The Millheim Journal, PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY BY R. A. BUMILLER. Office in the New Journal Building, Penn St., near Hartman's foundry. SI.OO PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE, OR $1.26 IF NOT PAID IN ADVANCE. Acceptable Correspondence Solicited Address letters to MILLHEIM JOURNL. BLUE BELLS. One fine morning, as I was leisurely walking down Main street, with no particular object in view, my attention was attracted to a little bootblack. Some (one in passing had dropped, or carelessly thrown away a small hunch of blue bells. My attention was first Attracted to tiie little fellow by his stooping to pick them up. but what was my amusement to see him teuder ly kiss them and then carefully fasten theua in the button hole of his faded jacket. My curiosity was aroused. I made up my miud to quiz the boy, so I walked up to him and asked him for a shine. I looked at the boy carefully, he was very small and very poorly dressed, he was pale and thin, and the large blue eyes looked as if they were full of ungiei tears. "Half-a-dime," he said, when he had put a final polish on my shoes. I took out a quarter, and said, as I balanced it on my forefinger, "Here is ten cents for the shine and fifteen cents for the flowers," pointing to the bells iu his button hole. He put his small hand over the (low ers quickly, and gave a quick gasp. "No, sir; I can't sell them; if I was starying I wouldn't sell a blue-bell." "Aud why uot, my little man ?" I inquired. He looked at me so piteously that I was almost sorry I had asked him. I put my baud on his bead and said ; "Excuse me for asking, you need not tell me unless you wish to, and you can keep the quarter besides." He locked up at me a moment and then said : "I like you, and if you care to listen I'll tell you." "Of course I am anxious to hear why you love the blue-bells." "I will commence at the first and tell it all to you,hut first let us go down there and sit down," pointing to some dry goods boxes not far from where we stood. We went, and after seating ourselves on a small box behind some larger ones where we would not be observed, he took the blue-bell bouquet and holding it in his hand, began by saying : "It is just a year ago this month,and it has been such a long year I thought the blue bells would never come," and then he stopped and put his hands over bis eyes as if trying to shut out some horrid sight ; I did not interrupt his reverie. Presently he took down his band, and said abruptly : "My father was a drunkard We once owned some fine property, I've beard mother say, but that was before I was born, for we have always been poor as far back as I can remember. Mother says that father drank up the farm, the oxen, horses, sheep, cows, hogs, furniture and everything else. We got so poor mother had to go out and wash by the uay to get food for Bess and me to eat. We lived in a lit tle log house, a quarter of a mile from any one ; it was about half a mile to town. Mother used to walk to town every day, except to wash for somebody. On Saturday she wash ed for ourselves and ironed on Sunday. "Sunday is the Lord's day. Your mother certainly didn't work on the Sabbath I" "Yes, air; she had to. Mother said the Lord made six days for the saloon keeper and one for Himself,but He for got to make a day for the drunkard's wife. She said the saloon keepers had confiscated the Lord's day, but she had hoped the Lord would consider her cir cumstances and forgive her for work ing on the Sabbath. She said if there were no saloons she would not have to work on Sunday. There were just four of us, father, mother, Baby Bess and Willie, that is me." "So your name is Willie, is it ? but go ou with your story." " Well,as I said.mother was away all day, and sometimes she would not get home until after dark; she was not very strong, and sometimes she had big washings, and sometimes we didn't have much to eat, because the ladies mother washed for, didn't have the right change, or they would forget to ask their husbands for it. Mother al ways hated to ask for money after she bad earned it, she said it did seem as if they ought to know that she needed the money, or she would not wash for it, and it generally happened that when ODe didn't have the change none of them did, so sometimes we got awful hungry while we were waiting for folks to pay us." "Why didn't your mother ask foi her money; it was her's after she earn ed it ?" "She was afraid to, for sometimes they would get mad and say she didn't half wash their clothes, and then they would hunt up a new wash woman. It was one of those weeks when nobody had any change, it was Friday morn ing, we had very little to eat on Thurs day, and on Friday morning there was R. A. BUMILLER, Editor. VOL. 59. only a pint of corn meal and about two spoonfuls of molasses. Mother baked the meal into bread, and told me to feed the baby when she woke, and to keep a sharp lookout for father; be was in town on a big spree ; he was awful cross when he was drinking; it was not safe for him to get his bandß on us, so we always hid when we saw him com ing, if mother was not at home. Little Bess would nearly go into fits when she saw him coming home drunk. 