THE Mil,lllllll .KUKWI,
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY BY
Deininger & Bumiller.
Office in tho New Journal Building,
Penn St.,noarHartinnn's foundry.
SI.OO PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE,
OR $1.26 IF NOT PAID IN ADVANCE.
Acceptable ComspoMfflcc Solicited
Address letters to MILLHKIM JOURNAL.
THE BLUE BOTTLE FLY.
Buzzing and gay, in the early dawn.
Fresh irom a nap on the parlor wau,
Out for a tlixht. over garden and lawn
Fearing notrouhlo and dreading no fall.
Came a fly—
A lively, frolicsome, blue bottle fly-
Ami iiis feet
And his style
As complete,
As his brain
Was replete
With the mischief that laughed in hi* eve!
"What glorious fun I'll fiave to day.
When the baby's asleep and the nurse away
When Never lies hy the Kitchen door!
I'll awake them both and make them roar!
Oh, w hat larks!"
Cried.the rollicking, restless, llne-bott!e fly ;
"What a cry,"
said the fly,
"There will be
After me.
When I've done
With my fun!"
And he wickedly winked his wee eye!
"Then I'll go and dance on grandpa a's jiead
While he struggles to brush me away ;
And I'll tickle his ear till he'll w :-h 1 was dead
And over the table at dinner I'll play
Back and forth,
And feast on crumbs from a freshly-baked pie!
And I'll sip
From the lip
Of each glass
That may pass
All sweet things
Dinner brings!'
Quoth this riotous, blue-bottle fly.
But. alas for the plans lie had la I I !
And alas for the plan just begun!
For this fly soon lit in the grateful shade,
To escape the hot rays of the sun.
And to dream
Of the si flits that should soon greet his eye:
When, unseen.
From the green
Of a limb
Above him,
Down a thread.
On his head.
Fell a spider,
Who coolly devoured that blue-bottle fly.
The Flower's Mission.
There was once a little flower.
Growing where the weeds were tall,
And the baie sky, bending over,
It could see, and that was all.
Weeds were so thick about it
That they shut the sun away.
But the little flower kept growing,
And upreaching. day by day.
"I know 1 m meant for something.
Else I never would be here."
It kept saying, o'er atd o'er.
To a briar bending near.
"i think you are mistaken,"
Was the briar's cold reply;
"Such a feeble thing as you are
Will live a day and die.'
But the taith of the flower wa> steadfast,
And it turned its face to God,
Believing it had a mission
Above the earth's green sod.
In the long, sweet (lays of summer,
lis little buds burst wide.
And the air with springtime fragrance
It made sweet on every side.
Now the weeds that hedged the flow er.
Grew close by a sick girl's room,
And a breeze l>ore through the window
A breath of the flowet's perfume.
And "Oh!" she cried, in gladness,
"I can smell the old home flowers!
Bring me a little blossom,
To cheer the lonely hours!"
They sought through the garden vainly:
"No flowers are there," thev said.
"There are, she cried: "I smell them!"
Anci so she would not be misled.
Again they sought in the garden,
And, led by a wandering wind.
Deep among the weeds and briars.
They chanced the flower to find.
They brought it in and laid if
In the sick girl's wasted hand:
And she kissed it. over and over;
But they could not understand
What it was she said to the flower.
Of the old home far away—
Or the words so sweet witneomfort
The flower m return did say.
F.aclt morning they brought a blossom
To biigbten the sick girl's room;
And the heart of the humble flower
Was glad, In the tail weeds's gloom.
"I knew I was meant for.som'thing."
It said to the far-off sky;
"I was sure I'd a nobter mission
Than just to live and to die."
And so, till the summer ended,
It gave a blossom each day.
To tell the homesick stranger
Of the old home faraway.
They whispered to her of Heaven,
And the angels and it seemed
As if they brought her a message
From the lana of which she dreamed.
