A RIAL CC DOT Demorraiic: Watchman Bellefonte, Pa., July II, 1890. For the WaTCAMAN. DAR ALT GAARTE. (Pennsylvania German Dialect.) Is es velleicht 'n Draam im Scholf? Far wohr ze sie scheint ’s wunnerbaar. Wau als dar schee alt Gaarte waar Schteht now en Haus un leit en Hof. Do waar dar Gaarte—do haw’ ich, 'n_kleener Schpringer, mich verweilt ; Do haw’ ich g’schpielt, gelaznt un g’heilt- Dar Gaarte waar en welt far mich. De mammi waar 's Plesir, net mih, Ze schaffe lang un eifrig drin, Weil ich als rum gecapered bin Uf ’'m Kamilla weech un grii. Die Drauwe un Kannsdrauweschteck ; Die Zwiwwle, Rettig un Selaad Un Krautkep, all in Raaje graad ; Dar Gwittebaam in Sellem Eck; Die Blumme ’as ich bei dar Schtund Gewatched hab‘—hoche Hollyhocks, Die Johnny-jump-ups an de walks, Dar Sunneblumme gross un rund ; Dar Kimmee un Pipsissaweh, Angeligaa un Safferig, : Dar Gwendel un dar Schnitterlich, Dar kallianner, un noch meh ;— Alles vergange wie en Draam ! Ewig vebei far mich die Freed Uf selle griine weeche Pad Luschtig ze sctlugge Barizelbaam C. C. ZEIGLER. HIS REWARD. Dr. Chester, hurrying along the upper part of New York, still only half finished and seemingly with years of incompleteness before it, saw as he picked his way through the mud of an unpaved crossing a sight that made him furious. Some eight or nine boys, not the children of the poor, but well dressed little fellows from the Queen Anne residences and well appointed. apartment houses of the neighborhood —stoning a man who sat among the rubbish of a new excavation abandon- ed for the time by the workmen, and who seemed to be quite innocent of any offense against them. So far the stones had been physically harmless insults. But even as be looked one flung by the largest boy of the crowd, struck the man upon the head and wounded it. The blood gushed forth and the boys, frightened at last by what they had done, dispersed in all directions and were out of sight before the doctor, even with his long strides, had reached the spot. “These imps have hurt you,” he said, " bending over the man, who was trying to stanch the blood with the fragment of an old handkerchief. “Yes,” said the man. “It looks cowardly to sit here and stand it, I sup- pose, but a tellow in clothes like mine would soon get himself arrested if he punished boys like that as they deserv- ed. It's a bad world for empty pock- ets.” “That’s true,” said the doctor. “See here, I always have some stickingplas- ter in my pocket. I'll fix the cut for you.” And taking off his gloves, he produced the little case with plaster and scissors and skillfully dressed the wound. . “I supposed you are out of employ- ment ?”” he said when he had finished. “I am out of everything,” said the man, ‘‘work, money, health, friends, and luck, and food and shelter just now. I wonder I haven't made a hole in the water. Why men live when there is nothing to live for is one of the myste ries of this life.” “We all have something to live for,” said the doctor, “though a hungry man don’t think so. You are young and strong. Be temperate and you'll feel well again. Let me help you out for to-day, and after you've eaten and slept come to me. I'll give you some work—rough work—but it will be a start—if you want it, and come to me sober to-morrow. “Thank you,” said the man, raising; “and God bless you. If I don’t come sober I'll not come at all. But I think I'll come.” He took the dollar that the doctor gave him with his card,and bowed in a way that proved that he had not always been in his present position. The doc- tor obeyed the impulse of the moment, and with a smile offered the man his hand. He saw that this was no ordi- nary tramp. For that sort of creature there is no hope and no help. He is so vile that he scarcely deserves mer- cy, and the doctor knew it well ; but to this man a friendly hand grasp was good medicine. It had its effect. A light came into the dull eves, a smile moved the mouth. “I cannot express my obligations for your kindness,” he said earnestly. So they parted. The doctor felt touched, and was rather pleased with himself, and a little further on, meeting - a boy he recognized as one of the poor man’s assailants, 1e took him by the ear and gaae him a lecture, threaten- ing to take him to his father and ex- pose his conduct. However, he did not do it, nor did the hoy fear that he would. “I didn,t throw the stone that cut the fellow,” he said. “It was Tibbs.” “How would Tibbs like to be arres- ted, ask him ?” said the doctor. Then he walked on and the incident faded into insignificance. After all, it was unlfkely that the man would come to him. The doctor was a very popular man in the upper part of the eity, and his day was well filled. He was, besides, bent on two missions, both important ones. Ile was about to make an offer of his hand and heart to a lady of whose feelings he had very little doubt, and he intended to deposit in a certain bank a sum of money which he carried about his person. It was a large one— the half yearly salary he had received from the managers of an orphan asy- lum to which he was physician. Such a sum would endanger a man’s life if he were known to have it about him as he walked across those newly cut streets or past blocks of yet unten- anted houses. But then, who knew? And the doctor was large and muscu- lar. Need one ask whither his steps first took him? Naturally to the feet of hie lady love. She was young enough to look all the sweeter in the bright light of day, and her pretty morning dress became her- She had expected the offer and accepted it without affec- tation, and the young doctor made all sorts of charming speeches, and was permitted more than one kiss. At last, however, he was obliged to say adieu, and as he ran down the steps he said to himselfthat he was the hap- piest fellow alive. Already out of fear of poverty, engaged to the ouly girl he ever loved, healthy, and with a clear conscience, what young professional nan was ever in better ease? As he morning seen the boys stoning the un- fortunate man, the picture arose once more before him. What a contrast in their positions, he thought to himself ! Well, he had worked for his, and no doubt that poor fellow had worked as bard in another way to bring upon himself the fate that had befallen him. Scill it was pitiful. “Parents who did their best by me, a happy home, more kindness than I deserve have been mine,” he said. “How do I know what the man’s child- hood was? I hope he will come to me to-morrow. I am glad I helped him a little.” He was yet to be still gladder. How little we know what threads of good or ill we braid into our lives by what seem our most unimportant actions From house to house the doctor went. Anxious mothers kept him on in talk. There were those who felt that their well being depended on telling the doc- tor all about that “queer” sensation” and that “worried feeling, and banking hours were long over when he emerged from the residence of the last patient upon his list, and, indeed, it was grow- ing quite dark, and, like all healthy men, the doctor was growing hungry, and his dinner awaited him. He stepped forward briskly, but had only gone a few steps when an old woman approached him, wringing her hands and sobbing : “You're Dr. Chester, aren't you, sir?” she cried. “Och, doctor, darlin’, you're wanted immediate—it's my old man is taken bad down in our shanty by the railroad. Ie fell upon the floor he did, and it’s sinsliss he’s lyin’. I’ve the money. Come, doctor, come along; a minute may mane life. It’s near street.” “Then why didn’t you go to Dr. O'Shane? His office is close by you,” said the doctor. “I did, but he was away,” said the old woman. “*‘An’ sure, but that I knowed your face, and you the kindest doctor anywhere, I'd not have stopped you. I’ve the money to pay.” But it was not the fee the doctor was thinking about. He felt a curious re- luctance to do what the old woman asked. Naturally enough, he comment- ed inwardly. nature demands rest and refreshment. Still the case was one that calied for immediate action, and in a moment more he said : “Go on, I'll come with you,” and followed her westward. Tt was a lone walk across unlighted streets and down some wooden steps to the rails of the Hudson River road. Not a soul was in sight, but a light gleamed from the windows of a dilapi- dated shanty by the road side, and the woman hobbled in that direction. She entered the door; he followed her. A man was lying upon the floor. The doctor knelt beside him. As he did so some one from behind pinioned his arms. The supposed patient sprung up and seized him about the waist, and in an instant, strong though he was, he lay bound and helpless upon the floor. Four stout ruffians stood before him. One rifled his pockets while another crammed a handkerchief into his mouth. Before his eyes they ex- amined his watch, and counted the money in his pocket-book. *It’s a good haul,” one of the men said. “Come, we must lose no time. No one will find that fellow before to- morrow, still we might as well get away.” “Bat shoot him before we go—dead men tell no tales,” said the man who played the part of invalid. “Throw him on the track,” said the third of the group. “The railroad folks will help us keep our secret.” The tourth said nothing, but stoop- ing, lifted the doctor by the shoulders, and the others followed his example In vain Dr. Chester strove to break his bonds or to utter a prayer for mer- cy. They dragged him toward the track and flung him across. Not con- tent with this, they bound bim by oth- er cords to the rails, and left him thus fettered to his fate ; and thus the hap piest day of his life had ended. Full of youth and hope, with every reason for living, he must dic, and such a horrible death! He strove to meet his fate like a man, but the thought of his betrothed wife was too much for him. He managed by de- grees to thrust the handkerchief from his mouth with his tongue, but as he did so he felt the rails tremble beneath him—the engine was approaching! Iv was far away yet; but what hope was there that he would be heard be- fore it was upon him ? Again he shouted ed—again, still again—as he saw the red glare from the head light of the ap- proaching engine shine out through the darkness! His case seemed hopeless, but he spent all his ~trength iv one wild cry of : “Help! On the rails here! Tied to therails! Help! help! “Courage! Here we are!” shouted a voice near by, “Courage! courage !’ Some one kuelt beside him, some one gasped : Don’t despair, I've got a knife with me.” One of the cords was cut—another— he was freed from the rails and clasped in the arms of his preserver, rolled over into the little guliy besides the track, afe out of harm’s way, just as the ex- press train flew by at full speed. And now there were others to help. Stout policemen with clubs and pistols’ who helped the first arrival to free the doc- passed the spot where he had that tor from all bonds, and by the light of their lanters he looked into the face of his preserver, and saw the man to whom he had acted the good Samari- tan that morning. “What does this mean?” he asked. “How does it come that I owe my life to you?” “You owe it to your own kindness, doctor, said the man. ‘““An hour ago I found a lodging in a low tavern near this spot. I had crept into a bunk without removing my clothes, when four men came into the room. They fancied it empty, for early hours are not the fashion in that place, and talk- ed freely though in whispers. One of them had some pangs of conscience about having left you tied on the track, and spoke your name aloud, saying you were kind to the poor. Happily I am quick of hearing and jump at an idea. I crept out of my bunk behind their backs, jumped from ‘a window which was close by and, only stopving to put on my shoes, I dashed down the track. I had no idea which way I should go, but felt that the spot near the tunnel would be the most likely one. On the way I met a boy and bade him find a policeman and tell him that murder had been done. Happily I was in time, That is all I know about it. Thank God, who led me here.” “Amen!” said the doctor. “My gratitude must be expressed in deeds, not in word, and there is one who must thank you also—my promised wife.” Meanwhile the police had returned to the tavern, whither the doctor and his friend followed them. They found the desperadoes drinking in an upper room without suspicion that they had been discovered, while the old woman who had decoyed the doctor to the shanty sat at a table gloating over her share of the plunder. They were ar- rested before they had an opportunity to make resistance, and the doctor was so unusually lucky as to get his own again after thieves had stolen it. As yet fortune favors him. He is married to the woman he loves, and by his aid aad through his friendship the man who saved his life has become happy, respected and presperous, and in their household he is as a brother.—Mary Kyle Dallas in Fireside Companion, He Found the Schoolmaster. ‘We were sitting on the veranda of a hotel at Niagara Falls, when I notic- ed the man on my right looking sharply at the man on my left, and presentl, he got up in an excited way and walked about. After a bit he halted before the other man and asked : “Isn’t your name Graham ?”’ “Yes, sir,” was the prompt reply. “Didn’t you used to teach school at Elmira ?” #Yes, sir.” In 1863 72 Yes, sir.” “Do you remember a boy named Godkin ?”’ “Very distinctly, sir.” “Do you remember that he put a package of firecrackers under his desk and touched them off ?” “As if it happened only yesterday ?”’ “And you basted him tor it ?”’ “I did. Ilicked him until he could hardly stand, and I've always been glad of it.” “You have, eh ?” said the other, breathing fast and hard. “Do you know that boy swore a territle oath ?” I presume he did, as he was a thorough young villain.” He swore an oath thathe would grow up and hunt for you and pound you within an inch of your life.” “But I haven’t heard from him yet.’, “You hear from him now! He stands before you !| Iam that boy !” “Well 2? “Prepare to be licked! My time has come at last !”’ He made a dive for the old pedagugue but the latter evaded him, made a half turn and hit him on the jaw, and God- kin went over a chairin a heap. Then the. whilom schoolmaster piled unto him and licked him until he cried “enough,” and it didn’t take him over three min- utes to do it. Then he retired to get another collar and replace some buttons, and I helped Godkin up and ob- served : “You didn’t wait quite long enough, I guess.” “Say ! That's where I made a mis- cue !I”” he replied. “I see now that I ought to have held off until he had got to be about 150 years old. The old dev- il is all of seventy now, but he licked me right off thereel, and I'll never have the sand to stand up to him again. Here's thirty years of waiting for ven- geance knocked intoa cocked hat in three minutes !”’ % The Chinese Way. “I was passing by a Chinese laundry in a basement, and, chancing to look in, JIsaw apigtailed Mongolian sitting in the corner with a pile of those jim-jam looking figured slips of yellow paper in front of him and the list book open on the teble where you go to pay for your washee, washee.”’ “Nothing funny in that.” “No, it was rather tragic, though 1 said funny at first.” *“Was he skinning a rat ?”’ “No; he had a log chain fastened aroun his neck secured by a big pad- lock, and there was a look of remorse | and resignation on his saddle colored | face that awoke my sympathies. Walk- ing in I was met by azother Chinaman, who came hustling out of an adjoining room, his face wreathed in soapsuds. Said I, ‘What's with this man, Gin Sling ?* “Dis man, eh ? He-he Dis man clerk- ee. Keepee cashee. One day say Can- ada. Now he sleepee here allee timee Eh ? See ? He! he !"—A#anta Consti- tution. the mat.er An original swindling device had been invented in connection with the Edinburg Ground; International Ex- | hibition. Four members of a family take two season tickets; two of who enter in the morning post their tickets in the building, and the other two wait their arrival; and that their admis- , Sion costs is the price of the penny stamp. Wehster’s Oratory, During the first part of his public ca- reer Webster used to spend much time in the preparation of his speeches. He would sit up all night working over them, walking about the room and re- peating them aloud. He was always a hard worker. In one of the letters he wrote me, and which has since been pub- lished, he said : “I have never eaten the bread of idleness, but for the last forty years I have worked twelve hours aday.” Still, in the last part of his life he acquired a faculty in the arrangement of his thoughts which was simply mar- velous. I was in Boston at the house of his brother-in-law, Mr. Page, on the Friday before he made his last speech in public. We happened to be talking ov- er the statement that had appeared inone of the papers that there were no ques- tions of national importance then im- pending, and it would be impossible for Webster to acquit himself well on the morrow. He said, “We will not discuss that, but I was awake this morning from 3until 4 cn account of pain in my wrists, and so I arranged my speech in mind, and if you care to sitdown, I will repeat it to you as I shall deliver it to- morrow night.” He talked to us over an hour, and so far as [ could remember he made only two changes in his addres the next day—one an allusion to the friend who introduced him sand the oth- er a reference to the Methodist Confer- ence then being held in the city. In the Revere House he once talked to some of us about his speeches, and asked us which we thought would stand the test | of time the longest. We decided that it | would probably be thesecond in reply to | Hayne. He assured us that had not re- quired nearly so much time in its pre- paration as two others, one of which was | in the Dartmouth College cuse. In fact as has recently appeared, he had pre- pared his celebrated reply to Hayne a year before for another purpose.—Clica- go Herald. A ————— The Old Man Disappointed. “Can’t fool these ’ere railroads much!” observed the young man in the seat ahead, after we got fairly out of Mauch Chunk, writes a traveler. “How do you mean?’ I asked, sus- pecting he had a story. “It’s a good one on the old man, and I’m dying to tell it” he grinned. «I live about twenty miles below here, and within half an mile of the railroad. One afternoon, about six months ago, my brother Pete got hurt in our saw- mill, and was brought home unconscious. We had just got him home when a neighbor came along and said a passen- ger train had been ditched at the cross- ing, and a good many people hurt. This was just at dark, and Pete hadn’t come to yet. Soon as the cld man heard of the accident to the cars he ! scratched his head, looked Pete over, und than said to me: “Jim, it’s wuth trying for. We'll take Pete down on a mattress and mix him in and try and get damage from the railroad.” “I was against it, but he said it was a go, and so we got out a mattress and lugged Pete down to the crossing. Four cars were off and lots of people hurt, and we slid Pete in among three or four lying on the grass and groaning to kill. Tt just happened that one of the railroad attorneys was on the train, and he went about asking names and writing ’em down. By and by he came to Pete. An edging had caught in the saw and given him an awful whack over the head, and the lawyer felt him over and asked: “Do any of you know this poor fel- low?” “I happen to know him,” answers the old man. ‘His name is Pete Staynor, and he orter git a thousand dollars for this!” “At that minute Pete come out of his snooze, and setting up on the grass he looked around in a dazed sort of a way, and yelled out : “Why in Halifax don’t you clear that saw ?” “And at that the old man got away and I after him ; and Pete went on to tell tell how he got hurt,and to wonder how he got there, and we had te sneak back and lug him all the way home.” “And what did the old man say?” I asked. “Say !. Why, there’s half a mile of road with the trees blistered on each side of it, and he’s had everybody kick- ing him, until the whole neighborhood 1s hip lamed and can’t climb a door- step.” Pickels. When making pickles use none but the best of vinegar. A passably good vinegar is made from sorghum, and there is another kind made from sweet- ened water in which corn has been boiled—either kind being better than the acid vinegar for sale at the grocery stores. Be particularly careful not to buy the sharp, colorless liquid usually sold for vinegar: for it is really weak sulphuric acid, and highly injurous, I have become quite skeptical about all vinegar offered by grocers, and would advise housekeepers, whenever it is possi- ble to make their own, or purchase of friend who can make more than she i needs tor her own use. Boil pickles in earthenware whenever it is possible: Granite ware is next best for the purpose, and next to that smiles and | new tin. As soon as the pickles are done they should be removed from the | dish, in which they were cooked, un- | less earthenware was used. They should | be kept in glass or hard stoneware, { and examined every month or six weeks. If they do not seem to be keeping well, drain off the water, scald 1t, add a cup- ful of sugar for each gallon, and pour it boiling hot over the pickels. Repeat this operation three succeeding mornings then tie them up closely again. If pick- le is well made, however, it should be better at the end of a year than at the end of three months.— Yankee Blade. ——Ambergris, from which | perfumes are made, and which is some- ! times used to flavor wine, is merely | the morbid secretion of the liver of a! spermaceti whale. Itis a fatty, waxy | substance, disagreeable to sight or touch, | but even in its crude state exhaling a pleasant odor. many _ A Singular Source