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THE MILLHEIM JOURNAL,
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY BY
Deininger & Bumiller.
Office in the New Journal Building,
Penn St., near Hart man's foundry.
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Address letters to MIUJIEIM .IOI'RNAI..
''Tell youi - sorrows to your pillow."
The world is bright enough, my pet;
Young hearts are light and free from care:
And long, long u ay your journey yet
Ere life for you is hard to bear.
But, when it comes, as come It will,
The slow decay or sudden blow.
Take up your burden and be still,
Nor let the world your sorrow know.
Nigh three-score years and ten have laid
Their pagres opeii to my view;
I've journeved on throung light and shade,
And tins I've learned and proved it true-
That he w ho sends us grief to boar
Is near us In our deepest woe;
We never are so much his care
As when his hand hath laid us low.
And so. whenever griefs befall,
Still hold them sacred, all your own;
No heart but one can feel for all
The burdens on our shoulders thrown.
So, when the friendly darkness falls
And watchful eves are voile I in sleep,
Bring forth each care with silent pray'r
Aud give them all to God to keep.
The Troubles of Ae.
Yes! lam pretty old—Just eighty-three.
I think, or four.
But,l have packed my traps to leave,when Death
Knocks at my dcor;
For life, you know, when you grow very old.
Becomes a bore.
It seems that I am punished every day
For all my sins—
Snarler is cross, and often snaps at me
And bites my shins, *
While Rover runs between my legs, and knocks
Me off my pins.
Ah! once I loved to watch the merry sports
Of boisterous boys;
I seemed once more to fee! mv youth again
With all ifs joys.
But now boys are a nuisance—for they make
Such horrid noise.
Once I delighted in my rod or gun
And blooded dogs;
I wandered often over rugged hills
And marshy bogs.
And heard the sweet notes of the nightingale
And of the frogs.
Now, aching pains in every weary limb.
My bones harass;
I can no longer ciimb a hill, or wane
Anil I should die if I would wander now
In the wet grass.
I love within the limpid spring to watch
The spotted trout.
As they plav hide and seek along the bank.
'And daM about,—
But then they always steal my bait, before
I pull them out.
And all the books that I once loved to read.
Have got so tame.
And do not seem to me as if they were
At all the same;
But maybe it is my poor aged head
That is to blame.
I alwavs fall asleep when I would read.
So—'tis no use!
My brain, which once was bright, it seems, has
Grown dull and obtuse;
Yes! I have made the circle and returned
To Mother Goose.
All the sweet pleasures of my youthful days,
Like dreams have fl*d ;
My boon coninauions.maidens whoinl loved, —
Tliey all arc dead;
And I feel weary now—l'll sip my tea.
And then—to bed.
LIFE IN DEATH.
A STRANGE EXPERIENCE.
"She is dead !"
These three words, proceeding from
the lips of an eminent physician, and
spoken in the low, solemn tone so gen
erally used to convey sad tidings, an
nounced to my weeping friends that I
had ceased to be.
But the doctor, as doctors often are,
was mistaken. I was not dead. I was
not even asleep. I heard, as distinctly
as I can now hear, eyery word he said.
I felt precept ibly as I can now feel, the
clasp of his fingers upon my wrist and
pulse. But the power of motion had
ceased—the motion of will, the motion
of lungs, the motion of the heart. All
was still throughout the body—as still
as if death reigned there. Yet every
sense seemed alive—acutely alive. I
could hear, I ceuld see, I could feel—l
know not that I could not have smelled
There was a strangeness about these
senses, though. I seemed to be in the
body, and yet out of it. I seemed to
hear with my ears, see with my eyes,
feel with my nerves, and at the same
time be so independent of my mortal
form as to have a complete identity
without it. Where my actual, living
self was, I could not clearly compre
hend. My body I knew was there, on
the bed-stretched out as if in death
pale, still, lifeless—and around this
body were collected my weeping fam
ily—my mother, my husband, my two
children—together with the doctor, a
black nurse and servant, and some two
or three sympathizing females, straugers
to me, who had come in to inquire a
bout my condition and bad remained
to see me die.
I was at a hotel in an interior town
in Virginia, and had been traveling for
more than a month for the benefit of
my health, which had been on the de
cline for a year. We had left our home
in New York,stopping at Philadelphia,
Baltimore and Washington, and we
were at last on our way to the famous
White Sulphur Springs, of Greenbrier
county, Virginia, traveling slowly
through a mountainous region, when
X had gradually become so ill a9 to be
unable to proceed. A week's sickness
—during which I had the best medical
skill of that region, and the most de
voted care and attention—had resulted,
as was believed in my decease.