One morn they came to the flower,
And told it s?he was dead:
Then it gave Us last, sweet blossom;
Then they told it what she said;
"It has been sweet-comfort tome,
S'ck, in a stranger land:
That is the message 1 send it:
It will know and understand.
Then the flower looked up and whispered
To its steadfast friend, the sky,
"Thank Cod for the mission he g.Y7e me!
With a happy heart I die."
Be sure you were meant for something!
Keep faith in the Cod above!
And your life may make others happy
With its flowers of human love.
THE BLACKSMITH.
Young Joe the Blacksmith was a
sturdy fellow—rather tall, broad shoul
dered, arms big with muscle, and a
good natured face, well worth seeing,
if only for the bath of good humor it
gave you.
Everbody liked him ; and his forge
was a resort for village idlers, who lov
ed to watch him strike the shinning
sparks from the glowing iron, and lis
ten to his cheery voice—for something
of a singer was Joe.
There was an hour in the day, from
three to four in the afternoon, when
Joe would have none of them. Why ?
Because the child Nell : e, across the
way—a blue-eyed, sunny thing, dearly
loved by the blacksmith—always spent
that hour with him.
As Joe worked, she was wont to
stand, with hands behind her lack,
watching liirn in an old fashioned way,
quiet and talkative by turns. Some
times she asked strange questions that
puzzled him.
"Joe V" she would commeuce.
"Well, cherub ?"
"Doe&n't the fire burn beautiful,
Joe ?"
"Yes, e'ear."
"What makes it, Joe ?"
"The wind from th© bellows, cher
ub."*
"What makes the wind from the bel
lows do It, Joe ?"
DEININGER & BUMILLER, E iters and Proprietors.
VOL. 58.
"My working of 'em, dear."
"I don't mean ti at, Joe ; but what
should make the wind do it even
then ?"
Much pizzUd,and being no scientist,
he would answer :
".foe's not wise enough to tell you
that, cherub !" and then finding him
puzzled hy In i qutilions, the blue eyes,
ou occasions like these, were wont to
widm with astonishment, for she
thought Joe knew very nearly every
thing.
When she was leaving, it was her
habit to put her arms mound his neek
and kiss him ; and they loved each
other verv, very much.
But time goes by for young and old.
It seemed but a little while till Nellie
became almost a woman, and it was no
longer proper for her to go to Joe's
forge, but to be sure he could go to
her.
And now, not to linger by the way,
Joe hud learned to love her with the
love of manhood, and she returned his
love. They would have been very hap
py but for Nellie's father; the old man
would have her look higher than a
blacksmith. So when Richard Ross—
young, handsome, and rich—came to
the cottage,the old man smiled and en
couraged him.
Tli's Richard Ross was not worthy
of Nellie. For all his riches, his heart
was merest dross beside the pure gold
of Joe's. When he passed tlie shop the
sturdy smith brought his hammer
down like an angry giant ; for,you see,
this Richard Ross was stealing his life
awav.
Yes, stealing his life away. Joe's
ruddy face grew pale ; if the torture
continued long, death would be the
er.d. You may judge from this how
much he loved her.
Still he went to see her. If he found*
Richard Ross there, he left hastily,
and, rushing back to the forge, woik
ed like mad till midnight.
One evening Neilie's father shut the
door in his face, with a "I don't want
you coming here any more !"
Joe knew how obedient the girl was
and the words struck him like u sword.
The next day he received a note, so
sad,from little Nellie. It said site lov
ed htru still, but he must not come a
gain. Her father said so. Ho coin- ;
raanded her to listen to Richard Ross ;
she had neyer disobeyed her father yet;
she could not do so now. "But I will 1
plead and pray, tie ir Joe. and you mus<
hope."
But Joe did not hope. lie gave het
up. lie felt angry with her, too, for
her obedience to her father.
Time went on, and the blacksmith
grew paler yet. He grew morose, too,
and unlike himself ; and the village
loungers no longer loved to gathei at
his forge. The name of Richard Ro-s
maddened him. Oi.ce he caught one
by the throat for saying Richard and
Nellie were to be manied soon.
