The Millheim Journal, PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY BY I|. 5L Office in the New Journal Building, Bonn St.,nearHartman's foundry. SI.OO PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE, OR $1.20 IF NOT PAID IN ADVANCE. AcceptaUe Cormpideuce Solicited Address letters to MILLHEIM JOURNAL. B US IX K S S OA R 7) S - II ART Ell, Auctioneer, MN.t.HKIM, PA. B. STOVER* Auctioneer, Madisonbitrg, Pa. ■yy n.RKIFSNYDKU, Auctioneer, MILLIIKIM, PA. J. W. STAM, Physician & Surgeon Offlc on Penn Street. MILLIIKIM, PA. JOHN F. H ABTKR, Practical Dentist, Office opposite the Methodist Cliurch. MAIM STREET, MILLHEIM PA. -QR. GEO. L. LEE, Physician & Surgeon, MADISONBURG, PA. Office opposite the Public School II otiso. P. ARD, M. D.. WOODWARD, PA Jg O. DEI N INGE R, Notary-Public, Journal office, Penn st., Millheim, Pa. and other legal papers written and acknowledged at moderate charges. J. SPRINGER, Fashionable Barber, Havinq had many years* of expcriencee the public can expect the best \cork and most modern accommodations. Shop opposite Millheim Banking House MAIN STREET, MILLHEIM, PA. QHEORGE L. SPRINGER, Fashionable Barber, Corner Main & North streets, 2nd floor, Millheim, Pa. Shaving, Haircutting, Shampooning, Dying, &c. done in the most satisfac tory manner. Jno.H. Orvls. C. M. Bower. Ellis L.Orvis QRVIS, BOWER & OItVIS, Attorneys-at-Law, BELLEFONTE, PA., Office In Wotrtlings Building. D. H. Hastings. W. P. lteeder. TTASTINGS &REEDER, Attorney s-at-Law, BELLEFONTE, PA. Office on Allegheny Street, two dowrs east of the office ocupied by the late Arm of Yocura & Hastings. J C. MEYER, Attorney-at-Law, BELLEFONTE PA. At the Office of Ex-Judge Hoy. rjnrM. c. HEINLE, Attorney-at-Law BELLEFONTE, PA. Tractices in all the courts of Centre county •Special attention to Collections. Consultations in German or English. J A.Beaver. J. W.Gephart. jgEAVER & GEPIIART, Attorneys-at-Law, BELLEFONTE, PA. Office on Alleghany Street. North of High Street HOUSE, ALLEGHENY ST., BELLEFONTE, PA. C. G. McMILLEN, PROPRIETOR. Good Sample Room on First Floor. Free Buss to and from all traius. Special rates to witnesses and jurors. QUMMINS HOUSE, BISHOP STREET, BELLEFONTE, PA., EMANUEL BROWN, PROPRIETOR ■ House newly refitted and refurnished. Ev erything done to make guests comfortable. Rates mode rat" trouage respectfully solici ted 5-1 y JTRVIN HOUSE, (Most Central Hotel in the city.) CORNER OF MAIN AND JAY STREETS LOCK HAVEN, PA. S.WOODSCALDWELL PROPRIETOR. Go<xi sameple rooms for commercial Travel ers on first floor. R A. BUMILLER, Editor. VOL. GO. Steerage and Cabin. I was in the steerage. Sim was in the cabin. Not that I wui not as much astonishi il to see her, as, possibly, she was to see me. 1 had no idea that she was in the iVisi.i, though 1 know it was settled some time befote that the Dolours were going t Europe. It was a glorious moonlight evening the third night out. How well L to nicmber it ! The fust mate was a good It lend of mine. He had known me in my callow days of spending at.d pleas ure, for I had gone as cabin passenger more than once. I was indebted to him for the neat arm chair in which I posed, nightly, to enjoy my cigar and make mental aposlrophies to the moon. Now and then I could goon the pass enger-deck at night, through his cour tesy; and as I was not yet seedy,though my clothes were far from new, 1 fancy I did no discredit to the aristocratic loungers, who never noticed me, as, at his leisure, I was always in company with Alvord, the mate. Musing, as usual, I sat on the lower deck, my hat thrown back, my gaze in tent on ber majesty, the moon, when I heard a voice that sounded familiar. It said : 'Oh, mercy !' and than a moment af ter : 'Don't let's stay here, Lu.' I looked up just as the beautiful, proud face was turned, profile toward me. 'Gracious heavens !' I said under my breath. 