It was about ten o'clock in the morn
ing of a beautiful day in mid-summer.
The windows of my apartment were o
pen ; and the clear, delightful air of
that mountainous region came gently
in, bringing the sweet perfume of flow
ers, the soft rustle of leaves, playing
with the curtains, and lightly kissing
the tytow of the otfdurtftfrd.
DEININGER & BUMILLER, Editors and Proprietors.
And thev were mourners indeed—
that group of four of my nearest and
dearest Kin that were gathered around
my bed. There stood my gray-haired
mother, silently gazing upon my inan
imate from through great, scalding
tears that were following each other
down her furrowed cheeks. There
stood the beloved partner of my bo
som,speechless and tearless in his heav
ing agony, slowly rubbing one hand
oyer the other, with no power to give
vent to feeliugs that were internally
rending ids manly frame. There stood
my two children— mv bright-eyed buy
of ten, and my sweet little girl of eight
—both were crying and sobbing as if
their little hearts would break. Oh,
how 1 longed and stiuggled to force my
lips to move and say that I was not
dead ! -that a loving daughter, wife
and mother was still with them in the
Slowly, with respectful steps, the
doctor withdrew, and one by one tlie
other strangers followed him till only
the black nurse and my own family re
"Oh. mamma ! mv dear, dear mam
ma !" now burst from my little fair
haired Ada, as impulsively she seized
and pressed to her bosom the same
hand the doetor had left fall—"won't
you speak to me again ? won't you
speak to me again ? if only just once,
dear mamma ! if only just once ! Speak
once more to your dear little Ada,
mamma ! won't you ? won't you ?''
Oh, how I struggled to comply
with her passionate prayer ! and what
a strange thrill of agony went through
my whole being when I f >und myself
powerless to move a single muscle of
my lifeless form !
"Your poor mamma is dead, my dear
child !" said mv own mother, in a
choking voice ; "she will never speak
to any of us again !"
"No ! no !" cried Ada, with child
like eagerness ; "dear mamma's not
dead 1 I won't have her dead !—will
you, Edgar ?—will you, papa ?" and
she passionately kissed my hand, again
and again, and fairly bathed it with
"Oh, my God 'my God ! this blow
will kill me !" groaned my husband,
wringing his hands and beginning to
pa:e to and fro.
"Henry, my son," said my mother,
affectionately laying her grief-trembling
hand upon his shoulder, "you must not
give too much way to tour grief ! but,
while thinking of your great loss, bless
the Lord that He has left you your
two dear children for a comfort and
consolation. Tho Lord gave, and the
Lord hath taken away, blessed be the
name of the Lord ! Mary was a good
daughter—a true, affectionate wife and
mother—and I would that heaven had
spaied her and taken me instead ; out
1 feel to say, the Lord has done it and
it is for the best ! She suffered a great
deal while she was with us ; and, now
that she is at rest, I feel it is almost
sinful to wish her back again in this
world of pain and trouble. Let us re
sign her into the hands of Ilim who
has taken her for Ilis own wise pur
pose. and endeavor to be prepared to
meet her in that blessed world where
there will be no more sorrow—uo more
"Oh,mother ! mother !" groaned my
poor husband, with heaving breast and
tearless eyes—"l cannot, cannot giye
her up—it will break my heart !"
"And mine, dear papa !" cried Ada,
again kissing my hand ; "it would
break my heart to have her dead ; and
I can't have her dead—l won't have
her uead ; sin must come back again
to life, and speak to her little Ada like
she used to do I Oh, won't you, dear
mamma ? won't you, my dear, dear
I would have given the world then,
had it been mine, to have been able to
say yes *, but though I tried in my
great agony, till it seemed as if my
soul would burst, yet the lips remaii.ed
as motionless as if the seal of death
had indeed been upon them. Heavenly
Father 1 was this indeed death ? had
my life really departed forever from
the body ? and did my consciousness
truly belong to the mysteries of anoth
er world ?
"Henry," said my mother to my
husband,gently taking linn by the arm,
"had you not better retire into anoth
er apartment V We can no longer do
any good here, and the sight of poor
Jfary is too great a trial for you."
