty lies with him. Now leave me I can bear no more. You, who have always said you lovsd best in me my womanhood, my purity—you would not tempt me to sin? No, dear. Leave me and forget me You are young— you have but to look for happiness and find it." "No, Sidney. I can not resist your words; you bid me go, aud 1 obey you. But first love, I exact a promise, when you are free, send we v.ord. I will leave an address where a letter will always reach me. I must put the ocean between us —I could not stay here and prove obe dient else; but, my own, I never will renounce my claim—and be it one year or ten, or twenty, one line will bring me to ynr side, to leave it never again." Then, with a thousand mad kisses,he sealed the promise he had exacted, and went out from her, believing earth held no such wretched man as he. Five years had passed—five years to Sydney Reed of faithful, devoted duty —five years during which her love and care alone fostered the feeble sp >rk of life in Harold Reed's remorseful heart, and then he laid the heavy burden dowD, and, with his last words murm urs of grateful love and blessing, the tired eyes closed, shutting out forever more the vision which all these years had been their light and gladness. She had had no word from George all this time. He had kept his prom'se faithfully. For a year longer, she, too, would be silent.and then—ah then she would send for him. Once more she would look into his face—oncemor listen to his voice. They might be friends only # but would friendship e'er before have been so sweet? The love she long repressed as sin still hold sway. It had burst its fetters aud had renewed its strength. When the time came for her to write the letter she knew not how to word it. though every day for months she had fancied the hour wheu she should pen it. But at last she wrote this simple words: "Come to me, George. "You will uot have forgotten me, aud I—l have lived but to remember." "BYD NIT RHXD." These she sealed and addressed to the address he hod given her, aud sank back in her chair to dream awhile, ere touching her bell aud ordering it posted. A happy smile played upon her lips. The future so long closed to her, again opened its gates of promise aud feasted her hungry gaze. * Idly she took up a paper at her hand holding it before her eyes as a screen from the fire, wheu her attention was j arrested by a name—the name which was inscribed upon tlio envelope whose ink was scarcely yet dry. It was a printed description of George Winston's marriage to the young and beautiful heiress of one of England's noblemen. The marriage had taken place iu Loudon, a fortnight before. Once, twice, thrice she read it through and then, very quietly reaching forth, she tqok up the letter she had written, pressed it an instant to her white quiv ering lips, and, falling upon her knees, dropped it in the flames. As the lire darted up she laughed aloud in the strange stillness. Others would have seen but the light the paper gave, but she saw aioro—it was the funeral pyre of a broken heart. Karl; There are some practice# among farmers that are good,hut when adopted by careful men and under favorable circumstan cea, would be dangerous in the extreme gov erned by different conditions. Eirly shearing oi sheep may be reckoned a9 oue of them ; for, while it is desirable to shear cosrse-wooled sheep la 'ore going to pas ture, as they often putt off and cot their wool on bushes if the fleece is left on, still if the flick is not in pri ue condition and a cold snap should follow shearing, there might be danger of suffering, and perhaps loss of life unless very good protection could be given them. We are atquainted with good fl iicks of flne-wcoled sheep that have been sheared about the first of April for several years, with no loss of life; but thev are always in good condition and can lie confined in a warm barn, if need be, after being sheared. We have known more Bhecp to die from the effects of shearing in June than Apftl, but most of these died afier being driven back to ibeir mountain pastures after shearing, and just before a cold rain storm ; mostly in one particular season when it was unusually cold for the month of June. We are acquainted with afl >ck of medium coarse sheep that have been sheared the last week iu March or first of April for at least ten year#, without any loss of sheep that were strong at the time of shearing ; our own flock also has been sheared early for a longer period than that, with the loss of only two sheep. Theae sheep were both yearling rams, in good condition, and they were both dead the next morning after being sheared. We have no doubt that these rams, although I hey had been together during the entire winter, did not know each other after being sheared and fought all night, or long enough to get thoroughly