Millheim Journal. (Millheim, Pa.) 1876-1984, August 23, 1883, Image 1

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Coraer of Main and I'onn Mm., at
Or 91.96 if not paid in ndvann*.
Acceptable Correspondence Solicited. :
all letter* to
At Rest.
Ah, silent wheel, the noisj brook is dry,
And quiet hour* glide by
In this deep vale,where once the merry stream
Sang on through gloom and gleam j
Only t. e dove in some leaf-shaded nest
Murmurs of rest.
Ah, weary voyager, the closing day
Shines on that tranquil bay,
"Where thy storm-beaten soul has longed to be;
Wild blast urd angry BOA
Touch not this favorer! shore, by summer blest,
A l ouie of rest.
Ah, fevered heart, the grass is green and deep
Where thou art l:iid asleep;
Kissed by soft winds, and washed by gentle
Thoa hast thy crown ot flowers;
Poor heart, too long in this mad world oppre-t
Take now thy rest.
I, too, prepic.ved with strife of goi d and ill.
Long to be sale and still;
Evil is present with nre while 1 pray
That good may win the day.
Great Giver, grant me thy last gilt andbestt
Thy gilt ot rest!
Sarah Doudney
Timothy Bloom, salesman in Mr.
Crabbe's big retail dry goods store, \\ as
stealthily eating his lunch in a dusty
corner amongst some empty packing
boxes. It was not a very good lunch,
and warm as the day was. he had but
one glass of ice-water with it.
A very mild, pleasant-looking young
fellow was Timothy Bloom, with eyes
like a pretty girl's and fair hair parted
down the middle: but he was rather
doleful at this moment, for, Crabbe,
senior, had just been abusing him for
permitting a lady who was not to be
suited by mortal salesman to get off
without buying anything, and had like
wise informed him that he had been
five seconds late that morning and
would in consequence "be deducted an
eighth" on Saturday evening.
That was not pleasant, and Mr.
Crabbe's manner was not pleasant, and
the dusty corner and the stale sand
wich were not pleasant. And who can
wonder that poor Timothy Bloom look
ing up at a roAv of decorated corset
boxes above his head, and taking his
idea from the winged infant pictured
upon them, remarked under his breath:
"I wish I was a cherub."
At this moment, even as the wish
fluttered up to the corset boxes, a little
boy.-about three feet high, bearing on
his bosom a badge with the enormous
number 1189, came around the corner,
and fixed his pathetic eyes on Mr.
Bloom's glass of water.
"I say, Mr. Bloom," he whispered,
pathetically, "won't you give me just a
mouthful of that water? Mr. Crabbe
says us cashes ain't to have no drinks,
and I'm chokin'."
Mr. Bloom smiled pitifully at the
child, a forlorn widow's bread-winner,
and said mildly as he held out the
"Here, Johnny, take halt. I'd let you
have it all if we were not limited to
one glass ourselves."
"Guess water's gettin' dear," said
Johnny, eagerly swallowing the share
allowed of the cooling draught, but
scrupulously careful not to exceed the
"Thank'ee. You're a brick. Mr.
Bumps hit me a lick when I asked him.
Here, have the evening paper. A cus
tomer left it on the desk. Save it for
me to take to mar when I go home to
night. She likes to read the murders,
them things—"
"Cash 1189!" shrieked a female
voice. "Cash! Cash!"
"It's Miss Pringle. I must go," whis
pered Johnny, and sped away in terror.
There were ten cash boys in the
store, and they had been numbered
high to sound well.
Mr. Bloom peered around the corner
at the clock, saw he had ten minutes
more to himself, and opened the paper.
The first thing his eye lighted upon
was the advertisement of a fine coun
try seat for sale, and he read it
through—the description of the stables,
barns, bath-tubs, conservatory, veran
da, lawn and kitchen gardens; the
well, the tiled hall and frescoed ceil
ings, as though he intended to buy it
for himself that afternoon.
Then he cast his eyes upon an ac
count of how Mr. Mullen had beaten
Mrs. Mullen, and had been arrested
for so doing; and then he found him
self reading a paragraph to the effect
that the heirs of Timothy Bloom, of
Lancaster, England, if living, might
hear something to their advantage by
applying to Jones & Johnson,
"My name," thought Mr. Bloom at
first. Then, with a start, he remem
bered that he had heard that his
grandfather was named Timothy. Cer
tainly, he came from Lancaster, Eng
land. His father, David Bloom, had
been an only son. He was an only son
himself. Well, then, he was Timothy
Bloom's heir, if it should prove that
the Timothy Bloom mentioned was
really his grandfather's name.
