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MILLHF.IM, V
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Auctioneer,
MILLNKIM, PA.
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Physician & Surgeon
Office on Main Street.
MILLHEIM, PA.
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Office opposite the Methodist Church.
MAIN STREET, MILLIIEIM PA.
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MADISONBURG, I>A.
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WOODW ARD, PA
DEIXIXGERj
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BELLEFONTE, PA.,
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BELLEFONTE, PA.
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BELLEFONTE, PA.
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BELLEFONTE, PA.
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EMANUEL BROWN,
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House newly refitted and refurnished. Ev
erything done to make guests comfortable. '
Ratesinodera** tronage respectfully solici
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HOUSE, i
(Most Central Hotel in the city.) ,
CORNER OF MAIN AND JAY STREETS
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S.WOODS CALDWELL
PROPRIETOR. 1
Good sameple rooms for commercial Travel
erajon first floor. '
R. A. BUMILLER, Editor
VOL. GO.
DO XOTRLAMK HER.
Mark saw itbefoie 1 did. 1 have
wondered to-day, looking hick, if I
could have controlled myself sutlicient
ly to prepare him for the shock,if I had
read the newspaper llrst this morning,
h was passing Mar ,'s cup of coffee to
sign the waiter-girl, when I caught
iigid\hls face. It was white and
his eyes AO" eyer be in his coffin, ami
to see. dil ited in a stare horrible
•Mark!' I cr.
dear. Are you ift terror, 'what is it,
I was beside him ♦,
that his eyes were tlxeU'eke, and saw
place in the paper lie InuWi a certain
Then I, too, read the fatal feuding,
only a few lines, but full of hoYaph,
Mark. \>r
'Do not blame her !' he said in
whisper, shuddering as he spoke. 'Ol
Bessie ! Bessie ! My heart i* broken
I put my arms around him and drew
his head down upon my breast, where
il had so often lain in childhood, when
my orphaned brother came to sister
Bessie to be comforted in boyish woes.
He was my only brother, though I was
sixteen years the elder.
Little graves in the cerueiery marked
the sorrows of my childhood, as one
after another my brothers aud sisters
had dropped and died, until only Mark
was left. And he was but four years
old when our parents both died.
We were uot poor, owing to our own
handsome home, and a comfortable in-
come; so Mark had every advantage of
education, studied law, ar.d gradually
won bis way to a position in bis profes
sion. And I had married,lost my hus
band, and returned, after an absence of
only three short months, to resume my
place as ray brother's housekeeper, only
my widow's dress to tell strangers I
had ever been away.
It was just after Mark bad finished
his studies and been admitted to the
bar that he bad met Alice Arnold.
She had come to Claymont to visit
her aunt,a near neighbor and old friend
of ours, and we called to welcome her
amongst us.
She was about eighteen years old
then, and her beauty won its way to
my heart as surely as it did to Mark's.
She was the most timid, gentle creat
ure I ever saw, her color flitting if you
spoke to her, her shy blue eyes droop
lng.and her voice low and almost plain-
tiye in its timidity.
Miss Arnold, a strong, energetic old
maid, seemed t > actually terrify lrr by
her short, biisque manner, but she
clung to me from tire first hour of our
friendship.
Children generally like me, and she
was little more than a child. Yet,
when ste became more intimate, and
came often to pass whole days with
me, I found that below the frightened,
timid manner there was a clear brain,
an intellect that had been carefully cul
tivated and a sweet womanly nature.
She was an enthusiastic musician
and a fine pianist, but sould not sing.
Nothing delighted her more than to
play for Mark and myself to sing duets,
or if I was tired or busy, to hear Mark
sing in hi 3 rich baritone voice the mu
sic he loyed.
I asked myself, after she had ended
her summer visit,if she wa3 a coquette,
a cruel, heartless flirt, who would win
a man's heart only to cast it aside.
And, in my bitterness then, I thought
she was.
In later years I acquitted her of the
crime. I believe she had no suspicion
that Mark loved her.
