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.