Millheim Journal. (Millheim, Pa.) 1876-1984, October 08, 1885, Image 1

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    The Millheim Journal,
Office in the New Journal Building,
Penn St., near Hartman's foundry.
Acceptable Coretoiteice SaMel
Address letters to MILLHEIM JOURNAL.
Madison burg, Pa.
JL) B JOHN F hartkr -
Practical Dentist,
Office opposite the Methodist Church.
Physician & Surgeon
OflUoe on Main Street.
Physician & Surgeon,
Office opposite the Public School House.
Physician ft Surgeon,
Office opposite the hotel. Professional calls
proaptfy taswered at all hours.
ijy, P. AMD, M. D..
Physician ft Surgeon,
Journal office, Penn at., MiUbeim, Pa. i
ear Deeds and other legal papers written and
acknowledged at ai ode rate charges.
Fashionable Barber,
Having had many yean' of experience, '
the public can expect the best vork and i
most modern accommodations.
vj -
Bhop 2 doors west Millheim Banking House,
Fashionable Barber,
OorMffWaMflfctaft streets. 2nd floor,
Mihbeitn, Pa.
Sharing, Haffcutting, Sbampooning, •
tbe most satlsfac- i
Juo.H. Orris. C. M. Bower. Ellis: L. Orris. <
Office In Woodlngs|Baildlng.
D H. Hastings. ■ * W. F. Boeder
.* Attorneiwd-U*.
Office on Allegheny Street, two doors east of
the offiee sou pied by the late Arm of Yocum a
Hastings. "
At the Ottoe of EX-Judge Hoy. .
.A. Be-r. : J.
Offiee on Alleghany Street. North of High Street
witnesses and isbrs-
tin I ii in i" 't '
House newly rOtUt. ■
R. A. BUMILLER, Editor.
VOL. 59.
A Letter and a Telegram.
"I don't never waste words,"*' said
old Mr. Brown, in a hard, driving
voice, "and I hain't good at letter-wrl
tiu', but I reckon this'n will cut !"
"It's a pity you writ it so hard, fath
er," said his young daughter, trem
bling ; "It'll hurt her to the heart ;
she didn't never mean to borry that
S3OO, and then cheat you out of It."
"She didn't, eh ? Theu why hain't
the money back in my pocket, safe and
sound 1 It's a year last Christmas
since she pestered me about it, and 1
hain't si en hide nor hair on't yet; if
that hain't a clear case of cheatin',
Fanny, I'll like to know what ye call
The girl stopped churning a moment,
and wiped a surreptious tear from her
eyelid before ahe answered :
"Call it nothing,father, but bad luck
when Sister Mary borryed that money
to lift the mortgage, she expected to
pay it bacfc ; but you know as how
Brother John be was took with the
rheumatics, and the oveiflow came,and
the crop was ruint and then she
couldn't pay ; that's all, and God
knows it's enough I"
"Twasn'fc my rault," snapped her
father, fiercely, as he pounded on the
kitchen table to give veut to bis anger.
"I never pat it in the agreement to
'low for overflows, and rheumatics,and
sicb like, and I never would ba' lent
her the S3OO if it hadn't been for your
soiffin' and pesterin'. And now ye
bear sal, not anuther dime o' my
earnins shall they ever smell, and I'll
never forgive ."
The girl sprang up from the churn,
crying, "No, father, don't say it—
don't, don't say it, father ; you'll be
sorry some day when it'a too late ; be
sides you're a church member, you
know !"
"You're right 'bout that,"'said Mr.
Brown, perversely ; "I'm a church
member, and don't owe nary a person
a red cent, and the Bible says, 'an eye
for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth,'and
I'm going to have it 1"
He pounded the table again with
bis flsts.after ft fashion he had of want
ing to pound something or somebody
when be felt particularly aggressive.