One day th* idi<t of the village, i
"Crazy Sam," stood watching Joe.
The lad had something on his weak
mind, and nodded and shook his head
in glee ; then drew from his pocket
two silver pieces and gaz°d on them
with swelling pride. Finally he asked :
"Why don't you cry, Joe JRtun ?
why don't you cry ?"
The black smith glowered on him
from under a frowning brow.
"I'd cry if I was you. Joe," said the
idiot ; "I'd cry if Richard Ross stole
my gal."
With a sound that was half a roar
of rage, and half a groan of pain, Joe
sprung upon him, and in an instant
had borne him to the floor and set his
knee upon the idiot's breast.
In another moment lie might have
killed the boy, but that the idiot's
helplessness and terror made him pause
and recall hitn to himself. A thought
struck him.
"Who told you to say that ?" he de
manded.
"Richard Rtss. lie gave me the
money for to sav it."
"The low hound !" shrieked Joe.
"Heaven have mercy on his soul !"
He released Crazy Sam, and went a
bout his work attain quite calmly ; but
the pallor of his face was awful to see.
When evening drew on, lie picked up
a long, rusty knife blade, and fitted it
into a stout handle. Then he stepped
to his grind-stone, and sharpened and
ground the rus'y blade.
All ! but Joe was changed 1 Tlieie
was despair ai d murder in bis noble
heart.
The night fell ; and he stood, knife
in hard, silently waiting.
"Richard Ross leaves her home at
ten," he muttered, "and goes on the
lonely road through the woods."
When it became nine he could
wajt no longer, but sped away to his
ambush. Be hind two trees, growing
close together,which completly hid him
he crouched and listened.
lie had an hour to wait. The sil
ence was awful. No bird sung among
the trees, and the leaves hung lifeless,
stirred by no breath of wind.
MILLIIEIM, FA., THURSDAY, MARCH 27., 1884.
Joe pressed his hand to his forehead
and found il burning hot. lie began
to be afraid, he knew not of what, per
haps ( f his own soul. He felt his mur
derous purpose weakening. lie rose
and walked about the wood and
thought upon bis wrongs. This gave
him new resolve, and .he returned to
his hiding place, and erouchtd again.
But again his truer was renewal, and
the hand which held the knife trem
bled. The village clock struck ten,and
at every stroke he shuddered.
lie heard foot steps on the road.
Neaier,neaier,camc tl e man for whom
he waited. For a moment Joe's min i
seemed gone. Before his eyes he saw a
great sea of blood. Fro n him fell
great drops of cold sweat. Nearer the
footsteps came. His brain cleared and
he could dimlv see the young mans
form a few feet from him. lie gazed
through the trees to the sky, and saw
a single star looking down upon him
like the eye of God. With a shiiek of
fear he tiling the knife from him and
fled—from minder.
It was over, and blood was not upon
his soul.
All that night he lay like oae dead
upon the floor of his little shop. The
morning sun, forcing its way through
the dusty window, fell upon him there.
Miserable as the man was, it saw i o
better sight than this crushed soul sav
ed from crime.
But some one brighter than the sun
light entered at the dour. It was Nel
lie. She saw Isiill there upon the floor
and her blue eves tilled with tears.
She bent over hi in and touched him
gently.
"Joe ! dear loe !" she c died.
lie sprung to 1 l is feet, gazed on her
coldly, and would have fled, but she te
st rained him.
"Joe," she said. "1 have hoped—l
have pleaded—l have prayed —I have
won. Take me in your arms."
Not yet did he understand her, and
she added :
"bather has learned to pity you and
me, Joe, and says we may be husband
and wife. Richard R ss lias gone foi
ever."
So Joe took her in his arms, and all
his repentance and j< v burst forth i:i a
flood of tears.
A Thrilling War Story.
