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VOL. 60.
JOHN RAY.
Be polite ; be agreeable. There Is
nothing that will bring you such quick
returns with so little invested. A smile
takes nothing away from your face, but
it beautilles it. A good action is a
good cause, a civil word to the lowly, a
helping haud to the needy, kindness to
the suffering, and gentle words for all,
will bring you love in return, and wiil
become you m >re than anything else
that I know of.
Mr. Beutley was a young u.an who
did not believe that politeuess paid
'1 hate to see an everlasting grin on
anybody's face,' he said one day, when
he and several others were discussing
the subject of politeness. 'ln the strug
gle of life it is every one for himself. I
have no time, nor inclination, nor hy
pocrisy, to be spreading my mouth to a
forced smile to everyone. I choose my
companions and friends, and they are
few and select.
And this was Mr. Bentley's charac
ter. He was taciturn, morose, and ut
terly selfish. He never helped anyone
in distress or trouble. He never tiied
to cheer the sick nor solace the bereay
ed. Even his "few and select" friends
knew he could not te depended on in a
case of emergency. He rejoiced in per
fect health, and never thought that his
strong frame would some day lie pros
trate, languishing, helpless with dis
ease. He was prosperous, not rich,
but held a position that was remuner
ative, never dreaming that he might
possibly lose that position. But in less
than a year from the time he uttered
the above sentiment, he had lost it and
was out of employment.
The most prosperous will meet with
reverses. Sometimes they teach great
lessons. Mr. Bentley should have de
ducted a lesson from the reverses that
followed in the wake of his loss of posi
tion. But he did not. He had no
friends to rally to his aid, for he had
taken no trouble to make friends in bis
prosperity, lie made every effoit to
procure another position, but all situa
tions in his town seemed full.
He answered an advertisement in an
O paper. The city of O wa9 50
miles away. In a short time he receiv
ed a reply to his letter of application.
The letter was from the firm of Thom
as Brothers, and it invited the young
man to pay them a visit in person as
soon as possible. If his papers.person
al appearance, etc., suited them, they
would employ him on a salary of one
thousand dollars a year. This was far
better than he expected. llis luck was
returning. .He donned his tir.est
clothes; his head was lost in the clouds.
He did not see Mr. Little nod,nor hear
Mr. Small speak. Ob, no. What had
he to do with the common herd ? He
could not see the poor and blind organ
grinder, or drop a penny in his box.
Not he ! He was on his way to O
for the one thousand dollar clerkship.
An old lady at the depot stopped him.
'Will you please tell me—'
But she was interrupted by the
would-be one thousand dollar clerk.
'Madam,' he said, rudely, 'that tick
et agent is paid to answer questions
apply to him.'
'Yes—but—sir—' She stopped, tor
he had walked away and left her. 'Law,
what will I do ?' she cried. 'The a
gent hasen't got any better manners
than he has. When I was young, men
didn't treat old women like that. Well,
law me 1 I wish Eli was here. This is
the very last time I shall go any place
alone. Oh, my—oq, dear—the train is
coming—how will I get on, or how am
I to tell when I get on the right one ?
I'm just sure to get on the wrong one
—oh, goodness me 1 Say. please—Mr.
—sir 1 will you help me ?' again stop
ping Mr. Bentley. 'ls this the train
that goes north? Take this satchel rnr
me—oh P Mr. Bentley turned red and
hurridly passed her. 'Oh, shall I be
left !'
'Let me help you,' said a kindly
voice, and the old lady looked up to
find a young man in a thread-bare coat,
but with a frank and open countenance
reaching out his hand for her bundles.
She surrendered them to his care,and
thanked him heartily. lie took her to
the train, saw her safely and comfort
ably seated, and then found a seat for
himself in the same coach, in order to
see her safely to the station where she
was going.
The old lady left the train at L ,
as did Mr. Bentley and the yoHng
stranger. They hurried off to take the
stage,as O wa3 not a railroad town.
'Madam,'said the stage driver, as
the old lady went to get into the stage,
'my order is to the fair before
starting.'
The old lady fumbled in her pocket
a minute then uttered an exclamation
of dismay.
'My goodness gracious ! I forgot to
bring my money! Eli—that's my hus
band—told me I'd forget it. What
shall I do—oh, what shall I do?' And
she dropped a bundle, tried to pick it
up, and dropped another. 'I am going
MILLHEIM, PA., THURSDAY, APRIL 8., 1886.
to O continued the distressed old
lady. 'I am going there to see my
so".8. They will pay yon, indeed they
wi'l, if you will
'Won't do,' said the driver. 'My
orders are strict. Can't disobay orders.