'Lilly Dufour ! the banker's daughter.' I did not see her companion, and be fore I could move or speak, if I bad been so minded, both ladies had gone. I smiled to myself, though my face burned and my ears tingled. Only a few months ago and 1 bad been her partner in a german given at one of the most aiistocratij homes in New York. Her beauty impressed me ; the ac quaintance ripened into love. She bad accepted me, and I was the happiest man in the universe. Then a great misfortune occurred, involving me in the disgrace of the head of the firm. Inuocent though I was, I had to under go many searching inquiries before the true verdict was made public. Striu ped of money, my good name under a cloud, for a time, at least, I looked ror sympathy from my lovely fiancee, and I was astonished beyond measure at the coolness of her reception, the al most indifference with which she lis tened to ray defence. And then again, she declined to receive me, and wrote me a cold little note in which she in formed me, in a beautiful Italian band, that our engagement was at an end. I was absolutely petrified with astouish ment. llow often she had talked of Jove in a cottage ! How eloquently had she declared that, tailing fortune or failing health, and even honor, her heart would be true to itself and me ; her love the shield and the reward. I could not believe it possible. I tried to see her, but was always repulsed. I wrote, but received no reply. I haunt ed her walks, her drives. She never looked at me. Desperate and dishearted, I cared not what became of rae. For weeks 1 moved, ate, and worked like an auto maton. I was at my worst when a note came from a young lawyer, formerly my chum, and a good fellow to boot : "DEAR llAL— There is splendid news for you. Come down to the ollice as soon as you can. Yours, FKKD." What news wa3 there that mattered anything to me V I scarcely cared to obey the summons. That eveuitig Fred stopped me on the street. •Why didn't you come ?' he a3ked. 'Of course you got my note ? There's millions in it !' 'Millions in what V I interrogated. 'Pounds, shillings and pence. I hap pened OD an advertisement IU an Eng lish paper yesterday. I'ye heard you say your family name was Preston ; that there was some coolness between your mother and your English relations. Now here is a certain II listed L'restou, Esq , who has just died at the age of seventy-two, and he leaves—well, e nougli and plenty to the son of his sis ter, who married a Thomas DeLong, in America. Of course lie must be your uncle, and they are searching for the heir. So you see you are wanted.' I looked at my much worn suit. For a moment my heart beat as if it would leap from my body. Now, if this were true [and I knew I bad an uncle llal sted Preston iu Devonshire—l was named for liira,] I was the peer of any banker's daughter in America. 'Keep quiet about this matter, will you ?' I asked. 'Don't let it get in the papers just yet. I have good reasons for asking it. Above all don't talk it among your friends. I have nothing to do but to start at oi.ee.' 'You will let me help you ?' be said. 'Not a cent. I took an oath that, so help me heaven, I would never borrow again. It has nearly been my ruin once. I have enough to take me there and back, steerage. If on arriving MILLHEIM, PA., THURSDAY, JUNE 17., 1886. tin it 1 1 can establish my identity, m in ey will becasy oa MI ;'i,ainl I shall have incurred no obligatio i. I'll g> j• i-1 as I am.' la less than three days I had plenty of proof concerning my identity—my mntliei'a ma ri i<o cut illc te b-'ing the most iinpirtant pip.u ; hat oagage I my passage—steerage in the IVrsi i ; and, deii lag to tie known to no one, e j iyed my peculi.tr position with the /.-st of one supeiior to oi:cumstances. Did my heart throb I nt-*r, when on that beautifol night I saw the l'ace ot the giil I 1 ved V Well, >\s, for a mo ment or two. Hut Iliad sdso learne to despise her character too thoroughly to give way to the sent iment. If 1 had not quite conquered my infatuation, I was master of myself. She, over there, in her rose colored reveries, speculating upon the possibil ity of winning a duke at the lowest in that marvelous London; I, in the steer age, though kindiy cared for by my sailor friend. I smiled as I wondered what her thoughts could be just now. I was more than anxious to know her opinion through some available means, and taking advantage of uiy friend's per mission, I haunted the upper deck nightly. For some time 1 was disappointed. At last one evening she came up on deck, a young lady following, carrying her shawl and a pillow. They came quite near where 1 sat, uiy face to the sea, watching the wonderful gold-and crirason gleams that mingled with the ripples and wavelets left in her wake by our good ship. 'Now, are you quite well fixed ?' asked the young lady, who I suppose was her companion. 