VOL. LVIL HAKTER, AUCTIONEER, MILLHEIM, PA. J C. 6FRINGER, Fashionable Barber. Next Door to JOURNAL Store, MILLHEIH, PA. JJROCK.ERHOFF HOUSE, ALLEGHENY STREET, BELL.KFONTE, - - - PA. c. G. McMILLEN, PROPRIETOR. Good Sample Room on First Floor. •®-Free BUM to and from all Train*. Special rate* to witaease* and Juror*. *-* IRVIN HOUSE. (Most Central Hotel In ttie City J Comer MAIN and JAY Streets, Lock Haves, Pa. 8. WOODS CALWELL, ProprleUr. Good Sample Rooms for Commercial Travelers on first floor. D. H. MINGLE, Physician and Surgeon, MAIN Street, MILLHKIM, Pa. jQR. JOHN F. HARTER, PRACTICAL DENTIST, Office in 2d story of Tomliusoa'i Gro eery Store, On MAIN Street, MILI.HKIM, Pa. BF KIKTFK. • FASHIONABLE BOOT A 8110E MAKER Bhop next door to Foote's Store, Main SL, Boots, Shoes and Gaiters made to order, and sat isfactory work truu nintead. Kepairing done prompt •.? and cheaply, and in a neat style. C. T. Alexander. C. M. Bower. Jc BOWER, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. BELLEFONTE, PA Office in Garman's new building. JOHN B. LINN, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BELLEFONTE, PA. Office on Allegheny Street. OLEMENT DALE, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BELLEFONTE, PA. Horthweat corner of Diamond. HOY, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BELLEFONTE, PA. Orphans Court business a Specialty. C. HEINLE, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA. Practices In all the courta of Centre County. Special attention to Collections. Consultations In German or English. J. A. Beavec- J W. Gepbar*. JgEAVER A GEPHART, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. BELLKFONTE, PA. Office on Alleghany Street, North of High. CUM & HARSHBERGER, ATTORNEYS AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA S.KELLER, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA Consultations In English or German. Office in Lyon'i Building, Allegheny Street. D. H. HASTINGS. W. 7KESDEST JJ ACTINGS & REEDER, ATTORNEYS AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA Office on Allegheny street, two doom east of the office occupied by the late Arm of Y®—' * Hast -40-17 To correct an evil which already exists is not bo wise as to foresee and prevent it. The person who is good for making excuses is seldom good for anything else, Action may not always bring heppi n3Bß, but there is no happiness without action. LIKK THK IVY. True love is liko the ivy bold That elinns eaeh day with (inner hold. That growcth ou through good ami ill. And 'mid the tempest oltngeth still. What though the walls on whleh it elitnba Have lost the grace of former limes - \\ ill then the ivy lose Its hold. Forget the sunny days of old? Nay, rather it will closer cling With loving clasp, remembering That it had hardly lived at all Without the kindly sheltr'ing wall. True love is like the ivy green, That ne'er forgetteth wliut hath been, And so, till life Itself be gone, 1' tit Li the eml it clingeth on. What thought the tree where it may cling Shall har Iv know another spriug ? What though its boughs be ilea i ami bare? The twining Ivy cHrubeth there And clasps it with a tinner hold, With stronger love than that ot old, And lends it grace it never had When trine was young and life was glad. DOROTHY PINK. Half way up the steep narrow street of the little village it stood, the tiny gabled roofed house, whose small lead eu-paneti windows overlooked with sentinel-like air the modest shop en trance beneath, in whose casement was displayed the stock of feathers, ribbons, and velvets, which represented the sole earthly wealth of Miss Dorothy Pink. Usually the street door stood open, and behind the dim native counter was seen the pale face of the little milliner herself ; but to-day the wind rattled in vain at the bolts and bars ; the space behind the counter was empty, and in the little chamber above, peering in tently into the ancient black-framed lookiug-glas6, whose cracked surface re flected baek the white dimity curtains, and the glow of the small wood fire, stood Miss Dorothy herself, engaged in fastening a knot of blue ribbon at the neck of her well-worn but freshly ironed black silk gowu. "Who would think to look at me now that I had ouce been young," she mur mured, surveying ruefully the face that gazed pathetically back into her owu. "I do not think that after to-day I shall ever wear a blue ribbeu agoiu. "It may do very well for the maidens with their fresli tlower-like faces, but