heated, aud thus met their deaths on lying down to cool off. In 1871 we sheared, May 9th. In 1872, May 9th. In 1873, May 20th. lu 1874, April 8, followed by cola tq tally weather on the 11th and 12th, In 1875, sheared, April 24th. In 1876, the 17ih of April, followed by cool weather. In 1877, April 4'b, cool weather following. In 1878, April the 4th. In 1879, April Bth. in 1880, April 13th. Also April 13th in 1881. We propose to shear the last week in March or the hrst of April the present year if the weather is suitable, as the sheep are due to commence to drop their lambs the Bih of April. It is thought by good flock -masters tbat it gives a check to the milk of the ewes if sheared atter lamb ing, which we presume is true, as it is well know by those who practice weighing the nnlk of cows daily, that an unfavora ble change of weather sensibly affects the milk., A Plea for The Note-Ring. This ornament, called in India the "nutli," is commended by a learned writer as a most charming ornament, add ing much to the attractions of the ladies, wilo now wear it in a great many parts of India. The ring is described as being made of gold or silver, according to the means of the wearer, and measuring nearly four inches in circumference. It has one or two pearls strung upon it, and is fixed in this manner on the nose: One end of the metal is pissed through a ho.e bored inside about the middle of the right nostril of the nose, and is then inserted into a small cav ity in the other end of the metal destined to receive it. It is the exclusive privilege of married women to wear this decoration, but siugle ladies console themselves by wearing an inferior substitute for it about one-third of the size. If the ring is lost the hole in the nostril is apt to close up; and the young ladies whose rings are mis laid have away of putting dried grass into the aperture to keep it open. The boring of the nostril geuerallv takes place when the girl is about five or six years old. A company assemble* and sweetmeats are distributed, the patient receiving the lion's share, and being encouraged by well-meant comments on the part of the spectators. Tne ''nuth'' was originally a purely Hindoo ornament, but is now worn by Mahometans also, especially in the Northwestern prov inces. It give 3 such an elegance and a charm to the face, as it hangs from the nose and kisses the lips, as cannot be se cured in any other way. And, to do it full justice, it makes the tace look much more beautiful and attractive than a pound of powder and a full hour's making up of the eyes and the hair of the toilet of some i English ladies could possibly d O , I the waste of time and money in the latter case out of the quefctou. Smith's Grindstones. Some years ago an Austin merchant whom we will call Smith, because that was, and is, the name painted on his sign-board, sent an order for goods to a New York firm. Smith belonged to the old vohool, He kept a very extensive general store, had plenty of money, kept all his accounts in a pocket memo randum book, and didn't know the dif ference between double entry bookkeep ing and the science of correlative hy drostatics. Among other things he ordered were twelve gross assorted clothes pins twelve ditto grindstones. When he ordered the grindstones he meant to order an assortment of twelve grindstones. Tne shipping clerk of the New York firm was astonished wheu he read the order. Ho weut to the mana ger nnd said; "For heaven's sake! What do they want with twelve gross— -I,72B—grindstonesB—grindstones iu Texas?" The mauager said it must be a mistake, and telegraphed Smith. "Wasn't it a mis take ordering so many grindstones?" Old man Smith prided himself,on never making a mistake. He had no copy of his order to refer to, and if he hud he would not have referred to it: because he knew he had only. ordered twelve grindstones. So he wrote back: "Pro bably you think you know my business better than I do. I always order what 1 wont, and I want what I order. Send on the grindstones." The New York firm knew Smith was a little eccentrio, but that he always paid cash on receipt of invoice, and was able to buy a dozen quarries full of grindstones if he cared to indulge in such luxuries, so they filled his order as written,and chartered a schooner,filled her full of grindstones, and cleared her for Galveston. They wrote to Smith and said that they hoped the consignment of grindstones by schooner would keep him going until they could charter another vessel. Smith sold grindstones at wholosale.and at low figures ou long time, for some three years afterwards. Adorning the Sunrise SM. Perhaps three centuries ago the wild erness b' ldenngoa Massachusetts was the sceue of as weird and uncanny a form of idolatry as w#i recently revived bv a band of alwrgiucs. Sixchietsof the Zini na