'Yes, thanks. Sit down. I wish to ask you something. Have you found out about him yet V' 'No, indeed. llow can I talk of it ? Nobody knows him but you and I.' 'Strange that we should meet her of all things, and he in that horrid place !' 'Nothing strange, it he is poor,' said the sweet, low voice of the other. '1 hatt poveity! besides ' her tones fell, her worda were inaudible. 'I hope you will never be sorry,' was the answer. 'Sorry !' with a scornful laugh. 'He has certainly lost his beauty,' she add ed, with a bitterness in her voice that I had never heard before, and in which only her pride spoke. 'One can never tell in these business troubles how far dishonesty will lead a man. Probably he is running away !' I pulled my hat lower over my free, which was oue burning llame. I long ed to turn npon her and upraid her with her treachery, but I controlled myself. 'Never !' said the other,with empha sis 'How can you speak of such a thing ! I believe him to be the soul of honor-a thorough gentleman ! lie looks it.' Who could this girl bo ? I tried to steal a glanco at her, but could see on ly the outlines of a very graceful figure. I remembered then that Lily had once or twice spoken of a cousin in such a way as led me to think her a depend ent upon her bounty. This must be she. And how grateful I was for her sweet, heartfelt defense of me! 1 won dered if I should see her agaiu. Night after night I waited patiently in the moonlight, until at last I gave up looking for her. She did come one night, however, with an elderly gentle man whom I did not know. I was in my old place io the steerage. Some of the other passengers were around, lounging about, leaning over the rails, but I had chosen my seat where I could see without being seen. I saw her face. It was as I had hop ed, a lovely, youthful face, and I could hear every inflection of her clear, low voice. 'Quite nice people, I suppose, go as steerage passengers sometimes.' I heard her say. 'Oil, yes, even gentlemen in reduced circumstances. Indeed I once had a rich friend—you miglitca'lhim a crank —who went f for the fun of the thing,' he said, to see life in a new phase. I believed he liked it best,' and the old gentleman laughed. 'A girl with such a face,' I said to myself, 'must he worth winning ; by no means as beautiful as my former di vinity, but more lovely in every way.' Lilly was taller,more queenly, but this girl with the sweet voice and glorious, starlike eyes was, in every way but the mere matter of fortune, her cousin's superior. Of that I felt assured, and was quite willing her image should haunt me. A few weeks had passed, and I stood before the gates of a tine old mansion, now my own AUate—in a Devonshiie viHi r e, and looked up the long avenue bordered by noble oaks. All that my uncle had died possessed of was left to me, money and lands. I certainly did feel the pride of possession in the first A IMI'KII I'OH THK MOMK CIIICLK Ilush of propiiet u.ship-I held my head civet, I was once morn even with tho w 'ild. Tim country about w it excep tionally beautiful. Rose lin'gos bor dered the village l.mes-heio and there i tin ii'iy firm lay smiling in the sun shine —coll ages dotteu tho hillsides Everywhere the laud spoke of cue ami prospriili. Tho house was well pre served, and filled with solid though quaint furniture. There were li it houses, and all the ievo at ions of this utilitauan age needed lor farming n a large scale, on the ground*. I saw tl e houses of my tenants. 1 was a lord of the soil. Once more in London, my thoughts turned back to my own country and some unsettled business llieie. There was yet work to do,mistakes to correct, enemies to mo.'t and friends to reward. Among my acquaintances iu the me tropolis was a young German baron, who had married a lovely English girl, and with whom 1 had passed many happy hours. 'You must come here to night,' said the young baroness, one day ; '1 expect some Americans whom perhaps you know—the Dufours. The young lady is exquisitely beautiful; there are two— cousins, I thiuk.' 'I did know Dufour, the banker of New Yotk,' I said, quietly, though my pulse iluttered with a new thrill of gladness. 'Oh,yes-it must be the same family. Y'ou will come P 'On one condition,' I sai 1. 'And what is that ?' 'That you will not speak of me till I come. As I have another engagement, I shall not bo here until late in the eve ning.' 'What ! may I not even tell the story of your good fortune ?' 