"But, oh pshaw!" said Mr. Bloom,
"This sort of thing couldn't happen to
the iUlllirim Journal.
DEININGER & BUMIULER, Editors and Proprietors
ma It's some other Timothy, not
poor old grandfather." And he copied
the address of Jones A .Johnson into
his pocket book and went back to his
counter quite calmly, though he wrote
to Jones & Johnson that night
However, wonders will never cease.
When Tim Bloom, the nieeke. t of all
young men. went home that Saturday
evening with a "deducted" salary and
a scolding, he found Mr. Johnson him
self in the boarding- house parlor, ami
an examination of the family Bible in
his possession, and of a certain bundle
of yellow letters that Mr. Bloom had
more than once decided to bum, but
had fortunately spared, settled the mat
ter Half a million of money had
come to him in the regular course ot
nature, and he was richer, not only
than Mr Crahbe, but than any of his
most fashionable customers.
It w as a wonderful surprilse tol ittle
Tim Bloom, and he scacelv grasped the
idea at first. Even after he had told
his chief confidant, his landlady's pret
ty granddaughter, Mehitabel White, a
pretty, pink cheeked, capable damsel,
called Hetty for short—he only went
so far as to think of a pair of patent
leather boots and a diamond cravat
Iletty waked him to a full realiza
tion of his changed condition bv say
ing. rather seriously, and looking away
from him:
"Of course, grandma's won't suit
you any longer. Mr. Bioom, and you'll
have to go back to Crabbe & Co.'s
By George! I never thought of it;
so I shan't," said Tim Bloom. "Xo
more counter jumping for me; and if
Mrs. White will let me hire the back
parlor, I'll take that. Go away ? Xot I.
Xot yet; it's too soon," said Hetty to
herself; "but he'll go us soon as he
quite understands."
"Let me congratulate you, my dear
Mr. Bloom, "said Mr. Crabbe, bowing,
as he parted from the departing clerk,
as he did to carriage customers at the
very store door. "I always felt a su
periority in you over the other young
men. I said to my daughtc-r Belinda
the other day: 'lf it were not for giv
ing offence to others I should ask Mr.
Bloom to our little evenings. Some
thing of the prince in disguise about
him, hut an employer has his duties.
They sometimes make his heart ache,
but he must perform them.'"
Mr. Bloom remembered the placard
over the water cooler: "Caches not al
lowed drinks;" "a cash who drinks de
ducted one-half." and thought that if
Mr. Crabbe really had a heart this
must be true.
Tim Bloom was a rich man; but he
had no rich friends as yet. The clerks
at Crabbe & Co.'s had been always
quarreling among themselves, and he
had not known one in private.
The boarders were not "sociable."
He treated them to ice cream several
times, and took Hetty White to a con
cert or two.
He improved his mind in libraries
and museums, and set up a bookcase
of his own, into which he put a misce
laneous assortment of volumes. When
one day he received a perfumed envel
ope, inviting him to a lawn tennis par
that Mr. Crabbe's country seat, he felt
that the dissipations of the wealthy
had just begun for him. lie accepted
it, of course, and went attired in per
fect style, and looking very well in
He returned bewildered. Miss
Crabbe was very handsome. She play
ed and sang and danced and was "styl
ish." She had set her cap for him, and
Mr. Crabbe—yes, actually Mr. Crabbe
—bad plainly allowed him to see that
he would give his consent to the
"Two months ago he called me a stu
pid idiot. Two months ago he snubbed
me whenever he spoke to me," thought
Tim Bloom. "Yes, this is the old story;
everybody, everybody, even old
Mrs. White flattering and cringing for
my money. I wonder whether Hetty
is the same?" And in the seclusion of
his own apartment poor Tim Bloom
actually cried; though Mr. Crabbe call
ed that evening and took him to a
charming stag party, where the guests
were principally in the dry goods line,
and in every direction one's ears
caught the remark, "sold a bill of
goods to a man."
"You rascal," said the excellent
father, on the way home, "1 see you
are afraid to speak, but I knew you
couldn't keep your eyes off my Belinda
last Wednesday."