Henry J. S.iv ge, one of ihe soldiers'
home veterans, tils the following
thrilling story of a war incident :
The oft-mooted question "Was ever
a desperately wounded soldier shot
dead, at his own earnest solicitations,
by a comrade ?" is nnswerei in the af
firmative by your humble scvant. It
happened as follows : The wiiter, a
member of G company. Fust IMawaie
infantry, was then altaclud to the
Third brigrade (Weber's), Third divis
ion (French's) Second corps (Sumnei V).
After wading Antietam creek, phi: g
ing through plowed fields, slid bb ii-dds
and cornfields, his regiment !i tally
located with in plain view of the ene
my, when the welcome command rang
along the line to "load and fire at
will." It was then that out daily tar
get practice at Fortress Mwiiroe came
into excellent us.*, as many a poor dev
il of the BixUi Alabama learned to his
cost. Aftei tiiiug ileyen rounds the
writer was wounded and ordered to the
rear. While retreating in good order,
but making most excellent time, bis
route led him through a porti HI of the
Irish brigade. Here lie saw a siuht
that capped the climax of horror. A
member of that devoted brigade was
aimlessly stumbling around with b th
eyes shot out. begging some one, "for
the love of God,*' to put an end to Ids
misery. A lieutenant cf the Fouith
New York was passing by, and, seeing
the poor fellow's condition, and hear
ing his appeal, he haltul before him
and asked if he ically meant what he
said.•
"O, yis, comrade," was the reply,
"1 ;annot possibly live and my agony
is unendurable."
Without ail other word the officer
drew his pi*lol, placed it tho victim's
light ear, turned away his head, and
pulled the trigger. A half- whe 1, a
convulsive gasp, and one more unfor
tunate had pissed over to the silent
majority.
"It. was better thus," said the lieu
i tenant,replacing his pistol and turning
toward the writer, "for the poor fol
low could —"
Just then as .lid shot took tlie lieu
; tenant's head off, and the "subsequent
; proceedings interested him no more."
| —Milwaukee Sentinel.
■
During a conference of clergymen,
the following dialogue was overheard
| between two newsboys: 'I say, Jim,
what's tne meaning of so many minis
ters being to-gether?' 'Why,' answered
i Jim,scornfully, 'they always meet once
a year to exchange sermons with each
other.'
De buggy whip can't make up for
' light feed in de trough.
\ I'A I'FR FI>U THE HOME CHICLE
A MIDNIGHT CALL
Last summer 1 lived on tlie outskirts
of the town, where I e mid keep chick
ens and not hive them roosting in the
bedroom wind w of my next door
neighbor. Therefore I kept them
not for profit—hut for the pleasure of
having my garden seeds scratched up
every tit n'ning before sunrise ; it was
good exercise to plant t liein over every
day, you know.
One night ah tut half-past eleven
o'clock, 1 was gently moused from my
peaceful slumbers, by tho blunt end of
Mrs. Aekei's h it elbow seeking IT my
si ort libs,with mellifluous voice sound'
ing in my ear :
"Wake tip ! IF,ike up ! Some one is
stealing our chickens !"
I slid out upon the floor in the dark,
and reached for my clothing. In my
haste i hopped and (1 modeled around,
hke a slunk on dry land, upsetting the
wash-pitcher and bawl—one taking u
can am on my b'.st com, and the other
dumping gracefully upon the top of my
boot, muking a trout-pond of the inter
ior. After tumbling over a chair,
wash-stand, towel-rack,etc., ! sat d wn
on the 11 >or—not through any desire of
my own —but hecfluso of the tangled
e mdition of my wearing gear and legs.
Soon, however, I had myself in condi
tion to sally forth—minus boots-ac
companied by my shot-gun.
The night was d irker than tho mind
of the most benighted heathen, and 1
groped my way along as quietly as p s
sible, hoping to surprise the stealer of
fowls.
All of a sudden I streched myself at
full length upon the ground, and began
to murmur, soft and low, a little arti
cle of prose, which anises irresistibly
to my niiiul at times. While repeat
ing the wir is, Ito >k tnv left foot in
both hands, and detached a piece of
glass from the heel of my stocking.