'Anything, so you do not mention my name.' She laughed—her quick woman's wit comprehended, and promising to be very careful, she said her adieus. The reader perhaps anticipates. I was spoken of as the young man about whose extraordinary luck they might have beard—the American nephew of an old Devonshire gentbraan who had quarreled with his sister, because her marriage bad displeased liim, but who at the last had relented and left mill ions to her son—but she withheld my name. Later o.i I came. They were at tea, ray host told me. It was a standing tea. I flatter myself, I made my "debut" with singular coolness— found myself, tea-cup in hand, face to face with Miss Dufour,to whom I bow ed with haughty cmpre&semcnt. To see her start, grow white and catch htr breath—to hear her unguarded say : 'Why, Ilal !' Well it was almost worth losing a fortune for, that experience. 'Miss Dufour !' I said with a chilling bow. Pen of mine cannot describe her dis comfiture. It was almost like terror. For once the reigning belle, the woman of the world, was foiled, mortified, ex tinguished. Rallying at last, she tried in some sort of way to regain her lost power ; but I was in love with tho starry eyes and soul-lit face of her cousin Lucy had been ever since that eventful night when /, looking up from the lower deck —and on one other memorable oc casion—saw her sweet face and heard her speak for the poverty-stricken aud almost banished man. * * * * * * We took our honeymoon trip back in tlio Persia. Since the failure of the great banking house of Dufour Bros., and the death of the banker himself, Lily lias had a home with us, for I feel that in some sort I owe to her my treasure of a wife. A PUZZLING*PRO3LEM. A Citizen of London Anxious to Know Where He Lives. The local divisions of London are somewhat puzzling. A householder in a letter to a London paper thus illus trates them : 'Where do I live ?' he asks. 'Can any one tell me V I can not for reasons as follows : The deeds of my house state at Upper Tooting. The postal authorities say at Balham. The taxing masters say [Clapham. The rating people say B ittersea. The local directory says Wimbledon and Putney. If I pay my taxes i must go to Clap ham. If I pay the gas I must go to Bermondsey. If I pay the water rate I must do so at Kingston-on-Thames. To pay local rates I must go to Batter sea. If I give a vote for a member of Parliament I must vote for Clapham division. If I look out front of the house,Wadsworth common is two hun dred yards in front of me, ai d Batter sea two miles beyond that. It I look out of tho back of the house Upper Tooting park is only fifty yards from me. 7i 7 walk to the end of my road I am then in the parish of Wandsworth. li [go to the other end of the road I aiu in Streatham. It 1 cross over the road /am in Battersea. It I\ get oyer tny garden wall I can sit on a post with a part of my body in three or four par ishes at to same moment.' Webster and the Bartender Mr. Quinrv narrated the following characteristic anecdote of Mr. Web ster : The route between Boston and New York by the way of New Ha ven bad just been opened, and Mr. Quincy was occupying a seat with Mr. Webster when the ears stopped at the latter city. Mr Webster was not quite well, and,saying ha thought it would be prudent to take some brandy, asked Mr. Quincy to accom pany him in search of it. They ac cordingly entered a barroom near the station,and the order was given. The attendant without looking at his cus tomer, mechanically took a decanter from a shelf behind him and placed it near some glasses on tho counter. Just as Webster was about to help himself the bartender, happening to look up, started as if he had seen a spirit, and cried 'Stop !' with great vehemence. He then took the decan ter from Webster's hand, replaced it on the shelf from whence it came,and disappeared beneath the counter Rising from the depths he bore to the surface an old-fashioned black bottle, which he substituted for the decanter. Webster poured a small quantity into a glass, drank it off with great relish, and threw down half a dollar as pay ment. The barkeeper began to fum ble in a drawer of silver, as if select ing some smaller pieces for change, whereupon Webster waived his hand with dignity, and with authoritative tones pronounced these words : 'My good friend, let me offer you a piece of advice. Whenever you give that good brandy from under the counter never take the trouble to make change.' As they turned to go out, the dealer iu liquors placed oue hand upon the bar, threw himself over it, and caught Mr. Quincy by the arm. 