"Could I hope for your consent if
"My dear boy—ha! ha! ha! Why ask
her and see!" cried Mr. (,'rabbe. "It
has always been the wish of my heart,
even when you were a poor clerk, and
she (don't you say I told you) always
admired you—always!"
At nine o,clock one night Mrs.
White's door-bell rang and a messen
ger boy handed in a letter—a big letter
with a big seal and "immediately" on
It What could It be? Something
about the property, of course. Mrs.
White carried It herself to Mr. Bloom's
room, and as she handed it in, she saw
him seated beside a table on which
stood a tray of delicacies. Mr. Crabbe
was at supper with her boarder.
"Excuse me," said Timothy.
"Oh! certainly," said Mr. Crabbe.
Timothy opened the letter, read it,
littered a deep sigh and passed it t<> Mr.
Crabbe. Mr. Crabbe read it and turn
i t d pale.
"l>o I understand it?" said Timothy,
i hiding his face.
"Your lawyer says the property is
no longer yours; that your gramlfath
j er was not the right Timothy Bloom,
and that the real heir will demand a
restoration of what you have spent al
"Yes. I was right," said Mr. Bloom.
"But, Mr. Crabbe, after al', I shall do
: very well. I can go back to your store,
J and Miss Belinda has quite a little 1'OT
: tune of her own. Weean still be linp
Mr. Crabbe leaped to his feet.
"Sir! sir!" he said, "this is a great
piece of impertinence, sir. You havn't
spoken to Belinda."
"But you assured me—" began Tim
"I didn't!" shrieked Mr. Crabbe. "At
least, 1 was mistaken. I came here
with the intention of telling you upon
my word and honor that she can't en
dure you; and as for the store, you are
a most incompetent salesman. There is
no situation open. Sorry for you,
but—good-night. Good-night."
"Good-night," said Timothy.
Then, as the door closed, he took up
the letter and carried it to old Mrs.
White, who with Hetty as assistant
was seeding raisins for next day's pud
ding, sitting one on either side of the
drop-light in the dining-room.
"I shall have to give up the back
parlor," said poor Timothy. "And as
for my half-hall bedroom, 1 don't know
how to pay for that, for Crabbe won't
take me back."
"Time-serving *old wretch!" said
Mrs. White. "Xo matter, Mr. Bloom.
I'll tr ist you. Intentions being right,
I neve} will l>e hard on my boarders,
and you can keep the parlor until it is
hired, because it's more comfortable."
"And try to keep up your spirits,"
said Hetty, "for, after all, money isn't
"It seemed tx> sudden to last," said
Mrs. White. "1 never trusted these
the good souls comforted him,
and atter a while, when he asked Het
ty to take a little walk with him, she
There was a little park on the oppo
site side of the street, and though the
gates were locked, they walked around
its railings. Their talk was long and
earnest, and at last Tinothy said:
"Well, Hetty, poor as I am, will you
promise to marry me some day?"
And she had answered, "Yes, Tim,"
very simply- and so it was settled; and
for a young man, recently reduced
from affluence to poverty, Mr. Bloom
certainly looked very happy as they
went home together. But it was only
after Mrs. White had given her loving
consent to his marrying Iletty when
they had enough for bread and butter,
that he made confession:
"I can't keep it to myself any longer,
grandma. I wrote that letter myself.
I'm as ricli as ever I was, and I've test
ed my friends. Old Crabbe has proven
false and vou have proven true. I felt
sure about Iletty all the while; and
when we are married, you must cotne
and live with us, and there will be no
more hard work and boarders for you
in this world, you dear old soul."
No Show For Him.
All hands had been telling long
stories of what they had done and
would do in the event of a smash-up
on the road, with the exception of one
little man, who had listened attentive
ly to the narratives, and taken them
all in without a word.
"Ever been in an accident ?" asked
the patriarch of the party, noticing the
little man's silence.
"Xo," replied the little man, quiet
"Then you have no idea what you
would do in the fracas?" continued
the patiiarch.
"Xo; I don't," replied the little
man, sadly. "With all you big
heroes blocking tip the doors and
windows in your hurry to get out, 1
don't exactly know what show a
man of my size would have!"
And then there was a deep si
lence, so deep you might have heard
a cough drop, and the little man
was troubled no more about the pos
sibility of accidents.— Wall Street
A sheep pasture in Dimmit and
Webb counties, Texas, comprise 300,-
000 acres and feeds 300,000"sheep. It
is believed to be largest, in the world
Sleepless j>eople—and they are many
In America—should court the sun.