Won't take any risks—for you know 1
might loss my job. Maybe this gentle-
man will loan you the money,' point-
ing to our friend, Mr. Bentley, who
was seated in one comer of the coach ;
'or, whai'U be the same to me, will
guarantee the pay.'
'Oh, will you ?' cried the old lady,'
appealing to that gentleman, 'indeed,
my sons will pay you. They are—'
But. she was interrupted.
'Never mind what your sons are—l
don't care to have their biography just
now.' Then, turning to the man, he
said, 'Don't be so free with your sug
gestions, my friend.'
'I presumed ' began the driver.
'You presumed in your ignorance,'
interrupted Mr. Beutley, harshly. 'lf
1 should give money to all the beggars
I see, I should be unable to pay my
wash bill. What are you waiting for ?
I tell you I'm in a hurry to reach O—'
'I tell you,' said the big driver, in an
angry voice, and looking at Mr. Ben
tley fiercely, 'that I may be presumptu
ous and ignorant, but I am a] man as
won't take an insult without resenting
it. If you can't be moreciyil, 111 take
the liberty of dumping you out of there
in the first mud hole we come to. As
for going, I'll go when I get ready and
not a minute before.'
But nevertheless, he immediately pre
pared to start. The old lady grew wild.
'Oh, must 1 be left ?' she ciied.
'What will my sons.Peter and William
think ? I wish Eli was here. I'll
never leave home again without Eli
oh, stop 1 Wait ! Will some one—'
and she ran against the same young
man who had helped her on the train
at C . 'Oh, lam so glad ! I know
you will help me I' And she caught
the young man's hand in hers. *1
want to go to O , sir, and I left my
money at home—and I must get there
to-day.'
'I am on my way there myself,' said
the youth with a troubled air. 'I was
going there to see the Thomas Brothers
about a position in their store. I ought
to be there to-day—to-morrow may be
too late—but—but—well, you shall go
—l—yes—you 9hall go !'
lie took out a purse and emptied the
contents in the hand of the old lady ;
just barely enough to pay one fare on
t he stage to O .
'Oil, but how will you get there,'
asked she, 'if you give me all your
money ?'
'I cau walk,' he answered cheerily.
'Never mind me. lam used to walk
ing.'
'You are an honor to your mother,'
said the woman with emotion. 'A
good mother, I'll be bound.' And
then, seeing the tears spring to his
eyes, she surmised that he had recent
ly lost that mother, and continued:
'Yes, I understand ; and you couldn't
bear to seo an old lady in trouble with
out helping her for your own dear
mother's saka. What is your name ?
My sons will pay you as soon as you
reach O—.'
'My name is John Riy,' he said.
'Well, good-bye, John Rav,' said the
old lady, as he helped her into the
coach. 'I wish you success. I think
you will get the place.' She nodded
vigorously, 'Yes. yes, I hope you will,
John Ray.' And, with beaming eyes,
she shook John Ray's hands as vigor
ously as she nodded. 'Oil, won't Eli
what won't be do when I tell hi.n ?'
'Are you all ready ?' cried out the
driver. 'Because if you ain't, I want
you to understand I ain'i in any hurry;
take your time. All ready, hey? Then
off we eo I'
And off they went, leaying John Ray
to walk twenty mMes. And the simple
soul filling his place in the coach would
shed tears whenever she thought of
him walking wearily alone over the
road. But her eyes shone through the
tears. Could you see those tears, John,
the road would sem shorter. Could
you know the gratitude in that good
heart, your limbs would be less weary.
They at length arrived at O—. Mr.
Bentley registered his name, in a large
hand, in the most aristocratic hotel in
that city.
'Much depends,' he soliloquized, -ou
appearances. Should I put up at a less
pretentious house than this, it might
be the means of my failing to get the
position lam after ' Then he thought
of John Ray, and the fragment of con -
versation he had overheard between
him and the old lady. 'Ha I ha !' he
laughed at the thought. 'What kind
of a chance can so shabby a fellow have
against me I am not quite sure but
that the "me" should begin with a cap
ital letter. It sounded so very impor
tant. 'He is trudging along now be
tween here and L- . Why what a fool
the fellow is l lam sitting comfort
ably here —shall soon eat a warm sup
per—while he is dragging himself along
A PAPER FOR THIS HOME CIRCLE
hungry and tired, and without money
to buy anything to eat, or u place in
which to sleep.'