'Tell me who that man is !" lie cried, with genuine emotion. 'lie is Daniel j Webster,' Mr.Quincy answered. The man paused, as if to find words ade quate to convey the impression made upon him, and then exclaimed, in a fervent half whisper: 'By heaven, sir, that man should be President of the United States!' The sdjuration was stronger than Mr. Quincy had written, but it was not uttered pro fanely ; it was sittplv the emphasis of an overpowering conviction. Simple Duties. After all, our gieatest vvotk is not that which at the time seems to be great; and the epocli3 of our lives are not always heralded by a signal-flag on theturrent-outlook of our anticipations, nor are they al ways marked by a red letter in the calendar of the memories. The opportunities of doing an obvious ly great thing are true, but the oppor Unities of doing our simple duty, which may have infinite consequences of good or ill, are at every moment of our lives, wherever we find ourselves. A single sentence of counsel or of warning to a child, in the home-circle or in the Sunday school, may shape his course for all tne future, iu a line of conduct not thought of by us at -the moment. An approving word, or a hearty hand shake to a weary friend, may be just the means of stimulus and cheer to him in his need, which shall enable him to do a work for others o ver which he and we shall rejoice to gether when the looks are opened. A personal note which is written under the pressure of a sense of duty, or a brief paragraph prepared at the print er's call for another "stick" of copy, may have larger permanent results iu the impulse it brings to its reader— known or unknown—than an ambitious yoluine which cost many toilsome days of research and of writiug. In fact,the best thing for us to do, in the hope of greatest good, is the one thing that can be done now. Nothing that we do is great in itself. God can use our least doing for great results. —S. S. Times. Solomon in Tennessee. A certain justice of the peace, who lived in Tennessee, was onco trying a negro for stealing. Among the defend ant's witnesses was a girl, it was very evident that she was not telling the truth. The magistrate stopped her in the midst of her testimony and said : 'Do you know whar you'll go ef you swar to a lie V 'Yes, sir,' she replied. 'Whar V 'i'll goter torment!' 'Torment V \ r ou'll goter jail en from thar you'll goter the plenipotentiary, that 's whar you'll go !' During the rest of the trial she spoke the trutti, the whole truth aud nothing but the truth. For the jail had more terrors for her than 'torment.'—De troit Free Press. Terms, SIOO per Year, in Advance. SomeTruo Snake Stories. (11. C. Dodge, In Detroit Free I'icsp.) 1 have always had a passion for limit ing snakes. I suppose living in the country among them is Ihe cause of it. In my boj hood 1 loved fishing, and an old romantic broken-down mill dain was a favorite spot where,with my legs Gangling over the side, I would sit for hours watching my cmk bob up and down on the water. One sunny spring day, while in this posh inn, I felt some thing hitting my bar ? legs, but my ea gerness in looking after a nibble pre vented my discovering for some time that several angry snakes were making a target of me. How quickly I jumped up, increasing my terror by tumbling on a big copperhead coiled up behind me, I'll never forget, nor the fight I then had, tearing half the dam down, before I succeeded in exterminating the nest of seventeen snakes that I had been sitting on so contentedly. Another time, while bathing in a beautiful brook in the woods, I noticed a large fish Hopping in the shallow wa ter just alove me. I had a moment before captured with my hinds a ten inch trout that had foolishly hidden in a crevice in the rocks, and without a thougtht of the danger before me 1 rushed, naked of course, to grab this second one. I got within a yard of it before I saw that an ugly, four-foot long black racer had it in his mouth. The snake dropped the fish, and with uplifted head and darting fangs went for me, Diking a mean advantage of my defenseless condition. As I retreated hastily a water snake that was basking beneath a stone in the