The very worst soporific is laudanum,
and the very best, sunshina There
lore it is very plain that poor sleepers
should pass as many hours as possible
in the sunshine, and as few as possible
tn the shade. Many women are mar
tyrs, and yet they do not know it. They
■dint the sunshine out of their houses
and their hearts, they wear veils, they
carry parasols, they do all possible to
keep off the subtlest, yet most potent
influence which is intended to give
them strength and beauty and cheer
fulness. Is it not fjme to change this,
and so get color and roses in their pale
cheeks, strength in their weak backs,
and courage in their timid souls? The
women of America are pale and deli
cate ; they may be blooming and
strong ; and the sunlight will be a po
tent influence in this transformation.
HoniMllr Nurgrry.
Cuts must le treated according to
their position and severity. If a fin
ger or toe is cut, bathe or immerse it
in cold water until the blood ceases to
flow, washing out all dirt and foreign
substances that have entered the cut.
If it is deep, notice how the blood
flows ; if it is dark and oozes from the
cut slowly, only a vein is severed and
it is not serous but will soon heal if
kept from the air. But if it is of a
bright scarlet hue and spurts out in
jets, an artery is severed and a doctor
must be called at once. Meanwhile a
ligature must he tied above the cut.
and the thumb pressed down and held
upon the artery to prevent loss of
blood. If the skin gaps from a cut.
draw the edges together, apply a piece
of sticking plaster over the whole sur
face, and put the linger or the thumb
of a kid glove over the finger it it is
the injured |*art. If in a little while
I the wound throbs painfully, cover it
thickly with the vaseline with a few
I drops of laudanum stirred into it. and.
■if needful from severe inflammation,
put on a poultice of flaxseed boiled in
a little water with a few drops of laud
; annul. But vaseline alne possesses
j great healing powers for all kinds of
wounds, boils, inflammations and abra
i sions of the skin. As long as the first
i dressing of a cut remains firm and it
| does not throb or burn, it should not
be touched. An outer clean cloth can
he added, but let the inner one alone
until the wound is healed. Cuts on
, the head are apt to be dangerous and
I require much (are. The hair should
be cut off all around, and arnica plas
ter put directly over the wound.
Tigeon Houses on the Nile.
A correspondent visited some of the
many pigeon houses erected near the
river, which from their towering, con
ical form, never fail to attract the at
tention of travellers on the Xile on
coining to Cairo by rail. These breed
ing places consist of nothing else than
an enormous number of red earthen
ware vessels, closely resembling medi
um sized flower pots placed in a circle,
with the mouth inward, and tier upon
tier is raised with the assistance of the
tenacious Xile mud, until the cone is
completed and the dome covered in, a
few light branches of trees being intro
duced on the outside of the fabric be
fore completion to enable the pigeons
to perch and rest themselves at times.
Hawks and other birds of prey, not to
say cats also, annoy and often destroy
the pigeons here, and consequently a
trap-door is fitted to the place about
half way up the building, and worked
by a couple of ropes which reach down
to the ground. These, on being pulled
by the natives at dawn, allow the pig
eons to sally forth and feed gratis dur
ing the day in the adjoining fields or a
little farther off if food is scarce at
hand, and soon after sunset, when the
pigeons are all back again, the trap
door is let down for the night to the
exclusion of all intruders. There is a
long upright pole in the center of the
building, with cross-pieces of wood on
it to serve as a ladder, upon which the
owner mounts when he wishes to catch
the birds or clean out the place; and
owing to the facility for keeping pig
eons in Egypt, it is not to be wondered
at their being found always in the
market, and at very moderate prices.
It is not altogether, however for the
sake of the birds that the people breed
them on a large scale, but it is the ma
nure, which is prized for agricultural
purposes, especially for raising melons
in spring; and often a fellah who has
no pigeons to depend upon will send a
donkey and boy with a couple of large
baskets across the animal's back
through the country to buy up all the
manure he requires by going from
house to house, even where only a few
pigeons are kept, paying two shillings
for a quantity that would barely fill a
bushel measure.
Aipocti of thta Old Nw Mexican Town
lis A<tol>o Houses.
Six In the evening is a good hour at
which to reach Santa Fo. The cool,
pure air, descending straight from a
cloudless sky, the peaceful streets,
running off like alleys stretched apart
a little, and tho sheltering rim of
mountains, whose sides the sun is
warming with purple and red, inspire
a feeling of relief and comfort. One
need not hurry to mount a 'bus to
avoid contact with the groups of black
hooded native women and low-browed
men w ho gather at the incoming train*
for they huddle like timid sheep, but it
is plea ranter to look at them from a
slight elevation, where you wonder if
their faces might not be set in an adobe
wall without any one detecting the
counterfeit. A roomy American
frame hotel is one of the welcome inno
vations in the old town. Just now it
docs a thriving business, as it needs to
do to offset two years <>f steady drain
age of the purse of its proprietor, who
put a small fortune in it with the idea
that people would flock to enjoy Santa
Fe's unsurpassed climate if they could
be sure of enjoying it comfortably.
The scheme went aglev, and the white
haired landlord waited vainly for
months for enough guests to keep up
From the spacious balconies one
may overlook the town and region as
far as the mountains. Long lines of
mud walls define the streets, and a
window or doorw ay cut here and there
shows where the wall is partitioned
off inside into a dwelling. Near the
hotel are isolated houses, usually ul
one and one-half stories in height and
quite broad, occupied mainly by the
white tradesmen whose shops sur
round the plaza, or public park, in the
center of the town. The common
height of houses is a single story.
Nearly every structure in town 's of
adobe, although some of the shops and
some of the residences of the well-to
do are coated to resemble stone or
brick. The prevailing tint, however,
is brown, like cakel mud. Builders
mold the mud, which is of clayey na
ture, into brick-like shapes, which
harden under the sun. Then the
mouldings are piled up nine or ten
feet high, perhaps, and of a thickness
varying from three to four feet. The
cracks between the layers are stuffed
with a mixture of adobe and straw.
which acts as mortar and cement.
When the walls are finished, young
tre s, like bean poles, but thicker, are
stripped and laid across as the basis for
rHfs. Courtyards are not uncommon.
Wherever they occur the street door
opens on a hallway, which leads, after
a few feet, into the yard. The dwell
ing in such cases faces the yard, and
there are apt to be no windows or
other openings from it on the street,
Adobe seems to be as impervious to
the weather its stone. Army otlicers
say it makes the warmest houses in
winter and the coolest in summer of
any material within their know ledge.
A walk through the town at even
ing furnishes a commentary on the
loose moral condition of society. It is
certainly within bounds to say that in
one-third of the bouses surrounding
the plaza, and on San Francisco street
for a block from the lower corner of
the plaza, open gambling goes on
nightly. Concert-saloon attractions
are in some instances introduced to
bait visitors, who enter to find one
side of the room a bar and along the
opposite wall gambling tables a few
feet apart. When the games are. not
going on right under the nose, a print
ed card directs the way to the hack
room. This is the case in the saloon
through which until lately was the
only entrance to the hall in which the
atrical performances are given, when
•ever a company ventures so far.
There happens now to be also a side
door to reach the theater without
going through the saloon. At a table
in one of the resorts a gaudily-dressed
young Mexican woman presides.
There are private gambling rooms in
the same neighborhood frequented by
tradesmen and military people. Tho
officers formerly had a club, where sal
aries were transferred oftener than
pay-day warranted, but it was luckily
broken up, and there is no likelihood of
its revival. On almost any of the
streets leading off from the plaza are
dives quite as pernicious as the gam
bling houses. Many of them are
dance houses, and there nightly are
held what are known as bailes (bisle),
or balls. There is no admission charge,
and visitors have the privilege of se
lecting their partners without formali
ty. After each dance all hands march
to the bar. Beer is the common drink
on such occasions, and twenty-five
cents a pony is the price of it.
The French have taken a railroad
idea from America. One company ha*
a system of dinner cars on its line.
Terms, SIOO Per Year in Advance.
A Hlaa In at mil of a Blow.
Rev. Edgar Buckingham relates in
the Springfield Republican this anec
dote of Theodore Barker's days of
school-teaching: "He had among his
scholars a little witch of a boy, whom
no reproof and no persuasion could in
duce to keep himself in order. One
day, after his more than usually
troublesome conduct, Mr. Barker re
quired the litlle fellow to stay after
school to be whipped. So the time had
come for this last resource of the ex
hausted patience and skill of the
teacher. According to directions the
boy held out his hand for punishment,
and as he took it, Mr. Barker said, he
looked down into the little face, and
boy looked so much like his little sis
ter whose conduct was all right, and
who had won Mr. Barker's love—he
stayed the rod, and stooped down and
kissed the innocent lips were
ready to break forth into crying, and
sent the pupil home. It is probable
that he was a worse boy after that?