Ho seemed to take delight In these
reflections. Tho contemplation of the
deprivation and Muttering of others
.seems to be a prodigious comfort to
many. It had quite a solacing effect
on Mr. Bentley, for lie was not rich.
It mu9t ho admitted that his success
depended on his securing this position
witli the Thomas Brothers.
It was late in the waning when the
stage reached O and the business
house of Thomas Bros, was closed. But
early the next morning Mr. Ben'ley
waited ou the brothers, and presented
his recommendations. There were
other applicants, atnnng whom was
John Ray. Mr. Beutley would not
recognize him. Truly, lif it djpended
on ajipearahces John Hay stood no pos
sible chance for the situation.
'Good papers !' cried William Tliom
a, when lie had finished reading Mr.
Bentley'3 references.
'Splendid recommendations I' ech
oed the brother. 'Best ones we have
received yet. Is it not so, William ?'
Mr. Bentley flushed withp leisure and
swelled with vanity.
'Where are your papers,young man?*
asked William, turning to John Ray,
who sat quietly with his face averted.
No wonder, for his hop? 8 were fleeing
away,and he knew his face would show
his disappointment.
'I have none,' he said. 'I never fill
ed a like position, sir, and consequent
ly can give no references.'
'You mu9t have references,' said the
brothers, 'or we cannot consider your
application.'
'I have none,' again said John Riy ;
and now all hopes had fiiwn, and his
pale face showed it.
'I think, youug man, you come-well
recommended,' said William. 'Does
he not Peter ?'
Peter laughed and nodded, and the
brothers got closer to John Ry.
'The best reference in the world,'
cried Peter, with such an affectiouate
look at John that William feared he
meant to embrace him, sad put out
Ins band to prevent it, for fear of spoil
ing the denouement.
John looked puzzled. They both
laughed and repealed .
'Good recommendation ! Mother !'
they called, and in came the old lady of
the day before. 'Mother, which of
these young men do you recommend to
us for a clerk ?'
The old lady walked straight up to
John and said :
'I recommend by all means, uiy dear
sons, the young man who was kind
enough to aid a helpless 'old beggar' to
reach home ; who loved the memory of
his mother so well that he walked 20
long miles to let your mother ride.
Not for a reward, boys. No. though
he was poor and helpless; and now, if a
deed like that won't recommend John
Itay more than all the recommenda
tions that were ever written, indeed,
then I don't know my dear boys '
And eacli of the brothers got John
by the hand, while Mr. Bentley retired
with a crestfallen air.
Let us hope that this little episode
taught Mr. Bentley the lesson tnat
kindness brings its own reward. That
to be loved by our fellow man is the
highest earthly pleasure to be enjoyed.
That to be kind and sociable to all is to
win love. To be accommodating, sym
pathizing, helpful, is to retain that
loye when won. That no good action
or kind word is lost, but is written
with an indelible pen in tne Recording
Angel's Buok, and preserved through
eternity.
A SLICE OF LUCK.
A traveler in the south of France
was recently going through a forest,
when lie suddenly met with a dozen, as
he thought, suspicious characters.
His first thought was of escape ; but, to
his great astonishment, one of them
came forward, and, after some conver
sation about trees, summarily offered
one hundred napoleons if he would re
tire. The traveler said lie had no ob
jection. and to his surprise the sum
was given him, and he went on his way
rejoicing. He applied to the authori
ties when he discovered that a large
sale of torest trees took place that day,
to which the local buyers had been bid
den, and these men composed a 'knock
out,' that is, had conspired to prevent
any one elso bidding, in order that they
might abtain the timber at a cheap
rate. The traveler was supposed by
tliem to be a well-known timber mer
chant, and to have entered the forest
for tho purpose of bidding, so he was
bought off.
Tramp—"Will you please give me
ten cents, sir ? I'm ou my way home
to die."
Gentleman-—(lmndmg him the mon
ey)— 14 ! don't mind giving you ten
cents for so worthy a purpose as that,
but your breath smells terribly of whis
key."
Tramp—"l know it does, sir. Whis
key's what's kiilin' me."
Kicking a Governor.
In the summer of 1878 there was a
gathering of executive officers of differ
ent States at Cape May, and Governor
Thomas L. Young, of Ohio, was
among the number. lie and B. K.