tion have made a pilgrimage from their home. New Mexico, to the ' Ocean of the Sunrise, to pay homage to the god of the w .ters, one of their principal deities. For 196 year# their supply of holy water from the great sea had not been replenished, and the chiefs and medicine men were sent on ihe long Journey to propitiate the Great Spirit and implore his continued favor. I'hey are accompanied by Prof. Frank H. Gushing of ihe Smithsonian Institution, who some years ago went among them to study their habits sud traditions. So fascinated did he become that to assist in his investigations he made himself one of them and was adopted by a chief. lie participated in 'he cermouy, aid acted as interpreter for the Zinis. The savages are remarkably fine lookiug men for In dians, and they have been the objects of much interest and attention during their stay. The Mayor tendered the city steamer tor tlie ceremony, and at 2 o'clock a crowd cf 200 or more persons sailed for Deer Island. When the boat failly got into the stream and the harbor broadened out in their view the Indians, awe-struck by the sight of so much water, began to mumble prayers to the God of the Ocean and chant sacred soßgs, scattering at the same time to the winds and waves pinches of a consecrated meal made of ground shells and sand iringled with powdered wtiite corn. Thus they offered, as their religion teaches, the sea's pr ./ducts to the sea itself, and also the grain, which is to them the symbol of terrestrial life. The director of their wanderings in the strange land of the East vainly attempted to convince them that the water upon which ihey then were was not the nnlitn itable deep of whicn thev had heard from the traditions preserved in their tribe They coutinued their prayers and scatter ing of meal for a considerable time, after wbicb they looked upon tne water and vessels about Ibeui with a quiet wonder that teemed too deep for expression. As tbe steamer approached Deer Island, Mr. Gushing put on his Indian dress and made prepaiatious to take his charge on shore. The wind blew a half gale aud was nipping aud chill, but the sky was clear, the air invigorating, and the scene unusu ally beautiful. The waves were smoothed by the wiud that blew off the shore, and the tide was rising as the Indians reached the two tents which hud been pitched lor them on the shore of the Oce n of Sunrise. Into the larger of these tents the Zanis and Mr. Gushing retired to prepare them selves for the ceremonies. When they emerged upon the sand they betook them selves wiih solemn step to the shore, fol lowed by the crowd. A stranger processiod never appeared hereabouts. First came several policemen, who at tempted to keep the crowd in ordei, and shouted loudly to it all the tiuie to "keep back," which, a9 usual, the crowd did not do. Then came Mr. Gushing clad in a blue shirt of native cloth, buckskin "leggings and moccasins decorated with silver but tons, crescents, and buckles, strings of beads, and sncll bracelets. He wore upon upon his head a bearskiu cap, somewhat like liobinson Grutoe's traditional head gear, with a number of feathers stuck into the side of it, and was agreeably decora ted with a streak of black paint, which ran under bosh eyes and across his nose, while a large spot of the same appeared on each cheek. The chiefß were dressed like Mr. Cash ing, except that one wore gorgeous green breeches and had a skin skull cap on his while another had breeches of a stuff resemblmg black plush. All were painted in the pleasing pattern above described in tbe case of Mr. Gushing, except that the color favored by one was red and by an other yellow. The effect, however, was about the same, and in no oase entirely pleasing. The Indians bore upon {their backs their shields and weapons of war, and ih their hands carried hollow gourds and glass vases with which to take up the sacred water. Afler a protracted and irregular scram ble over the rocks the celebrants of the rite, followed by the irregular mob of sightseers, reached a point where they could look eastward over the sea. Squat ting on their hauueheson the weedy rocks they begun to chant a prayer In a low monotone, aud as they chanted scattered meal from their pouches upon the sea, in four differed directions, 13 propitiate the Gods of the North and of the 3cuth, of the South of the upper and of the lower regious, the Mother cf the Ocean, and the Father of the World. The symbol of this strewn meal is of a road or path which the priests mark out with it, signifying a request that the paths in life of the sup pliauls aud their children may be •finished' to use the Zuni expression, or drawn out tou distant end, as we u.tghtsay. As the sea rose, a number of the more venturesome members of the assembly found themselves out from the shore and were obliged to wade back to the beach, while an enterprising photographer, who had boldly planted himself on two small rocks in the very front of the kneeling Zunis and trained his camera upon them, was soaked up to his knees before his negative was taken. The Indians, however, were much pleased with the considering it a mark of especial i favor on the part of the gods of the aea, and, despite Mr. Cush ing's attempts to dissuade them from rs mamiug,they persisted in completing their chant and petition. They even locked upon their counsellor with some disfavor and urged him not to bs faint hearted, hut to remain and see the favorable purpose of the gods. Although seeing the ce& on this occasion for the first time they manifested not the slightest alarm, but were evident ly awe-struck and impressed with the majesty and power of the waters. When they came ashore out of the water they formed a circle,sitting close together, and smoked sacred cigarettes made of cane filled with consecrated toba.-co. As they smoked tkey prayed and blew the smoke among the feathers of the prayer sticks they carried. Then they case the prayer slicks into the waves, Then the two head chiefs waded back into the water and filled their gourds and vases aud went to the tents. Ou the way they whirled in the air sucks at the eud of thongs, making a whizzing noise. The gods were thus informed that the ceremony was finished. Another song was chanted, reciting the good expected to result from the act of worship. The sacred meal was four times scattered westward, the direction they must take in returning to their own land, in addition to the gourds and vases, the Indians took back seven large demijohns of sea water, which, which will be conse crated alter their return. The concluding ceremony was tie in itiation of Mr. Cashing into the highest order of the bow. He was taken to the shore, stripped of his headdress, was bap tized, and his hands were washed. In cantations were cb&Qted meanwhile, and then the chiefs embraced him. On his re turn, however, he must subject himself to several trying ordeals, one test beirg a fas of four days and nights. He will then be permitted to read the secret history of the tribe, which is expected to throw much light upon Indian history in America. Be Knew Bill. It was when the Seventh regiment otNew York were about to take their departure from Boston after a visit during which the members expressed themselves as hav iag been royally entertained, that a certain high private in fatigue turban hat worn evtremely jauntily, cheek 9 rosy with n joyment, anil himself redolent with the aroma of I'iper Heidsiok, halted in School street and asked a bystander: "Wha' bildin's that, sir?" '•City HaM," was the reply. "Ce-ay alll Hang 'f dou gwin see mayor —mus' be goo feller —mayor Boston." The steps and staircase were accordingly mounted, and the party In q iest:on found himself before a dignified personage who came forward on hearing he had ' 'm'ssage for mayor." "Missier Mayor, 1 wan' say you done us proud—square thing—your head's level sir—Seventh regiment, sirl" "Yes," said the mayor, interrupting with dignity; His honer, Mayor Wickham of New York has called oa me and said that-" "O, yesi Bill Wickham—G company— reg'lar brick; know him all to pieces— well, hope he's sa'sfled, too." "Yes, sir; Mayor Wickham expressed his gratification that—" "ies—well, glad he's sa'sfled, I'll tell Biil 'sail right; good bye. Missier Mayor— by the bye, got little fine cut terbaccer about you?" "No, sir; I do not use the article." "Sorry; you loose good deal—ver sorry such lack o' taste. Goo' mornm'," —and he easily sauntered out leaving the mayor amused if not surprised at the frightened gap made by his visitor between ' His Honor Mayor Wickham," and "Bill Wick ham, G company." Proof Reading# A. first-class proof-reader, in addition to a general aod practical acquaiotance with typography, should understand clearly the grammar and idiomatic structure of the mother-tongue, and have, as it were, an encyclopedia knowledge of the names, times and productions of its writers, as well as a thorough familiarity with the Bible, Shakspeare, etc. He should be, in fact, a living orthographical, biographical, geographical, historical and scientific dic tionary, with some smattering of Greek, Litin, French, Spanisn, Italian and Ger man. Yet alt these accomplishments are valueless unless he possesses a keen and quick eye. that, hke a hound, can detect an error almost by scent. There are eyes of this sort, that with a cursory glance will catch a solitary error in a page. The world is little aware how greatly many authors are indebted to a competent proof reading, for not only reforming their spell ing and punctuation, but for valuable sug gestions in regard to style, language and grammar—thus rectifying faults