Somebody knows who this boy was;
man, if living now. 1 wish we could
learn from him the effects upon his life
J of that kiss of Mr. Barker's."
"Hotlty-a-by Baby In Tree Top."
After a great wind-storm in Texas,
a storm that carried otf the roofs of
houses, tore trees out of the ground,
and did a great deal of damage, some
men started out to see if anybody was
hurt. This is what one of them
It was night, and quite dark in the
woods, when they heard a cry. They
stopped to look about and listen. They
heard the cry again and then they
saw same dark thing up in a tree.
! -It's a panther," said one. "Stand
off! I will shoot it."
1 "No, stop," said another; "it is not
a panther. I will climb up and see
what it is."
Up he went; and what do you think
he found lodged in the tree? A cradle
with a dear little baby in it.
The uind had blown down the
baby's home. It bad carried off baby,
cradle and all. The cradle Mas caught
bv the branch of a high tree. Then
i the wind blew against it so hard
that the cradle wedged in a crotch
of the tree. It was so fast that the
men had to saw away the boughs to
get it down. There was the dear
( baby all safe and sound in its cradle-
I nest.
One I.tttlr Nffd
Many days have passed since this
little incident, but its lesson is one
which 1 trust I have never forgot
; ten.
1 was crossing the ocean aboard the
good old ship Antoinette. Boy-like. I
made friends with the several officers
of the vessel, and when they were off
duty my pleasure was to listen to
their tales of the sea. What won
derful stories they had to tell!—of
queer cities and strange people, of
storms and calms, of dangers through
which they had passed, and then, too,
i of their happy homes far away, and
1 their longing to be once more sur
rounded by their families. What an
eager listner I was! And many and
many a time have I, with one or the
other of them, laid stretched out on
the deck, gazing upwards, shaping in
to familiar pictures the fantastic
clouds that lloated overhead, while the
splashing of the M aters on either side
sounded soft and pleasing to my
dreaming brain.
One day the first officer had just
come off watch, and as he stepped into
his cabin he found me already there.
I chatted awhile, and finally in rum
maging through his chest, I fell upon
some old-time daguerreotypes. This
Mas his son, that his daughter, and
here Mas a picture of a woman of al
ready maturer years. Eager to dis
play, I presume, my familiarity
with the world—and how much our
younger generation is addicted there
to!—l at once exclaimed: "And that's
the old woman I suppose."
I saw at once my mistake. A
cloud spread over the sun-broMned
face; but soon it passed away, and a
rough, rugged hand Mas softly laid
upon my shoulder, M'hile a voice al
most distressing to me it Mas so gen
tle, said, "My little friend, that is my
wife, the mother of my children; of
course you meant nothing, but let an
old sailor tell you, never speak but in
the gentlest words of those whom
men should honor. A woman in my
eye is a holy thing; remember my ad
All the rest of that day I felt like
one M r ho had done a wrong, but after
wards the sky seemed brighter and
the air fresher, than ever. Perhaps
the little seed that rough, old "steuer
mann" had sown fast flowered into
There are in Boston 69 women
taxed over $1,00,000, five over $500,-
X) 0. and two over $1,000,000.
If Mibpcriber* order the discontinuation of
newßpjipers, the pnbl whoiß rony continue to
pond them until ell nrreariwt** are paid.
If subscribers refuse or neglect to take their
newspapers from the office to which they are
pent, they are held responsible until they
have settled the bills and ordered them dis
continued. ,
If subscribers move to other place* with
out informing the publisher, and the news-
Sapers are sent to the former place of resi
ence, they are then responsible. _
| ADVUvflafKO ftAffcJ:
i 1 wk. 1 mo. I Bmop. I Bmop. 11 fmM
| pqnivr ft 00 f 300 f •00 $ 4 g $9 99
£ rolnmn iOO 800 13 00 10 00 J 08
i r^nmn U >1 '
I I Om inch imlm* * pqniiTP. Admtwlrpfom saf •
i mrutcTp' Votioop sl.lO. Trntont w!rt4PPmpnU *n
Um'mlm 10 r,put iwr Una forfrnt auwrtiwi ana # ooaw par
i lino lor each additional inaartion.