Jamison were friends, so the latter ten
dered him the use of his beautiful cot
tage for himself and staff during their
stay at the seashore. One afternoon a
number of gentlemen called to be intro
duced to the governor, who was busy
op-stairs playing euchre. lie was 'go
ing it alone' at the time, and, turning
to Jamison, said : 'Wait until I make
my march and then I'll go to the recep
tion with you.' Ho didn't make his
march, however, but on the contrary,
greatly to his disgust, he was 'euchred.'
Rising from his chair he turned his
back to his host and said : 'Jamison,
I wish you would give me a good kick ;
I feel that I deserve it.' His host re
plied, 'You don't mean it governor?'
'lndeed 1 do,' was Tom's response.
'Try me and see.'
The words had hardly left his lips
when the toe of Jamison's boot struck
the governor with such suddenuess
that the concussiou nearly sent him ov
er on his face. The guests were horri
fied for a moment, but the governor,
with the greatest honor, said: 'Boys,
I got off with very light punishment.
Out in Ohio when a man gets euchred
oil a lone hand they usually take him
out and hang him to the nearest lamp
post.' Then he went down and receiv
ed his visitor?. That night, before re
tiring, the governor saicf: 'Jamison,
do you know that you would make a
capital soldier !'
'No,'was ? the reply- 'What makes
ydu think so ?'
'Because you are so obedient to ord
ers. Obedience, you know, is the first
duty of a soldier, and you have the A
llC's down Will you accept a
commission on my staff ? It means a
colonelcy.'
Mr. Jamison didn't see any harm in
Hccoptiiitf, wluui Gov- Young re
turned to Ohio he forwarded the com
mission duly signed and sealed. Then
a difiiculty arose Mr. Jamison was a
citizen of Pennsylvania, and the com
mission required that he shou'd swear
allegiance to the State of Ohio. This
provision was stricken out, and theu
'K. B. Jamison' became 'aid-de-camp
on the staff of his Excellency, Thomas
L. Young, governor of Ohio, with the
rank and title of colonel.' The com
mission, handsomely framed, now
hangs in the handsome residence of
Col. Jamison in West Philadelphia,and
he prizes it very highly.— Philadelphia
Xeics.
How the New Mexicans Capture
Ants.
An automatic combination self-ad
justing ant trap and intoxicating ma
chine has been in use for years in New
Mexico and Arizona, which is worthy
of careful civilized attention. The
chief blessing of that arid section is
held to tie mescal, a fiery liquor d'still
ed from a species of cactus, and the
principle curse is an immense black
ant that considers himself proprietor
of any premises to which his nest may
belong. It is said that the natives
could not live without either the mus
cal or the ants,for while it is only mes
cal that can make a Mexican's life en
durable with the ants, it is only the
ants that wake a Mexican from the pro
found coma into which the mescal
plunges him.
The ancient Mexicau method of try
ing to get rid of an ant's nest was to
fl'l up the main hatch with fine gun
powder and touch it off, keep a fire
burning over it night and day a
week, or drown it out with boiling lye.
TbeNinly result was that tire ants would
stay down cellar until the trouble was
over, and then cheerfully repair the
damage done to their dwelling, and
'lay for' the Mexican in ;the fallen t
watches of the night with a vigor and
alacrity that were truly awful.
Oue day a desperate Mexican poured
a quart of mescal down his throat and
buried the bottle in the corner of the
principal ant's nest in his yard,'/ m with
the intention of filling it with gunpow
der and blowing both himself and his
enemies out of the territory. Having
buried the bottle to the neck, he went
to the trader's to get the powder.
When he returned, he found that the
bottle was filled with ants, whom curi
osity had prompted to drop in, and
who, unable tojclimb out, were indulg
ing in a rough and tumble fiee fight
that did the Mexican's heart no end of
good. Another bottle was quickly pro
cured and filled,and by sunset the Mex
ican found himself proprietor of seven
quarts of ants in various stages of mu
tilation and wrath. To shake these
Into a bonfire was easy, and thu3 in a
day the colony was broken up forever.
The writer has seen two pounds of
rifle powder rammed into an ant's nest
and prove ineffective in its destruction,
while by the bottle system the work
was thoroughly accomplished in less
than a week by the capture of the last
ant in the community.—(Science A
merican,
Terms, SIOO per Year, in Advance.
The Man who Never Forgot a Face
The passenger who was never known
to forget a (ace sat dowu beside a
freckled young man with a sandy
mustache.