J/Vs. Acker came rushing out, and
began to mge s >nie one not to kill me,
but take the chickens in welcome. So
much interested was I, in repeating
the little story, that I may have been
somewhat abrupt in my remarks to her
—for she closed the door with a bang,
after saying :
"I don't care if you do get murder
el ! and the, chickens stolen, too ! So
there !"
Ti is reply arousing my i:e, I sprung
up and rushed in ttie direction of the
hen-h use, urged on by the loud clam
or of the hen community.
In my hurried pugiess I encounter
ed the dog-Kennel, up et it, and sought
the b >som of mother earth ; sprung up
again, with the dog fastened to my
trousers; tried to coax him into the
belir f that I was his master, by per
suasively using the butt end of my
gun ; succeeded in tearing loose, after
he had gone the length of his chain,
and fir ally reached the door of the hen
house.
I cocked my gun, opened the door,
and, in my most commanding tone, or
dered the thief to come out and be
shot.
I received no teply, save a monoton
ous "squawk ! squawk ! squawk 1"
I became bold, stepped inside the
door, closed it, and deteimined to have
revenge for mv mishaps.
I struck a match, and saw—the old
rooster dangling, head downward,from
the peich—having slipped his fnot
through a small knot-hole, lost his bal
ance in his struggles, and now being
unable to extricate himself.
I returned to the It >use, repeating
my little prose lesson, put a court plas
ter on my hee', a: d retired.
In the morning I serenely watched
Mrs. Acker obliterate Towser's trade
mark from my pantaloons.
UNTIE THE STRINGS.
Said one of the most successful mer
chants of Cleveland, 0., to a lad who
was opening a parcel .* "Young man,
untie the strings ; do not cut them."
It was the first remark that he had
made to a new employe. It was tlie
first lesson the lad had to learn, and it
involved the principles of successor fail
ure in his business career. Pointing
to a well dressed gentle man behind the
counter, he said :
"There is a man who always whips
out his scissors and cuts off the strings
of the packages in tlnec or four places,
lie is a good salesman.,but he v\ ill never
be anything more. 1 presume he lives
from hand to mouth,and is more or less
in debt. The trouble with him is that
he was never taught to save.
"I told the boy just now to untie the
strings, not so much for the value of
the string as to teacli him that every
thing is to be saved and nothing wast
ed. If the idea can ne firmly impressed
upon the mind of a beginner in life that
nothing was made to be wasted, yott
have laid the foundation of success."
'There's many a slip 'twix the cup
and the lip' but there are many more
slips after the cup has been emptied.
An American in Russix.
A reporter recently interviewed Bar
(!■ de W.igstaffe, of Russia, who was
looking into the railroad industries of
Detroit. In the course of the conver
sation the baron was asked:
"What are the facilities for travel to
all parts of the empire?"
"Besides tin railroads, it is by post
roads. We have a most perfect system
of post-loads all over the empire."
"To the farthest points?''
"Yes,sir; from tho,Pacific coast west
ward, and fro'n tho northern shore
south. The best way I can illustrate
the perfect ion of our system of post
loads and safety of such travel, is to
tell of a New York gentleman, now
dead—a relative of the Stuyvesants
who for his own pleasure started frm
the l'aeitic coast to travel alone over
land through Asiatic Russia to Peters
burg. He couldn't speak a word of any
language but his own,and relied entire
ly on his own intelligence and a United
States passport to help him on the jour
ney. His passport had the American
spread eagle at its top, while the Rus
sian passports have the Russian eagle
[with the crown above the eagle's head]
at their tops. At every station the
New York gentleman observed that he
was given the preference over all other
travelers; that he got the best horses
and at once. No matter if other trav
elers had reached the station ahead of
11ini and in need of fresh horses,he was
provided first. He made the trip safe
ly. speedily and comfortably, and when
lie*reached my home he was most en
thusiastic in praise of our roads and
the promptness and courtesy of our
post officials, while he could not speak
in terms too enthusiastic over the re
spect they had shown him all through
Russia because of the United States
passport."