NO. 33.
The Music of the Rata.
Falling, tailing, on the house-tops.
With a music quaint and rare,
Like the sound of lmmnn heart-throbf
On the silent midnight air,
Or the tears of angels falling
When they wcp with those who weep,
Or the lullaby of mothers
When they rock their babes to aloep.
Like the drowsy wine of poppies
With its weird, enchanting power, #
Coming to the weary listener
Like the dew to drooping flower;
Liko calm Bleep to thoao who softer,
Or like tears to those who monrn;
Like remembered words of loved ones •
From our aching bosoms torn.
Strangely sweet, bewitching music,
All enthralled iny senses lie,
As I watch the mystic Future
With the shadowy Past go by,
While a calm and holy quiet
Steals ujK>n my heart and brain,
Then 1 fall asleep, still listening
To the murmur of the rain.
So, mayhap, some time hereafter
I i-hall lay me down to rest,
Overweary, and shall listen
For the music I loved bee';
Wlu-n its gentle cadence falling \
Through the midnight silence deep,
Sofily soothes my troubled spirit,
While it lulls me into sleep.
When, at last, my soul has fallen
Into sweetest, glad repose,
That on earth sunthine nor shadow
No awakening ever knows—
Like the voice of waiting angels,
Or the vei-p'-r bells in toll,
May the soltly falling raindrops
Chant a lequi- m lor my soul.
—Abbe JTinn*.
A man Mho marries a frivolous flirt
"gives to airy nothing a local habita
tion and a name."
Shakespeare M ould never have asked,
"What's in an aim?" if he had been
hit on the head Mith a brick.
Talk about despair. You ought to
see the face of the boy M hen the circus
tent blows doM-n just as he has paid
for his ticket.
If a great big man calls you a liar
treat him M ith silent contempt. Do
not, however, make your contempt too
Scotch minister: "John, John, I'm
afraid you are on the broad road." In
ebriated parishioner: "WeeL minister,
as far as I'm concerned, the breadth is
a' required."
Mrs. Summerbreeze's new girl was
told to M atch the turnover a few min
utes; when the lady returned the turn
over was burned to a crisp, and the
girl remarked, "Sure, I've M-atched it,
mum; but it hasn't turned over yet."
A little boy and girl were discussing
the stars. The little boy said they were
worlds like ours and have people on
them. The little girl, with all the dis
dain she could muster, said: "They
are angel's eyes, 'cause I saw them
A French lion tamer quarreled with
his M ife, a powerful virago, and was
chased by her all round his tent. On
being sorely pressed he took refuge in
the cage among the lions. "Oh, you
contemptible coMardl" she showed,
"come out if you dare!" V
A little girl stopped in the midst of
her play, one day, clasping her hands
to her neck as she felt a sharp pain
there, exclaimed, "Oh! oh!" "What is
it, dear," said grandma, "a stitch in
your neck?" "Why, gran'ma," she
asked, Mith a terrified look, "are our
heads seM'ed on?"
New fork Fire Engines.
The New York Herald thus de
scribes the movements of men and
horses connected with the fire-engines
of NeM- York when an alarm of fire
has been struck: The engine stands in
the engine house ready for the road.
So does the tender. The horses are in
their stalls. The men are lounging
about or sleeping. The alarm strikes.
In a twinkling all are at their posts.
By a curious contrivance the hammer
that strikes the warning gong sets in
operation a system of cords and levers
that unfasten the horses. The men
come down from their sleeping or sit
ting-rooms, not by stairways, but by a
pole, to the lower floor. They are all
ready in a twinkling. And what of
the horses? They generally outstrip
the bipeds in responding to the call.
The hammer which releases them and
strikes the gong, sends them an alarm
they at once interpret. Standing or
lying, they are out at once and beside
the engine-pole. There is no harness
ing, no adjusting of belly-bands and
squeezing of collars and fastening of
reins. The new 'swing' harness used
in the department is a complete
caparison, which is suspended by an
ingenious apparatus above the spot
where tne horses take their places.
Close the open collar with a snap, pull
a rope M'hich lifts the suspending
apparatus, and they are equipped and
read) for the road. The door swings
open, every man is in his place and
away goes the engine. %