With a deep, heavy groan, he suffer
ed her to lead him away ; and then she
came back and led off the children,
both crying and sobbing fearfully.
After this the black nurse came up
and closed my eyes, by carefully press
ing down the lids with her fingers ;
and then, somehow. I seemed gradually
to lose consciousness, as if sinking into
a calm, deep sleep.
For a time there was a iO\v, confus
ed Found, as of persons moving about
and talking at a great distance—and
once or twice I fancied myself being
lifted and turned—and then all seemed
MILLIIEIM, PA., THURSDAY, MARCH 13., 1884.
to close up in a calm and sweet obliv
My next, remembered sensation is of
being in some close, confined place,
where all was dark and still. At first
I could not recall what had happened,
nor imagine where 1 was ; but by de
grees the scene of my supposed death
came hack to idp, and then a feaiftil
horror thrilled meat the thought that
I might already be in my coffin and
perhaps bin it d alive ! Oh, heaven !
the agony of that thought ! what lan
guage can describe it ? I tried to
speak, but my lips WHO sealed ; 1 tried
to turn, to raise my hand, but not a
muscle could I stir ; I tritd to open
my eyes, but the lids were fast ; 1 lis
tened intently, but not a sound broke
the awful silence. My soul was alive
though, and mentally I prayed:
"Oh, my tied, deliver me ! Oh, mer
ciful God, deliver me !"
Some time after this, as if in answer
to my prayer, I heard the sound of
moving feet, as if some one were step
ping slowly, solemnly, and lightly a
cross a floor. The steps drew nearer
and nearer, and seemed to halt beside
me. Then there was a slight noise, as
of something being moved above my
head.and a sensation as of a light shin
ing suddenly out of darkness up in clos
ed eyelids. This was followed by the
sound of a long, deep sigh, ending in a
suppressed and mournful groan, and
then by a loiig, heavy pressure of the
human lips upon my own. Oh, the
unspeakable agony of not being able to
respond to the devotion of him who
was more to me than life ! for my very
inmost soul acknowledged ii to be my
loving and belovel husb.tml who was
with me, in the lone w itches of the
night, mourning me as if gone forever
from the leahn of time.
"Oh, my dear, dear 3/ary, why did
you leave me thus V*" he said, in a low,
tremulous, sobbing tone ; "why did
you leave me thus, to struggle on alone
in the woild that will henceforth be a
dark and dreary one to me V Uo.God,
why could she not have been spared to
me,and to her children, a little longerV
Oh, merciful God ! I know it is sinful
in me, a poor mortal, to repine at Thy
wise decree ! and theref >re I beseech
Thee to give me strength to bear up un
der this great affliction : Oh, Heaven
ly Father ! support *nd sustain me,
that Ibe not utterly crushed with the
w eight of this great sorrow !"
These words I heard and telt through
all my being, and yet could not move
could not respond. Was the misery of
Tantalus equal to mine V
Again I felt the warm, holy pressure
of my husband's lips upon mine ; and
as he drew back, with nnoth°r heavy
groan, I heard him murmur :
"Oh, how beautiful is mv dear Mary
even in death ! Ilo.v like is her death
to a calm and peaceful sleep ! Ila !
what do 1 behold ? moisture upon
those lips ! and a color upon th se
cheeks ! Gracious God 1 p rhaus she
is not dead !"
lie rushed from the roun, and for
the first time my soul trembled with
hope. Might I not be saved at last ?
In a rair.u e I heard quick steps
returning,"and the voices of my nio'h
er and husband s.>e iking ex lite 11 v.
"There ! there !" he exclaimed, as
he came up to my side : "Look ! bok !
—is that death
"It seems like life—it really seems
like life !" exclaimed my mother, in a
wild, agitated tone. "Oh, I Haven !
if it shoull be '. if it should he ! But
do not hope too much, Henry—do not
hope too much ! —it may be a cruel de
ception after all !*'
"Quick !" he cried ; "let us take her
from the coflin, roll her in blankets,
rub her, and try eve.y restorative !
Quick ! your spirits of hartshorn !
quick ! -quick !"
A moment after, a sheck seemed to
pass through my system—my eyes un
closed—my breath came—my toungue
was loosed -and—"Dear mother ! dear
husband ! " issued from my lips.