But the sound of bis voice had scarcely
died away, when there caipe a knock
at the door, and one of those ominous,
yellow envelopes, marked with the im
press of the Western Union Telegraph
Company, was banded in. Mr. Brows
took it, and looked it oyer in a helpless
kind of fashion before breaking the
seal. "How much to pay," be asked
tbe boy, and passed oyer to bim tbe
change with trembling band ; though
it was characteristic of tbe man that
even then, with tbe knowledge that
tbe telegram must contain terrible
news, he was careful to count tbe
dimes at they dropped back into bis
pocket. Oh, those cruel telegrams I
Do tbe company ever remorsefully
count the breaking hearts that are left
in tbe wake of their messengers ? Mr.
Brown was a hard man, and loved bis
money-bags oyer well, but somewhere
beneath tbe rough outward crusts
there waa an abiding affection for his
children that needed something like
tbe stirring of the soil around the yio
let-beds, to loosen the selfish bonds,and
give bis love a human voice. And
when be read these words, "Mary died
this evening ; come at once," a great,
sadden anguish filled his breast, and si
lently handing tbe dispatch to Fanny,
be walked from tbe kitchen and shut
himself up in bis own room, whers
years before death bad made sonC y
visits. He did not cry out or fall, or
make any sign that be was grief-strick
eu, bat he was hart to tbe soul, and a
great remorse made him sick and faint.
He bad never pot it in tbe agreement
about sickness, overflows, and bad
crops, as he had just said ; neither had
be "put it" that Mary, in her young
blooming matronhood days, should die
—bis first born ? How could he bear
it ? and it was all the harder because
of the cruel words he had uttered while
she lay dead at borne. Did he say he
would never forgive her—did he really
—really say that ? Fanny had tried to
stop him, and brought lit to bis mind
that be was a "church member" and a
Christian. As if a father ought to be
merely a Christian to bis own child.
Why hadn't he giveu her the money ?
Might have done so five times over and
never missed it. And tbe old man
groaned remorsefully, as with these
thoughts in his heart, his gaze wander
ed over tbe great fields where the cot
ton would soon be a shimmering, fleecy
sea, bringing new treasures to bis
hoarded gains, and making no hearts
happy save bis own.
Those few, poor, stuuted acres of
John's and Mary's I Swamped by the
overflow last spring, stock drowned,
and John, wading waist deep, fighting
with tbe waters, laid up with the rheu
- j • ':* •
Suppose he had given 'em a thou,
sands dollars !
Oil, the stiug of remembering eyil
when it ia too late to turn evil into
good. And then there was that un
kind letter. Did his child read those
cruel words with the dying light in her
eyes, or would it bo left for the stiick
en husband to bo treated to the short,
stern homily 1
lie went back to the kitchen, where
Fanny sat ciying over the telegiam.
"Lock up the house," ho said in a hur
ried way, for fear his voico would falt
er ; "we'll go at once. I'll hitch up
while ye get ready." And when they
had stalled on their long jourmy he
quite broke down in talking over the
past' and telling Fanny little things
here and there that no one would have
supposed he had remembered.
"Maiy was alius a dutiful da'arter,"
he said, putting into broken sentences
the griet and remorse that overwhelm
ed him ; "after her ma died, and she
wasu't knee-high to a duck, she was
like a second pairent to the little uns ;
nussed 'em through the measles, and
when they was well, took it herself,
and laid as quiet on the bed for fear o'
giving trouble as if she waru't a
He didn't tell her of how, when the
second Mrs. Brown was installed as
mistress, Mary became the drudge and
maid of-all-work. and was nurse to a
hair-dozen more little Browns, who,
like their mother, ruled her with a rod
of iron. Nor of Mary's marriage with
a sturdy, young fellow, who, for the
lack of a little timely help, and the
pressure of a large family, was kept
with bis nose to the perpetual grind
stone. He did not tell how Mary
pinched and worked,aud sat up till late
hours.and struggled to help her family,
until in consequence of doctor's bills
and babies, and poor crops, John was
forced to give a mortgage on his house,
wheu her (the father) might have lifted
them out of their poverty. lie might
even have given them a better house ;
the oldest inhabitant could not remem
ber wheu tbe ugly, ramshackle affair
had been built. Some ancient ances
tors had put up a couple of rooms, then
added ou a few more, until, what with
patching and propping up, John's in
heritance was an offence to the eye.
Mr. Brown thought bitterly of all this
through tbe long journey. Too late,
too late seemed written in words of
fire on every tree and shiub. At last
tbe house was in sight ; a poor, miser
able place enough, but now, in the
month of June, sweet with climbing
roses and honeysuckle that the mis
tress's hand had trained to the porch.
"Who-o-o, Dandy." The children
were in the yard ; with a shout they
ran to the gate, and as the old horse
stopped, somebody rushed down the
steps, and with a cry, "Why. father,
why Fanny," Mary in her famous
clean calico and apron, and cheeks like
roses, with the pleasure and excitement
of the visit, was in her father's arms—
her father, who held her as he had nev
er done before, and kissed her with the
tears running down his face.
"My child," he said presently, "you
were dead, and are alive again. Thank
God 1"
"Why, father V" questioned Mary
again, "what on earth is the matter ?"
And she looked with frightened gaze at
her sister, vaguely wondering if her
father were stricken with some sudden
insanity. For answer, Fanny drew out
the telegram from her pocnet, and gave
it to Mary.
"It's all a wonderful mistake," ex
claimed the elder woman, glancing it
over, and hugging father and sister ex
citedly again. "We have a neighbor,
Mrs. Mary Harris, who died last even
ing ; she has a brother living some
where near you, and by the way, his
name is Brown—Richard Brown
your name father. They carried you
the telegram instead of him. What a
pity he won't hear of it, so as to get
there to the burying."
And so, between hysterical sobs and
smiles, ahd everyhody talking at once,
and asking questions that no one
dreamed of answering, they went in
under the bower of roses and honey
suckle, aod presently John hobbled
from the field on crutches,and the story
was told all over again.
And.when Mary slipped out into the
kitchen to get an early supper, old Mr.
Brown followed here and there, and
she was folded tight in her father's
arms again, while the tears streamed
aowu both their faces. It was as if
she had been raised from the dead.
"My child," whispered the old man,
"I hain't been the best of fathers to
ye ; I ha' shut my eyes and my heart
when I ought to ha' been the one to
help ye ; never ye mind 'bout that
money ; don't ye say one word 'bout
it, and we'll knock this old rattletrap
tioWn to morrow, and I'll show ye how
to build a bouse !"
And so be did, and a very comforta
ble house it was, where John did not
have to stoop when he went in and out
of doors. And would you believe it ?
Tbe letter, all tbe more harsh for being
so brief, never did reach its destina
tion. Old Mr. Brown's chirography
was of a very inferior sort, and tt.a
postmaster couldn't puzzle out the ad
dress, much as he desired so to do ;
then the letter was forwarded to the
Dead Letter Office at Washington, and
in due time was returned to Mr. Brown
who quietly and satisfactorily consign'
ed it to the flames.
An Eel That Couldn't Be Held.
'Any one that lifts that eel out of the
tank may have it,' said Eugene Black
ford to a crowd of pei sons who stood
in Fulton Market before an open aqua
rium, watching a large eel moving
gracefully about in tho water. A har
dy looking fisherman,who had probably
caught many eels in his time,asked Mr.
Blackford if ho was in earnest, and be
ing assured that the offer was made in
good faith, he tucked up the sleeve of
his pilot jacket, and after briefly ex
plaining to the ciowd the precise man
ner in which an eel should be grasped
to prevent it gliding through the fin
gers, he plunged his band into the wa
ter to practically illustrate how the
thing was done. He seized the eel very
artistically, but, with a sharp explos
ion of blasphemy he let it go again he
fore lie had brought it to the surface.
The eel swam around indifferently. It
had evidently grown accustomed to
such experiences. The fisherman fol
lowed it with his eyes. 'lt stung me
bad,' was the only explanation he cared
to offer to spectators.
Just then a whistling hoy came up,and
looked at the eel because the others
were looking at it.
'I don't see anything uncommon in
him,' he said, contemptously. I've
ketched bigger ones than that.'
'Say, Boh,' said the fisherman, struck
with'an idea, 'pick that eel out of the
tank and follow me down South street
with it, and I'll giye you a quarter.'
Without stopping to make any in
quiries as to the legitimacy cf the offer,
the independent lad grasped the eel.
lie liberated it immediately, and utter
ed a yell that brought in the policeman
who twirls his club just outside the
fish market, to see what the matter
Later in the day many persons touch
ed the eel and tested its curious powers.
After the contact some shrieked, some
laughed, and some looked frightened,
but none essayed to meddle with it a
second time. New comers continued
to touch it,until Mr.Blackford, fearful
that its vitality might be exhausted,
put it into a high closed tank,and past
ed this legend upon the glass : 'Gvm
notus, or electric eel.' The tank con
tained several "hell benders," and the
eel shocked them very much, and caus
ed them to spring around in the liveli
est manner. It was given to Fish Com
missioner Blackford by Mr. Doland
Burns, who received it from the Ama
zon River. Capt. Bears brought it
with him in the steamship Finance. It
is rather a handsome creature, aud a
great point in its favor is that it keeps
its mouth always shut, except at* meal
times.aud.seems to breathe through two
rows of holes on its head and neck. It
is about 2i feet long and rather dispro
portionately thick. It has a heayy fin,
like the keel of a boat, running along
the belly the entire length of the body.
The throat is of orange color, and the
head, though short and clumsy, is or
namented with two little flaps that look
like ears. It can administer an electric
shock as powerful as that of a small
battery. A man touched it with a steel
fish knife, and he felt the shock as for
cibly as if he had touched it with his
bare fingers.
A Mill Horror Reoallod.
January 10, 1860, the city of Law
rence, Massachusetts was smitten by
a disaster which carried agony and
death into scores of homes, and sent a
thrill of sympathetic horror through
the land. About 5 o'clock in the after
noon the operatives in the Pemberton
Mills felt a swaying of the floors and
tbe machinery began to run irregularly.
Before, however, the dreadful fact that
the building falling could be more
than realized, the walls were bursting
apart, the floors falling, and rattling
looms and human beings were swallow
ed up in a terrible plunge of death. The
first those in the lower stories knew of
the catastrophe was a crashing through
of the machinery upon them from the
floors above. There was no time, no
way to escap9. The building then
caught fire, and scores of wretched,
wounded beings were burned to death.
Hundreds of citizens were on the scene
immediately after the fall,and all work
ed heroically, and all the fire engines in
the city poured on floods of water, but
it was sometime before the flames were
extinguished, and all the injurad could
not be got out of the building until the
following day. Over one hundred per
sons were killed, and some three hun
dred others were more or less injured.
A Conflagration Unlikely.
Youqg Featherly had dropped in for
an evening call, and Bobby was enjoy
iug the conversation ahd leading the
Incidentally, Bobly said :
'Mr. Featherly, can water burn V
'No, Bobby,' replied Featherly, a
mazed at the question, 'but it can be
made very hot by boiliug. What put
that idea into your head ?'
'Ma. She told sister that there was
no danger of your ever setting the
North river on fire.'
An Oriental Smuggler.
"Of all smugglers," remarked tho
Custom House inspector, "recommend
me to the Chinks and Japs. They've
got more brains and originality than
any other smugglers four times over.
A few months ago a tea packet came
in and I was assigned to it. Well, a
friend of mine—a 'fiend,' as they call
'era—gave me a tip that there was o
pium paste on bDard, which the sailors
were going to smuggle ashore You
see, opium paste pays a duty of $lO a
pound. 1 was on the boat tbe moment
she touched tbe pier and examined
every sailor that went til. I hadn't
been aboard a very long time when a
Chiuese groceiy pedlar came down the
wharf. lie had a big open basket on
his arm, in which there was green stuff
and cans of tomatoes and such like. I
didn't suspect him, but to be doubly
sure I walked with him to the forecas
tle where he commenced to peddle off
tiis truck. He sold the vegetables and
counted the money carefully he got for
them. Then he sold the cans of torna
toes for a quarter apiece. I thought
he was rubbing it in : so I told one
of 'em on the quiet they weren't worth
more than a dime. The next moment
the air was blue. They jumped up,
fired the cans into his basket, shook
their fists under his nose, and wanted
their money back. He wouldn't give
it to them, and they went for him. He
was making a good fight when one of
them drew a knife. I had a heavy
cane in my hand, and I knocked the
knife out of the fellow's hand and
made the peddler go up the ladder and
off the boat. lie thanked me and went
away talking Chinese, and, as I sup
sed, cursing the crowd.
"Alittle while after,the sailors came
up and wanted to go ashore. I search
ed eyery one of them, and found noth
ing. They hadn't been goue more
than a half hour when the peddlar
came back. II is eye was black, and
bis nose and mouth bloody and swol
len. He said : 'Policeman, dam lobbie
stealee fob, five can tomatee. You
helpe gettie back and takee bad man to
station-house ?' I felt sorry for the
poor devil, and told him we'd go and
search the forecastle for his property.
We looked around five or ten minutes,
and were about to give it up a9 a bad
job, when we found them hidden away
under a piece of old sail cloth. He
popped them in his basket,shook hands
and thanked me a dozen times, gave
me a handful of good cigars, and theD
went away. Do you know on account
of that licking he had got I never drop
ped to his racket at all ? It was all a
put-up job. He brought on board real
cans of tomatoes ; he took away toma
to cans filled with opium paste. The
sailors were in with him, and had put
the real ones in their chests, and had
replaced them with the smuggled stuff.
There must ' have been thirty-five
pounds, which meant a clear profit of
Fanned the Flies From Baby's
Dog stories are always in order,pro
vided they are true. A gentleman in
one of the suburban wards owns a
fine specimen of tbe tpanield breed,
which is very fond ot children, and
when any little ones visit his master's
house constitutes himself their compa
nion, playmate and guardian. A few
days ago a lady with an infant visited
the gentleman, and in the course of
the day the child was laid on a pillow
on the floor to amuse itself for a time.
The dog took his place near the little
one, as usual. The day was hot and
the flies bad, and they made the
baby the target ol frequent attacks.
This rendered her restless. Doggie
watched her tor a few minutes, and
then, walking close up, with his nose
or paw drove away every fly as soon
as it lit on the baby's face, and did it
so gently too as not to disturb her in
the least. The dog's action attracted
the attention of the mother and others,
who were filled with astonishment at
his thoughtful kindness. This story
has the merit of truth.— Pittsburg
It is related that when Gen. Grant
was in Houston, several years ago, the
people gave him a rousing reception.
There was a grand barquet, for which
$1,500 worth of the choicest wines were
proyided. When the waiter came to
serye the wine the head waiter went
first to Gen. Grant. Without a word
the general quietly turned down a'l the
glasses at his plate. This quiet move
was a great surprise to the Texans, but
they were equal to the occa&ion. With
out a single word being spoken every
man along tho line of the long tables
turned his glasses down, and there was
not a drop of wine taken that night.
"Terms, SIOO per Year, in Advance.
By a Tkaveleu.
For years there stood upon the old
Doren property, a good long distance
from the kitchen door of the mansion,
a queer stone well. It \v;ih of carven
stone, with grotesque heads and faces
on every side, and behind it the head
and body of some fiendish-looking thing
—a sort of satyr it seemed —with such
fierce expression in its carven eyes that
all children were afraid of it. A rustic
shed covered the well. Iyy crept over
It, and half hid the stone face. And it
was certainly a very picturesque object.
There had never been either windlass
or sweep; only a chain fastened to the
roof of the shed, to which the bucket
was attached; but the water was always
so high that it was very easy to draw it
in this way.
In connection with this well, howev
er, something very remarkaole had oc
curred. In the year 1044, when the
house was first occupied by the family,
a young girl, Ka'hrine Doren by name,
the youngest daughter of the house,had
gone to the well in the edge of the eve
ning to fill a pail. She never returned.
Iler friends went in search of her, and
found the pail on the well's cutb.
It was thought at first that she was
drowned, but this was not the case.
However, she was never seen again.
Her friends fancied she had been mur
dered; strangers believed that she had
eloped with some lover; but no one ev
er knew what became ot C.tthrine Dor
Meant ime, her niece, a child at the
time, grew up, married, and had a
daughter, whom she uamed Kathrine,
after her lost aunt.
Forty years from the day on which
the first KathriDe had disappeared, this
second Kathrine, then seventeen years
old,went in the gloaming of au autumn
day to the stone well to fill a .china
Agaiu the same thing happened ; the
pitcner was found on the well curb,and
Kathrine was never seen again. The
whole country was scoured; posters
were pasted up in every town ; adver
tisements inserted in every paper; but
the mother died of grief without having
heard any tidings of her daughter.
Since then, in every generation, the
same thing had happened. Seven girls
had gone to the well for water and nev
er been seen since, and,strange enough,
each had been named Kathrine.
Yet so skeptical are the people of to
day, that no one really believed all that
was said; and it was thought in the
neighborhood that the Dorens were a
race given to elopement, and that the
girls took advantage of the legend of
the well.
In the year 1844 the old house was a
crumbling edifice, that rocked in the
wind when it blew stroDgiy; and the
widow of the last Doren, to whom it
fell on the death of her husband's fath
er, hesitated about taking up her ab'ode
there; but she was poor, and really had
little choice. So to the old bouse she
went, with her one daughter, Kathrine
—a girl of eighteen, blue-eyed, golden
haired and bonny.
The widow had heard the story of the
disappearance of the girls, but had
scarcely believed it, and had never re
peated it to ber daughter. Kathrine
was in utter ignorance of it, and of the
well. She ran about the garden,discov
ering new beauties at every turn, and
at last actually danced with delight be
fore the old stone well.
'Like a well in an old fairy story,
mamma,' she exclaimed, as she describ
ed it. 'lt makes me feel as though we
really ought to find an old castle some
where to match it. Just the well for a
*lf I remember rightly,it has been an
unlucky well enough for the Doren wo
men,' said the widow.
'Tell me the story, mother,' cried
'No; idle tales like that are best un
told,' said the widow. 'No doubt it is
very good cold water; but when you
meet your sweetheart, I hope it won't
be at the well, but under your mother's
eyes, in the house here.'
Kathrine laughed.
'The sweetheart must come first,' she
said; and began to help her mother to
do the housework.
But she kept thinking of the well;
and that evening, at dark, she took
from the shelf in the kitchen a pitcher,
quaint as the house itself, and without
saying anything to her mother, ran
down the garden path. It was two
hundred years from the day on which
her ancestress, the first I lost Kathrine,
has thus gone to the old stone W6ll —
two hundred years to the day and the
hour, if this, the eighth Kathrine, had
but known it. But she did not.
She tripped along to the well, swing
ing the old blue pitcher in her hand.
She reached it, and bent over the curb.
A dim reflection of her own face greet
ed her.
'How high the water is !' she said. 'I
can reach it with the pitcher,' and bent
lower still.
But, falling to reach the water, she
set the pitcher on the curb, and caught
the chain which held the bucket.
NO. 39.
If subscribers order the discontinuation of
newspapers, the nuollshers may continue to
send them until all arrearages are paid.
If subscribers refuse or neglect to take their
newspapers from the office to which they are sent
the;-are held responsible until they have settled
the bills and ordered them discontinued.
If subscribers move toother places without in
forming the publisher, and the newspapers aro
sont to the former place, they arc res|>onuible.
1 wk. 1 mo.} 8 mos, 6 mos. 1 yea
1 square *2 00 S4OO | 95 00 S6OO SBOO
X " 700 1000 1800 9000 40 00
1 " 1000 l&00i 25 00 4500 75 00
One inch makes a square. Administrators
and Executors' Notices S2AO. Transient ad ver
tlsements and locals 10 cents per line for firs
insertion and 5 cents per line for each addltlou
|~"m " " ■
On the instant it seemed to Iter that
the stone satyr behind the, fountain
darted his head forward, and rolled his
great eyes, and at the same instant
strong hands seized ber arms and drag
ged her t'own wards.
The poor girl struggled and tried to
scream. The water was in her eyes,
her ears,and her mouth; the blood rush
ed to her I lead. Still the great hands
held her, until suddenly she foand her
self leaving the water. She stood in a
great cave of white atone, with stalacti
tes hanging from the roof; and the
thing that held her she could not see,
for it was behind her.
The stalactities glittered like dia
monds—they draped the entrance to
another cave. This, however, as she
was still pushed forward, she saw to be
gorgeous with pearls and opals and sea
gems of all sorts. In its midst,under a
sparkling canopy, lay a beautiful young
being, like a man, bat more radiant,
more splendid—a man whose eyes were
jewels, whose teeth were pearl alms
lips were coral. He looked at ber and
smiled. And now for the first time the
strange being who held her spoke.
'My prince,' he said, *1 bring you an
eighth Kathrine.'
And the girl, looking round, saw the
sione fbatures of the sculptured satyr
behiud the well.
'Kathrine !' repeated the being be ad
dressed. 'A pretty Kathrine, too
young, fresh, lovely." Katie, mine,wel
come to my palace. All that you shall
ask for can be youre,and you my queen. 1
There was a subtle power in his eyes*
A strange mesmeric influence seemed
to draw her towards hi. It was Jike
that with which the snake charms the
But at the moment she beard a
strange fluttering chorus of afghs, and
looking about ber, saw the figures ot
seven womeu, all ok! and bent, sitting
at seven spinning- wheeia. They seem
ed to be of stone; butas she looked they
sighed again, and each turned into a
white dove, that came fluttering to
wards her.
The breeze they made with their
wings seemed to dispel the enchant
ment the man with the jewel-like eyes
had cast about her.
'Let me go 1' she cried. 'ln the name
ot Heaven,let me go home to my moth
She forced herself into the outer cave,
thence into the cold water of the well,
calling on all the holy names she knew
Again her breath deserted ber, the
water rushed into ber eyes and ears ;
but blindly feeling about, she caught
the bucket that had dropped ioto the
water after her. Above her, at the top
of the well, ;the blessed blue sky was
At that instant a head blotted it out.
A man, a laborer, going home from his
work, had paused there to drink ; and
the next moment she lay senseless ami
pallid on the grass beside the welL
When she came to herself she told
her story. Some said that she had on
ly had one of those visions which the
drowning are said to have; and that the
cold well had its source in some hid
den cave, whither the water at times
had power to draw any object oa its
surface; and some grew shud
dered, as they thought of the seven
stone Kathrines at their stone spin
Bat the widowDoren never said what
she thought; she only caused a mason
to bring a great flag-stone to the well,
coyer it, cement it, and seal it up for
A Genuine Mad-Stone.
Mr. Len Piles, a citizen of Sullivan
county, is the o svner of a mad-stone,
says a letter from Yincennes, Ind. It
is gray in color, full of pores, and
almost as light as & piece of paper. It
is a genuine mad-stone, and MrJPiles
keeps it wraped in a piece of soft cloth.
It was brought to the United States
from Ireland many scores ot years ago
by Mr. Piles' ancestors. Great care
has been taken of it, and it has been
handed down from generation to
generation. It is valned at S4OO.
Over 1,000 applications have been
made by it Two pieces of it were
broken off, and are owned by parties
in Louisville and Terre Haute. The
record of the stone has been
lost, however, as it has changed hands
so many times. The stone has been
in this country sixty years, and has
never been known to fail to enre a
mad dog bite, wnen properly applied.
It has been in the Piles family for 200
years. Tne editor of a Sullivan paper
says that parties who have been bitten
by dogs living 150 miles distant from
Sullivan have been brought to this won
derful stone and cured. The stone
looks the same now as fifty years ago.
NOTICE.— The new Process Roller
Flour, manufactured by J. B. Fisher,
Penn Hall, is for sale at D. 8. Kauff
man & Go's new store, Main street,
Millheim,Pa. ■