"Seems to nic I 'vo seen you be
fore," said the never-forget-you pass
enger.
"Possibly," replied the freckled
young man, "my name is Smith, of
Jonesville, Mich."
"What! Smith, of Jonesville."
"Yes, John Smith, of Jonesville.
Did you ever live in Jouesvillc ?"
"Should say I did. Lived there
ten years. Knew I had seen you
somowhere before. I never forget a
face. I knew you as soon as I sot
eyes on you. Never forgot a face io
my life."
"How long since you left that old
town ?"
"Let me see ; it was twenty-seven
years last June. That's a loHg time
ain't it? Hain't been back there
since, but your face is as fresh in my
mind as if it were only yesterday.
"Now this is odd," said the freck
led young' mau ; you haven't been in
Jonesville for twenty-seven years. I
haven't been out of it for twenty
seven years, and I am ju§t
seven years old. I must have been
born the year you left our town. Do
you still think you remember me ?"
"Remember you, lad ? Why, I
know you the second I saw you. I
was your godfather at your christen
ing, and you think I would forget a
face that was impressed on my mind
in so solemn a ceremony as that ? No,
siree. I never forget a face, young
man, never."
A Young One.
A man in pursuit of a goose for his
dinner was attracted by the sight of a
plump, extra-sized one.
'ls that a young one?' said he to
the rosy-cheeked lass in attendance.
'Yes, sir, indeed it is,' w.as the re
ply.
'How much do you want for it ?'
he asked.
4 A dollar, sir.'
'That is too much, I think ; say
five eighths and here's your money.'
'Well, sir, as I would like to get
you as a steady customer, take it.'
The goose was carried home and
roasted, but was found to be so tough
as to be uneatable. The following
day the man accosted the fair poulter
er :
'Did you not tell me that goose was
young which I bought of you V
'Yes, sir, I did, and it was
'No, it was not.'
'Don't you call ineja young woman/
I'm only nineteen f
'Yes.'
'Well, I've heard mother say, many
a time, that he was nearly six weeks
jounger than me.'
A mild-mannered German cook, who
does business in a small way in Grand
street, chanced to fall overboard from
an East river ferryboat. He was res
cued after much trouble by three young
men—a hand and two longshoremen.
While the German's recovery seemed a
matter of extreme uncertainty the three
young men quarreled oyer the credit of
having rescued him. Eacli man wish
ed the glory of shining on the station
house blotter as a rescuer, with perhaps
the chance of subsequent material re
ward. Before they had succeeded in
settling the matter to their mutual sat
isfaction they were forcibly drawn
apart by the police.
'See here,' said the officer, l you can't
settle this thing by fighting.'
'That's so,' assented the smallest of
the three. 'I can prove without fight
ing that I saved|that man.'
'Let's see you do it, then, and be
lively.'
'l'ye got my private mark on him.'
'.Show your mark and giye us less of
your jaw.'
The young man stepped blithely to
the side of the half-conscious man, pul
led aside the blanket that covered him,
and pointed triumphantly to a two
inch gash in the fleshy part of his back.
'There!' said he; 'there's my private
mark! There's where I struck the
boat-hook into him !'
His name went down on the police
blotter without further question.—
New York Times.
A sunshade has been devised for
soldiers in hot countries. It is made
of bamboo and paper, and has no appre
ciable weight. It is fastened to the
shoulders and leaves the hands and
arms free. Something of the same kind
has, we belieye, been patented in this
country.
NO. 14
His Private Mark.
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sent to the former placb, I lie? are respdhblbfe.
til- 1 - i'Ul
ADVERTISING RATES.
1 wk. 1 mo. | ,11nos. fimos. 1 vcu
1 square *ux)J s:.<*> t tiVQ ss<co
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" 71*1 . Wool 15 00 d00 40at
I " woo. - lAnul l r 0U ■ 4.100 7500
One Inch makes a twuaro. Ailinibjslratora
and Executors' Maim #7.50. Transient aaver
tlsenienis und locals 10 rents nor line for Oral
Insertion and 5 couth per fine for each addition
al insertion
The Home of Presidents.
A Tour Through the Rooms
of the White House.
Beauties of the Exooutivo Mansion
—The Parlors—Handsom9 Hall
ways —President's Dining -
Room.
Up the steps of the portico and
through the large entrance vestibule,
we see an inner corridor separated from
it by a handsome screen of ghiss mosa
ic. It is In itself a spacious apartment,
eighteen feet wide and 100 long, reach
ing from the middle of the east room
at one end to the conservatory.at tl:e
other. South of this corridor aie lliree
parlors, named respectively the Green
room, Blue room and Red room, from
the prevailing color of decorations and
furniture. West of the Red parlor, at
the extreme southwestern end of tlw
mansion, is the statu diuuiug-rooun,
and on the north side of the corridor,
directly opposite, we find the Presi
dent's private dining-room, which occu
pies—with butler's pantry and the ser
vants' waiting room immediately ad
joining—the northwest froat of the
building. Under this room, in the
basement, is thekitchen. On the north
side of the corridor is also situated the '
priva e staircase leading to the cham
bers. This portion of the corridor,
which is the length of the state dining
room, can be separated at will from the
more public and longer portion on the
east, by double doors of inlain mahoga
ny.
This long hall-way is an important
part of the White House, and is treated
accordingly. It is only lighted in the
day time by the doors opening Into the
parlors and from the open arches over
the jeweled screeu, so tliat no photog
rapher has been able to secure a good
picture. The walls, painted a warm
creamy-gray, are finished with a sien
ciled frieze, two feet deep, light green,
gold and crimson, in conventional de
signs. The ceiling, a lighter tint of
gray, is covered with figuies in mixed
colors, interspersed with brown and
silver decorations in relief. A large
semi circular niche IU the waU imjnedi
ately opposite the front entrance and
screen door, is gilded and <s6ntains a
circular table of ebony and marble.
Thi3 crimson Axrainister carpet,
well covered with small figures of a
deeper shade, imparts a richness of tone
which is very desirable in the half-light
of the day, and which responds, at
night, to the light of three immense
crystal chandeliers. The furniture
frames arc ebony ; the fabric, cream
colored brocade figured with shaded
crimson. On the walls bang the por
traits of most of the Presidents, save
that of Washington, which is in the
East room, and those of Van Buren,
J. Q. Adams and Arthur in the Red
parlor and Jefferson in the Library
room above. In the western angles
the busts of Washington and Hamil
ton, on pedestals of ebony, gaze with
sightless eyes upon the ever-changing
panorama.
The private' corridor on the west is
fitted up still more like a reception
room. Each corner angle is cut off by
a tail cabinet of ebony, containing fai
ence and plants in majolica holders,;
doorways are liuug with portieres of
Turkoman, in brown, yellow and crim*
son, with horizontal stripes, and there
are Eastlake chairs of ebony with seats
and backs of embossed leather. A hex
agon table with rosewood frame and
marble top, according to tradition, was
frequently used by Jackson, when he
lived in the White House, about the
only article, in this part of the build
ing, left from that comparatively late
period. The wall tints of the private
corridor are darker than those of the
larger one—a kind of greeuish gray—
with a parti-colored Japanese frieze,
thirty inches deep. The broad stair
case with one loug landing, leading to
the second istory, is finished with a
hand r.iil and balusters of mahogany,
and from the large carved newel-post a
female figure in bronze, nearly life-size,
holds, metaphorically a torch, in reality
a very prosaic gas fixture. The remain
ing figure consists of a mahogauy table,
before a mirror framed in the same
wood.
At the foot of the stairs a door on the
left or north side, leads into the Presi
dent's private dining room. The walls
of this room are hung with heavy pa
per, imitating leather, a gilt ground
with vines of shaded oliye and crimson,
and a frieze, thirty inches deep, of dark
torra-cotta stamped velvet, with gilt
molding. The ceiling is greenish gray.
The white marble chimney piece and
mantel are draped with crimson plush,
and the same fabric covers the frame
of the larger plate glass mantel mirror
above. Axminister carpet of dark,
green is well covered witli figures in
shaded olive and crimson. The mahog
any chairs have dark green leather on
the seats, with backs of wood. The
woodwork of the room is painted a
light tint of the walls. The finest fea
tures of the room are two large caryed
mahogany sideboards, one 011 the west
side of the room, the other on the
south. The one on the right is a fine
specimen of Cincinnati carying and
dates from the administration of Mr.
Hajes; the other was procured when
the entire room was furnished anew
under the direction of Mr. Arthur.
Both are laden with plate and fine spec
imens of the ceramic art. All the
movable furniture and plate of these
rooms are under the care of the stew
ard, who is required to give bonds to
the value of $20,000, before entering
upon his duties.