He wis a'ways grave and reserved,
and, although he was but twenty-three
at that time, had the air and bearing
of a much older man. And I being
really so much her senior,l think Alice
looked upon us both as rather elderly
peopie, and was far more free and con
fidential than she would have been if
she had looked upon Mark as a young
man and lover.
But Mark, who had never cared be
fore for any of our girl-friends, gave to
A lice Arnold all the story of love his
heart could ever offer.
I knew it, for Mark had made me his
confidential friend all tiis life, and see
ing her shy pleasure in his presence,the
interest she look in a'l tiis pursuits, her
gentle acceptance of his grave atten
tions, I thought his love was returned,
and I was hippy in the expectation of
a nearer, closer tie between the sweet,
loving girl and myself.
But just before she left Claymont,
Mark, telling her his love, was answer
ed by the tidings that she was engaged
to be married.
She was dreadfully distressed, com
ing to me to sob out her regret that
Mark loved her. but loyally assorting
her own love for her betrothed.
After she left us Mi 33 Arnold took
me into confidence.
She told me that her piece was an
heiress, and her mother was a fool. I
am quoting Miss Arnold. She said
that Henry Parker, the man who had
MILLIIEIM, PA., THURSDAY, APRIL 1., IBBG.
wo i Alice's childish love, was a sliowv,
handsome fellow, dt whom the family
knew not sin j: . but who was distrusted
by all of them except Hi" mother, wli •
should have heen the uiil's protector,
hut who was complett |) fascinated by
the lover's attentions t herself.
Mark siid hut little to me, hut I
know that he suffered keenly, lie made
some enquiries in the city about Henry
Darker and was convinced that he was
an adventuier.
I think inv brother c mid have borne
his own burden h'tter if Alice had
chcseu a man worthy *>f her love, hut
lie feared for her future happiness,
thinking her hetr ithed had dazzled her
imagination rather than'won her heart.
When we received cuds for the wed
ding I thought of refusing to attend,
l ut Mark decided to go, and we sent
pur wedding-gift, and went up to the
' jhV to ho :it thecemuony in the church
lire dress reception afteruaids
ry Pari not wonder when I saw Ilen
lle was'bat he liad won Alice's love,
the winuirthly hands nue, and hid
change her ttV 4l,ner calculated to
loye. ! y into a trusting
And Ire took the k
to betray both, to charted the trust
shuddering horror,the tru'i 6 Lye to a
ing fear. a shrink-
Little by little the poor gin
to the fact that her husband des|L eil
the very gentleness he had so ofte.
praised, and that the charm of a full
purse was the one that had attracted
him to his wife.
Probably a father or a guardian
would have protected Alice's fortune
after marriage, but it was under her
own control, her mother being her only
guardian.
And Henry Parker spent it freely; at
first in a profuse style of living, in lux
uries Iris wife could share, but later in
gambling and low vice, traveling the
downward path with fearful rapidity.
\ Piirs uiiii i lit?
serted his wife, who returned to her
mother,and a year later the newspapers
gave the account of his death In a bar
room, where he was shot in a scuffle.
It was after a year of widowhood
that Alice crme once more to Cbir
mont, her sweet face pale and sad, and
her blue eyes often dreamily mournful.
She was but little changed, though
older and graver than in her girlhood
for her timidity w is, if changed at all,
only increased by the trials of Irei mar
ried life. She was so nervous that an
unexpected sound m ulft her start in
P"si:ive tenor, and where the pretty
flitting col >r had been in her cheeks
there was only an added pallor when
she was startled.
The free country life, the pure air
and quiet, seemed to help her in regain
ing something of her cheerfulness, and
Miss Arnold astonished us all by her
tenderness.
She treated her niece like a sick baby
anticipating her wants, coaxing her ap
pelite.and bringing Inr curt sentences,
thaLwere usually like pistol-shots,down
to tones of ooing gentleness.
'The poor darling I' she s rid to me,
with tears in her hard eyes. 'How
could anyone have the heart to say a
rough word to her ? I could as soon
strike an infant as trouble her, the
pretty dove !'
