PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY IN MUSSER'S BUILDING. Corner of Main and IVtin nt SI.OO PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE; Or (1.85 if not paid in adrancn. Acceptable Correspondence Solicited. all letters to " MILLHEIM JOURNAL." The rhantom Ship. The anchor's weighed, the harbor past, Away! away! the ship flies fast. The shipper's wile is at his side, In fear she scans tho darkening tide. "Fear no'.," quuili lie; "thou'it *>afe with me, Though the fiend himself should sail tho sea!"' And merrily ho! the breezes blow, Over the sea the ship doth go. The sea grew black, tho wind blew high; "A ship A ship?" the sailors cry; Down sank the blood-rod sun in flame, But nearer still the vessel came. She had no sails, no oars, no crew! Bnt nearer, nearer still she flew. One lone, dark man on deck they see, They can hear him laughing mockingly. The skipper stood with frozen stare, His men were white with wild despair; The tempest shrieked, the sea was flun© And neaier still the strange ship came. Down knelt the skipper's wile and prayed "God of the sailors, send us nid." F,ach stony sailor bent his knee: "Save ns, O Lord! we cry to Tlieo!" Hurrah! Hurrah! tho spell is dono! The phantom thip is gone, is gone! The winds are fair, and fair the tide; The skipper's wife is at his side. He holds her hand, he cannot speak, A tear rolls down hi? rugged cheek; And merrily ho! the breezes blow, Over the sea the ship doth go. Frederick K. tVcatheritl. Miss Lehman's Method. A long stretch of white, sandy beach, dotted here and there with dark piles of shining sea-weed; a broad ex panse of restless, heaving billows lap. ping with frothy tongues the gleaming shore, tempted Helen Lehman to pause and finally to sit down, even though it was the middle of the summer after noon, and the sun was pouring down a scorching heat upon the unprotected rocks and glittering sand. Miss Lehman had a broad-brimmed hat and sun umbrella, either of which was sufficient to protect her fair com plexion, and if Harry Ashland was not thoughtful enough to likewise pro. vide for his own comfort, he must suf fer the consequences. She had no heart—the world said so. 11.id she seen the look of pain and disgust which, for a moment, played upon the gentleman's face it would have called forth no pity—not the slightest. He was not obliged to remain with her. There was the hotel, just above them, and he could find the coolest place on the broad, well-shaded piaz zas, where he could lie undisturbed all the afternoon. It certainly seemed very foolish to make oneself so uncomfortable for a lady; but for Miss Lehman he would have sat for hours in those thin clothes on the hot rocks, and undergone tor tures innumerable, provided she would smile upon him occasionally. But Miss Lehman was very silent and grave that afternoon, and poor Ashland hitched about on his warm seat without drawing from her one smile or even a look of appreciation. Getting tired of such thankless mar tyrdom, he burst forth, after several moments of silence, with: "What is the matter. Miss Helen ?" "Matter? Nothing! Can't one think without having something the matter with them?".she asked, sharply. The gentleman started at her ear nestness, and meekly replied: "Yes." "Well, then, Mr. Ashland, what are you talking about? I was think ing. Would you like to hear my thoughts?" "Oh, yes, above all things." "I was thinking of that great body of water before us. It so reminds me of the lives of some people whom I have met—so full of restless yearning —always coming and going—never paising, never tiring. Oh, it is so strange, yet so grand and beautiful!" "Yes," murmured the martyr, mov ing uneasily, and thinking that it was indeed very strange, very grand, and very beautiful. "And yet it ever tells the same, same, story—the 'something* for which it yearns never comes. So it is with life. We spend a life-time with an aching void in our hearts, and die still longing—" "Yes." Helen Lehman turned with an ex pression in her dark eyes, which spoke: "What a stupid creature!" She modified her meaning to: "Mr. Ashland, you have not heard a word." "Oh, 'pon my honor, Miss Helen, I heard every syllable! Don't you think that it is hot ?" "Hot? Very comfortable, I was thinking." "Bless me, I am quite baked." "Then let us go to the hotel." The gentleman arose with alacrity, but as he walked along he felt uneasy, for he was not quite sure that he had pleased the lady, and rather than dis please he would have willingly sat upon the hot rock for another hour and suffered without a murmur. file Jtilttem Journal. DEININGER & BUMILJLER, Editors and Proprietors. VOL. LVII. Mr. Ashland was in love with Miss Helen Lehman, and had been a perfect slave to her caprice all the summer. He had met her in the city during the proceeding winter—had seen her in all the glory of her ball-room dress, and had been awed into worship by the flash of her diamonds and glorious dark eyes. At the seaside she was not less beau tiful in her robes of wondrous lace and silk, whieh caused so much envy among the ladies —costing a small for tune, they all said—and Ashland had become the lowliest worshiper at her shrine. To cap the climax, thcro was a new arrival—a plainly-dressed, thoughtful looking "nobody"—who stood upon the piazza "as cool as a cucumber," looking out seaward with an expres sion in his elear eyes very like that whieh had shone in Helen Lehman's a few minutes before, and she wonder ed if his thoughts were the same. "Who is that. Mr. Ashland?" "Where?" "Why, that line-looking man on the piazza." "Don't know, never laid eyes on him before. Something new, 1 fancy." "1 hope so. I'm dying for a change,'' thought she. "Shall I lind out who he is?" asked the accommodating Ashland. "Yes, do." "Well, 1 will as soon as I can. 1 don't for a moment imagine that you'll care to know him, for really he doesn't appear to be anybody." "True, but it won't hurt you to in quire." "Oh, certainly not." That very evening, in the large par lor Mr. Ashland edged along to where Miss Lehman sal talking, and whisper ed: "Well, I found out a little coneern lng -that fellow.'" "Go on, and tell me about him." "He is nobody at all, Miss Helen. A poor artist, or something of that kind. Not worth a cent, Alden told me." "Thank you for your trouble." It was astonishing how Miss Leh man, after learning this, could have made the acquaintance of Philip Grey son and could treat him with such marked politeness! It quite puzzled poor Ashland, and he soon found himself in a painful po sition. The fellows began to banter him to excess, and call him a "fool" and other pretty names for thus allow ing Miss Lehman to drive, sail, read poetry, and wander out upon the beach with this "poor wretch." It was all very well to treat him po litely, but where was the need of mak ing so much of him? It would never do, and so he resolved to put a stop to it at once. "We are not engaged, and so she thinks it no harm in flirting with Grey son. But I will settle matters at once.'' It was easier said than done. Miss Lehman was so cross and strange that Ashland, confident as he was, never approrhed her without feeling timid and wonderfully "shaky." But at last, one morning, after see ing Greyson's head very close to Miss Lehman's for a full hour without any apparent cause, he resolved to put on a bold face and propose. "Miss Helen," he began, as soon as an opportunity presented itself, "I have been dying to speak to yon for several days." "Have you ? Well that is rather un pleasant." "Oh, no, thank you, not at all." "What have you to say?" "Oh, nothing—that is—yes—" "Well, go on." "The fact is, I am tired of single life, and want to get married at once.'' "Very wise, indeed!" "I think so. Well, of course, you understand that I ha\e a great regard for you, and I think—l mean, are you —that is—will you have me?" "Bless your heart, no." "No!" "Certainly not!" "Oh, you're trying to tease me?" "No, I am not." "But consider—l have been so atten tive, and all that, you know. Have you no reward to make me for all this?" "None whatever." "But, Miss Helen—" "My dear Mr. Ashland, we may as well come to an understanding first as last. The truth is, I am already en gaged." "Engaged!" "Yes, to Mr. Greyson. We are to be married in the fall." "Oh!" Mr. Ashland's moustache drooped perceptibly, and his appearance, as he dragged himself up to the hotel, was rather of the sick chicken order. "Poor fellow!" Cupid chuckled in fiendish exhulta. tion over another victim that night. Ashland did not make his appear ance until he was fully recovered, and aMe to answer one of the many inqui ries in the following careless manner: "We men of the world, my boy, get used to this sort of thing. Wo get toughened." "Yes, 1 dare say; but it seems to me that I should like a milder process of •toughening.'" "It's all the same, 1 assure you." "Perhaps so; but 1 think I should really prefer anything to Miss Leh man's method."— Lot lie Uray. Drinking a Tear. "Hoys, I won't drink without you take what I do," said old Josh Spillit in reply to an invitation. Ho was a toper of long standing and abundant capacity, and the boys looked at him in astonishment. "The idea," one of them replied, "that you should prescribe conditions is laughable. Perhaps you want to force one of your abominable mixtures down us. You are chief of the mixed drinkers, and 1 won't agree to your conditions." "He wants to run us in on castor oil and brandy," said the Judge, who would willingly have taken the oil to get the brandy. "No, I'm square," replied Spillit. "Take my drink and I'm with you." The boys agreed and stood along the bar. Every one turned to Spillit, and regarded him with interest. "Mr. Bartender," said Spillit, "give me a glass of water." "What, water!" the boys exclaimed. "Yes, water. It's a new drink on me, 1 admit, and I expect it's a scarce article. Several days ago, as a parcel of us went Ashing, we took a line chance of whiskey along, an' had a heap of fun. 'Long toward evenin' I got powerful drunk, an' crawled under a tree an' went to sleep. The boys drank up all the whiskey an' came back to town. They thought it was a good joke 'cause they'd left me out there drunk an' told it around town with a mighty bluster. My son got a hold of the report an' told it at home. Well, 1 laid under that tree all night, an' when I woke in the mornin' thar sot mv wife right thar by me. She didn't say a word when I woku up. but she sorter turned her head away. 1 got up and looked at her. She still didn't say nothin', but I could see that she was chokin'. •I wish I had suthin to drink,' s's I. Then she tuck a cup what she fotch with her, and went up to whar a spring Piled up, an' dipped up a cupful an' fotch it to me. Jes as she was handin' it ter me she leaned over ter hide her eyes, and 1 saw a tear drap in the water. 1 tuck ti.e cup an' drank the water and the tear, an' raisin' my hands I vowed that I would never alter drink my wife's tears agin; that 1 had been drinkin' them lor the last twenty years, an* that I was goin' to stop. You boys know who it was that left me drunk. You was all in the gang, (live me another glass of water. Mr. Bartender." Arkansaw Traveler. A Persistent "Shadow." A detective recently said to a New York reporter; ",-v man hired to shad ow a party, or a shadow, as we call him, gets about *2 a day and expenses, and is paid for the time he works. A shadow is expected to watch a man from the time he gets up in the morn ing till he goes to bed. If it happens that a party must be shadowed night and day it requires two men to watch him. A shadow must watch his man closely without himself being seen or allowing the party to lind out that he is being shadowed. I meet the shad ow, for instance, and tell him that ho must keep his eyes on a certain man whom I designate by brushing on the shoulder with my handkerchief. Then I enter a place, and as the man comes out I pretend to see a bug on his shoul der and brush it off. Then Igo away, knowing that until I give the word that man will never be out of the sight of my shadow. The shadow takes him to dinner and back to his place of business. Then to his supper, and then down town in the evening. Then it is that his hardest work begins. He may have to suddenly hire a hack at a big expense and follow the man out on a carousing expedition. He Anally takes him home at night, secures a cover and catches a little sleep himself. The securing of a cover is sometimes the most diflicult part of the work, for your man may live in an aristocratic locality where there are no rooms for rent. I have known our man Boland to sleep night after night in a coai bunk on the street when it was nip ping cold. There are in New York certain banks and large corporations that every year along about the holi days have each of their men shadowed about a week. At the end of a week a full report of the man's habits, haunts, style of living, and even of his week's expenses, is given to his employer." MiLLIIKIM, PA M THURSDAY, AUGUST 30, 1883. A PAPER FOR THE HOME CIRCLE. LIGHTNING. If* Kffecll Clon the Krrvoiu Wyelem- A short time ago an item was exten sively published relating Iho circum stances of the death of a child from fright caused by a thunder storm. She was ten years of age, and having been roused from sleep by the thunder, implored permission to share her mother's bed till the storm was over. This was refused her and she grew so quiet that her parent went to see what was the matter. She reached tho child's bedside just in time to see her die. Another incident of death from fear of lightning was reported from Cleveland recently. The victim was an elderlv lady who lived alone. An % unusually sharp and near flash, follow ed by an imtant crash of thunder, so overcame hfr that she fell to tho floor and died,