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"gEAYEIt & GEPHART, Attorneys-at-Law, BELLEFONTE, PA. Office on Alleghany Street. North of High Street jgROCKERHOFF 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, BISHO? STREET, BELLEFONTE, PA., EMANUEL BROWN, • PROPRIETOR House newly refitted and refurnished. Ev erything done to make guests comfortable. Katesmodera*' trouage respectfully solici ted 5-ly -J-RVIN HOUSE, (Most Central Hotel in the city.) CORNER OF MAIN AND JAY STREETS LOCK HAVEN, PA. S.WOODSCALDWELL PROPRIETOR. Good sameple rooms lor commercial Travel era on first floor. R. A. BUMILLER, Editor. VOL. 60. Eunice's lViisioii-Moiiey. 'I do declare for't, Eunice, them pesky hens hain't laid six eggs !' ex claimed Mrs. Martin, entering the kitchen door which led to the shed. 'I ve a pood mind to wring every one o' their necks, an' then get some o' Mis' Eben Morse's chickens ; hern air always master-hands to lay. Guess you'll hev to go down to the store an' git me a dozen o' eggs ; we've got none but these, an' thej won't make no kind of a cake.' 'l'd better stop at the postortlce too, hadn't 1 ? The mail must a* come in by now,' replied Eunice llillyer, Mrs. Martin's hired girl, and second cousin al9o. In this part of our land, servants, so called, were unknown ; if a farmer's wife coul I not do all her own woik, some neighbor's daughter was hired to help her ; but though she bargained for a weekly stipend, she did not there by lose caste ; she ate with the family who employed her. entered into all their plans and amusements, and not seldom married the farmer's sou or brot her. 'Yis, I would if I was you. Mebbe you'll git that pension ' yourn,' said Mrs. Martin, laughingly. 'lf so he's you're ever to get it, that is.' 'Julia Perkins was waitiu' three years, but hers come at last.' 'That's so. Well, 'patient waitin', no losin',' the sayin' is. An', oh, Eu nice, as you come home' spos'n you pick some of those round woodberries ; they'd look kind o' nice on the parlor mantel-shelf.' After a brief absence Eunice came back, without any letters, but with the eggs and a huge buuch of the brilliant scarlet berries of the rowan-tree, which Mrs. Martin and tier neighbors called 'round woodberries.' As she handed the latter to Mrs. Martin, she said : 'Do you remember that big, squatty blue vase in the attic ? I mean the one Uncle Joe brought home from Chiny and giv' to mother, the very last voyage before he was wrecked. I seen one something like it, only not near so handsome when I was down 10 Au gusty last week ; a neighbor o' Mis' Parker's had it settin' on her hearth, full of flowers. Spos'n I git mine to put these berries in ?' 'I would. But what a creetur you be fur idees, Eunice ! Now I'd never a took Dotice of such a thing. So Eunice went up to the &ttic and presently returned with a large and val uable china jar which her mother had, for many years, used as a sort of catch all. When, after Mrs. llillyer's death, the little house and all its furniture were sold to pay the funeral expenses, doctor bill, etc., this jar was put aside for Eunice among the few things she might keep for herself, because it was old and useless, save as a memento of former days. The Hillyers were once iu comforta ble circumstances, but when Eunice's father died, his wiuow sold the farm lands because there was no one to at tend to thera. Basil, the only son, had no taste for farming ; he preferred to woik in one of the many sawmills near Bingor, aud was doing well when the *r broke out. He had always given a liberal share of bis wages to his mother, and when, shortly after he enlisted in the array, he received a commission as sec ond Lieutenant, his pride and joy were more on account of the widowed moth er aud little sister at home than for him self. Twice afterward he was pro moted, and with increased pay for him self there came increased comfort—al most luxury, to their simple tastes— for the loved ones. Then, in the aw ful Wilderness, a bullet whizzed through the air, and Captain Basil Hillyer, after but a few seconds of suf fering, passed into the better land ; and there was mourning in the little farmhouse where he was born. And now, beside deep grief, the trouble of poverty came to Mrs. Hill yer and her little daughter. The form er was not strong, and the aid that ten year-old Eunice could give was slight, so the two struggled along, hopeless of better days, until at last news came to their ears that a soldier's mother, a dependent upon him during his life time, was entitled to a pension. The law granting such pension had been in force before Mrs. Hillyer heard of and then weary months were consum ed iu obtaining all the apparently need less information which the Pension Of fice insisted upon. Now and then a fellow-townsman actually did get a pension ; in one case a widow (just preparing to take to her self a second husband) was well known to have got nearly a thousand dollars ; this possibly was something tangible to live and hope for. At last a piece of good fortune came quite near home. Mrs. Ilillyer's cousin's daughter, one Julia Perkins, received a little over twelye hundred dollars pension-money, which should have come to Mrs. Per MILLHEIM, PA., THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 30., 1886. kins, but that she died a few weeks be fore her case was acted upon at The of fice in Washington. Just about the time that the spur was given to her hope, Mis. 11illyer re ceived an unusually explicit letter from the Pension Office, which said, with out very much ciicumlocution, that the one evidence now needed was some proof, either by letters from the dead soldier or by sworn statements from responsible persons who paid or saw paid to her money which her son sent her before and during his service in the army, that she was actually dependent upon Captian Basil llillyer for her maintenance. Many such letters had been received ; some of them had been lost or destroyed, but Mrs. llillyer was very certain that a least a dozen of them, tied together with a bit of tape, had been put in that very indefinite place—somewhere. And as the son had always been so careless as to send his money directly to her in a bank note, theie were no witnesses to any payments by him. During the search for the lost letters death came to Mrs. II illyer and ended all her anxieties and piivations. In the general overhauling incident upon the sale and the removal of her own effects, Eunice could And no trace of the much-desired letters ; so sin con cluded that her mother bad uncon sciously destroyed them ; and now she spoke of her pension much as one's ship that is to 'come in.' but which so rarely ever does make port. As she was emptying the jar of the bits of old string and torn newspapers which it contained, she said to Mrs. Martin : 'Are you going to camp with E/.y Knights's folks V 'Well, I dunno ; I kind of thought I should like to ; we ain't so very drove just now. I wouder if they've made up their minds Where's bes to go ?' an swered Mrs. Martin, pausing in her work of beating eggs. 'I seen Ida when I was to the store, and she says they've about decided to go to Sunk llase Medder ; It ain't so very far. Morse's folks is all going.' 'Then, of course, you he, too ; so I will hev to go to keep an eye on you and Eben.' 'There's a good lot of nice strong twine in this jar,' said Eunice, irrele vantly. 'Eben is as good a feller as ever trod shoe-leather,' continues Mrs. Martin, not to be arrested in her remarks by Eunice's twine. 'lie ain't so awful smart as some folks, mebbe, but 'cute ness ain't all one looks for in a bus band. I suppose lie can't help his na ture ; It wasn't his choosing that he was born of that money loving Morse tribe ; there never was a Morse that would not squeeze a cent till it holler ed ! Ah, Eunice, if you would only get that pension, Eben would marry you quick enough then I Well, you might easy git a wuss man, il he is one Why, Eunice, what is the matter ?' The last words were caused by the unwonted sight of Eunice in tears ; the gill had dropped into a chair beside the table, and holding a letter in l.er hand, was weeping bitterly, sobbing as if her heart would break. 'Look '' said she, with a sob ; 'one of Basil's letters ! I found them in the jar !' 'Sho now !' exclaimed Mrs. Martin, sympathetically. 'Poor Basil !' Then suddenly remembering the importance of these letters, she added, excitedly : 'Not his army letters tat you've ben a' seaiching for ? Well, well, but I be glad ! Now you will git your pension —and Eben, too 1' No one who knew the Morses was at all surprised that Eben, who had plan ned a long visit to relatives in Philadel phia, should offer to take the precious letteri to Washington, and, if possible, close up Eunice's business for her. As soon as he arrrived in Washing ton, Eben betook himself to the Pen sion Office (which was then in its old quarters on Pennsylvania avenue), and on being asked by a colored man who sat at the head of the long flight of stairs which led from the street to the Commissioner's room, the lower part of the building being occupied by a store, what his errand was, he said he had come to see about a pension for Mrs. Hillyer, Captain Ilillyer's moth er. This was so much more lucid ar.d exhaustive an answer than the man usually got to such questions, that he did not seud Basil very far, only to the room of the Chief Clerk, directly behind him. Here too, Eben, being a man of few words and knowing just what he was after, in one sentence stated his errand so clearly, that he was told to whom to go for exact information. Through one or two swinging-doors, up three or four steps, through a nar row and crooked passageway, and then down three or four steps, he went with a messenger, till at last he was usher ed into a small room where four clerks sat, probably at work, though three of A PAPER FOR TllV: HOME CIRCLE. them were listening to some quotations from tlio lie vised Statutes which the other, a spare, uptight old gentleman, was reading aloud. On making his er rand known to the clerk who sat near est the door, Eben was directed to a fatherly-looking man, with snow-white hair and heard, who sat hy a window. He answered various questions put by this clerk, who presently said : 'Oh, I see ! The dependent mother is dead, you say V' 'Yes, sir ; she died hi March, nigh on to two years ago.' 'What papers are those which you have ? The doctor's bill and ' 'No, sir ; the letters which you wrote so many times for—letters from Captain Ilillyer when lie sent money to Itis mother.' 'Ah, yes ; the evidence of mainte nance. They'll have to go to the Au ditor, of course. Let mo see, contin ued the clerk, consulting several ledg ers while he spoke ; 'no, the Ilillyer case has not yet gone to the Auditor,so I will take those letters. You huyen't sent 011 the bills yet, have you ?' 'Hills ! What bills, sir V' 'The undertakers' the doctor's ' 'Hut Captain Ilillyer didn't need no doctor, poor fellow ! lie was shot through the head in the Wilderness, and died where he fell." 'The soldier t Oh, yes, that evi dence is all right. Now. what we want is the bills for the mother's last sickness and burial ; this is an ac crued pension case, you know.' 'A what, sir ?' asked puzzled Eben. 'lf Mis. Ilillyer wero alive she would receive twenty dolhus a mouth pension, with back pay from the date of the soldier's death. Hut she being dead the money reverts to the govern ment, who, however, will pay all certi fied nills for the mother's funeral, also bills for her board, nursing, medical attendance, etc.' 'Do you mean that her daughter can not have this money ?' 'Only in payment of those bills ?' 'Other folks' daughters have got their mothers' pensions !" 'Oh, yes, that used to be the custom; but the Third Auditor has decided that the law did not so Intend dependent parents' pensions ; that such were pay able on to the parent, and not to his or her heir, except in case a dependent father had left a second wife.' 'The soldier's step-mother could draw his pension money even if he nev ei saw her, or hated her like poison, while his sister can't touch it ?' 'Yes.' 'I call that an abominably unjust law !' exclaimed Eben, indignantly. 'Perhaps Captain Ilillyer'a sister can get a few years' pension as a dependent sister. Uow old was she when he died ?' "No offense to you, sir, but Eunice Hi.lyer will not have anything more to do with a Government that takes bae'e the money it owed to her mother. If I, or any one else, had owed money to Mrs. Ilillyer, this very same Govern ment would make me pay the debt to her heirs. Poor old lady 1 She ate her heart out waiting for this money ; she died from sli9er anxiety and over work. If she'd bad a quarter part of what was owing to her, she'd be alive now !' and with this words Ebeu took his leave. * * * * * * A rich golden haze was in the air, aiid a sense ot rest and contentment of feeling that it was afternoon and the day's work was done, and even the busiest might sit idle for a brief period —came over Eunice Ilillyer the day before Thanksgiving. Mr. Martin's buttery was full to overflowing with spicy mince pies. Yellow custard, golden pumpkin, deep-red cranberry, and numerous other pies, were ranged in tempting rows on the shelves ; in the stone jars below were cookies and doughnuts enough to have fed a regi ment of huDgry boys ; in the deep drawers were loaf after loaf of cake fruit, pound, cup, caramel, walnut, marble, spice, silver, gold and jelly— arid there was no cakemaker in town equal to Eunice, Mrs. Martin had said to her that yery morning. 'Well, Eunice, as Eben got home yesterday, and there ain't no word of pension, I guess there is no hope of it. It's an ill wind that blows nobody good, you know, an' what should a' dono this Thanksgiving without you to make my cake I'm sure I don't know for my cousins from Bath, who are to be here to morrow, are famous cooks, and I sh'd hate awfully not to have a mite of decent cake to set be fore them ; and somehow Ido have a dretful heayy hand with dough of all sorts. So it is a mercy to me there ain't no prospect of you marrying E beu Morse.' Which doubtless was a comfort to Mrs. Martin, but not so much so to Eunice. The girl was coming slowly home from the store, where she had been to make some last purchase for the morrow's festivities, and recalling to mind what Mis. Martin had said, was sorely tempted to have a cry out there iu the gathering darkness all by herself. She had been so sure that, now the missing letters were in hei hand, the longed-for money would be hers. But she was not mercenary ; it was not the coin she regretted ; it was those fair visions she had allowed her mental eyes to see, of a snug home where, within another year, she and Eben should have their own Thanks giving to keep, their own fat turkey to roast, their own buttery full of appe tizing danties. She tried not to let her self say, even if only to herself, that there was little for her to give thanks for this year, and little for h *to look forward to which would ever ue worth remembering on any future Thanksgiying Day. Of course Eben would not stay single for her sake ; he was too fond of home-life to bo wiliing to go wifeless all his days, and there were at least two girls of her acquaintance \vh o would gladly marry him. As she thus meditated, Eben's voice sounded in her ear : 'Well, Eunice, here I am.' 'Had a pleasant journey, Eben ?' was her calm reply. She did hope her eyes wou'd-not look red in this dim light. 'Pretty good. But, Eunice, your pension is all a humbug.' Eunice was not surprised, yet the news, so placidly told, was depressing. He went on to describe his adven tures aud his interview with the clerk, adding : 'Now, if you would liaye got your rights, you'd a had about live thousand dollars pension moiiey ; and that in a good deal, wouldn't/it V Enough make a girl worth masryiog for, ain't it V At the reiterated question, Eunice felt obliged to answer : 'Yes, Eben.' To herself she said : 'Ah, well, he can't help his disposi tion, an' I can't help bein' poor.' 'I hear,' continued Ebea, slowly aud emphatically, 'that the boys 'round town have been sayin' that soon's you got your pension I was goin' to ask you to marry me. You know's well as I do that we Morses have always been powerful money-lovin', don't you ?' 'Yes,' she said again, with a little sigh. 'Now, I never had no faith in this pension ; but bein' a Morse, no one would a' believed I was sure you'd nev er git it; now I am sure, an' everybody knows it—knows I ain't after your money now. Eunice, I've been waitin' on you for nigh on to two years, an' you'ye known me always ; what's to hioder our gittin' married to-morrow, Thanksgivin' Day ?' Again Eunice said, 'Yes, Eben,' but without a sigh. A Disorderly Man's Lecture. 'Where's my hat V 'Who's seen my knife V 'Who turned my coat wrong side out and slung it under the lounge V There you go, my boy. When you came into the house last evening you flung your hat across the room, jumped out of your shoes and kicked 'em right and left, wriggled out of your coat and gave it a toss, and now you are annoy ed because each article hasn't gathered itself into a chair to be ready for you when you dress in the morning. _ Who cut those shoestrings ? You did it to save one minute's time in untying them ! Your knife is under the bed, where it rolled when yon hopped, skip ped and jumped out of your trousers. Your collar is down behind the bureau, one of your socks on the bed, and your vest may be in the kitchen wood-box tor all you know. Now, then, my way has always been the easiest way. 1 would rather fling my hat down than hang it up; I'd ratti er kick my boots under the lounge than place them in the hall; I'd rather run the risk of spoiling a new coat than to change it. I own right up to being reckless and slovenly, but, all me ! haven't I had to pay for that ten times oyer ? Now set your foot right down, and determine to have order. It is a trait that can be acquired. An orderly man can make two suits of clothes last longer and look better than a sloyenly man can do with four, lie can save an hour a day over the mau who flings things helter-skelter, lie stands twice the show to-get a situ ation and keep it, and fiye times the show to conduct a business with proGt. An orderly man will be an accurate man. If he is a carpenter, every joint will lit. If he is a turner,his goods will look neat. If ho is a merchant, his books will show neither blot nor error. An orderly man is usually an economi cal man, and always a prudent one. If you should ask me how to become rich, I should answer, 'He orderly— be accu rate. ' — Detroit Free Press. Smokers are warned by a celebrated optician from reading and smoking at the same time. The blue of the smoke imposes unequal work upon two eyes. Terras, SI.OO per Year, in Advance. A Bogus Colored Revival. Brother Fitzgerald Refuses to Do livor llin Fiah Sermon for Loss Than $5.; An illegcd colored revival meeting has been in progress in Pine Grove,near Gloucester, for thp past week. The grove, which is called Pine Grove be cause there are two spruce trees scatter ed through the forest of maples, is a favorite resort of the very toughest ele ment that frequents Gloucester. There are several beer booths in the grove that dispense more spirituous enthusi asm that the preachers do spiritual. A morning paper contained the following announcement yesterday : A MOST KN THUS IA STIC COLOKKD Camp meeting Is now being held In Pine drove, Gloucester, N. J. Brother Fitzgerald, of Vir ginia. will preach his celebrated Fish Sermon and slug his celobratod Fish Hymn, on sI'S DAY AFI KKNOON. All are cordially Invited. At two o'clock the score of wooden benches that face the rough, wooden pulpit were empty. The pulpit, which shewed the scars of many a bombard ment, was also empty. Forty or fifty rough young men and about half as many young women ot the same social complexion were drinking beer at the booths, but there was not a simrle col ored person in sight. Shortly after that hour Rev. Isaac Emory, a colored preacher,who was a missionary on Rod man street, appeared, and when asked if there would be services in the after noon, pointed to a little house through the trees, and said; 'Yo'go ask Broth er Fitzgerald.' Brother Fitzgerald had just lit his clay pipe, and was busy wrapping up bis sermon in a newspa per. 'No, salt,' lie said, in reply to a qttes tionM'dar won't be no sarvices so far as lam consarned. 1 don't give my fish sermon to nobody nor no color for less den so. I come from good stock, I do, and mj celebrated fish sermon am a deep sermon and she don't go to nobody for less'n $5. Brother Fitzgerald was told that there was a great curiosity to hear his celebrated sermon,but he was obdurate in holding out for the tariff price of $5. lie consented to give the text,however. It is from the thirteenth chapter of St. Matthew: 'For the kingdom of heayen is like unto a net cast into the sea and gathers all kind.' 'I take everyone of these fishes and analize 'era,' said Brother Fitzgerald. At this moment Brother Emory rushed into the house, followed by the echo of a faint cheer from the benches in the grove. 'Brother Fitzgerald, you come out liyar and preach to dose sinners,' lie shouted. 'No, sah,' said Brother Fitzgerald, decidedly, 'you don't git that fish ser mon widout the ss.' 'Brother Fitzgerald,what kind away is dat to treat me ?' said Brother Emo ry, appealingly, 'especially after me carrying the hod all week.' 'Yo' don't git that fish sermon for less'n $5. I'm goin' home.' lie was urged to give a verse of his celebrated 'Fish Ilymn'and finally con sented to chant the following verse : "Ut's po a-flshln' fishin' for souls. Yo' know fish and so do 1, That's the way Christians do, Flsliin' for souls; lie spoke to Peter in the sea, Fishin' for souls; Come leave yo' nets and follow me, Fishin' for sAuls; Pontius Pilate bound in jail, Fishin' for souls; Thev prayed for him in spite of hell, Fishin' for souls. David's weening was but dull. Fishin' for souls; He broke Goliah's brazen skull, Fishlu' for souls." Then Brother Fitzgerald relit his pipe, tucked his precious sermon and hymn under his arm and started for home through the woods, while Broth; er Emory returned to the grove and tried to talk to the hoodlums, but was laughed at and pelted with watermelon rind. Brother Fitzgerald, instead of going home, made a detour and came up behind Brother Emory. He was greeted with cheers. 'I am told,' he said, 'that there are some reporters on the ground. I also see some gentlemen and ladies, but,' he added impressively, pointing to a crowd of hoodlums, 'there air those that air not. Po' Brother Morgan, an aged divine, am lying at home sorely wounded with watermil lion rinds, I ain't here fo' no such purpose, and besides yo' can't liaye my fish sermon for less'n $5. No color nor no denomination can't have this ser mon for less money. Besides, where is Brother Frank Turner? Also at home suffering with watermillion rinds. I hain't a-goin to preach that fish sermon but I will try yo'with a little discourse, and if any of them pesky people cut up any shines I'll lcaye. First, I'll give yo'a regular old plantation song.' In a loud voice he chanted : "Says de mammy to ile boy, Yo' am goin' to die. Amen! Den up looked deboy at an angry God. Amen! Den looked down to a gaping hell. Amen! At this point a hoodlum yelled : 'Brother, get your hair cut!' Brother Fitzgerald looked around and then he started for home through the woods., followed by cries of ' Amen.' Brother Emory then mounted the pulpit and said, 'The word of God is not in that man's mouth,' and as a peb ble whistled past his ear lie added, 'I thank God the age of de watermillion am about oyer. It am not my fault that thar is not more talent here to-day. NO. 88. ' j . I •' i ■ [NEWBPAI'BR LAWS If subscribers orii.iti<>u iuvVs|;ipcrs the AoMNIII'H w:iy routlirttft send theju until .all amuiuigt'aju'e , If siibsiji ibers riTrr i 1 ur iioyH Cf" ik trtlfC Ihflr .1:11' l lie I ills ai d unliM ' *4-4 luua .4fc*V!;l b4V-J*.,- If subvci ilers ft* 4VfB 1 1000 T46 FT# 7810 One inch makes a scmarp, A and Hxectitors' NottMHrfWW Twwltw flWver * UseineiiiAiuul locals Ift oteUUirttft - "line w iiiVt Insertion ami o cents per line lev ca<;li IUUUUUL? al insertion* I. hired three •'preffehcrfi. Oilt* through the WOOL'S, another disappeared and another am over th:tr visiting friends.' lie then pre/ichetj a iong ser mon and look up a cnjk'ctioa tUatt a mounted to sl, or not halt - enough, he said, to pay for the advertising. BrdtK er Fitzgerald, although advertised rs hailing from Virginia, belongs In this citv. — PJUTH. "TTmcs. I have seen certain parts of North and South Carolina,nod some within ten miles of Columbia, while engaged in eating and have observed tlirurr r-rnygrti with evident relish, large quantities of clay, and what's more, I have. joined in IbeJr frugal repast and partaken of some of the stuff myself, says a North Carolina doctor in the Atlanta *'Constitution." It is nearly tasteless, but some of the \ clay-eating epicures profess to ftfjoy it because of a delicate flavor it;possesses It is white, devoid of grit and not un like the kaolin of which plates and saucers afe( disagreeable fft)olit tfiiLclay and it may be taken into the stomach with impuni ty. It is not injurious as an article of diet, indeed many contend that it in sures longevity and wards off several diseases. There are well authenticated instances of woriderful longevity among "clay-eaters," and it is well understood by such of the faculty yu h&je Btipljtfl the subject that none of the ers" ever suffer with indigestion or dys pepsia, and I have never known rme to consumption; in fact, foolish as it may seem,l am constrained to believe that this strange habit exempts the "clay-eaters" ffCM many of tb* ail ments to which the rest of the human family are heirs. Of course there is nothing very succulent or nutritious a bout a slice of clay, but it certainly al lays the gtiawmgs of hunger- This is done by distending the walls of the stomach. It is not to be expected that a clay diet will take entirely the place of bread and meat, but it does this to a certain extent. In my country practice, which occa sionally carries me out into the saud hills (occasionally 1 say, for although the sandhillers are the sickliest looking, most cadaverous and woe-be-gone be ings in the world, they are the healthi est), I have good opportunities to study their peculiar habits. They can subsist on exceedingly limited quantities of meat; in fact they get very little to eat, and that fat bacon,about thrice a week. They are not lazy, but decidedly shift less. They are troubled with few wants, however, and these are supplied easily. "I)o they eat only one sort of clay ?" "As a general thing, yes," was the reply,"but sometimes their table is gar nished by a kind of yellowish marl, somewhat scarce, which they consume with a keen relish. It is sajd to taste sweet, and they use it as a dessert. They, howeyer, draw the line at red clay. This not eyeti their ironclad stomachs can digest- 'Don't you eat red clay ?' I asked a gawky old fellow. 'No sirree,' was his auimated response; 'I have occasionally had er biick in my hat, but I'll lie blamedef I hanker after making my bowels a brickyard.' " Blessod With Patience. About four miles out of Birming ham, Ala., we came .across a stretch of road about four miles long which was a foot deep with red clay mud. We had to ride our horses along tie edge of it, and then it was a job to pull through. On the far side, about fifty feet from the solid road-bed, we came upon a colored man with his ntulc and cart, the latter loaded with wocd and stuck fast in the mud. The man was seated at the roadside, while the old mole was chewing away at a heap of brush and grass which had been cast before him. 'Stuck V asked one of the party as we drew rein. 'Reckon so,' was the reply. • 'How long have you been here ?' 'Since yesterday.' 'Why don't you unload and got out V 'Too much trouble, boss. Ize start ed fur won't pay to go back home again.' 'But what will you do 'Wait fur de mud to dry up, sab. She's bakin' mighty fast under dis hot sun, an' two days more will let me frew.' Just at evening of the second day we saw him come into town with the load, the mule being plastered clear to the tips of his ears. The man rec ognized us, and, bowing very low, he said : 'You's got to hev a leetle patience down in dis here country, b039, spesh \ially when the mule am ober twenty y'ars ole.' —First-class iob work done at the JOURNAL office.