But what was the best medicine for
Alic6 was soon apparent to me. She
had leained to value sucn love as
Mark's and she understood at list
what his attentions meant.
For seven years he had kept her im
age in Iris heart, and when once more
he could honorably woo her he made
no secret of his devotion.
She brightened visibly, the shy, blue
eyes looking more frankly into Mark's
than they had ever done, the sweet
musical voice losing its quiver when
she spoke to him.
Very gladly did I hear that myffrroth
er had wo-, the heart he coveted, and
very sure was I that it was all his own,
with a far truer, more womanly love
than Alice had given in her girlish in
fatuation to Ilenry Parker.
And r,wlro knew Mark so well.knew
that each year would hut add to his af
fection, and that Alice need never
know again what it was to fear her
husband.
The long, bright summer passed hap
pily, and in September Alice was to re
turn to her mother to prepare for a
quiet wedding and an extended tour.
It was the evening before she was to
leave us that Miss Arnold invited Mark
and myself to :ea. We were all in the
parlor, early in the evening, when a
gentleman asked for Mrs. Parker, and
Alice turned very white as she intro
duced Mr. Geoige Parker.
'My husband's brother,' she said a
side to me. 'He was always very kind
to me.'
For a few momenta after thin intro
duction Mr. Parker sat in embarrassed
silence. Then he said very suddenly :
'I d ) not know whether tny news will
be good news or bad news to you,
Alice, I came to tell you, U3 soon as
A PAPER Foil Vl IK HOME CIRCLE
possible nftor ihui iug It rnytelf, that
11 in y is riot d ad.'
A'iee did nit faint or scumi. White
is death, shes lid, steidily :
'Why did ho 0 micml it from me V
'Ho did not, into itianally, lie was
loft 1 >r (Vol and so reported, utter the
trouble in St. Louis, hut 116 was only
(to: rihly wounded. Somebody took
him to a hospital, hut ho g''t belter in
other ways, the d 3tors found liis brain
was weakened. He was seat to an in
sane asylum,and it was on It two weeks
ago that he recovered hiss.inily enough
to send for me. I went to him at once
and brought him to my house. He
asks for you every hour, bat I ought to
warn you that lie is stiß very queer.
The doctors say he is harmless, and as
lm wanted very niuc'i to (oine to me I
took him out. I should not have left
him in a pauper asylum any time, but
I Very much fear he will have to go to
a private insane hospital before long,
lie is strong and well and may liye for
years.
'Yes. I shall go to my mother's to
rn mow,' Alice said. Will you bring
him to me ?'
There seemed no qu 'stion of her du
ty in her pure heart, but the hopeless
misery of. her fair face was heart-break
ing to witness. Mr. Parker left in
an early return train to the city, and
Miss Arnold took me to her own room
to look at some lace.
'Let them be alone,' she said to me.
jjis for tire last time. I know Alice,
there t ' lo drinking, gentle manner
, a strong martyr spirit, and she
pool . chiu1 "<y at any c ; t Oh, Ih.
* i s e poor child '
And we bro*. . , . .
, , qto bitter weeping to
gether, for as deeK . •
..... . .as sire grieved for
Alice, did I grieve fo, . , „
T ... .. brother.
I did not sen Alice MiUk
met me in the hall, and tQ Nliss
Arnold : 'Go to her ! Cmfo,, j ier if
you cm 1' Ire drew my aaud
Iris arm and led me out oi tire house.
Tint was just one week >. To-day
we read in the city papers this para
graph :
''Mrs. Ilenry Parker,residing at 232,
street,was found dead in her room
I fioin tin **'etsof an overdose of chlor
nl. The dose W. nrOUa:,i . ,
• j t i * , f , v takoii uc
; cidentally, as Mrs. P.rke
! suffering from insomnia, and using
' chloral to produce sleep."-
Mark is locked iti bis room, and even
I dare not intrude upon Mm,or ask the
question that haunts tue. Was the
overdose taken by accident, or in a
mom :u of utter despair ?
TELL YOUR WIFE.
The following advice from a corres
pondent of the Country Gentleman
is well worthy of acceptance, but wo
would add a little more to it in the
form of a suggestion, that in case you
are a farmer and have no wife—Get
"If you are in any trouble or quan
dary, tell your wife—that is if von
have one—all about it at once. Ten
to one her invention will solve your
difficulty sooner tlan all your logic.
The wit of woman has been raised,
but her instincts are quicker and keen
er than her reason. Counsel with
your wife, your mother,or your sister,
and be assured light will flash upon
your darkness. Women are too com
monly adjudged verdant in all but
purely womanish affairs. No philo
sophical students of the sex thus judg
ed them. Their intuitions, or in
sights, are the most subtle, and if they
cannot see a cat in the meal, there is
110 cat there. I advise a man to keep
none of his affairs a secret from his
wife. Many a home has been happi
ly saved, and many a fortune retriev
ed. by a man's full confidence in his
wife. Woman is far more a seer and
prophet than man, if she is given a
fair chance. As a general rule, wives
confide the minutest of their plans
and thoughts to their husbands.
Why not reciprocate, if but for the
pleasure of meeting confidence with
confidence? I am certain no man
succeeds so well in the world as he
\vho # taking a partner for life makes
her the partner of his purposes and
hopes. What is wrong of his im
pulse or judgement, she will check
and set right with her almost univer
sally right instincts. And what she
most craves and most deserves is con
fidence, without which love is never
free from a shadow."
A LADY of charitable disposition
asked a tramp if she could not assist
him by mending bis clothes. "Yes,
madam," lie said, "[ have a button,
and if you will sew a shirt on it I will
be greatly obliged."
—SUBSCRIBE for the JOURNAL.
TUB OLDEST MAN.
AN EX SLAVE NEAR DE
TROIT uCAIMS THAT
DISTINCTION.
Ho is Said to ba 127 Years Old
and Remembars tha Revo
lutionary War
When old' Dad" Freeman was bur
ied across t ie river in Windsor a short
time ago, says a Detroit (Mich.) letter
to the New York ll< raid , it was believ
ed that the oldest man in the world
had heen laid to rest. "Dad" was 122
years ol I, as conclusively proved before
his death, and left 13S descendants.
Since Freeman was buried some relic
hunters have brought forward a man
whose authentic record fixes his age at
the remarkable figure of 127 years.
The proof furnished leaves no room for
doubt. The name of this man is An
drew Lucas. He is the father of Mr.
P. A.Lucas, who for nine years past
has kept a barber shop in Detroit. Mr.
Lucas was horn a slave under the fath
er of Genera' Jackson, he of "eternal"
fame, and was a grown man when the
General succeeded to the paternal es
tate. lie remembers the Revolutiona
ry War distinctly and recalls many
very interesting incidents of the second
war between this country and Great
Britain. He declares that it is as dis
tinct to him as yesterday when General
Jackson went to New Orleans during
that very memorable struggle, when he
accompanied the General as his body
servant, lie describes the cotton bales
piled up as a temporary fortification.
Soon after this, at a time when the
General was away, Lucas was whipped
for some reason and ran away. He re
members very well why lie was whipp
ed, but does not give the reason. He
worked Iris way slowly north and cross
ed into Canada at Black Rock, on tire
Niagara River. Andrew Kirby, then
customs collector at Fort Erie, shelter
ed liiur and helped him across into the
K.tttg'a Uuiuaiu. iuuuJ cuiplaj'
merit in the family of General Brook,
who was killed in ttie War of 1812 at
tjueenstown Heights. Ntxt he ran on
the Niagara River, under Captain John
Clinch, for whom he worked nine years,
and was then discharged by bis em
ployer because the latter considered
I "■ •- .1 I t() P,, useful. Lucas was
then sixty-two yea.w ~
Lucas soon found employment ~rr X j n
this time at Kingston, Out., where lie
married his second wife. His slave
wife had borne him seven children.
His second and free wife had borne
him seventeen. One daughter by this
union is now living at East Saginaw,
Mich. Her name is Mrs. Williams,
and she is seventy-one years old. Fif
ty years ago Lucas removed to Brarrt
ford, Out. There he got work from
lire father of Judge Stevenson, of Cay
uga. The Judge, though now an old
man himself, remembers Lucas as a
man about seventy years old when be,
as a boy. was going to school.
For twenty-nine years Lucas was a
driver for the express company at
Bruntford and resigned the place ten
years ujo for the reason that lie was
getting along in years and felt the need
of rest. He has the frame of a once
powerful man and stands six feet three
inches in his stockings. A year ago lie
sawed and split twenty-five cords of
wood for William E. Walling, of Brant
ford. Up to three years ago he never
wore spectacles, and during the sum
mer of ISS3, when visiting his son in
Detroit, Mr. Lucas read the City Ilall
clock from in front of tiro Kirkwood
House, across the Campus Martius.
He then walked without the assistance
of a cane, being 124 years old !
This is a most remarkable case of
longevity. Lucas is certainly as old us
stated, and from his appearance to-day
promises to hang on for some time to
come. This man is probably the old
est person living. lie has witnessed
the development of the most wonderful
era in the world's history, and has per
sonal lecolleclion of all the many great
events in the career of this nation.
'llow many times must I tell you,'
remarked the managing editor of a
Chicago paper as lie slowly filled up the
waste basket with the funny man's
'copy,' 'not to use the word 'para
graphia ?' There is no such word in
the language. 'Paragraphist is the
proper term.'
' 'Paragraphed is the better word,'
warmly contended the fuuny uian.
'That doesen't make any difference;
it's not in the dictionarj. You don't
place yourself above Webster, do you ?'
'ln many tilings I do not,' frankly
acknowledged the Western humorist;
'but I know more about writing para
graphs in a minute than Daniel Web
ster ever knew in his whole course of
senatorial career. lie can call it what
lie clioses. I call it p iragrapher, and
if this isn't satisfactory to tiie alleged
managing editor of this journal, I will
throw up my posi ion if I have to go
somewhere and work for a living.'
This so alarmed the managing editor
that he remarked a mother-in-law joke
of the Elizabethaiu era to be double
leaded.
Terms, SIOO per Year, in Advance.
ONE SORT O' IIO r J3EKEIPIN\
It's raenny a long year now gone by
seiice me and Sarah A nil commenced
linuseke.-phi'. We've allera lived right
here where we do tnis day, and I guess
we'll contiunei to slay here under tlie
old roof until some day when one or
t'other of us'll hev to go, and the old
church hell 'll toll and the ''narrow
heus " tho poets tell about will open
its door,and one or t'other uv us 'll hev
to go in, and tho door it'll lie closed,
and we'll go to our long time rest.
Mebbo it won't be so veiy long apart
we'll go, 'cause did you over notice,
how the old folks who hev lived and
loved together for menuy a year, go a
way sometimes almost together—even
the Dark River don't separate 'eua long,
they loved each other so.
And now friends, do you want ter
know why 1 begun this letter so, and
why Sarah Ann and me hev allers got
on so well together ? Well, it won't
take long ter tell. It's because we've
both of us hed a little kominon-sense
(if 1 do sty it), and Sir ill Ann hev us
ed her's iu housekeephi', and I've tried
to use mine in providin* th'ngs as kora
fortable-like es I could and 'lowin' her
to do the housekei piu' part herself
'bout es she wanted ter.
I've lived long enough to diskiver
sjrae things, and one is that there's
two kinds of housekeeping-sensible
and foolish. The sensible kind hes
things neat, and orderly and plcasaut
about the house, jist as a matter of
course. It don't take enny frettiu' an'
foam in' to hev it so—it sort o' has it
self tliet way. And the foolish kind is
where the woman goes about the bouse
with a double-barreled microscope, as
it was, lookin' fur the least appearance
of dirt,and witli a dust-rag in one haud
and a dust broom in the other she goes
around makiu' herself and everybody
else miserable. She meets the children
when they come from school, with a
smile? Not much—if it's muddy, or
dusty or even sunny ! "l>ou'i you
come in here with those muddy feet
onto my clean carpets," is the first
thing said, even if they come into the
| most back door in the houe and the
clean carpet is nuthin' but an old rag
heim-loom full of holes and greasy.
Such a woman never goes nowhere,
never has enny lime. The stove wants
blackin', the knives want scourin,' the
ciiaujVn.ro wants sweepin', the cellar
wants cleanin' the winders wants
wasbiu' or the inopb mrds wants scrub
bin'. She can't leaye the dish-cloth
and the dust-rag long enough to go to
missionary meetiir, and es fur enny
charitable or neighborly wbrk she does
outside—it don't amount to a thimble
ful,don't get time. She's a housekeep
in'slave bound down with dish rags
and dusters till she can't move, aud
she's so nice and neat she makes enny
ordinary person fesl like a miserable
slattern if she cills 011 her and siis
down for just a five minutes' cocyersa
tion.
Of course I believe in heviu' things
neat aud nice, but not over neat and
over-nice. I believe in noslovenly sort
o' housekeepiu', but I don't bleeve in
woman's makiu' a .eternal drudge of
herself. What sort of earthly good dus
it do ? Ain't there notbin' higher in
Jivin' than keepin' the dust off of
things ? Ain't there enny duties that
a womam owes to her family, and to
society, too, that she should attend to,
or should she narrow down her mind
to the scrubbin' of the four walls sur
rouudin her ? It don't take long for a
sensible, kommon-sense woman to an
swer these questions. But there's
menny a woman who'd read these lines
that's doin'the very tiling I'm object
in'against, and because she's doin' it
is why I write, hopin' that this year
will see a change in her method of
housekeepiu'.
I've read this over to Sarah Ann, Mr.
Editor, and she agrees with me-prob
ably largely becahse she knows, a3 i
do, that her housekeepin' is of the sen
sible kind. UNCLE IIEZEKIAII.
A (Jlevel and speculator sent his son
to Wisconsin to buy hops, telling him
to keep his eyes open for any other
speculation. Alter a few days a dis
patch came, saying: "A widow has
got a corner on the hop market of this
State. Shall I marry her ?" "Certain
ly," was the reply sent over the wires.
Twelve houis later the son aunouncjd :
"(iot the hops, the widow, and seven
step-children, and shall go to Chicago
to-morrow to see about a diyorce."
"What are you watting for, little
boy ?" inquired a kindly old geutleman
of a street urchin who was watching
each passer-by intently. 'Waitiu' for
a long-whiskered gent smokiu' a cigar.
Then I'll fuller him an' get the stub."
"Do long-whiskered men smoke better
cigars V" "Naw, but dey dou't smoke
'em so short."
A Brookiin woman is keeping in a
book a list of thiugs she ought to pur
chase, but cauuot afford to wear. She
calls the book her ought-to-buy ogra-
Pby.
NO. 13
NKWSI'APtH T.AW
If Hutocilhcrti order the discontinuation ol
newspapers, the punlislterx may eontinne to
sand lliein until all am'nr*pe> are paid.
If subuerlbofs roftic or uejileet to tae uictr
newspapers from tin* yffl*e to w hi eh I key are sent
Met are lieli responsHdentdil they have settled
Um'ldllH ai.d ordered them dlseoottnr.ert.
If subscribers move loot her places v\ it cunt In
forming the puldislu r, mid the newspHpers are
sent to t lie former place, I hey are responsible.
I 1 !.. 1
ADVBRTUHNQ RATBB.
1 wk. 1 mo. | 3 mo*. 6 mns. I yea
1 aqua re i-uu ♦ 4 <** | $6 00 ♦dim IBW
W column 400 f> 001 10 on 15 W> IMOO
£ •• 700 10 001 lAOO 30 00 40 00
f * 10 (Mr If. 001 2T 00 4.*>(*> (*>oo
One Inch make* a *<|tum*. AilurinislrnSor*
and Executors' Notices *1.50. Transient adver
tisements and locals lOoents per line fr first
Insertion and 6 cents par line tor each adUltlon
ul insertion
Tho Man With a Mission.