water luckily shot between my feet, causing me to look down and see a small stone lying there. Picking it up I burled it at my rapidly advancing and dangerous ene my with such good aim that I cut him nea ly in two. In triumph 1 bore him and the fishes home, but 1 never went swimming there again without takincr a good look for snakes first. Once I was high in a cherry tree, and as I drew in a fruit-l.iden branch a big snake glided into uiy arms and brushed my face as he dropped to the ground, more frightened than I was. lie was probably charming the birds when in terrupted. Many times I've hunted snakes on the edges of ponds, and on one occasion killed twenty-seven. They made a hor rid pile and, as the tails live till sun down, they presented a lively appear ance. I've found snakes in the cellar, and once, during a terrible thunder storm, on going upstairs,put my hand on a big black snake coiled around the bannist ers. One morning I came across two snakes of different species fighting each other. The larger one was swallowing the little fellow and to save its life I l *illed the big one. Then, for fear of accidents, I dispatched the little one. My sister and another girl were pick ing flowers iti the woods opposite our cottage when they saw a snake, and the bo'dest of the two threw a stick at it. This was a mistake, as they soon found out,for hoop snakes are not to be tiifled with. Putting its tail in its mouth and making itself in the form of a hoop it started after tliern , while they, shriek ing, flew for the house, barely getting in and closing the front door as the sickening thud of the pursuer bangt-d a gainst the outside. When any one doubts their story they point to the mark the serpent made on the door,and consider that au overwhelming proof. I don't vouch for this .affair, for I was away when it happened. Still it may be true, worse yarns than that are told of snakes and eagerly swallowed. One day I was in the brush hunting for woodcock when the ugliest and nearly the biggest snake I ever saw stood straight up on its tail and stuck his nasty face right in mine. In my surprise my gun. went off and the snake's head, too. I've always felt proud of that shot though I don't want to try another just like it. In the garden one morning I found a little snaker under a board, and man aged to get it alive in a glass jar; I had lots of fun with it, and, in fact, made quite a pet of the handsome little creature. He was very audacious, and when I would put him on the floor and excite him by moving my foot lie would throw himself and spit at me and fol low me up so closely that sometimes I had to take refuge on a chair or table. I think he was poisonous, but he es caped before he killed me. My little 5-year old boy came run ning in frightened the other day saying a big snake had chased him. I went out and found a venemous flat head ad der, which I killed to his, the boy's, immense satisfaction. One morning on my way to the train I stepped on a four-foot pilot snake lying in ray path. As he seemed chilled from the night air I carefully lifted him on a stick and carried him till I found an old tin can to hold him in. I took him in the car and placed the can on the floor. While reading my paper I hear a lady scream behind me and, looking around, saw half the passengers white with terror 1 standing or climbing on the seats. NO. 24 NI9WBPAPER LAWS N . If BiibscvilMr* order Hip ilisonßliMtiuttati o newspapers. Hie i>ullsliers may continue to semi i lie in until all arrearages are paid. If subserllwrs refuse <r nonlrei to late llielr newspapers from the nfftee In u hicli they are sent (Hey are held mqmnsiMe until they have settled the hills ai.tl ordered them discontinued. If subscribers n<ove toother places without In forming lhe pii Mi slier, ami the newspapers are sent to the former place, t hey are re*to!iblble. t*. ".. -LL a.. 1!' I LU.Jggg ADVEBTISINO BATBS. 1 wk. l ino. ISmos. fimos. lvei r 1 square t2 W) *4on | $6 W> |6 dO ut Hi " 7(10 10(11 15 00 ;toui 400H 1 " 10 00 1500 | 25 00 45 00 75 CO One inch makes a square. Administrators and Executors' Notices *.