not for a woman of tliirty-five, with streaks of grey in her brown locks, who buried her youth long years ago in the grave of the past." Something that glittered like a dia mond rolled down Miss Dorothy's cheek, and fell, a spot of moisture on a rusty fold of her dress. "What, crying ?" exclaimed Miss Dorothy incredulously, shaking her head at the countenance in the glass. "Actually shedding tears because your eyes cannot always remain bright and your cheeks rosy I and whou you are invited to visit cousin fc>ihs beside ! "For shame, Dorothy Pink ! "You deserve to be left to brew your lonely cup of tea by your solitary fire side instead of dming 011 roast turkey and listening to the voices of your owu kin !" "Your owu kin!" The words seemed to float back on the still air, and before their echo died away the face laded from the ancient mirror, and 111 its place Miss Dorothy saw alow ceiled 100 m, on whose ample hearth the great logs burned redly, shiuiug on the blue delf and pewter ware th it lined the generous sideboard, burnishing the old-fashioned furniture till it fairly shone in the flame. A tail grey-bearded man bent over a wliite-liaired, white-capped matron, from whose hands the bright knitting needles had fallen unheeded. Two handsome dark-eyed lads romped with a couple of setter dogs, and mid way between them stood a young mai den with fair lucks cut square on the forehead, and falling in shinnig curls over her shoulders ; a pretty vision from the smiling open bruw to the small slippered feet that peeped from the scant folds of her flowered silken gowu. A suiile of delight parted Miss Doro thy's lips, and she clasped one baud over her eyes as if to assure herself of the reality of the vision. When she looked again the bearded maD, the white-haired matron, the dark eyed laus, and the delicate maiden had disappeared, and she saw only the wist ful face that always met hers when she was wont to gaze at her own reflection. •'Gone ! all gone 1" she cried ; "lather, mother, brothers, and I—only I am left! What would Dick Weatherbee say if he could see me now ? "I, the proud girl who refused to even listen to his suit because ho was pout - and in my father's employ. "How well I can remember nis honest rugged face, and the soft light in his grey eyes—they were handsome eyes, poor lad !—when he promised to toii nard and win gold and fame for my take, it 1 would only give him one little word of encouragement and the pink rose that I wore at my belt. 1 smiled at his woids, and threw the flower wantonly away. "The next day he went away, and in his stead came grim care ana dire mis hap. "One by one death snatched my loved ones away, and not till then did I learn the terrible truth that my honored father died a rumed mun, und that i was penniless. "The old homestead was sold along with the fertile acres, audDeaeon Fink's daughter came at last to depend for bread on the very toil that she had once so despised." Poor Miss Dorothy ! For years she had toiled and moiled ; for years she had lived her lonely life, keeping the door oi' memory resolutely shut, and striving to be content witn the meagre happiness that 101 l to her lot. But this frosty November morning there was no sunshine without or with in ; hope unfurled its wings, a lll * lied away, and the grey leaden shy that frowned down on the outside world seemed a fitting type of her future life. "And 1 am not brave enough to look the morrow in the lace," went on Miss Dorothy. "It is rent day, and cousin Silas is a strict landlord. "I owe him already for one quarter, MILLHEIM. PA.. THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 15.1883, and I dread to have to toll him that 1 cannot make up the amount. "Dorothy," ho will any, putting on lain gold glasses and looking at tno ax if I wore a criminal, "you have uptitude for business ; really no aptitude. "It may do very well for ladies of fortune to have whims and fancies, but you are too sensitive, Dorothy ; really too sensitive." "1 suppose it is kiud in him to invito a plain body like mo to share his Christ mas cheer, and sit at the table with his fashionable wife and daughters ; but still he is bard—the world is hard, life is hard, and 1 don't know what to do." By this time the blue knot was fast ened, the hair that was inclined to curl a little on the forehead brushed smoothly down, and Miss Dorothy was ready for her visit. As she glanced out of tlio little win dow she caught sight of u faint ray of sunshine that