Deore Wad Bellefonte, Pa., May 29,1891. I ————————————————E—————————————") THE MUCH-TRAVELED IRISHMAN. Tis twelve months_since I came to America, The fortune of me uncle to enjoy, Bless his name! Shure he left me the whole av it, And in his will he said, “Now Pat, me boy, Ye’s ought to spind a solid year in thravelin, The great soights av this country for to see.” And sure me uncle didn’t need to urge me much ’ 5 For thravelin is a trick that just suits me. So I’ve thravaled over all this moighty nation ;From north to south and from the east to west; I've thraveled both on land and on the wather, But shure the railroad thravelin suits me best. And of all the fine railroads in America, And meself shure has thraveled on them all, The one that heads the list for solid comfort Is the Chicago, Milwaukee, and St. Paul. Both for aitin and for dhrinkin and for shlapin, Their equipment is most costly and complate. Their is spklendor encugh for old King Solo- mon, And dainties for his‘thousand wives to ate. 0! I've thraveled all up and down America, The railroads and the shteamboarts tried them all, But there's nothing can compare in solid com- fort Wid the Chicago, Milwaukee, and St. Paul. A GIRL WORTH WINNING. “Mattie, I'm going to leave you. I cannot, will not, longer bear the insults I have submitted to here for three years, and I have resolved to take my- self out of the way. You comprehend me, Mattie?” “Qh, yes, Paul,’ responded the young lady, sorrowfully. “I thought it would come to this. Ihave not been an idle observer of your impatience and dissatisfaction in this house for months past,” continued the girl. - “I have been preparing for my de- parture for six weeks, and I shall leave for New York to-morrow evening.” “And thence?” queried Mattie. “To South America. My plan is not matured, bat [shall leave this place, which has become hateful to me. You will remain of course ?” “I can’t do otherwise. You will re- turn some day, Paul,” she murmured, with a tearful expression, “and then 4) “We shall be older, Mattie, and more experienced, and can better judge if we are as sincerely attached to each othe as we now think we are.” “You are right, Paul. You are old- er than I am, but we are only children as yet, I know; I am scarcely 15; you fare 18. You will succeed—I'm sure you will. And then you will come back.” These two speakers were very young people to talk thus seriously, but they ‘had been reared in a good school to make them serious. ° Mattie Purcell was the only child of Mrs. Highfoot’s sister, who had taken her inte her family ten years previous- ly and bad “done for her’ (as she term- ed it) from her childhood, though she had a family of her own to bring up. But her husband was rich and she was a very airy personage, continually prat- ing of her “standing, wealth and influ- ence in society,” while as constantly she had turned the cold shoulder to- ward poor little motherless Mattie. Paul Crumlette was a good-hearted boy, and he was an orphan, too. Mi Highfoot was his father’s cousin. Mattie found herself more lonely and more dispirited now than ever she had expected to be, but she strove to make her condition endurable, though the continued slights and. annoyances to which she was subjected in the heartless family of the Highfoots hu- miliated her excessively. She never heard a word from Paul. ‘Once, a year after he left, when he was 19 years old, he wrote her a along af- fectionate letter, but she never received Ait. Had it been intercepted? No one seemed to know. The lad went to Panama, thence to Brazil. He worked hard but met with swwaried fortune. He passed three years An California, and tired at last of the wild though busy life he experienced there. He thought of Mattie very of- ten. Was she the same sweet girl he knew her to be in their young days? Did she remain the same devoted friend that she bad ever heen during their weary years together? She had never answered his letter, though—he remembered. Had she married? Was she alive ? Had her rich relatives cast {her .off? He had been away some seven years, .and one day he concluded to take the train for New York and make a visit to his old acquaintances. Having reached the city he attired ihimself.in a very plain suit and repair- «ed directly to the elegant home .of the Highfoots, having first sent up his well- worn trunk, upon which the family quickly recognized the initials P. C, “Back again!” exclaimed Mrs. H., with unfeigned disgust. “A bad pen- ny soon returns,” she continued. “Now, father,” she added, addressing her husband earnestly, “this must be put a' stop to. We can’¢ have him here, and I won't.” : “Here he is, my dear,” responded Mr. H——, looking out at the lace- eurtained window. The daughters came into the parlor an hour later in their “stunning’’ fash- ionable eostume—for the Highfoots de- cided that they must be coldly civil— and Paul remained to dinner. The girls thought him a very nice-looking young man; and pity ‘twas he was so poor and friendless. “Where's Mattie? My little friend whom TI used to be so familiar with ?”’ asked Paul, at length. She had gone out to the neighboring park with the baby and nurse. “She must have grown out of my ac- quaintance,” suggested Paul, Well, they didn’t know that Mattie had changed much. She ’peared to them the same old sixpence—dull and quiet and taciturn as usual. #She won't look at a gentleman, scarcely. She's had half a dozen chances and lost ther® all by her seem- ing aversion to the other sex,” added the mother. Paul was inwardly delighted with A i but he made no avow- al of 1t. “Here she comes,” said Mrs. High- foot, as the front door opened and a blooming lovely woman, with rosy cheeks and modest mien, entered the apartment to greet the stranger ‘just from California.” She didn’t know him at first sight, but when Mrs, Highfoot said; ‘It’s Paul, Mattie, You remember Paul Crumlette, of course?’ the fair beauty put out her hand, and looked into his eyes, and expressed in that brief but earnest glance of loving recognition all that her lover could hope for. “I hope I'm welcome here,” said Paul, after the girls had disappeared that evening. “We're glad to see you—yes, Paul,” said Mrs. Highfoot: “But the fact is, we haven't any permanent accommo- dations now that we can afford you. We hope you've done weil; but you see, we can’t board you here, We've a houseful now.” Paul thought this was very plain and frank and took no offense at all. It was just what he wanted them to say if they thought it. “Well, good-night,” he said, cheer- fully, “I'll send for the box. It isn’t very valuable, but it contains my little fortune,” and he rose to retire. Next day the Highfoots were not a little nettled to see a magnificent car- riage halt before their door at noon. A pair of superb bays stood before it, and an elegantly attired gentleman got out, and, to their surprise, called for Miss Mattie Purcell, “Why, bless me!” exclaimed Mrs. Highfoot, suddenly recognizing the stranger—“‘It's Paul Crumlette, as I'm alive! Come ia—Paul. Are you not coming in?" “No, thank you, madam,” said the young man civilly as Mattie made ber appearance and he handed her into the splendid vehicle. As the prancing horses moved away the now envious woman looked out at the front window and exclaimed with emphasis: “Well—I never!” Paul Crumlett took the two small hands of lovely Mattie in his own as soon as the carriage had left the High- foot residence and said, with earnest fervor; “Dear Mattie, how rejoiced I am to see you looking so well and so like your old sweet self.” “You are not happier than Iam, thus to meet and greet you, I am con- fident.” “Now, Mattie, you do not forget or repent your promise given to me seven years ago, when I was as poor as a church mouse, do you ?” “No dearest! And never shall,” said Mattie affectionately. “So I believe. And I am happy to tell you I have succeeded since that day beyond my most sanguine hopes. I am rich, Mattie! Rich to my heart's content. I have been fortunate in Cali- fornia, and I have come home to claim your hand.” “Tt is yours, Paul—and would have been as surely had you returned with- out a dollar.” : “I do not doubt it,” said Paul, ar- dently. And within a month the two poor relatives were married—and off the hands of the selfish Highfoots. When they settled in their own fine residence Paul declined to visit these famous people. “And you tell me the boy is rich 2?” asked the lady of her husband one evening. “Yes. Made a quarter ofa million in California.” “Well—I never!” exclaimed Mrs. Highfoot, as she thought what a splendid match this would have been for one of her own daughters—perhaps. Owner of the Bull Run Battle Field. St. Louis Globe Democrat. A. M. Henry says: “Although I am the owner of the property on which the first battle of Bull Run was fought, I did not see the battle. My mother was killed in her bed with a shell from a Federal battery at the first battle. She was blind, aged and help- less at the time; and as the battle raged about the house it was as safe to remain indoors as on any other spot. Gen. Sherman and Senator Cameron visited here a few years since. Sherman had not been on the field since the battle in July, 1861. He asked no questions. He seemed to know every point of inter- est, and the several positions of troops. During his stay he made but one wrong observation. He said, ‘Henry, I was in your house during the battle.” I said, ‘No, General; the house then standing was destroyed.” (Qh, yes,” he replied, ‘I remember there was a wide hall in the house, and this one has none,” I recite this to demonstrate Sherman’s careful attention to details. General Sherman asked me if I would cell my property. IfT cared to part with it he knew a man who would buyit. I learned subsequently that the intending purchaser was Senator Don Cameron. Senator Cameron’s uncle was killed at the head of the 79th Highlandersa few rods from my house. General Bee and Barton, of South Carolina, were also killed forty rods distant, and a quarter of a mile distant was killed Colonel Fletcher Webster, of the 12th Massa-