'Don't let Bess cry if you can help it, Willie ; I'm afraid I won't get home until after dark to-night. Mrs. Gray always has SUJII large washings,hut I will come as s3on as I can, and will bring home some provisions, for I must have some mouey to night, or we starve.' She kissed Baby Bess, as she lay asleep and then kissed me at the door. 'Be a good boy, Willie, and take care of little sis ter.' Bessie slept a long time that morning, and I passed the time in sit ting by her and going to the door to watch for father. When she wone up she said the first thing, 'Baby is so hungry, Willie, get something to eat.' 'Get up, Bessie, and let me dress you, and then we will have breakfast.' 1 had not eaten a mouthful, nor had mother tasted food before leaving home, and I was awful hungry myself. She got up, and I dressed, washed and combed her; but when we sat down to the table, Bessie looked at the food and then she just dropped her curly head right down on the table, aud sob bed out : 4 Oh, Willie, lam so tired of corn bread aud molasses. I can't eat it. I want some meat and butter.' 'Don't cry, Baby,' I said, stroking her curls, 'mother will bring home something to night.' 'But it is so long to wait—this is Mrs.Gray's day and mother is always late when she washes for her.' 'Try to eat,' I said, and I put a spoonful of molasses on her plate, and she did try ; but she only swallowed a few mouth fuls, and then she left the table. I ate a small piece of dry bread, I thought maybe she would eat the molasses, so I did uot touch it. All day she kept saying she was hungry, but refused to eat what we had. It was a long day tb or us. Father had not come home, and it was nearly dark; we were both sitting on the door step, Bessie laid her head against my arm, and be gan to cry, 'l'm so hungry, Willie, mother stays so late to-night.' 'Don't cry, Baby, mother will soon be home.' 'Of course she will,' exclaimed George Anderson; he lived a mile beyond up, and as he spoke he tossed a buuch of blue-bells into Bessie's lap. 'Oh, how pretty !' she exclaimed, while the tears dropped from her sweet blue eyes down on the pretty blue bells. 'Come,Bessie,' I said, 'let me fasten them among your curls.' She got up and stood on the door step with her face toward the house. I stood behind het aud tied the blue-bells iu her golden .curls. I had just fastened the last one when some one jerked me off the bottom step. It was father; he was drunk, and I knew by nis looks that lie was almost crazy with drink. He pushed me aside and stood between little Bessie and me. Bessie turned to run, but he caught her and said, 'You have been crying; what did Willie do to you ?' She was so white and scared that I thought she would faint. 'Willie didn't do any thing,' she gasped out. Father left her go and grasped me; he commenced to shake me awful. 'You rascal, what did you do to Bessie ? Tell me or I'll shake the breath out of you.' He shook me so I could not answer. Then little Bessie caught him by the arm, 'Please, father,don't hurt Willie; I was so hun gry it made me cry.' He looked in at the table and saw the bread and molass es. 'You little white-faced liar, you are not hungry ; look in at that table, there is plenty to eat and good enough, too, for such a brat as you,' and he shook her roughly. She began to cry and 1 tried to put my arm about her, but my father pushed me away. 'lf you can't eat anything, I will give you something to drink,' and he caught her up in his arras and started down the path that led to the pond where we got wash-water. It was not a frog hole, the water was as clear as a lake, and it was surrounded by green grass and several large trees grew near the bank. It was a lovely place in summer and a glori ius place for skating in the winter. It was only a short distance from the house. Bessie hushed crying but she looked so awful scared I fol lowed close behind father. 'l'll give you something to drink,' he exclaimed, when he reached the edge of the water, and I followed, scarcely knowing what I was doing, I was so flightened. He waded in about knee deep,then he took Bessie and putting *her feet under one arm, he put her little curly head down under the water. She threw up her lit tle white hands and cried out, 'Oh, Willie, take baby,' just as the curly hsad went down. I waded around father and tried with all my strength to raise her head out of the water, but father held it down. I begged father MILLHEIM PA, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 3., 1885. to take her out,hut he did not listen to me. She threw up her hands wildly, there was a gurgling sound, and then all was still. I begged father to take her out, I prayed God to save Bessie's life, hut all in vain, Gad was far away and did not hear me cry, at least it seemed so to me. It seemed hours to me, hut father at last lifted up Bessie's white dripping face. I called her name frantically, madly, wildly, hut her blue lips didn't move; she was dead. Father carried her and laid her down on the green grass. 'I guess she won't he hun gry for awhile,' he said, as he laid her down, 1 was so stunned that I neither moved or spoke, until I saw the blue hells that I had twined in Bessie's hair fioating out on the water. I could not hear to see them drift away; it seemed as if it was dear little Bessie's sweet, dead face drifting away; I could not bear the thought, so I waded out after them; the water was up to my arm-pits, now over my shoulders, still the blue ; bells were just beyond my reach, hut I j must have them; the water touched my [ chin, another step and I caught them, | and just as 1 did, I heard mother call: j 4 Willie ! oh,Willie ! where are you ?' I looked for father, he was seated on the ground by Bessie. 'Willie! oh, Willie!' came mother's voice again. 1 was out of the water now, hut so weak I could scarcely stand. 'Bessie! oh, Bessie!' I called. 'Here mother,-at the pond.' Father gave one mad leap into the water, he plunged in face down. I was so terrified 1 did not know what to do- I heard mother coining. I trembled so I could not walk, so I crawled up to Bessie, and taking father's old straw hat, put it over Bessie's dead face to keep mother from seeing it. In a moment she came in sight. She saw I was dripping with water. 4 Willie,what is Uie matter?" I could not speak. She lifted the hat off of Bessie's face. Sl:e stood for a moment as if turned to stone. 4 Tell me how it happened, Wil lie; tell me quick.' Then I fouud voice and told her everything. She heard me through without a word, hut when I had finished, shriek after shriek rent the air. She stood with clasped hands over Bessie, aud shrieked such unearth ly cries that soon the neighborhood flocked to the spot. Father had drown ed himself; his body was taken from under the beautiful water and buried in the cemetery along side of Bessie. Mother was a raving maniac from the moment she uttered the first heart rending cry over her dead baby Bess. I put the blue bells in a little box, and hung them around my ueck, but after the funeral I lay in the hospital, sick for weeks with brain fever, hut when I came to myself, the box was still a round my neck, here it is," and he drew from his bosom a small box, which upou opening, revealed a few withered leaves. 'They speak of sweet little hahy Bes sie,' he said, as he closed the box and slipped it back under his shirt bosom. Then he looked at me straight in the eyes and said: 'Please, mister, don't ever vote for whisky. It killed my father and dear little baby Bessie, my only sister, and it locked mother up in a mad-house. Please don't vote for rum." And I, man that I was, drew the boot-black down and kissed him, and said: 4 'God helping me, I never will yote for license or whisky men again." He Had Tackled Him Once. A lot of traveling men were seated about a stove, in a southern hotel, tell ing stories, when the name of a local tough and bruiser was mentioned. "He's a bad citizen," remarked one, "and I'd hale to tackle him." "Bosh," put in a little drummer, in a plug hat and fiery eye, "1 tackled him once." "Aw,come off. You ain't a patchin' on a mail like him." "All the same I tackled him." "May be you did when he was in one town and you in another." "Not much. I went right up to him and called him a liar to his face." "Hold on, now, you can't give us a dose like that." "You don't have to believe it if you don't want to, hut I did just what I tell you, and I got the stuftiu' kicked out of me in about three quarters of a minute, railroad time." The crowd took liim out and filled him up. ADVICE TO MOTHERS. Are you disturbed at night and broken by your rest by a sick child suffering and crying with pain of cutting teeth ? If so, send at once and get a bottle of MRS. WXNSLOW'S SOOTHING SYRUP FOR CHILDREN TEETHING. Its value is incalculable. It will relieve the poor little suf ferer immediately. Depend upon it, mothers, ihere is no mistake about it. It cures dysentery and diarrhoea, regulates the stomach and bowels, cures wind colic, soflens the gums, ro duces Inflammation, and gives tone and energy to the whole system. MRS WINSLOW'S SOOTH ING SYRUP FOR CHILDREN TEETHING is pleasant ao the taste, and is the prescription of one of the oldest and best female nurses and physici tns in the United States, and is for sale by all druggists throughout the world. Price 25 cents a bottle. —USE Prof. Wright's Indian Vege table Wafers for Liver, Kidney, Stom ach and Worms. Sold by all dealers. Price 25cts, 50cts, and SI.OO per box. I —SUBSCRIBE for the JOURNAL. A PAPER FOR THE HOME CIRCLE. THOS. A. HENDRICKS, Tho Vice-President of the United States, Suddenly Meets Gri m Death. A Fatal Termination Not Antici pated to so apparently Slight an Illness. INDIANAPOLIS, NOV. 25.— Thomas A. Hendricks, Vice-President of the United States, died very suddenly at his residence in this city at 4.45 o'clock this evening, under circumstances that were particularly distressing to his family and friends, inasmuch as they bad not anticipated a fatal termination of his brief illness and nobody was with him when the end came. He returned from Chicago on Saturday last and since then had been complaining some what of a pain in his head and breast, but nothing serious was thought of it. Last night he and Mrs. Hendricks attended a reception given at the resi dence of Hon. John Cooper, Treasurer of the State, returning home in their carriage about midnight. Hendricks had taken off heavy clothing, which he usually wore, and put on a suit of lighter material,and before he got home he complained of chilliness and acer- J tain degree of exhaustion, but attri buted it to malarial influence. He sat by the lire for an hour or more before retiring, but declined to send for a phy sician, although urged to do so. He slept restlessly until about 8 o'clock this morning, when he arose, dressed himself and ate quite a hearty break fast, saying that he felt much better and would attend to considerable delay ed business during the day. He and Mrs. Hendricks walked out for nearly half an hour, and he had apparently regained his physical vigor and cheer fulness. An huor later, however, he beganjto be troubled with pains in the region of his stomach, and Mrs. Hen dricks sent for the family physician, Dr. W.C. Thompson, the life-long confidential frieud of the Vice-Presi dent. As the pains in his stomach continued to increase he was given an emetic and afterwards an injection and relief came in a natural way. He arose from his bed in which he had lain only a few minutes and read the morning paper, talking cheerfully with his wife and old house servant. Just before noon he had a relapse,however, and the physician was again summoned and administered the usual remedies besides bleeding the patient, and Mr. Hen dricks again expressed himself as being greatly relieved. He remained in his room all afternoon, occasionally rising from his bed,to which he was compelled to return by a recurrence of abdominal pains. To all callers who came, and they were numerous, he sent word that he was indisposed, but would be glad to see them to-morrow afternoon about 4.30 o'clock. Mrs. Hendricks, who had been at his bedside all day, went down into the parlor to see a caller who had come to consult with her regarding the affairs of a reformatory institution of which she was one of the managers, and she remained with him about twenty minutes. Tom, a colored ser vant, and Harry Morgan Hendricks, a nephew and page in Washington, remained with him. The servant went out and J/organ stayed. Mr. Hen dricks tossed uneasily in his bed and complained of great pain, but sudden ly it seemed to cease and he said to his nephew: "I am free at last. Send for Eliza," meaning his wife, and these were his last words, for the young man not realizing the urgency of the message did not deliver it at once. Just before five o'clock Mrs. Hen dricks came into the room and found that her husband was dead. The end of a long and eyentfwl life had come peacefully and quietly. lie lay in bed outside of the covering, only partially disrobed, with his eves half closed as if he were in a gentle sleep. On his face there were 110 traces of pain or suffer ing, but the pallor had come over it that indicated only too plainly that he liad passed away. It needed no close examination to tell that lie was dead, and Mrs. Hendricks screamed and ran down stairs. A servant was dispatched to the residence of Dr. Thompson, ad joining, and he came immediately, but by the time he had reached his bedside the limbs of the distinguished dead man were becoming cold and rigid, and to Mrs. Hendricks' pathetic appeal, "Oh, doctor can't you do something," he was obliged to answer, "It is too late." Mis. Hendricks became almost dis tracted with grief and it was an hour or more before she became sufficiently composed to give any information about her husband's last moments. The fam ily servants, two of whom had lived with Hendricks for years, ran about the house crying and moaning and there was the utmost confusion for a time. When the news was bulletined down town it was generally discred ited ,yet in a very few minutes a hun dred or more of Mr. llendrick's close political and personal friends had hurried to the house. Very soon a great crowd had collected around the entrance and on the street and it was found necessary to refuse admission to any and all coiners except immediate relatives. Mr. Hendricks died in his private chamber, a large, comfortable room in wliicli he did most of his work Dr. Thompson says that in his opinion Mr. I lend racks died of paralysis of the brain, and there will probably he a postmrotem examination to establish what the disease was. For several years Mr. Hendricks had not been a robust man and was subject to frequent "had spells," as he cal'fed them, during which he would he prostrated for days at a time. About two years ago he was confined to his room for several weeks by grngrenous affection of the foot, which at that time, it was feared would result in blood poisoning and it was then thought that the end of his life was near at hand, hut lie apparent ly recovered entirely from this and was in his usual health. Hendricks had been dead but a few minutes when forces of men began draping the S'tate, county and city buildings,and through out the night similar emblems were placed on neaily all the prominent business places and residences, so that by morning the city will baye hut on a general garb of mourning. All the city ministers will, in their Thanks giying services to morrow make appro priate mention of the death of the distinguished statesman, and Right Rev. Bishop Knickerbocker, Bishop of the Episcopal Diocese, of Indianapolis, of which church Hendricks was a lite long member, will, it is understood, preach a memorial sermou. A Touching Train Story. On the Chicago express from Omaha were two conspicuous passengers. One was a rather portly,appirently well-to do gentleman, and the other was an in fant of tendei age. They were not traveling in company, however, and were, in fact, total strangers. But both seemed sad. The gentleman sat most of the time with his forehead rest ing between his thumb and fingers. He occasionally tried to read, hut the magazine seemed to liaye no interest for him. Not a word escaped his lips, and his thoughts seemed faraway. As for the hahy, her wee was not so silent ly expressed. Iler voice wasjquite loud in proportion to her size, and she lifted it on high. The other passengers cast reproachful glances at the poor, tired mother, who did her best? to comfort the bairn, and at the same time take care of two other little ones,and mutter ed unspeakable things to themselves so that the little woman could understand even if she could not hear. Soon the gentleman's eyes were fixed upon the infant. lie seemed attracted where others were repelled. As some of the passengers sought seclusion in the smoking saloon, he walked up to the hahy and held out his arms. In another second lie held the little one close to his face. His embrace seemed to have that tenderness which Influen ces even a hahy. llis line whiskers were fair playthings for the tiny hands. His cravat was pulled away in the romp. Ere long his eye-glasses hid ba by's blue eyes. And in half an hour she was sitting upon his lap biting at his gold watch, which he held within her reach. Both gentleman and hahy now seem ed happier. He smiled at the mite's antics, and the mite had long since ceased her wailing. Hour after hour passed and the strange pair were still together. The mother could not keep her child more than ten minutes at a time. The big gentleman was a'ways eager to have the little form again in lus embrace. If hahy slept her admirer watched her fondly, and hailed nor waking as a joy. The hours of an aut umn day are long aboard a railway car, but the devotion of baby's attendant did not tire* lie was her inseparable companion, and he seemed never so happy as when the little white arms were about his neck and the little soft face was pressed against his lips. "You are so fond of children," said tne mother, "that I judge you have ba bies of vour own." 44 Yes, I liaye," the gentleman re plied, a cloud coming upon his face. 44 1 have one—a little bah j .like this lam hastening home to see her, as she is she is—this telegram will show you." And as the mother read: "Come home immediately— your child is dy ing," the gentleman's were hid from view against baby's cheek. Terms, SIOO per Year, in Advance. Queer Letters- The Youth's Companion says: If the hand-writU'g reveals anything of the writer's character, certainly what a letter contains tells us much more of the person from whom it comes. The queer conceits of people show ns plain ly in their correspondence as in thoir conversation. Wit is no 'ess pungent in the letter . than in talk. If the so:il f wit con sists in brevity, then the wittiest of ail letters ever written must bo those which passed between two friends. The first contained only a note of interrogation (?), implying, Is there any news? The reply to this was a cipher (ft), None. Eveu an address may be given in* a form so strange and comical ds to pro voke laughter. Charles Lamb onca ac cepted an invitation sent him by his frieud Ilaydou, in a note, as follows: "MY DEAR IIAYTOX—I will come, with pleasure, to 11 Lisson Grove, North, at Rossi's, half-way up, right hand side, it I can find it. Yours,