flickered a moment on the sill and then vanished sway. The sight of the unexpected visitor seeuiod to cheer her, "I know what I shall do," she said answering her own query. "I'll pretend just tor this one day that I have found my youth again; thut lam not poor and lonely ; that some friendly heart on the earth will grow glad at mv coming ; that there is no such phantom as buried hope—and the morrow i will leave to Heaven." The great parlors of Silo? Pink's stately mansion were thrown open, and that august personage liimsell, a stout, well-dressed elderly gentlomau, with tat hands and a beaming smile, stood before the costly marble mantel, warm ing himself iu the glow of the coals, and chatting and laughing with a group of kindred spirits. On a velvet ooiych was seated the lady of the house —haughty, severe, and per fectly attired —while tier daughters, fresher pictures of herself, fanned them selves with languid grace, and perform ed the graceful duties of elegant hos pitality. Pictures adorned the tinted walls; silver mirrors flashed back the sheen of silk and the glitter of jewels. Heavy flower-strewn carpets hushed the sound of dainty gliding footsteps, and the merry sound of music and laughter tilled all the scented air. Bitting alone—as she thought—in the library, with the cold marble eyes of the dead and gone heathen philosophers looking unwmkiiigly down ujvou her, and row upon row of gilt-titled books staring her out of countenance, wus Miss Dorothy. The wealth and elegance displayed as lavishly abwut her brought no piesoure to her beauty loviug nature. Her day-dream was shattered and broken. She bad no place in this little world of beauty and fashion. They were ashamed of her shabby dress and lack of ornament. No faces had brightened at Iter ap proach, no voices grown lower and ten derer in kindly greeting. Bhe was more utterly alone than iu the little chamber under the gabled roof, or in the tiuy shop with its meagre stock of dingy feathers and flowers. "1 will go home." she said aloud. ""When 1 have seen Silas and told him of my inability to pay my debt, 1 Will go home, "I want no rich viands, no ruby wines. I will go back to my lonely fireside and enjoy it while I may, to morrow may see me without a roof to cover my head, or a spot wherein to rest my weary feet." In a dusky corner, turning carelessly the leaves of a portfolio of rure engrav ings, was seated a figure, entirely hid den from view by the high-backed cush ioned chair against which he leaned in idle, luxrious enjoyment. When he beard the voice, ho started and rose to liis feet, and Miss Dorothy saw advancing towurds her a portly grey-haired man, clad in a suit of black broadcloth. "Pardon," 113 began hastily, "but did 1 not hoar you address yourselt as Deacon Pink's daughter ?" "What cau that matter to a perfect stranger ?" answered the litUe figure in the shabby silk, looking towards the open door as if to escape. "She did not want to meet any one who had known her in youth —the youth that she hud that day buried from sight forever, poor, lonely, sensitive, heart sick M.ss Dorothy. "Js aught to a stranger, but much to a friend." answered her questioner, bending bis face a little nearer. And Miss Dorothy, looking np sud denly, found herself gaziug intently in to a pair of deep, earnest grey eyes, whose glance held her, spite of self, completely fascinated. "Yes, I am Dorothy Pink," she managed to stammer, feeling as if a cruel hand was clutching her throat, "and yon are, Richard Weather bee." This man, whose simple, loyal nature gold and its possession hail not spoiled, looking down at the face of the woman he had loved in her fair girlhood, read printed there in clearest type the story of her hie, and realized that care and not time had wrought the wondrous change. "The same Dorothy of oiil?" he asked with meaning in his tones, but with the smile she remembered so well, the smile that alone made him seem ditierent from other men, "Nay, not the same," she answered, droppi. g her eyes she scarcely knew why, while the not blood surged into the cheeks that hail lost their roses years before. "In the old days I was proud, and vain, and boastful. "Now 1 am " "What V" he asked, with a little tre mor in his deep voice. "What you see," she answered, drop ping her face in her hands with a bitter cry of loneliness and pain. "My poor Dorothy !" he said softly, "what you have sufl'ered !" And before she knew it his strong arm was round her and she was drawn closely to his broad breast. "Many years I have spent in foreign lands," he went on, still holding her captive, "and many facets have i seen, but strivo as I would my heart could never forget its cue love, its one treas ure. "A month ago I came back to this my native place. "Then I learned of your losses, your poverty, and the hard struggle you were waging with the world. "1 will give her hack the pleasures of her youth, I said, if she will but give me in return the love she once refused me. "I am not the eager hopeful boy that sought you in the olden doyq, but I have loved you long and faithfully, and if you say mo nay, I w ill go away quietly as 1 eauio, and no one will be the wiser. "Which shall it be, Dorothy, go or stay ? ' "Stay," she whispered, looking up with such a radiant face that half in amaze he turned her towards a mirror that she might see her ow . rt flection, and pointing, triumphantly cried, "J have more than fulfilled my promise. "I have giveu you back youth itself," What mattered the sheeu of silk and the glitter of jewels ? \V hat mattered the shabby dress lightened only L>y the knot of blue rib bou ? Wiiat muttered the grey leaden sky without ? No jewels could equal the light that shone in Dorothy's eyes, no grey sky quench the gladness that filled Dorothy's heart. When Silas I'iuk was summoned to the library he grew white withe astonish ment and rod with gratification upon hearing the news. "You must make this your home till you leave it lor one of your own," he insisted. "Let bygones be bygones, Dorothy." And Dorothy, too happy to bear ill will, consented to share his hospitality till she became the wile of Kicli&rd Weatlierbee the banker. Later on, when the guests had de parted, and they stood arm iu arm by the dyiug fire talking of that far re mote time wUeu life seemed a dream of ceaseless pleasure to the one and of high hope and youthful ambition to the other, the musical chimes of the steeple clock rang out on the frosty air. "Ten, eleven, twelve," he counted, bending his head to listen. "Dorothy, Christmas Day is ended." "The happiest Christinas Day in the world," she answered reverently ; "a day to be ever remembered. "No other day but ouo could ever make me so bappy." "1 know," said Riehard, smilling, "our wedding-day. "On, Dolly, darling, do not make it too lar oil. "We are net so yoi. ig as we were, dear." l>ony emiieci, and blushed, and looked very charming, for all her old dress. And report says that the wedding was not long delayed. Aaron liurr an a CrOM-Kxau iner, A writer tnus describes the conclusion of a ease in which Burr wa, one of the law yers: The evening session opened and liurr resumed his cross exan ination of the witness, it was a test of the prosonnd skill aud subtlety of the lawyer, the self possession, courage and tact of the wituess standing on the very brink of a horrible gulf firmly and intrepidly resisting the efforts of ihe terribie man to topple him over. At last,after dexterously leading the witness to an appropriate point. Burr sud denly seized a lamp in each hand,and hold ing them in such a manner that their light fell instantaneously upon the lace of the witness*, he exclaimeti in a starlling voice, like the voice of the avenger of blood: 'Gen tlemen of the jury, behold the murderer!'• With a Wild,convulsive start,a face of ashy pallor,Ojes starting from their sockets, lips apart,his whole attitude evincing terror,the man sprang from his chair. For a moment he stood motionless, struggling to recover his self possession; but it was only a momen tary struggle, shakiuc every nerve with paralyzing fear. Conscious that the evesof all iu the Court room were fixed upon him reading the hidden deeds of his life,he ieft the wituess stand and walked shriukingly ts the door of the Court room; but he was prevented r rom making his escape by the Sheriff. The effect can be betterjimagined than ucsrribed. It struck the spectators wi*h silent nwiyhuuging tin whole asjiector the trial in an instant, oveitbrowing the hyyo thesis of the Attorney General, whicU he was convinced would send the prisoner to the gailows, saving an innocent man from the dcathful hands of a bold and skilful perjurer. The laise witness was arrested, 2 indictments were found against him, one for murder, another tor perjury. He was acquitted of murder, but subsequently couvieted of perjury and sentenced to a long term of imprisonment. Theatre l'tnperlles. The "properties," as they ere termed,of the theatre, that is, the unused scenery and also the machinery and fixtures of old performances, gradually form an immense acclunula'ion. The machinery used in "Saruanapalus" was of very great bulk, and is now stored in the rear of the thea tre, where it may remain till called for. The storage room in the Booth Theatre is of vast extent, and embraces an accumula tion which, no doubt, cost ouc hundred thousand dollars, it is in this maimer that the profits arc so often sunk. A play must, belore it can be called profitable, pay for the expense of getting it up, and hence a large risk is taken. "Sardanapalus" is said to have cost thirty thousand dollars, bu : as the play had a run the outlay prov ed a first rate investment. After a few years it may be revived aud have another run. At present, however, it is almost forgotten. There is at the present ime scenery of more than one hundred plays lying Idle, and most of it will be painted over, Scene painters are now very busy, aud the artists make fifty dollars per eek. They work with rapid touch, and acquire great skill in this specialty. The drop cur tains; however, are very elaborate, and are oiften highly admired. Jt is estimated 'hat twenty five thousand persons attend the theatres every night,besides those who attend other pjaces of amusement. One reaeou for this is found in the homeless character of New *ork life. Everybody wants to go somewhere to be amused, f\nd hence the theatres are crowded. Tlie ulet ot Children. Permitting children to sit at table with their elders is the cause of a good deal of mischiei and injury to their youthful di gestions. A variety of dishes should nev er lie permitted, and any attempt at waste fulness should lie checked at once? Econ omy and self denial can lie taught at the Children's table far more easily thuu jit school. The diet of children can hardly be too plain. If they require to be encouraged to cat by the administration of daiutiea, there ulu.lt be something radically wrong some where. Jt is unlikely that something is constitutional, more probable insufficient exereise is taken, or taken at wrong times, or the nursery is stuffy, or the bedroom badly ventilated,or the parent! have forgot ten that sunshine and fresh air are necessa ry to the healthy life of a child as whole some food itself is. The want of cleanliness, or frequent use of the bath, iu many times the cause of in different appetite in children. Without cleanliness of clothes and cleanliness of person, you can not have healthy children. Without this the young blood seems pois oned, the child has neither buoyancy nor heart, appetite is depraved or absent, and he rows up as pale and poor as a sick ly plaut. Injudicious clothing is another cause of dyspepsia. It is bail enough to encase the body which has attained its full develop ment iu a tight dress, but it is ruinous for a child to lie clothed in tightly fitting gar ments. Every organ of a obild's body requires room to grew and expand; if it be iu any way compressed, the circulation through it becomes lessened,and it is there for sickly and rendered weak. Tightness, therefore, of any portion of a child's clothing ruins not only the organ directly underneath the coustnction, but indirectly those at a distance from it, for no da-uming up of the circulation can be tolerated by nature. Tightness round the waist in children and young people is the cause of many cases of dyspepsia,and in a lei-sar degree so is tightness of the necker chief, by retaining the blo.xi in the brain. Have your children's clothing loose,then,if you would see theui healthy and happy. See too, that at night they sleep not on leather beds, and that though warmly they are not heavily clothed. Cuiidreu should lie fed with great regu larity day by day The parents having chosen the hours lor dinner, breakisst and tea, ought to see that the times are strictly adhered to. Irregularity in meal hours; and times of getting up in the morning and retiring to oed at night, is not only prejudicial to the present health of a child, but it teaches him habits which are greatly against his chances of success in alter life. 1 need hardly speak here about the qual ity of tl e food that is placed before a child; against indigestible or too rich food.&gainst sauces atid spiews of all kinds, including curries,against heavy fooue of the dough and dumpling kind, against unripe fruits, against too hot so.ip, agamst strong tea and coffee,or beer,or against overmuch butcher's meat. Pray, mothers, do not forget that an in terval of rest should ensue between the meals you give your cmldren, and do Dot injure thetr young digestions by cramming them with cake, or buns, or sweets of any kind. To do so is worse than cruel,it is a sin, and a sin which you are but little likely to commit if you truly love them, and really wish to see them generate into strong and healthy men and women. Tails and sweets and confectionery would be bad enough iu all conscience for children, even if they were always pure aud una dulierated. But they are too often posit ively poisonous. Feed on plain and whole some food regularly from day to day, per mitting no stuffing between meals,and not forgetting the benefits that accrue from frequent changes of diet, more espe cially as regards dinner. Do this, and your children will live to bless you ; do otherwise, and expect to see them sickly, with veins and arteries possessing no re siliency, with mucous membranes pale and liabby,pipes of lungs that the accident of a slight cold is sufficient to close, mus cles ot limbs so weak that exercise is a penance instead of a pleasure, and fl<!i so unwholesome that pin's prick may cause a fester,and all this because the blood is im poverished through errors in diet. IMeasaut Vales. Fully a century ago the pleasant vales leading up into the Coast M mntaius in California had been penetrated by the frontiersmen o f Mexico, of which country this whole great regiou was an ill-defined province, under the name of Alta Califor nia. 1 heee men were herdsmen or farmers. Early in the present century a colony of Russians and Indians from Alaska, under the leadership ot Alexander Koskoff, lauded at Bodega Bay, and began farming where now is the village of Bodega. Not satisfied with this place alone, however, they travelled northward some forty miles, and established a permanent trading post and agricultural station near Bait Point, the site and many of the buildings of which are now occupied as the village of Fort Boss - an anglicized abbreviation of Fuerte de los liusoß, as the post was called oy the Spaniards. The occupancy of this strip of coast —for their hold ex tended all the way betweeu Point Arenas on ihe north and Point Ruges on the south —by the Muscovites from 1811 until 1840, when they abandoned their station, left its impress upon the names of the region, aud especially clings to the principal stream watering this portion of the redwood belt —the Russian River. Culifor jla Viuiy<trdi. Late aecouuts from California notice the great increase in the size of the vine yards there. A plantation of 200 acres used to be considered a large vineyard; now vineyards of 500 aud 100 acres are not uucoramon, and one ot 1,500 acres was recently planted near Los Angeles. It is expected that m three years or so California will possess vineyards of 5,000 or 6,000 acres in extent. The total num ber ot acres at present devoted to vine culture is estimated at about 100,000, all of which will be bearing in about four years' time, and producing about 40,000,- 000 or 50,000,000 gallons annually. New wiues at present fetch from 20 to 25 cents per gallon for dry wines, either red or white. Sweet wine is dear, ranging from 55 to 75 cents per gallon. Though next year's prospects are good, last year's prices lor grapes are not likely to be main tained, aB the cellars of San Francisco are said to be full. Wliitewnod. Builders tell us thut in the early days of Philadelphia whitewood was largely used in house-building in that city. It was used for ratters and joists iu the upper stories, and was much es teemed for its lightness and strength. As the wood became scaroe in the victnity pine yery naturally took its plaoe. In an article 011 its present use the "Woodworker" says: In the middle, Southern, and West ern States, where the tree grows abun- j dantly, it has been, and still is, exten sively used, and is considered a good substitute for pine, red oedar and cypress, and serves well for the exterior work of houses as well as for externa 1 ooveriug. The panels of doors, wain scots, and moldings of eliimueys are wade of the wood, and ehiuglss have IMH*U made in some States. These shingles are preferred by some to pine, because they are more durable and not liable to crack from the effects of in tense frost and sunshine Lumber sawed from this tree is used in all the principal oities for the panels of car riages. When perfectly dry they take paint well, and will admit of a brilliant polish. It enters largely into coach manufacturing, and is used in cars, wagon-boxes, sleighs, etc. It is par ticularly applicable to aDy work requir ing soft wood, easily worked, and re quiring great strength, especially if wide work is desirable. It was used years ago in large quantities in the manufacture of trunks, which were covered with cloth or skins, Large quantities of tables and bedsteads have been made from this wood. They are usually stained to imitate mahogany. It otten enters into the construction of bureaus and general cabinet work, particularly where it is the base for covering with veneer. It has been used also in the interior work of canal boats and steamboats. As it is easily wrought in the lathe, it is often used for bowls, brush and broom handles, and numerous other articles of turned wares. Farmers construct eating and drinking troughs for their animals of the wood, as it stands long exposure to the weather better than chestnut or butternut. It is also used in bridges in 6ome places; the Indians were won't to make canoes from the big trees, and soma of tlxam luul room for iwanfcy or moie persons. In some parts of the country long lines of fences may be seen that are made of rails of this tree. One-third of the lumber used in making coffins in New York City is whitewood, it being used for the sides and tops. Very large quantities are consumed in the backs and legs of pianos. Furni ture manufacturers use it for ebonizing, and in parts where great strength is not required. A manufacturer of bungs in New York uses 600,000 feet aunually, and it is also used largely iu making toys and pumps. Kattlesuukf) Jlin Slain. Intelligence has been received that "Rattlesnake Jim," a sporting man well known from the Missouri river to the Sierra Nevada mountains, had bit the dust in Weiser City, Idaho. John Said, alias Rattlesnake Jim, who had been stopping at Weiser for some time past and endeavoring to run the town entered the Gem saloon, kept by Gray brothers, about ten|o'clock Wednesday night and called the house up to drink with him. After drinking he asked John Smith, the bartender, to charge it, which Smith said he oonld not do. Jack "You won't; take this, then," at the ame time pushing a large navy revolver into Smith's face. Smith dropped behind the bar, when Jack made a second attempt to shoot him. at which time other parties inter fered and induced him to put up his weapon. Jack then made Smith stand up, look at him and shake hands, re marking: "I'll not kill you now," Smith summoned George Portei, Deputy Sheriff who, in company with two citizens of Weiser, attempted to arrest Jack on the street. When told to "throw up," Jack remarked, "If you think |I won't shoot you are a ," and he drew his pistol, but be fore ho had time to set it the Deputy gave him a slight wound in the hip. Jaok, however, nothing daunted, filed four shots at the deputy and posse without daiug any more harm than powder-burning some of them. The deputy and posse returned to the saloon and while discussing means for Jack's arrest much to their surprise the latter entered and the deputy again com manded him to "throw up," which was answered by a shot from Jack's pistol, the ball entering the calf of the officer's leg. The deputy responded by discharging one barrel of a double-barreled shot gun, the contents of which enterod Jack's breast just below the right nip ple. Jack, with pistol in hand, now pressed the officer to the yery wall, the other barrel of the latter's gun rer fusing to act, leaving the oflioer at his mercy; but at this junotion, when it was seemingly impossible to check Jaok in his daath rage, Hans Matson, one of the posse, fired his pistol, the ball entering Jack's back and ranging upwards, which shot seemed to paralyze him, S epping back a few steps he fell a dead man. FOOD FOR THOUGHT. t Truo worth is void of glory. Modesty is to worth what shadows are in paintings; she gives it strsngth and relief. Moderation is the silken string run ning through the pearl chain of all vir tues. The love of glory can ocly create a hero; the oontempt of it creates s great er man. Next to au effeminate man there is nothing so disagreeable as a mannish woman. Slumber not in the tents of your ool ums. The warld is advancing, advance with it Nature goes on her own w.\y; all that to us seems an exception, is really ac cording to order. The mind is like a trunk. Well pack ed it holds almost everything; if ill packed next to nothing. Take your stand by the altar of truth and be not led or driven thence by sophistry or by ridicule. ( 1 mm on sense does not ask an impos sible chessboard, but takes the one be fore it and plays the game. Be courageous and noble-minded; our own heart, and not other men's opinions of us, forms our true honor. We think our civilization is near its meridian, but we are yet only at the cock-crowiug and the morning star. Nothing makes the world seem so spacious as to have friends at a distanoe; they make the latitudes and longitudes.' Bad habits are the thistles of the heart, and every indulgence of them is a sea from whicn will come forth a crop of rank weeds. The more methods there are iu a state for acquiring riches without industry or merit, the less there will be of either iu that state. A man of letters is often a man with two nuturea—one a book nature, the other a human nature. These often ol&sh sadly. II we cultivate home friendships with the assiduity that we give to those out side, they will yield us even richer and fa.rer returns. One trade is respectable above Anoth er only in consequence of the superior respectability of the class of men en gaging m it. Pleasure may be aptly com pared to many very great books, which increase in real value m the proportion they are abridged. There were neyer in the world two opinions alike, no more than two hairs or two grains. The most universal quality is diversity. Old age is the night of life, as night is the old age of day. Still, night is full of magnificence; and, for man, it is more brilliant than the day. Employment, which Galen calls "na tures physician," is so essential to hu man happiness that indoieuce is justly considered JUS the mother of misery. To think properly one must think independently, candidly, and consecu tively, only in this way can a tram of reasoning be conducted successively. Character is not cut iu marble—it is not something solid and unalterable. It is something living and changing, and may become diseased as our bodies do, There never did, and never will, ex iat anything permanently noble and excellent in a character which Is a stran ger to the exercises of resolute self denial. He that waita for an opportunity to do muoh at once may breathe out' his life in idle wishes, and regret, in the last hour, his useless intentions and barren zeaL Talk to women as much as you can. This is the best school. It is the way to gain fluency, because you need not care what you say, and had better not be sensible. Nothing so increases reverence for others as a great sorrow to one's self. It teaches one the depths of human nature. In happiness we are shallow and deem others .so. We often wonder that our men of wealth do not give more subjects of na tive interest to our artists, and try to fill their walls with more of the riches of our own rivers, lakes, vales and mountains. It is manifest that the life of charity toward the neighbor, which consists in doing wnat is just and right iu all our dealiugs and occupations, leads to heaven; but not a life of piety without charity. The Christian faith is a grand cathe dral, with divinely piotured windows. Standing without, you see no glory, nor can possibly imagine any; standing within, every ray reveals a harmony ot unspeakable splendor. Under the laws of Providence, life is a probation; probation is a succession of temptations, temptations are emer gencies, and for emergencies we need the preparation and the safeguard of prayer. The wise man has his follies no less than the fool; but it has been said that herein lies the difference—the follies of the fool are known to the world, but are hidden from himself; the follies of the wise man are known to himself, but are hidden from the world. The use of proverbs is characteristic of an unlettered people. The common sense of the lower classes is condensed into these terse and convenient phrases, and they pass from hand to hand as the pence and farthings of conversation. They are invaluable treasures to dunces with good memories. They give a semblance of wit to the speech of the dull. The best things, both in this life and that which is to come, are concealed from us, and we are compelled to wait for the manifestations that shall be made to us in the other kingdom. Whatever our intelligence may be while here, it is relatively very slight, and we grow more and more to know how "darkly" it is that we through the interposing glass- NO. 7.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers