The Millkeim Journal, PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY BY t{. K. jnTiißltliEfi. Office in the New Journal Building, Penn St.,ncarHartnian's foundry. SI.OO PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE, OB $1.30 IP NOT PAID IN ADVANCE. Acceptable Correspondence Solicited Address letters to MILLIIEIM JOURNAL. BUSINESS CARDS. IIARTER, Auctioneer, MILLIIEIM, PA. B. STOVER, Auctioneer, Madisonhurg, Pa. "Yyr H.KKIFSNYDKK, Auctioneer, MILLIIEIM, PA. jQB. J. W. ST AM, Physician & Surgeon Office on Penn Street. MiLLnKiM, PA. JOHN F. IIARTEU. Practical Dentist, Office opposite the Methodist Church. MAIS STREET, MILLIIEIM FA. GEO. L. LEE, Physician & Surgeon, MADISONBURG, PA. Office opposite the Public School House. p - ARD ' m * D • WOODWARD, PA. O. DEININGER, Notary-Public, Journal office, Penn at., Millheira, Pa. 3®-Deeds and other legal papers written and acknowledged at moderate charges. W; J. SPRINGER, Fashionable Barber, Havinq had many years' of experiencee the public can expect the best work and most modem accommodations. Shop opposite Miiihelm Banking House MAIN STREET, MILLUEIM, PA. QEORGE L. SPRINGER, Fashionable Barber, Corner Main & North streets, 2nd Boor, Millheim, Pa. Shaving, Haircutting, Shampooning, Dying, &c. done in the most satisfac tory manner. Jno.H. Orris. C. M. Bower. Ellis L.Orvis QRVIS, BOWER & OR VIS, Attorneys-at-Law, BELLEFONTE, PA., Office in Woodings Building. D. H. Hastings. W. F. Reeder. 1 J~ ASTINGS & REEDER, Attorney s-at-Law, BELLEFONTE, PA. Office on Allegheny Street, two doors east of the office ocupied by the late Arm of Yocum A Hastings. J O. MEYER, Attorney-at-Law, BELLEFONTE PA. At the Office of Ex-Judge Hoy. C. HEINLE, Attorney-at-Law BELLEFONTE, PA. Practices in all the courts of Centre county BpecUl attention to Collections. Consultations In German or English. J A.Beaver. J. "W. Gepbart. JgEAVER & GEPHART, 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 trains. Special rates to witnesses and Jurors. QUMMINS HOUSE, BISHOP STREET, BELLEFONTE, PA., EMANUEL BROWN, PROPRIETOR * * * Home newly refitted and refurnished. Ev erything done to make guests comfortable. Katesmodera** trouage respectfully solici ted S-ly •j-RVIN HOUSE, (Most Central Hotel in the city.) COBNER OF MAIN AND JAY STREETS LOCK HAVEN, PA. S.WOODSOALDWELL PROPRIETOR. Good sameple rooms for commercial Travel ers.on first floor. R. A. BUMILLER, Editor. VOL. GO. Con is ton's Courtship. John Gordon Annesley, Earl of Con - iston, sat in the cabin of the Brighton boat, reading his eveuing paper. He tiad just folded and put in his pocket a long letter from his friend and partner. Sir Campbell Frazer, in which the gen tleman announced that affairs at the Ranch of San Rosalie were going on perfectly, but that he must beg his 'dear old Jack' to put off his sailing date just a fortnight;, as he now found that he could not be in New York pos sibly before the close of the mouth (Oc tober) or later. Coniston was in the midst of a frown over this piece of intelligence as he glanced over the paper. He bated America and Americans ; lie longed to put the sea between himself and this displeasing nation ; he yearned for 'shooting' and the Highlands ; he icorued the gayelies of all the Ameri can watering places, and stopped at the Pavillion—solely, as he openly avowed, because Brighton was an English name for a place, and for the other reason that here he was within an hour of Pier 3S North River, and could step on boardaGuoin boat at almost a mo ment's warning. Coniston, therefore, chaffed under the afiliction of an addi tional fortnight in the land of loathing. Albeit the Ranch of San Rosalie was adding a considerable number of thous ands to his income, he still—just at this particular moment—wished it at bottom of the Red Sea. Perhaps, too, he mingled with the afflictions of the exile some memories of Lady Cicely Howard, and the strange penchant he had for her dur ing the last Londou season. However this may he, Coniston'a va cant eye at this juueture took in a very neat little figure as it advanced in the cabin ; it was followed by another—a plump, middle-aged lady's figure, much burdened with shawls and wraps, and evidently in deadly peril of a draught, for before seating itself, both the neat little figure and the plump duenna ex amined carefully the fastening of all adjacent wiudows. 'This one seems tightly closed, Aunt Doriuda," the girl said, in her clear, light voice. 'Horrible American tone, calculated to lacerate a fog !' mentally comment ed his lordship. 'No, Polly, no ; I am sure ' 'Polly ! ye gods !' soliloquized the earl. 'Suggestive only of comic opera, milkmaids atd parrots. And she has short hair I—he never could abide a short-haired woman. And she was small. Small women had always, from youth up, constituted his pet aversion ! Dressed in brown ; brown as a color was distressing, in fact it was no color at all P Coniston had all his nation's prejudice in favor of brilliant hues. She is alert, bright, viyacious ; all that a woman should not be ; what a contrast to Cicely, who was the perfec tion of languor, dreaminess and repose I —and yet Cicely was sometimes rather of a bore. He wondered if this young person was a bore ? Now that he inspected her, he observed that she had a certain reticence of face and manner that was wholly un-American. She had seen him looking at her, of cousre. By Joye I where was his paper ? on the floor ! and yet for some inscrutable rea son she did not return his gaze square ly out of those large eyes of hers. It was strange I It struck Coniston as a remarkable fact, worth recording, that he had encountered one American girl who declined to reciprocate the delicate attentions of his eyes. Why 1 there came Bradford 1 such a capital fellow for au American. Bradford knew her. She smiled at Bradford, and allowed him to sit beside her, and'gaye him her wrap'to hold. To be sure, Coniston remembered that he had always thought Bradford very much of a cad, and not a nice fel low by any means. And Bradford held her wrap, and they all went off the boat together in the iriendliest sort of fashion, with the maid trotting after thera with the satchels and dogs. No, he had always had a special a version for that Bradford ! And as for small women, with short hair, dressed in brown—well, his disgust for thera was not to be measured by any lan guage. Nevertheless, as Couiston wilily ar. gued with himself, 'a man must All up his time so, in an off hand way he just intimidated to Bradford that lie dido't care*-if the opportunity offered —if bs did introduce him to Mrs. Wad dle and her niece, Miss Grey. Bradford was apparently magnani mous ; besides, he had never presented an earl to Grey before—and he did the deed with satisfaction to himself at least. Miss Grey bowed slowly to Coniston, and then she turned her attention to a group of lady friends sitting near, leav- MILLIIEIM, PA., THURSDAY, JULY 22., 188 G. ir.g Coniston to the agreeable knowl edge that he was at liberty to salute her the next time he met her on the piazza or the corridor. It didn't satisfy him. lie went off and smoked a cigar, and conjured up Cicely in the fragrance of the Havana. Even Cicely did not seem to ho as completely a as ho had fancied she ought to he. For live days ho wandered up and down, and round and round tho hotel, 'lounging,' he ca'led it ; hut tlio more correct term tp describe these peregrin ations would he—politely chasing Polly Grey. Finally ho beheld her alone. NeithJ er aunt nor Bradford nor friends heaven he praised—were anywhere a bout. lie drew near the big rocker, where she sat with a hook in her lap, and suddenly Coniston remembered that he should have to say something beyond 'good-moruing,' aud for the first lime in forty-one years he actually wonder* ed what it should he. She spared him the attempt, however aud glancing up, said : •Ah ! good-morning ; yon liaye been up in town, I suppose, ever since the day Mr. Bradford presented you ?' 'Up in town ?' This was too much, when lie had followed her like a detect ive the entire tiuie. Coniston looked feebly at her, and then he laughed,and his fair face Hush ed as he ventured to sit down on the piazza-step at her feet. Folly glanced down inquiriugly with steady, demure eyes. 'No,' he cried. 'Miss Grey, I've been most of the time about a yard and a quarter away from you ; hut you never seemed to see me !' 'llow strange !' Polly says, wonder ingly. 'Most people would have seen you, now, wouldn't they ¥' 'Women always have before,' he as sented, with a sigh. •Then you must have rejoiced in a change, didn't you ? Variety is so pleasant to an appetite j ided by same ness !' 'No,' he answers ; 'I didu't enjoy it at all. I'll tell you,' he says, looking up at her with wide, clear eyes ; 'to he frank, I hate American women, and you're the only one who ever inspired me with the slightest ' Coniston stops short ; there is some thing in his listener's face that marks an unerring period in his reckless speech. 'Well ?' she asks, sweetly and clear ly, ' '—the slightest'?' The English language is Collision's native tongue,hut it fails him now ; he feels the warm blood suffusing his face as his mind runs after an elusive wo man. 'Ah, I ses ; there are some things so much better implied than expressed. But I am so matter-of-fact that I must translate your mute eloquence, Lord Coniston ' At this moment Conis ton is lost in calculating how many minutes he can stand this present tem perature of his dead and face—'into words, or a word—curiosity, eh V Come, he twice frauk—is it not so ?' 'You may christen it curiosity, and call it so, pro tern., if you choose, Miss Grey, but ' Tne earl again falters. 'Oh !' cries the girl, with a little im patient wave of her hand, and throw ing hack her pretty blonde head ; 'how I abhor Englishmen ! They are so in terror of even their minor emotions. A Fienchman, a German, an Italian, any other nationality in the world is ready and eager to put his flirtatious propensities into the most delicious lan guage ; tut an Englishman !'—she shudders—'he stops to wonder what lie is about to feel, and lo I the emotion vanishes ! ha 1 ha ! ha !' Miss Grey laughs a long, musical, ringing laugh. Coniston looks at her, and lie won ders if lie has ever really seen her until this morning ? She looks like the brightest part of sunshine as she sits there in it, mocking him. "Perhaps we do avoid putting what you call our 'flirtatious propensities' into words ; hut if you will permit [me to say so, an Englishman is only too ready to speak out that which ho really feels 1' 'Do tliey ever 'feel' anything out side the hunting-field and the House of Commons V' she asks provokingly. lie smiles as he looks at her. 'I will tell you some day.' Not long after Coniston rides with Miss Grey—a long afternoon ride on the road by the hay and through the woods and past the farms busy with their Autumn fruit-gathering. They chat of commonplace things— the flowers, the birds, the clouds, the blue of sea and sky, and they come home soberly enough, too soberly, lie thinks. There i 3 a ball that night, the last of 'the season.' Couiston is not a dan cing man, so he has the satisfaction of A IMl'Hll FOR THE lIOMK CIISCLK watching Miss Grey Hunting about the ballroom principally with Bradford. Ho stalks out on the piazza, brilliant with lanterns, and then saunters to the other end, where it is comparatively quiet. Polly sits there,and Bradford—Brad ford I—is bending above her, he even has her hand ; and now he goes in and leaves her. Coniston is a madman as ho rushes into the other man's place, and leans trembling over her chair. She is quite silent. 'H is I,' he whispers, brokenly. '1 know,' she replies, softly. •Oh, child !' cries he, 'jou must lis ten to me ; I am a good-for-nothing sort of a fellow ; I have had no relig ion, not anything, until I have known you, and now you aie my shrine. It seems to me at your feet I should lay rare spices, pei fumes, llowers, jewels— and all I dare lay there to-night is a human heart—a human life, Polly,' ho says, lowly stooping his blondo head to hers. 'Will you have mo ¥' He sees her face as she upturns it in the flare of the last lantern ; it is as he has never scon it—pale, stricken,awful, calm. 'Well !'she says, at last, with that clear, bright voice of hers,a trifle hard, a trifle matter-of-fact. 'Oh, I love you, ray soul 1 my queen! I love you and need you,' cries he, o ver come by the sight of her pallor. 'I know,' she answers quietly, 'I ap preciate, valwe your love ; I would not have it otherwise ; I should have been disappointed always if you had not loved me. Ah ?' burying her white face \': her hands, 'I revel in it !' Ami he hail once thought this wo man cold, superficial, unlikahle. 'My darling !' Coniston says, reach ing out his hand for hers. 'But,' whispers the girl, drawing a way in her silken wrap, 'l—l—am en gaged to be married to Eugene Brad ford. I have been for two yeais !' Sir Campbell Frazer had ariived from the West. The Arizona was to sail Tuesday, and both he and the Earl of Coniston were hooked on her pass enger list. It was Monday night—'midsummer come again,'people said, lounging a bout the piazzas of the big hotel warm, sultry,with great banks of blue black cloud 3 hovering above the golden rim of the west. Bradford was up In town, detained by business, as Coniston had discover ed. Miss Grey was sitting at the cor ner of the piazz i. He went up to her for the first time since the night of the ball. 'May I sit down ?' She looked assontingly. 'I am going to-morrow iu the Ari zona.' 'I know,' she answers, whitening. He wonders why, and, Heaven help him ! he gets up and goes away, when lie would rather far have taken the frail, vivacious, alert little woman to his heart. Presently he saunters hack. 'Would you take a ride with me. to night ! You know we shall never on earth see each other again. Would you ?' Her e>e3 fiasli, her lips quiver ; she turns the ring on her finger hack and forth. 'Yes,' she says, quietly, 'I will. 1 will get on my habit and he down pres ently.' They rido off—off into the green and silent country lanes, where the dew damps the air, and where the scent of the homestead flower gardens mingles with the breath of the sea as it comes to them. They do not talk very much, nor yet ride fast. The twilight is gathering and the horses have their way. Suddenly it grows dark—the blue btauk clouds have crept over all the brightness of the heavens and hidden the harvest moon from sight. A flash—an instantaneous report,and Polly see 3 her lover stagger in his seitt; his left arms falls powerless,struck for ever useless at his side. She had her horse beside him in an instant ; she comes close to his side, while the great rain drops fall splash ing down upon thera. She takes up the stiicken arm in her soft hands, and presses her young lips upon it. 'Polly !' cries Coniston wildly, 'do you love Bradford ?' •Oh, no !' she says. 'Will you marry me ?' 'Yes,' she whispers. 'Now—to-night—this yery hour ?' . 'Yes, this very hour if you wish it. Oh !' cries the girl, wildly, 'Jack, I'll be so good to you. I must ho, don't you 'see V This—this 1' She touches his arm as he tries to guide his horse and hold her to him, both. Hie does not need me like that, and you do ; and it is my fault—l ought not to have 1 come out to-night with you 1' J 'Thank God you did !' 'And,' she says, slowly, as they turn their horses heads, 'besides, I—l love you ; is it not strange ?' 'Very. And you will not regret owning a fellow as -as helpless as I am, Polly ¥' 'No,'she answers, thoughtfully, and looking at her by the lightening's fre quent llash, he sees the strength, and warmth, and tenderness, and love, that he has need of. 'Polly," Coniston says, through the pelting rain, as they rile hack to Brighton, 'it seems to me as if my whole life had boon an interrogation point and as if you were the blessed answer to it.' And so it fell out that the reierend pastor of St. Mary's was called upon to marry two drenched people that No vember night, and that the Earl of Coniston put oIT his sailing date anoth er month. The Boy Next Door. BY MRS. MARGARET E. SANGSTEIt. Next to his big brother, for whom our boy entertains a feeling of bound less admiration, the person who lias the most to do with educating him is the hoy next door. Wo deny ourselves not only luxuries, but conveniences, that we may place our boj in the best school attainable ; we are careful and assidu ous with regard to his diet and his clothing, and the ventilation of his bed room; yet we are often strangely indif ferent as to the influence upon him of his familiar friend and playmate. The hoy next door stands for the associate who sits beside him in the class-room, who shares his luncheon at the noon re cess, with whom he walks to and from school. What do we know about the home atmosphere from which this hoy comes,of the principles and code of man ners which obtain in his father's house? Is he, like our hoy, accustomed to hear the Bible quoted as the ru'e of daily living, and to see all mooted points brought rigidly to the lest, "What would Jesus hid us do ?" It is a great advantage to our little man if he has a brother to whom he may look loyally and trustfully, and whose good example outweighs a myriad precepts. But suppose lie him self is just now the only, or the biggest hoy in the home; or, suppose the broth ers are so far his seniors in age as to he removed from much sympathy with his pursuits ? I remember to have heard an eminent physician say that, in his opinion, half the difficulties in family training would he surmounted, if only parents started their eldest children right. "Let the first boy in the home he truthful and obedient,"lie said,"and the rest will naturally follow his lead." In the main, my friend's observation has been proved correct. Still, it is neither possible nor desirable to confine our little men to the home companion ship, excluding every other, for child hood's world should he an introduction to the larger world beyond it, the world of thought, enterprise, and action. When, not long ago, I heard a father remark that he must change the envi ronment of a child who had grown up to the age of sixteen in hotels and boarding-houses, because he noticed a touch cf forwardness, a certain loud ness of tone about the child's manner, unbenefiting youth aud refinement, I felt like saying. "My dear sir, you are just sixteen years too late in your refor mation. No quiet household life now will renew the bloom which the public ity of your previous arrangement lias rubbed from the child's mind and man ner." None of us can afford to post pone attention to our children's friend ships, for. whether or not we accept it as a fact, we sli ill find on examination that the friendships of childhood often give bent to character and affect the ent ire life. One of the sweetest, wisest,and most successful mothers of my acquaintance, makes it a point, always, of knowing the mothers of her children's school friends, and of maintaining some sort of social intercourse with them. Not necessarily on the plane of social equal ity, hut in order that she may ho assur ed that no injury to her children's mor als shall come through intimacy with those of whom she knows nothing. I believe in having the hoy's play hours under tender mother-brooding, if not under minute mother-inspection. To insure quietude and order in the house, to keep carpels from wearing anil paint from stain, many hoys are al lowed to go where they choose for rec reation, the mother calmly satisfied if only they are out of her way. Shall I ever forget the plaintive despair of one little fellow, aged six, who came up stairs, his copper-toed hoots emphasiz ing his desperation at every step. "1 have been in the library, and ma ma dosen't want me; I.have been in the nursery, and Mary won't have me ; I have been in the kitchen, and cook has driven me out; there is no place in the house for me. 1 know what I'll do, I'll go into the street." And into the street he went, to find what company he could. And the mother, lounging by the fire with a novel, or matching silks in her embroidery, was content to let him go. Terms, SI.OO per Year, in Advance. In rout rust to this, a little incident which came to my knowledge not long ago may he suggestive. The mother is a woman of many engagements and in terests. She had spent a day in ardu ous work, and as the wintry twilight deepened she lay on tho sofa in her fire lit room, seeking a brief rest for mind and body. Presently she heard a step on the stairway outside, a soft, consid erate step, unlike the usually precipi tate progress of hertwelve.year.old lroy. "Darling," she called, "where are you going ?" "Oli, mamma, are you awake? I thought you were sleeping, and I did not want to disturb you. It's so dull in the house, I meant just to go out doors and loaf around awhile till dinner time." 'Come talk to me, dear, and we will not be dull," said the mother, feeling thankful that the opportunity had not escaped her. 1 I stopped him just in time," she said, gratefully. A boy can have 110 better intimate friend after all than his own father. The beautiful confidence with which some sons approach some fathers, tell ing them not of their success only, but of their defeats, of their trials as well as their triumphs, is the best introduc tion that a child can have into the knowledge of the Heavenly Father's love. True as it is, that many hard-work ing fathers have little time to spare for taking their children's measure, being so busy in bread-winning or in laying up money, that they delegate all their responsibilities to their wives, and are practically strangers to their boys; it is nevertheless a pity and an error. Worse, it is a sin. What shall the father, awakening too late to a sense of his blunder, urge except that old and fruit less excuse, "While Thy servant was busy here and there, he was gone." Next to a father a good companion •for a growing boy is sometimes to be found in such a guide, philosopher, and friend, as Jonas proved to Itollo. I wish children would still read the Itollo books, as they used to. It is hardly the fashion at present to praise any thing didactic in the line of childish reading, but the Itollo books remain unapproaclied in their fitness for child ish minds and hearts ; and, over all the years that lie between us. I send ray love to Jonas, as ont of the best com panions a little