"What was the secret of his good
fortune?"
"Chiefly out of respect to' The Eagle*
and the ignorance of the postmasters
of the nature of the gentleman's busi
ness, which they concluded to IK 1 of an
official character, and so they treated
hi in as they would a high Russian offi
cial."
"And how is that?"
"All those in authority in Russia,
when travelling are given a preference
by a special passport, such as was be
stowed on the American traveler."
"Then it is not dangerous to travel
in any part of Russia?"
"Not at all. 1 often travel with my
wife and daughters to my home at the
foot of the Ural mountains.4oo miles by
p >st-roads after leaving the railroads.
While I generally have a revolver with
me, it is usually on the il >or in the
straw—under the seat or somewhere—l
don't know where, for 1 never used it.
That is another result of our passport
system."
"Because by the system all dangerous
characters are at once apprehended and
placed under guard, when on the other
hand i o murder or other crime can. be
committed without almost immediate
detection and punishment."
RELIGIOUS DRUMMER.
One of the travelers for a New York
dry goods house recently arrived in an
interior State, to find that one of his
best customers was about to transfer
his custom to a Boston firm.
"Didn't we always do well by yon ?"
ask< d the New Yorker, as lie sat down
for an explanation.
"Yea, 1 believe so."
"Didn't we ship goods to you prompt
ly ?"
"Yes."
* "Did we ever press you iu a pinch ?"
"No, I can't say that you did."
"We can't understand why you
should leave our house all of a sudden,
after buying of us for several years."
"You know that 1 attend church ?'
"Yes ; and so do I."
"Do you ? I didn't know that. I
am looked upon as a Christian."
"And so atn I. I have got the date
of my baptism right here in my note
book."
"Is that so ? Well, our church is in
need of repairs. We were talking it o
vei the other day, when the Boston
drummer was here,and he at once sub
set ibed ten dollars."
"Ten dollars ! Why,th it's only two
kegs of nails ! Put tne down for thirty
dollars cash, a new silk hat, and a suit
of clothes for the minister."
"Do you mean it ?"
"Of course I do ; and if that two
cent Christian from Boston dares to
give another five dollars, I'll send you
down a £6OO church organ and a SSOO a
year man to play on it. We are a
house tit it never makes any great dis
play of gosped hymns and religious
tracts : hue when a Boston drummer
bluffs, we show our religious hand, and
scoop the pot every time."
And the merchant still continues to
deal with the New York firm.
'llow do you know when a cyclone is
coming?' asked a stranger of a Western
man. 'Oh, we get wind of them,'was
the reply.
Terms, SI.OO per Year, in Advance.
MARRIED BY SURPKIbE.
Old Governor Sultonstall, of Connec
ticut., w;ts :i man of Bvime humor as well
as perseverance in effecting the end he
desired. He resided in New London
and among the many anecdotes told of
him is the following :
Of the various seels that had nour
ished for their day and then ceased to
exist, was our known as the Rogerites,
so called from their founder, a John or
Tom, or some other Rogers, who set
tled not far from the goodly town of
New London. The distinguished tenet
of their sect was their denial of the pro
priety and ihe sciipturality of the form
of marriage. "It is not good for man
to be alone. This they believed, and
also that one wife only should "cleave
to her husband." But then this should
be a matter of agreement merely, mid
tiie couple should come together and
live as man and wife, dispensing with
all the forms of marriage covenant.
The old Governor used frequently to
call upen Rogers and talk the matter
oyer with him, and endeavor to con
vince him of the impropriety of living
with Sarah as he did. But neither cohti
nor Sarah would give up the agreement.