which would have rendered their works fair game for t re critic. With patience sour grapes become sweetmeats and mulberry leaves torn to satin, Will ho Walkf ' Will most of the fashionable New York girls, now that spring haa oome, take a three mile walk every fine, mor ning from end to end of Central park? No. They will not. Why not? Because most fashionable New York girls are not made to go on foot. Why so? Because their artificial heels are too high, and their real heels, toes and ankles too weak to carry them so far. How will they get through the pars? They will be hauled through the park by prancing steeds in covered carriages, which shall keep the sun's impertinent rays from damaging their complexions. What else would the sun do if they allowed it to shine on them a little? It would get into them and go through their skins into their blood and from thenoe into their delicate and lovely bones. It would enrich their blood, tone up their nerves, strengthen their muscles, stiffen their bones and make more elastic their beautiful joints. How will these poor helpless girls try to get this needed tonic into them which this orb of day is ready to give without money and without price? By taking pills and powders at $5 per doctor's visit, How many of the thousands of young ladies of leisure in New York could have been found walking in Cental Park yes ! terday? Perhaps fifty. How many on horsebaek? Perbapa one hundred. Where were the reat? They were at home, breathing may be sewer gas or carpet and brio-a-brao dust, or they were on Broadway, or on Fourteenth street, breathing St. Pat rick's day in the morning dust, or they were packed in air tainted street cars, breathing ail sorts of dnst. What may be seen on any fine day in the public gardens of Vienna and Berlin? Theiemaybe seen many elegantly dressed ladies sitting four hours under the treee or in the sunshine, sewing, knitting or reading. And then? And then at 4or 5 o'clock, they dice at another garden in the open air, while a large orchestra pours through trumpet and bugles and fiddles and flutes music into their ears, and ail about vision* of flowers. shrubberj, trees, 'statues aid fouutains are poured into their eyes, while they leisurely place the foaming Culmbacher or # Pilsner, with the nour ishing kalbSeisch or wiener echnitael, within reach of their digestive appara tus. And how do they look? They seem robust and healthy, and the bloom on their cheeoks looks as if it had struck in and had come to stay. And they thns robust and healthy? B cause they live so much cut of doors and breathe pure air, and pure air is pure life and pure food. Well, what is the matter with us that makes 800 people die in one week in New York? Maybe it is because science does not keep pace with civilisation, and be cause maybe our closely built, crammed together civillisation knocks down more pins than it sets up, and sends so many of us to Greenwood cemetery, which, during the past year, according to the annual report, has shown such cheering and gratifying evidence of prosperity through the sale of the narrow houses prepared for all the living. 8T. Your Letters. Never burn kindly written letters; it is so pleasant to react them over when the ink is brown, the paper yellow with age, and the hands that traced the friendly words are folded over the heart that prompted them under the green sod. Above all.never burn love letters. To read them in after years is like a resurrection of one's youth. The elder ly spinster finds in the impassioned offer she so foolishly rejected twenty years ago a fountain of rejuvenescence. Glancing over it, she realizes that she was once a belle and a beauty, and be holds her former self in a mirror much more congenial to her taste than the one that confronts her in her dressing room. The "widow indeed" derives a sweet and solemn consolation from the letters of the beloved one who has journeyed before her to the far-off land, from which there comes no message, and where she hopes one day to join him. No photographs can so vividly recall to the memory of the mother the tenderness and devotion of the children who have left at the call of heaven, as the epistolary outpourings of their love. The letter of a true son or daughter to a true mother is something better than the image of the features—it is a reflex of the writer's soul. Keep all loving letters. Coniderable changes in the water- several lakes in California and Oregon are reported, it is stated that G >ose lake, thirty miles long, was nearly dv in 1883 and 1854, but contained ten feet of water in 1870 and its depth has since beeD increasing. Clear lake is also ten Teet deeper than in 1854; while Tulie lake, in the same region, is now ten to fif teen feet higLer than then. NO 19.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers