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,
<J. L.vM.
"Covent Garden, E ist,
"Half-way up, near the corner,
"Left-hand side."
There is no less wit in the manner in
which writers have sometimes subscrib
ed themselves. A letter from Frank
lin to a friend in England, upon the
breaking out of the Revolutionary war,
is often quoted. It closes in this form:
"You and I were long friends. You
are now my enemy, and I am Yours,
B. FRANKLIN.
This grim ioke may have been origi
nal with the doctor, or it may have
lieen suggested to him by the following
very pointed note from one Scottish
Highlander to another:
"MY DEAR GLEVGARY—As soon as
you can prove yourself to be my chief,
I shall be ready to acknowledge you.
In the meantime, lam Yours,
/ " MCDONALD."
What She Wanted.
Mrs. Sam Smart advertised for a
colored servant. An elegantly dress
ed colored ladv put in an appearance.
She wanted fifteen dollars a month in
advance, which was conceded. She
wanted a room with a carpet and a
stove, where she could receive the
visits of "seberal gommeu who am
pay in me tensliuns." This was also
granted. She was allowed to attend
church all day Sunday and twice
during the week. When a revival
was in progress to be out every eve
ning in the week. This and several
other concessions were granted by
Mrs. Smart, who is fanatically op
posed to doing any hard work herself,
and will put up with everything from
a servant rather than soil her precious
hands.
?< And I wants hit understood about
de meals," continued the would-be
menial. "I likes to eat hearty. We
has to hab beefstake or sausage ebery
mornin' and for myself I want choco*
late instead of coffee. Den I wants a
lunch of cold bam or tongue about ten
o 'clock, so I kin hold out till dinner
at one o'clock. I don't take coffee
with niv dinner. De coffee and cakes
come about half-past five o'clock in
the afternoon, which will make me
hold out till tea at eight. De best
time for supper am about eight,
o'clock. Good supper I wants."
"I say," said Sam Smart, who had
been listening with growing indig
nation, "suppose we keep you busy
eating all the time, how much more
A\ill you charge by the month?"
lie was reading a novel, and his
white plug hat rested on the seat be
side* him. lie did not notice the stop
page of the train nor realize that aa
old lady was searching for a seat.
Ilis mind finally drifted off the story
to find her suugly ensconced beside
bim.
"Madam, I had a hat in this seat,"
he cautiously observed.
"Don't doubt it, sir," she replied,as
she disposed of her satchel.
"And you probably sat down on it"
"Shouldn't a bit wonder.''
"In which case the hat must be
completely wrecked."
"It certainly must, therefore there
is no need of my getting up until
they call out my station. Please hist
up the window. I alius did like the
smell of coal smoke."
ECCLESIASTICAL ITEM.—Teacher—
"What are the names of the seven
days of the week?"
Boy —Monday, Tuesday, Wednes
day, Thursday, Friday, Saturday."
Teacher—"That's only six days.
Y"ou have missed one. When does
your mother go to church?"
Boy "When pa buys her a new
hat. "
NO. 47-
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Reinsertion
Romance of a Claim.
A YOUNG DAKOTA SETTLER. LOSES HIS
FARM—IIOW HE REGAINED IT.
A Sully {Dakota] letter to the New
York Sun, tells this romantic story :
A year ago last spring a young man
named Belden came to this county,
took up 100 acres of land, and built
himself a shack. Two weeks later a
girl named Helen Chapman took up the
claim adjoining him on the west, and
also built a cabin. The neighbors be*
came slightly acquainted,but both were
■too busy to do much visiting. Belden
was an easy-going-fellow, none too
fond of work,and Helen was an active,
aggressive, good-looking,and ambitious
young woman. She did two days work
to his one,and had a better farm at the
end of sixty days than he would have
had at the end of a year if he had kept
on in the way that he was going.
After Belden had been on his place
about three months he became weary
of the monotomnis life, and, going to
town to have some fun, found so much
enjoyment that he came pretty uear
forgetting to go home. When he had
been gone longer thao the time permit
ted by the land law, Helen, who had
been watching her opportunity, jump
ed his claim, and in less hours
had a shack of her own standing on his
farm, Belden returned at last, and,
finding that a woman had jumped his
claim, he said nothing. If it had been
a man it would have been bis duty to
go out and light him to the death, but
as it was a worn an, and a rather comely
one at that, he thought be would say
nothing and trust to luck to get rid of
.her. Occupying his own shack, he
was not more than 300 feet from her
new habitation. She held her ground
well, treated him as an interloper, and
never acting as tuough she had any
idea that he belonged there.
Belde*:'a wrath began to rise finally,
and when he reflected on the comments
that would be made if be permitted a
girl to jump his claim he grew furious.
Knowing that tiie temper-of most set
tlors would brook no interference with
a girl farmer, he went to town for con
sultation. First he tilked with his
friends. They shook their heads and
said it was a mighty bad job. Then he
consulted a lawyer, who gave him some
hope.
In the course of a day or two be got
two of his friends and the lawyer to go
out to his place with him to see what
they, could do toward patching up a
settlement. Once on the ground it
was agreed that the lawyer should go
and see the girl. He was absent an
hour and a half, and when he returned
he said it was no use. The girl was
posted, and he didn't see what conld
be done about it.
"If it was a man," he said, "we
could go over there and throw him by
the heels into the next county, but it
won't do to harm a woman."
The four talked the matter over, and
it was finally agreed that the lawyer
should call again in the morning, and
represent to her that Belden's friends
Mere coming to his assistance,and that
if she wanted to avoid serious trouble
she had better abandon her shack and
leave his claim alone. The lawyer
staited out ou this errand the next day,
but he was back again in fifteen min
utes with a lump on his head the size
of a horse chestnut, where he said she
hit him with au axe handle.
After talking the matter over, every
body being mad, it was decided that
they would give her a scare as soon as
it became dark. At about 9 o'clock all 9
hands went over to the girl's new shack
and surrounded it. At a given signal
they yelled and fired their revolvers in
the air. The reports had hardly died
away when a shotgun was discharged
from one of the windows of the shack,
and a moment later another shot was
fired from the other side of the bouse.
The men waited ie silence for a few
minutes, when two more barrels were
fired. This convinced them that the
girl was not to be frightened, and they
crawled away as stealthily as they
could. All that night the girl's shot
gun thundered at regular intervals, un
til her adversaries, who were vainly
trying to sleep, wished that It would
explode, and blow hei and her shack to
kingdom come.
In the morning Beldan's lawyer and
two friends started for town, leaving
the jumped farmer alone in his misery.
After their departure Belden did some
work on the place, taking care not to
run across the girl, and though they
saw each other frequently they both a
voided a meeting.
Things went along in this way until
fall. Helen worked on her own farm a
good part of the time, and Belden pass*
ed many days in hunting. He had
made up his mind that he could tire
the girl out, and he believed that after
she found that he was not to be got rid
of, she would voluntarily abandon the
[Continued on fourth page.]