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.