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PROPRIETOR.
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Buss to and from all trains. Special rates to
witnesses and jurors.
QUMMINS HOUSE,
BISHO? STREET, BELLEFONTE, PA.,
EMANUEL BROWN,
• PROPRIETOR
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erything done to make guests comfortable.
Katesmodera*' trouage respectfully solici
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-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 or<!er tlic Li\comi>ii.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<AT tnbtlH'l'
funning liiej übli her, and tlu'lie\vs|K?|' rs are
Aeht to Mm former place, they are rdsponeiMe*
i ■ ■■■ |
ADVEUTIBINO RATES.
Ink. l mo. I 8 mo*. ftnwfc, 1 yen'
1 s'qnare ~ou * too | * .imiH P *Jf SSfO
'{COLUMN 1 W R.OOI FOOO TI.OO ISIU
I, '• 7 CM) IFT 001 15 Oft! 3ft W>* 4VfB
1 1000 T46 FT# 7810
One inch makes a scmarp, A<lwlstiakiis >
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.