It was a matter of conscience with
them ; they were very happy together
as they were ; of what use then could a
mere form be ? Suppose they would
thereby escape scandal, were they not
bound "to take up the cross" and live
according to the rules of the religion
they professed ? The Governor's logic
was powerless.)
lie was in the neighborhood of John
one day, and, meeting him, accepted
an invitation to dine with him, Con
versation, turned,as usual, on the mar
riage subject.
"Now, John," said the Governor, af
ter a long discussion oa the point, wny
will you not m arry Sarah? Have you
not taken her to he your lawful wife?"
"Yes, certainly," replied John' "but
my conscience will not permit me to
marry her iu the form of the world's
people."
"Very well. But you love her?"
"Yes."
"And respect her?"
"Y'es."
"And cherish her as bone of your
bone and flesh of your flesh?"
" Y'es, ceitainly I do."
"And Sarah, you love him, and re
spect and cherish him?"
"Certainly I do."
"Then," eried the Governor, rising,
"by the laws of God and the Common -
wealth >f Connecticut,! pronounce you
to be man and wife!"
The raving and lage of John and
Sarah ware of no avail—the knot was
tied by the highest authority in the
State.
—— - - ——
She Saved his Life.
There was a lot of drnminers seatc d
around the stove.
"I tell you what it is,' 1 said the St.
Louis commercial traveler, "the boys
can just make all the fun they please
of the Lake Citv,but as for me J shali
ever feel deeply indebted to Chicago."
"Why so?" asked Bangs,a Chicago
man.
"Because a girl from that place sav
ed my life.'*
"When?"
"Last summer when I was up on
the lakes. Got shipwrecked, you
know."
"How was it?"
"There was a Chicago belle on
board our boat and she was our salva
tion. Saved the whole ship's company."
"Didn't swim ashore with all of
you?"
"No."
"How then/"
"Noble girl! she wore cork-soled
shoes which she lashed together with
the strings and made a raft We all
got aboard and floated safely ashore."
And then it was so quiet you might
have heard a clap of thunder while the
bartender set out the bottle and glass
es.
Scene in a car. Seats all occupied.
Enters a person dressed as a lady.
Bright little boy rises and offers his
seat. Lady drops into it with an air
of disdain. Boy : 'Oh I beg your
pardon: did you speak?' Lady: 'No I
didn't say anything ' Boy: 'Oh,excuse
me, J thought you said 'thank von.'
Lady (in high dudgeon): 'You may
have your seat.' Boy(resuming it):
'Well, /'ll thank you.' Passengers
convulsed. Lady disappears at next
street crossing.
A Detroit man brought home a keg
of whiskey and hid it in a closet. His
wife, going there, ran against it in the
dark and slapped it so hard that she cut
her hand 011 a hoop. She was under the
impression that her husband was trying
to kiss her.
The drunkard is the liquor dealer's
rye tanned man.
NO. 13.
NEWSPAPER LAWS.
If subscribers order the discontinuation of
newspapers ihe nuolisliers may continue to
send th un until all arrearages are paid.
If subscribers refuse or neglect to take their
newspapers from the office to which they are rent
they are held responsible until they have settled
the bill* ai.d ordered them discontinued.
If subscribers move toother places without In*
form in r the publisher, ami the newspapers ar
sent to I lie former nlaee, t hev are resi>onblble.
eS '^rDVERTwINO^ATEB ,^?
1w k. 1 mo. I 3 mos. 0 mos. 1 yea
1 square *2t*i *lno j $ 500 (5 00 $8(0
'/(column 4no r. on iooo 15 00 18 (0
L " 700 10 00 15 00 :) 00 40(0
1 " 10 00 15 00 25 00 45 00 75 CO
One inch makes a square. Administrators'
and Executors' Notice* $2.50. Transient lulver
tlsements and locals 10 cents per line for first
insertion and 5 cents per line for each addition
al insertion.
JGROCKERIIOFF HOUSE,
ALLEGHENY ST., BELLEFONTE,*PA.
o, a MCMillan,
PROPRIETOR.
Good Sample Room on Virst Floor. Free
to and from all traiii9. Special rates to
witnesses and Jurors.
QUMMIXS HOUSE,
BISHOP STREET, BELLEFONTE, PA.,
EMANUEL BROWN,
PROPRIETOR.
House newly refitted and refurnished. Ky.
erything done to make guests comfortable.
Rates moderate. Patronage respectfully solici
ted. 5-ly
JRVIN HOUSE,
(Most Central Hotel in the city.)
CORNER OF MAIN STREETS,
LOCK HAVEN, PA.
S.WOODS~CALDWELL
PROPRIETOR.
Good Sample Rooms for Commercial Tiavel
ora on flrst floor.
HUMOROUS.
*■
'Where do you suppose that man is
driving?' inquired an Austin gentleman
pointing to a flashy dressed fellow be
hind a stylish team. 'lnto bankruptcy,'
was the quick reply of a bystander.
A pedagogue complimenting one of
his little pupils on his deportment ob
served: 'You are a good boy; your
mother must have taken pains to raise
you.' *\ T es, it was quite painful,' said
the pupil; 'she raised a blister every
time.'
A bride complained to her husband
that she had been too busy to get off
her feet once, and that unhappy man,
who had already discovered several
'make-ups'iu her construction .exclaim
ed, iu amazement: 'Great heavens ! do
they oome off, too?'
4 What is the first thing to be done in
the case of fire?' asked Prof. Steans.
'Sue the insurance company,' promptly
answered the boy at the foot of the class,
whose father bad his home burned once
or twice.
'lt isn't that I care about a little
work now.' said an incorrigibly lazy
fellow, 'but I'm afraid if I 'once begin
to tarn my own living I shall always
be expected to do it.
A Philadelphia man in a sleeping car
went through a terrible accident in
which the sleeping car rolled down an
embankment,without waking. It was
noticed,however, that as the car struck
the bottom, ho murmured/Don't Jane,
don't; I'll get up and start the fire.'
Modern Elijah, who inclines to be
facetious—'Tra getting to be pretty
bald ain't I? Guess you'.l have to cut
my hair for about half price hereafter,
eh?' Tonsorial artist, who is equal to
the emergengy; Oh, no, sir. we always
charge double when we haye to hunt
for the hair!' •-
A book agent, who was wearing a
small piece of court-plaster on his face,
removed it while shaving, a few morn
ings since, and replaced it, when his
toilet was complete. Contrary to his
usual experience, as he went about his
business during the rest of the day,he
was everywhere received with smiles,
which grew broader and broader, until
at last somebody laughed in his face.
Led by this to look in the glass, he was
somewhat taken aback to discover that
instead of the court-plaster he had affix
ed to his face a little, round, printed
label, which had fallen from the back
of a new mautle-clock, purchased the
d ly before, and which bore the inscript
ion, 'Warantcd solid brass.'
HE HAD NEVER THOUGHT OF IT.
They had been engaged for fifteen
years, and she was now, as it were, in
the sere and yellow leaf. 'Darling,'
he said, in gentlest accents, 'our be
trothal has been very sweet,has it not?'
'lt has, it has indeed, my own.'
'But it has been very long, don't you
think?' she asked.
'Yes, it has been pretty middlin'
long,' he replied.
'I was thinking, dearest,' she contin
ued, 'that it is nearly old enough now
.to go out and work for its living.
Couldn't we have it learn a trade, or
put it out at interest or do something
with it so that we might realize upon
it. It has been about home so long,
burning gas and coal, and is now near
ly full-grown. Itseems like a shame
to liaye it loafing around any longer.'
'But, my love- —'
'And just think,' she interrupted,
'ln six years it will have a vote. I
don't care so much about it myself,but
pa and ma and the rest of the family
are kicking like a steer. What would
you suggest?'
'I am sure I don't know, my pet,' he
replied, helplessly. 'What do you
think?'
'We might get married.'
'That's so, I never thought of that.'
Teey are going to be married next
Thanksgiying.