A wild shriek of joy greeted my re
turned animation ; wild confusion fol
lowed ; the coffin lid was torn olf ;
I was lifted out and carried to a bed ;
the house was aroused ; the doctoi
was sent for ; and before morning my
dear children were led to the bed of
their living mother.
I need add but little more. I recov
ed rapidly—disease left me—and in
three weeks I ivas able to resume my
I journey homeward— a living wonder,
if not a miracle.
It was the second night after my sup
posed decease that I was restored io
life. I had been placed in a coflin,
which was to have been sealed up the
next day, for the long, homeward
journey of the dead . The devotion of
my husband, under the providence of
God, saved me.
I am now in the bosom of my happy
family, alive and well ; and in my dab
ly prayer of thanksgiviug for my won
derful deliverance, I earnestly pray to
be long spared to those who so devot
edly loye me.
\ PAPER FOR THE HOME CIRCLE
A SCHOOLBOY FINANCIER.
Ho Takos a Whipping and Pookots
"Pa, I don't like to tell yon, hut tho
teacher and I had trouble."
"What's the matter now?"
" Well, I cut one of Ids desks a little
with my knife, an ! the teacher says
I've got to pay a dollar or take a lick
"Well, why don't you take the lick
ing ami say no more about it? I can
stand considerable physical pain, so
long as it visits our family in that form.
Of course, it is not pleasant to be dog
ged, but you have broken a rule of the
school, aud 1 guess you'll have to stand
it. I presume that the teacher will in
wrath remember mercy, and avoid dis
abling you so that you can't get your
coat on any more."
"Hut, pa, I feel mighty bad about it
already, and if you would pay my line
I'd never do it again. A dullar ain't
much to you, pa. but it's a heap to a
boy who hasn't a cent. If I could make
a dollar as easy as you can. pa, I'd nev
er let my little boy get flogged that way
just to save a dollar. If I had a little
feller that got licked bekuz I didn't put
up fer liiin, I'd hate the sight of mon
ey always. I'd feel as if every dollar
1 had in my pocket had been taken out
of mv little kid's back."
"Well, now, I'll tell you what I'il do.
I'll give you a.dollar to save yon from
punishment this time, but if anything
of this kind occurs again, I'll hold yon
while the teacher licks you, and then
I'll get the teacher to hold you while I
lick you. That's the way I feel about
that. If you want to go around whit
tling up our educational institutions
you can do so; but you will have to pur
chase them afterward yourself. 1 don't
piopose to buy any more damaged
school furniture; you probably grasp
my meaning, do you not? I send you to
school to acquire an education, not to
acquire liabilities so that you can come
around and make an assessment on me.
I feel a great interest in jou, Willie,
but I do not feel as though it stiould be
an assessable interest. I want to go
on, of course,and improve the property;
but when I pay up my dues on it 1
wont know that it goes toward devel
opment work. I don't want my assess
ment to go toward the purchase of a
school-desk with American hieroglyph
ics caryed on it.
"I hope you will hear thic in your
mind, my son, and beware. It will be
greatly to your interest to beware. If
I were in your place I would put in a
large portion of my time in the beware
The boy took the dollar and went
thoughtfully away to school, and 110
more was said about the matter until
Mr. Taylor learned casually several
months later that the Spartar- youth
had received the walloping and filed a
way the dollar for future reference. The
boy was afterward heard to say that he
tayored a much heavier fine in cases of
that kind. One whipping was sufficient
he said, but he favored aline of five dol
Very many of the tiny 3crews used
in this country in watch-making are
turned out 011 three little automatic
machines in Panbury, Conn. One of
them.while turning out a peifect screw
at a fair rate of speed, is considerably
improved 011 by its companions. The
machine takes up but little room. A
man could carry it under his arm with
out mujh difficulty. A wire is fed
through a tube into the machine. It i*
carried forward by revolving teeth.
As it appears a knife cuts away the
surplus metal to mike the stem for
the thread, just as the chisel operates
at the lathe of the woodturner. As
this is finished a small tube, in which
the thread is formed, advances and
clasps the stem, forms the thread at
lightning speed and falls back. As
this is done two knives cut that por
tion of the wire off, and the completed
screw falls down. The wire again ad
vances and the process is repeated.
The marvel of the machine is best
grasped when the SIZJ of the screw
formed is understood. They aie an
eighth of an inch in length and it
would require 2'M) of them to weigh an
ounce. The thread on the stem is so
that it is scarcely discernible to the na
ked eye. Each machine will make 5,-
00 > screws a day. The machines have
been at work but little more than a
month and are the lesult of years of
A short time ago a London pawn
broker was aroused about 1 a. in. by a
vigorous pounding at his street door.
Hastily throwing on a dressing gown,
he rushed to the window and demanded
"Who's there?" "i want to know the
time," came the response from the pave
ment in the familiar tones of a frequent
customer. "What do you mean by
calling me up at this time o'night to
ask such a question as that?" lepliid
the irate pawobroker. "Well, and to
whom else should I come?" was thejre
joinder, in husky accents; "you've got
A Good Natured Prince
Kirifj William tho Fourth in
Prince William Henry—Duke of
Clarence, afterward William IV. —was
the third son of (.Yorge 111., and he
was doubtless sent to sea by his royal
father in a spirit of spite. The Duke
of Cumberland, younger brother of
George 111., had fixed his hopes upon
the office of Lord High Admiral of
England; nut on a certain occasion,
when Admiral Keppel was on trial,
Cumnerland behaved in such a manner
that the king was bitterly incensed,and
lie declared, in his own thought, that
his brother shauld never hold the high
est office in a navy one of the grandest
veterans of which he had outraged. 8o
he sent his son William Henry—then
in his tenth year—to become a midship
man m the navy, bidding him that he
should study hard and strive to excel.
•'Make of thyself a complete sailor, my
son, and thine uncle of Cumberland
shall yet look up to thee!"
Very likely the boy-prince donned
his sea-going garb in high glee and
glowing anticipations, but when he
had become rated as a midshipman on
board a fine frigate, and found himself
the youngest middy in his mess, he dis
covered in a very short time, that no
body cared anything about his title.
He must rough it with the rest, and
look out for Ntmber One. lie had not
been at sea a week before he contrived to
get into trouble. He unfortunately put
on airs at mess, and really insulted one
of his mates. This mate was another
midshipman, only a year older, but not
a whit larger than the prince. He call
ed the prince aside, and gave hiui a
sound drubbing, exclaiming, as his an
tagonist cried aloud for mercy: "There!
I don't think you'll wag your impudent
tongue at me any more!"
The prince blubbered, and said he
would tell his father. "I'll tell my
father, and you'll catch it! Now, see if
von don't !"
Said the mate in answer, "Let your
father come and act as .unlike a gentle
man as you did, and I'll serve him as I
have seryed yon! Just you remember
This mate's name was Dadmtin.
When Prince William, as D ike of Clar
ence had become Lord High Admiral,
he heard of Dadmtin as having just
c >ine in from the West Indies on board
a sloop-of-war, with only the grade of
past mi Ishipm in. Ileat once summon
ed his old shipmate to come tip to town
and call upon him. Dadmun came;
and as he entered the Lord High An
miral's presence, he was stricken with
a great fear.
"Oh, your royal highness!" he ex
claimed, putting out his hand, "1 hope
you havn't laid up a grudge against me.
I am very sorry for what I did!'*
"Oho! You are the man, then, who
gave me that drubbing?"
"Yes, my lord, but "
"Pshaw!'' broke in the duke, with a
kindly smile and fervent hand-grasp,
"You need be sorry 110 more,for 1 have
never been sorry since I came to know
how much good it did me. It opened
my eyes, dear friend, and gave me my
first valuable lesson in the real life of a
Dadmun took lunch with the duke,
and returned to Portsmouth with a
lieutenant's epaulette on his shoulder.
A few years later Lieutenant Dad
mun was sent for to come to London
again this time by the king—William
IV.—and once more the two messmates
sat at the table together; and, when
Plvmton Dadmun next went to sea,
it was a post captain, and in command
of a fine frigate.
Such things are worth telling and
worth preserving. They are as gleams
of cherry, happifying light falling on
the highway of life—always pleasant
and healthful to look upon.
A Little Story of Ganeral Thomas
and his Efforts to Hold the Position
by Order of the Provident.
In his war anecdote, General Town
send relates the story of General
Thomas's appointment bv President
Johnson as Secretary of war ad inter
General Townsend's connection with
the Adjutant-General's office contin
ued long after the suppression of the
rebellion, but his reminiscences relat
ing to the subsequent period an'natur
ally less interesting than those associ
ated with the civil war. One of them
however, is worth quoting. We refer
to the account of the interview be
tween General L. Thomas and Mr.
On February 22d, 18t'>8, when the
former undertook to obtain a posses
sion of the War Department,to which
he had been appointed ad interim by
President Johnson, the author was an
ear witness of the colloquy that ensu
'I am/ said General Thomas, 'Sec
retary of War ad interim, and am or
dered by the President of the United
States to take charge of this office.'
Terms, SI.OO per Year, in Advance.
'I order you,' rejoined Mr. Stanton,
'to repair to yot.r room and cxcrci.sc
your office as Adjutant-Generul.'
I am,' rc|mated General Thomas,
'Secretary of War ad interim, and I
sluill not oliev your orders; hut I shall
obey the tirder of the President to take
charge of this office."
'As Secretary of War,' said Mr.
Stanton a second time,'l order you to
repair to your office JIS Adjutant-Gen
"I shall not do so,'returned General
'Then,' pcrsuod Mr. Stanton, 'you
may stand there if you please,but you
attempt to act as Secretary of War at
To which General Thomas replied,'l
shall act as Secretary of War,' and
there the official interview ended.
Presently, however, General Thom
as crossed the hull to General Schriv
et's room, and Mr. Stanton, followed
onlv by the stenographer, came in af
ter him. Resuming the colloquy,Mr
Stanton said in a laughing tone to
'So you claim to be here as Secre
tary of War, and refuse to obey m v
orders, do you?"
General Thomas replied seriously:
'I do so claim. I shall require the
mails of the War Department to be
delivered to me, and shall transact all
the business of the department.'
Seeing that the General looked as if
had no rest the night before, Mr. Stan
ton, playfully running his fingers up
through the General's hair as he wear
ily leaned back in his chair, said:
'Well, old fellow, have yo.i had any
breakfast this morning?'
'No,' said Thomas, good naturedlv.
'Then you are us badly off as 1 am
for I have had none.'
Mr. Stanton then sent out for some
refreshments, and while the two were
sharing the refection they engaged in
very pleasant conversation, in the
course of which, however, Mr. Stanton
suddenly and withjseeming carlessness
inquired when General Thomas was
going to give him the report of an in
spection of the national cemeteries
which he had lately made. Mr. Stan
ton said if it was not soon rendered it
would be too late for the printers, and
he was anxious to have it go forth as
a creditable work of the department.
The question had apparently no espec
ial point, and General Thomas evident
ly saw none, for he answered, pleas
antly, that he would work at the re
port that night and give it to the Sec
retary. 'This struck me,' said Gener
al Townscud, 'as a lawyer's ruse to
make Thomas acknowledge Stanton's
authority as Secretary of War. and
that Thomas wascaught by it. 1 some
time after asked Mr. Stanton if that
was his design. He made no reply,but
looked at me with a marked express
ion of surprise at my conceiving such
a thing.' We are further told that,
before General Thomas left the depart
ment that morning, Mr. Stanton hand
ed him a letter forbidding him to give
any orders as Secretary of War. The
General read and endorsed it as re
ceived on that date, signing the en
dorsement as Secretary ad interim,
which Mr. Stanton seeing, he remark
ed, laughing: 'Here you have com
mitted another offense.' To this the
General assented.and soon after went
away for the day. The incidents here
related unquestionably indicate, as
General rownsend surmised, that all
the steps taken by Mr. Stanton were
intended to place the whole matter in
a form suitable for testing before the
highest tribunal, the constitutionality
of the tenbre of office act.
Doctor—"And how do you feel this
morning, my poor fellow ?"
Sufferer—"Much lie tier in most
ways, but I'm afraid I won't mend
very fast; I worry too much."
Doctor—"You have nothing to wor
rv about. You will not lose any of
your limbs and the railroad company
can be made to pay heavy damages."
Sufferer—"l know that ; but just
think of the humiliation!"
Doctor—"The humiliation ?"
Sufferer—Yes; I was always con
sidered a man of energy and activity,
but now my reputation is ruined. No
one will want to employ a mau who
was so lazy as to get run over bv an
accomodation train "
The best rule for good looks is to
keep happy aud cultivate a kind dis
If subscribers order the discontinuation of
newspapers the juiMishers mav continue to
•wjiiil tliein until all arrearages are paid.
It subscribers refuse or neglect to take tl cir
newspapers from the office to which they arcset t
they arc held responsible until they have settled
the bills and ordered them discontinued.
li subscribers move toother places without In*
forming the publisher, and the newspapers r
sent to the former place, thevare resinnj>ible.
1 wk. 1 mo. |3mos. fimos. 1 yea
1 square Y_• INI 400 I * 5 <lO *fi 00 $8 00
Ueoiumn t(*i nno in no 15 no is 00
\i /' < ni l" on 1.100 rmoo 4000
1 " in no 16 00 25 00 45 00 76 00
One inch makes a square. Administrators'
and Kxecutors' Notices #J.SO. Transient adver.
tisemeiitsnnd locals 10 cents per line for first
insertion and > cents p#r line for each addition
ALLEGHENY ST., RKLLEFONTE, PA.
C. G. McMILLEN,
Good Sample Room on First Floor. Free
HUMS to and from all trains. Special rates to
witnesses and Jurors.
Q CMMIXS HOUSE,
HIKIIOP STREET, BEI.LEFONTE, PA., T|
EMANUEL BROWN,' - ™
House newly refitted and refurnished. Ev
erythlug doue to make guest* comfortable.
Rates moderate. Patronage respectfully solid
ted. 5-1 y
(Most Central Hotel in the city.)
CORNER OF MAIN AND JAY STREETS,
LOCK HAVEN, PA.
Good Sample Rooms for Commercial Travel
ers on first floor.
WANTED HIM TWICE.
A Nebiaska sheriff who was on a
train coming east from Omaha tho
other day fell into conversation with
n New Yorker, and finally admitted
that he was in pursuit of a broker.
"A broker—for what ?"
"Oh, one of our smart towns was
getting ahead so fast that it must
needs send to Chicago for a broker. It
wanted him had and he came. He
opened an office, put in a ticker, dis
played quotations, and made about
$20,000 in six weeks."
"Well, that's what they want him
the second time for—they want to ask
Dying of Thirst.
'Did you ever suffer extreme hunger
or thirst?' was asked of a Kentucky
colonel who had been relating some
solid stories about himself.
•Well,* he replied, I never suffered
what might be called extreme hunger,
but no man knows how to endure a
gonies of thirst better than I do.
4 I remember the time well,' he con
tinued, retrospectively. 'I was on a
fishing excursion and became lost in the
woods. For three days not a drop
passed my lips. My lengthened absence
finally caused alarm and a party was
sent out in search of me. They found
ine lying 111 an unconscious condition
on the hanks of a little trout stream,
and it was hours before any hopes of
sa/ing me were entertained.'
* Was the trout stream dry?' asked one
of the interested listeners?'
'Dry? Certainly not. llow could I
catch fish if the stream was dry?'
•Well, 1 don't see how you could suf
fer from thirst with a stream of water
close at hand,'
•Water close at hand?' repeated the
Kentucky Colonel. 'And what has
water got to do with a mail's being
Worth a Licking.
Some years ago, in Georgia,that band
of Christians known as Ascensionists
were haying a grand reyival. One day
when the meeting was in lull force a
storm cam 3 up, and a young gentleman
being out hunting with his servant took
refuge in the church door. Being cu
rious to see the service these two hun
ters crept lip into the g v'lery, and there
hid in a place where they could observe
without being observed.
"Come, Lord, come; our robes are
ready. Come, Lord, come," cried the
preacher, while all present gave a loud
"Marsa Gabe," whispered Cuffy,
lifting his hunting-horn to his mouth,
"let me gib dera just one toot."
"Put that horn down, or I'll break
your head," replied the master in a
The horn dropped by Cuffy's side,
and again the minister cried; "Come,
Lord, come; we are all ready for Thy
coming. Come, Lord, come."
"Do, Marsa Gabe—do jist lemme gib
'em jist one little toot," pleaded Cuffy,
wetting his lips and raising the horn.
"If you don't drop that horn, Cuffy,
I'll whip you within an inch of your
life," whispered the exasparated mas
"Blow, Gabriel, blow; we are ready
for Ilis comming. Blow,Gabriel,blow,"
pie ided the minister.
Cuffy could 110 longer resist the temp
ta ion, and sent a wild peal ringing
from end to end of the church; but
long before its last echo died away his
mastey and himself were the only occu
pants of the building.
"I'se ready fur de licking, Marsa
Gabe," said Cuffy, showing eyery tooth
in his head,"for I 'elare to gracious it's
worf two lickings to see de way com
mon farm cattle kin git ober de ground
wid sktared 'Scensionists behind dem,"