"Am Pickles Sin it I: in tie hall to
night V' anxious'y inquired the presi
dent as the notes of the tritmgte died
away.
" Yes, sah," was the prompt response.
'•You will please step forward ; I hey
a few words to say to you.
"Brudder Smith, it am couae to my
knowledge dat you believe you Uas a
mission on airth. You believe it aoi
your solemn dooty to be on land fit eb
ery funeral in your uayburhood, wheth
er friends or strangers, an' offer your
sarvices an' consolashun. You stand
ready to knock off work in tie day time,
an' to rout out of bed at night, an'it
seems a long week to you when some
body isn't on his dyin' bed or on de
tnovc to'rds de graveyard.
"Brudder Smith, you am one of our
oldest an' best members, an' I doan'
want to hurt yer feelin's. Since you
took up dat raishur. your woodpile has
run short, your rent gone behind, an'
your fam'ly looks run down. If I were
you I'd drap it. I'd bring myself to
believe dat ds mishun of a mar'd man
was to take good keer of. bis fam'ly a,nd
lay by a few dollars fur a rainy day.
Pull de stockin's off de feet of a woman
wid a mission an' you'll find holes in de
heels. Go into de home of a man wid
a mishun an' you'll find a sufferin'
wife, half-fed children an' a hat full of
dunniu' letters. Brudder Smith, you
may return to your seat Lime-Kiln
Club.
A Capricious Composer.
If the stories told of him are true,
Hans Von Bulow is getting crankier
day by day. It is related that during
his last concert tour, as he was about
to take his seat at the piano, he saw
some very plain woman seated near the
platform. At that he walked off the
stage, and to his manager's inquiries
and entreaties said :
"Until those ugly women are remov
ed I will not play a note; so you may
do as you please about it."
The manager stepped up on the stage,
announced that flerr Von Bulow had
become suddenly indisposed, and the
orchestra would play a symphony
which was to have been played later in
the eveuing. While the audience look
ed on in wonder he had a number of
palms and shrubs from the conserva
tory near the concert room placed be
tween he platform and the audience.
Then calling Bulow to the wing the
manager asked if the view suited him.
4t oh, yes, that's all right," quietly said
the great musician, 4 bus long as I don't
behold those monsters of ugliness I am
quite indiffereut to my surroundings."
And without auy more ado, the capri
cious composer weut on the platform
and performed his share of the pro
gramme.— Ntxc York Sun.
No Help Wanted.
A young man who said he had left
the farm to strike a job in the city,
and who added that if he could only
secure a place somewhere he felt cer
tain of laying the foundations of a
fortune, importuned a business house
on Jefferson avenue until the chief
clerk finally played a joke to get rid of
him. He gave him the street and
number of the County Jail and ad
vised him to call and ask for the place
oi the last man sent to Jackson.
Half an hour later the young man
pulled the sheriff's bell and said to
that official:
"I am in search of a situation. I
am twenty-two years old, never sick a
and *'
"I have nothing for you," replied
the sheriff.
"I'll work mighty cheap. I can
bring you twenty testimonials that I
don't swear, drink, chew or gamble.
If you'll *'
"Sorry, but I have no vacancies."
"Didn't a man leave here for Jack
son a few days ago ?" asked the
young man.
"Oh, yes—half & dozen of them."
"Then give me one of their places.
I 'll work the first month for my board
and clothes."
"They didn't even get that much,*'
said the sheriff, as he began to tumble
to the racket.
"Well, I've got to make a begin
ning, and I'll furnish my own
clothes."
"I should like to aid you, but real
ly I have no vacancies at present.*'
"Oh, come, now—give me a show."
"Can't do it.''
"Can't; eh-! All right for you.
I'll find one somewhere, and don't you
forget it, and the day'll come when
I'll make you powerful sorry that you
gave me the cold shoulder on a cold
day !''— Detroit Free Press.
—First-class job work done at the
JOURNAL office.