\so. Transient iidvei tlsements and locals 10 cents tier line for first Insertion and 5 cents |s*r line for each addition al insertion It. was the liveliest kind of a time to secure Mr. Snake, who had crawled out of the can and had sought shelter under a lady's <Uess, and I had the whole car lo myself for the rest of I ho ride. I took the sttako alive to the store for the benefit or those unfortunate per sons who never s e snakes-itnlest in their boots. As the reptile grew warm he became very savage, and everyone treated liirn with the greatest respect, particulary the colored men who work ed there. We had him in au upright cane waste basket, and there would have been no trouble if some "smuit aleck" hadn't clapped the basket with slimy snake in oyer a colored man's bare head, ramming it down so tight that it wouldn't come off. This was a shabby trick, for the man was nearly frightened to death in his frantic ef forts to rid himself of his horrible hat. Then they let the snake out on the street, where he distinguished himself to the delight of the small boys until a policeman clublied him to death and began looking around for its owner—to serve likewise I guess. The same night, on my return through the woods, I met my little boy picking berries and noticed a movement of the grass close by him. I knew it was a snake watching him, and quickly breaking a branch I killed what must have been the mate of the snake I had captured in the mojning. But last summer I had an adventure that nearly cured me or snake-hunting. I was crossing a stubble field when I saw the biggest black snqke I ever heard of—over six feet long and as thick as your arm. Picking up a stick I hit him, and he turned on me. I struck at trim again before he reached me, but he was so quick I missed. As he wound about ray legs and began ciimbing up on me, I was powerless to strike, and before I could help myself he was around my throat, tightening his powerful folds and choking ma I. tried to tear him off, but couldn't. Gasping for breatb, I tried again, but he wound around my left arm and was fast getting the best of the fight. Then I thought of m} knife, and after a des perate struggle managed to get It from my pocket and opened it. I jabbed it into him, wounding myself in doing so, and then feeling his coils relapse, fell down, Cor I was so faint from terror that I couldn't stand. But 1 brought hira home for the boy to look at, and have never liked big black snakes since. Women Who Count the Change. 'We have a cashier now who is the shrewdest woman I ever knew. She sits up there where the cash balls roll in, evidently kept busy making change. But that young woman knows all that is going on at every counter in this large store. She catches shop lifters, reports irregulari ties among clerks, and detects every little device invented by the salesman to beat us or our customers. She is not a spy. The crookedness she re ports among the clerks would affect her department if allowed to pass. She often calls me up and points out some mistakes in the cash checks, say ing, for instance : That has occur red five times this week. Mr. M is vefy careless.' So jon see she does not accuse him of willful mistakes in making out his checks, but I under stand her and apply the proper reme dy. 'A cashier's place is a bard one. She sits up there, generally alone ; the air near the ceiling of a crowded store is not wholesome. She must be quick to make change, and the knowledge that every cent lost comes out of her $lO per week naturally tends to make her nervous. She must watch for mutilated, punched, and plugged coins, and for counterfeit pieces and bad bills. The checks ac companing the cash are invariably witten in haste, are often illegible,and if she does not read the figures cor rectly she is liable to send back too much change. 'But you ask me do women embez zle. Never have I known a single case ; never have I heard of one. I can not say that of men. There are women shoplifters, cheats, confidence swindlers, quacks, and even gamblers* but a woman who is made cashier in an establishment is always one that is known, one who has earned the po sition by being a good saleswoman. Women are never placed in positions ot trust as men are. Men of bad hab its and character often obtain trusty places without much inquiry into their fitness. A woman's reputation is the very first thing an employer looks into, and the greater the trust he intends to confide the more scrupu lously he inquires. It should be so in employing men, but it is an innate feeling that makes men easily put confidence in men."—New York Star.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers