Two W ays of Putting a Case, HOW MOTHER SAID IT, The baby has gone toschool! Ah me! What will the mother do, With never a call to button or pin, Or tie a little shoe ? How oan she keep herself busy all day, With the little “* hindering thing away HOW TEACHER BAID IT, Another baby here! Ah me! What can a teacher do? As if T hadn't trouble enough, Here's more of it in brew, I wish its mother, alack-a-day, Had kept the “ hindering thing ” away Rochester Union, All for Nothing. Happy the man whose far remove From business and the giddy throng Fit him in the paternal groove Unquestioning to glide along, Apart from struggle and from strife, Content to live by labor's fruits, And wander down the vale of life i In gingham shirt and cowhide boots, | { He too is blessed who, from within i By strong and lasting impulse sii Faces the turmoil and the din i Of rashing life ; whom hope deferred Bat more incites ; who over strives, And wants, and works, and waits, until | The multitude of other lives i Pay glorious tribute to his will, 3 i To, i But he who, greedy of enown, 18 too tenacious of his ease, Alas for him !| Nor busy town Nor country with his mood agrees ; Eager to reap, bat loth to sow, He longs monatrars digo, And looking on with envious eyes, Lives restless and obsonrely dies, VOLUME XIV. HEditor and CENTRE HALL, CENTRE CO., nh 24, 1881. SI HT IY A A ST rR eT NUMBER 46. ’ riage. Before long it came, and he lounged discreetly in the porte cochere, “Giuseppe I" called the countess, in that cooing way that always set Thorn wishing to be an 21d serving-man. Then seeing the man's prostrate form, she gave a little ory, and going to him in sweet womanly fashion, turned up his rongh face, and said, “Oh, the poor Giuseppe i8 ill—Terosa!” This last to her maid, who might have heard through one of the open windows, but did not. “Teresa, help me. Poor Giuseppe I” This was Thorn's time. Advancing, he said: “Pardon me, signora, but I have a little skill. I can help the Are you adootor, signore? I thought “A painter,” said Thorn, secretly “No I am, but so poor a one that “0h, he is an old and faithful ser. “ Leave him to me, and in a short A QUEER THANKSGIVING. said Thorn, formally. Reluctantly she went. Thorn moved “It's the loneliest old place in Rome, | this Palazzo Comparini,” said Thorn, | an American painter, to Giuseppe, the porter. Giuseppe always lounged at a door that led from the coart-yard into a darkness and a dampness supposed to be | his apartment haired and bent, and after the fashion | of the Italian lower orders, felt almost | past work at fifty, but certainly not past | the pleasures of conversation. “Qerto, signore, the palace is lonely | enough nowadays, but the Comparinis | used to be rich, and kept up a great | state. No grass in the court then, no | mold on those marble steps, nosilence, | no foreign painters on the top } floor | (without offense to you, signore). Then | the young count—ah, well, he was a | rare one "here the old porter fell to laughing—*‘and a gay one, and a care- | less one. He went to Paris, and, whew! | away went the money. The villa was | sold, the property on the Corso was | sold, the palace at Naples was sold, and | back came the count, as merry as ever, | and got married. Married a young wife, | and then away went ber fortune. Paris | aga'n; horses, gambling, betting, and | worse. Five years ago he died—died | merry, too. A pleasant man was the | count.” * Very pleasant man,” said Thorn grimly. * Then he squandered every- thing ?* * Except this palace; and that vo 1d | have gone if he had lived.” ** How abont his wife ?” i “Well, her father gave her some- | thing more, and then here's the palace | yet. Wait, signore.” Giuseppe shufled off toward a young lady who had just entered, and who beckoned him from the staircase. She | was a little person, with a low brow and | wonderful lignid Southern eves and a row of small teeth like, as Thorn men- tally remarked, sweet corn. She had a | dimple in one cheek only. You couldn't ask a mate in the other cheek, for such | a dimple couldn't possibly be repeated. she had s small straight nose anda {ull mouth; the was brown, and she cas quick, yet langnid. She talked with Ginseppe in lively fashion, yet leaned against a pedestal, like a weary nymph in a picture. All this Thorn noted Then he caught Giuseppe’s name as she | pronounced it, with that gentle separa- | tion of the syllables, as if for lingering more tenderly on each. * What a lovely name the old wretch | has!” he thought. As the little lady | tripped lightly up the stairs he was very glad to ask the old wretch, and right eagerly tho, ** Who is the signorina ?’ “‘ The Countess Vittoria Comparini.” | * Does she live here 7° “Of course. On the second floor.” *! Does she—does anybody—does she have many visitors ?” stammered Thorn, | adding, to Limself, * Confound this | foreign tongue ! it won't let afellowsay | what he means.” Giuseppe caught the meaning pretty surely, for he answered: ‘Certainly, | signore, the countess sees her own friends.” “ Yon mean the {oreigners—that is, the Romans.” “1 mean the Romans, not the for- eigners. LadiesJike herself, and gen- | Hosen like the count, her late hus- “ Giuseppe was white- | * Well—yes, signore,” with polite hesitation, “Here's a genuine old world crea- | ture,” thought Mr. Thorn, not a little amused, ‘untouched by republicanism, commuuism or nihilism. Pray that his | mistress is more modern, and so, access- ible.” | A vain prayer it seemed, for in pay- | ment of a month of cold sentinel duty | on the marble stairs, often an hour at a | time, Mr. Thorn had met the Countess | Comparini but twice. Once she passed | him with a slight bow and downcast | eyes as he politely lifted his bat; and | one morning she looked up with a | “Grazie, signore,” as he restored the | prayer-book that she had let fall on re- | turning from early mass. This wasn't | the American way of getting on with a | lovely woman, so Thorn applied to an Jalidn fellow at tue banker's who talked said Ginseppe, | ~ “Posseeble to know the Countess | Compariui, my dear fellow? No. The countessa is of an old house, She likes not the foreigners, Imposseeble, my dear boy.” ee] “Is it?” said Thorn, and shut his | teeth in good New Ergland fashion. “We'll see.” Then he lounged about town for days, making acquaintances among the nobili- ty. Counts and marquises in plenty he came to know, for Thorn was only pleas- ing a Bohemian fancy by lodging in an old palace, and could aflord to stand dinners for even the hungriest nobles in Italy. But no luck. Invariably he found the Countess Comparini inap- proachable, frequenting a small circle, but not inclined to foreign society. Sometimes he saw her piquant little face on the Pincian, as she drove alone in an open carriage, and then he went home and laid the maddest schemes. He even knocked some mortar out of the solid wall in his apartment, and told Giuseppe that he required, as a tenant, to see the countess about some repairs. ‘‘ The signore will go tothe agent on the Corso,” said Giuseppe. At last Thorn became horribly jealous of this old porter, who was sure of a smile and a pleasant word, or perhaps a little confidential talk, as the countess would come in from her drive. Gloom- ily pondering Giuseppe’s good fortune, an idea struck the American. The countess was out. Giuseppe was some- thing of a connoisseur in wines. Now Thorn had a certain flask containing a certain liquid that might easily be called American wine. Giuseppe, without much persuasion, swallowed a good pint of whisky straight, and swore it was better than Montepulciano. Soon he lay senseless in the court yard, and then Thorn coolly sauntered into the street waiting for the countess’ car- the countess’ anxious face at the door Be sure Giuseppe's Teresa, the maid, who did not under. stand the symptoms, was allowed to approach him ; and be very sure that wera conveyed every few messenger. invalid became conscious. Daring the evening the Then Mr. quaintance, franchised at one lueky bound, reposed his six feet of American pluck and expedient on an ancient Comparini sofa, and secretly laid down before the lady's dainty little slippers all his honest New England heart. Now Giuseppe, too, was indebted to his illness, and obeying the order to re- main indisposed for several days. | nore like several weeks, so common had it grown for the countess to say, “A riverderla, Signor Torn.” “ Thorn, if you please, signora.” Then, with a violent exertion to ful. fill the rules ol enunciating ‘‘th,” the troublesome combination would some how slip away in a laugh, and the never say that foreign name of yours." “Try my first pame— Worthington.” “ Vortinton, Is that right?” “ Whatever you say is right.” “Ah! your Italian improves. can make compliments already.” In truth, Thorn got on wonderfully in Italian. With so much practice, no wender. Not only haa he much to say n his own account, but the countess was insatiable in her curiosity about his home and the ways of the American people. “ How strange and how foreign! Ah! an Italian could never like such things,” she would exclaim. “Then you do not like anything foreign, countess ; A little shrug for answer, and a little elevation of the eyebrows, that might mean polite reluctance to offend, and might mean bashful hesitancy to speak a flattering truth. “ And do women speak,” the countess sked, “in public in America ?” “Oh, yes; that's common.” “ And their husbands, what do they say ?”’ ’ “That if a woman has ideas or opin- ions, she bas a right to express them.” ¢ An Italian wouldn't like that, And You “Most women marry without any.” * Jtalians wouldn't like that,” laughed “But if a wife has property, it is protected so the husband shall not | squander it. Would the Italians like | that 7” “JI think the women would,” and the countess looked thonghtful. Thorn felt he was striking home and | making progress; but the countess see- | ing him dare to look happy again, | started her raillery again. “Now tell | me about your festa days. What do you do at Easter 7” " Nothing much where I live. Some | people eat a few eggs or put a few | flowers in the churches.” “ How sad! No Easter! have a carnival 7” “Not where 1 live. “No carnival! But « n Italian would | die without the carnival. Pray what do | But you | "” “We have Fourth of July.” | * Forterhuli—and what is that 2” Thorn explained in few words, add- ing: “We make all the noise possible ; send off fireworks all day andall night; but it’s very hot and disagreeable.” “It must be dreadful. But you have holidays. There's Christmas,” “Oh yes; we go to church then.” “Stand up and hear prayers?” “Yes.” “Then we have Thanksgiving.” “ Tanksgeevin ?” “Yes ; that's a great day in late No- vember, when we have turkeys.” “Turkeys! where ?” and the countess opened her soft eyes so wide that Thorn quite lost himself in their brown depths. “Where ? sure.” “Turkeys, and little trees, and a great noise on a hot day, and no carnivall I could never like American ways.” The countess shook her head with decision, and for the rest of the evening smiled upon a stout, middle-aged marquis, who had a waxed mustache. For weeks Thorn haunted the old salon, meeting the stout marquis at every call, while Countess Vittoria be- stowed her favors evenly. If she ad. mired Thorn's last picture, she admired the marquis’ new horse; if she let the marquis play with her fan, she let Thorn steal a flower from her bouquet. When she was not present, the marquis glared at the American, and the Ameri- can whistled softly to bimself and looked over the stout gentleman's head. He was tall enough to do it in an aggra- vating way. At last matters came to a crisis when Thorn sang a love song to Vittoria’s own guitar, and poiuted the words very dramatically. The marquis followed him out, and on the stairs said, very red and short of breath: * You will fight me, signore.” : “Why ?” demanded Thorn, guietly. “Youn know why. The Countess Com Hig Oh, on the table, to be ini. “Well?” and Thorn leisurely lighted a cigar. “I don't quite see your point. If you are an accepted suitor of the ” “1 fancy I am to be so favored,” re- plied the marquis, fiercely. “Then I esteem the countess too highly to injure her future husband. On the other hand,” continued Thorn, with provoking calm and distinctness, + if you are not an accepted suitor—" “ Well, suppose I'm not?” blustered the , rather betraying weak- ness in his haste. shiick “Then, Signor Marchese, you are less than Boning to me. I YR waste the time walking out to a re- tired spot to shoot you down.” . “Then you won't fight “No.” The marquis was purple with rage by | this time, and exclaimed: ** Coward !" At the asord Thorn asked: * Have you pistols “1 have!” and a valet was beckoned who presented a pair, “Ha! you will fight, then !” sreered the marquis, Thorn made no reply, but examined one of the weapons, “Do youn observe,” he said, still! smoking, ‘‘the forefinger of that statue ¥' It was a cast filling a niche at the foot of the long flight of stairs, As he spoke he fired, and the finger, shot off, clicked as it fell on the marble stairs, The marquis had just time to note that, when the American said: “ Now this is for calling me a coward,” and delivered a blow right between his enemy's eyes which sent that titled gen tleman rolling downstairs in a sense. less heap. Then Thorn went up to his rooms, the cigar still alight. Now Teresa, the maid, had overheard this and the npext day the countess said : * An Italian would have had a duel with that gentleman, Signor I'orn.” “We don't shoot fools in America; we whip 'em,” answered the young man. “ Your ways are not like ours,” sighed the countess, with a mock regret, for a smile was playing iu that one nnmateh- able dimple. ““ Countess, could you never like our ways soene, “ They are so singular,” she answered, evasively. “ Could yon never like an American ? a man who loves you sincerely, who will make of yon a plaything, not a household ornament, buta companion, a friend, a wife ¥' not “It is all too strange,” and she spoke low. “IJ could never get used to you. You are so—" ““ Well, so what ?" ““So tall and so blonde, and" So ugly.” “ No, but so different from us. And our name—I could never, never pro- Vortintor Torn." “I will pronounce it for you; I will do everything for you." He approached her, and she took fright, “No, no, signore; don't ask me. 1 couldn't—1 couldn't.” “Then your answer—" said Thorn, growing very white, “ My answer is * Good-night, and good- e. I have lived at Rome so long only the hope which you have just blast »d.” “Do you go soon?" ‘1 shall stay merely for a celebration that my countrymen enjoy at this sea- son, and which I am pledged to attend.” “1 know,” said the countess. “It is November.” He went off bravely enough, leaving the little woman standing with her pretty head on one side and her eves cast down, It ought to be easy for a young fellow of fortune, cf talent, of many resources both within and outside of himself, to shake off the thought of a little woman standing with her eves cast down. To that end the American occupied him- self during the days that intervened be- fore the Thanksgiving dinner. Besides having promised to be he feared his absence, coupled with break- ing off his known intimacy with the v » 44 onnee it, no. nna couniess, by n resent present Oil Countess Vittoria, would give rise to remark and set gossip all agog. One, two, three times twenty four hours went slowly round. It was the eve of Thanksgiving day; it would be his last evening in the Comparini pal- ace, his last but one in Rome. Poor Thorn was seized with a desire to see once more the face that had cost him so much divine misery, to look vnee more into the eves that had banished him-—a foolish, inconsistent impulse known only to lovers. Half unconsciously he tramped out into the great hallways and up and down the cold staircases, imperfectly lighted by wretched oil lamps. There was confusion on the floor where the countess lived. People men seemed carrying in great boxes, He could hear Teresa's shrill voice call- ing on the Madonna as they stumbled awkwardly under their burdens. The noise ot arrivals went on for a long distinctly, the place was so large and the walls so thick. Yet there was the last some serving-men went out in a to eat.” “ Enough for them all to eat.” It was a party, then. Perhaps more had come than were expected, and the care- ful Teresa had to make provision duly. In a moment Thorn convinced himself that the stout marquis, who bad proba- bly recovered from his tumble, was being entertained by Countess Vittoria's most winning smiles. In his excited mind he could see them both; that waxed mustache (how he hated it!); and Vittoria—from her dainty foot to | the topmost braid of her little head, he could see her, too—see her smile and coquet and bandy compliments with that detested fat fellow he had knveked downstairs. Thorn raged, shut him. self inthe studio, walked np and down all night, and looked like a specter in | the morning. Toward noon he fell ! asleep, and waking with a start at § o'clock, he got up to dress for the din- ner, heartily wishing it all over. Trying to cogitate some verse, or toast, or epi gram for the occasion, he spied among the brushes on the dressing-table a dainty envelope. Evidently Giuseppe | had brought it while he slept. “The Countess Comparini's compliments, and she would be happy to see Signor | Thorn” (the h very carefully written) “at 5 o'clock.” Thorn vowed he wouldn't go; then, ried his toilet. He whisked out a Cologne water about, still swore he wouldn't go and be tortured anew, hasti- ly left his rooms, and marched straight down to the familiar great door on the the little antechamber, The drawing room was closely shut. From another entrance the countess advanced to meet him. Bhe was charmingly dressed, but very gentle and shy, She hoped she saw the signore well. “That could hardly be expected,” he answered, all resentment gone, as he looked down upon the tender, girlish little creature who was so dear to him. “I have been,” she faltered, “think. ing very seriously since we talked the other day; and last evening—" Thorn braced himself to hear she had accepted the marquis at the party. ¢ —last evening I made up my mind. I-11 want you to feel at ody so I arranged a little surprise. I hope you will like it.” Here she opened the drawing-room door. ‘They make a dreadful noise, but it pleases me—for your sake.” The tears were in her eyes, she was ready for his arms, yet Thorn stood in mute amazement, The Comparini draw- ing-room was half filled with tables, and on every table was a crowd of goh- bling, screeching, flapping, living tur- keys, some tethered, some cooped, but all joining in the dreadful din. ““ What is the meaning" Thorn be The countess broke down completely “It's the custom of your country on this day--youn told me so—turkeys on tables," she sobbed, “I'll try to be a perfect American,” “ You're a perfect angel," said Thorn, some strange law of hydraulics, down an American-ont waistooat, “And do you feel very much at she asked, in a happy whisper, “1 nover felt so much at home in my life,” hie answered, clasping her closely. “1 knew you would, I'm so glad I did itall right. The men found it hard to fasten so many of them on the tables, though ; and the feeding, that was ran Thorn laughed very much. * For pity's sake, have them taken off,” he said. “No; they shall stay. I don't mind the noise, Ah! caro, when these things gobbled so frightfully all night long, 1 said, I will love them, for this is the custom of his country -—perhaps a part of his religion.” ** Dearest,” said Thorn, as well as he could through the flutter and ecackle around them, “love has sll customs, all religions, and all countries for its own. Nothing is hard, or strange, or foreign to hearts that cling together like ours.” t was not until the next vear, when met a party of her hus. band's compatriots, that she found out the real use of the great American turkey. — A Spartan Esdurance, In a sketch of Byron's friend, the late Captain Trelawny, who was wounded while helping the Greeks to fight for their independence, the Lon don Temple gi this account of the remarkable endurance which he h mw yes And then began an exhibition of en- durance and will that must remind readers of a scene that has but lately closed on the otherside of the Atlantic. From the first day he was wounded, Trelawny determined to leave everything nature, Were Scarce in Greece, and able ones did not exist at at all, and the maimed man had more faith in his own constitution and the splendid untain air than fifth-rate surgery. He had been hit by two balls between the shoulders, one wound being close to the spine. One of the bullets found its way, by a tortuous avenue, into his meunth, and, as he bent his head, fell with several teeth to the Br und, the socket of the teeth was broken and the right arm paralyzed. He neither lay down nor quite sat down, but placed himself in a leaning posture against the rock, and there he remained for twenty days. No portion of his dress was re moved; no extra covering worn, He refused to be bandaged, plastered, poulticed, or even washed; nor would I move or allow any one to look at my I was kept alive by yolks of eggs and water for twenty days; it was forty days before there was any sensible diminution of pain; I then 1 to have my body sponged with spirit and water, and my dress partly changed. I was reduced in weight fiom thirteen stone to less than ten, and looked like a galvanized mummy.” It is a wonderful record of more tian Spartan endurance. He next tells how he attempted to take solid food and of he agony of moving his shattered jaw. He tells, with grim humor, how he ‘re fused all wishy-washy or spoon-food and stuck to wild boar, which in turn stuck to me; it splice d my bones and healed my flesh.” But his right arm was still paralyzed, and after waiting three months in all, and little progress made, he determined to see a surgeocn, for until the ball was extracted, the arm would never regain i's muscular force. A Klephte surgeon was brought, and was told that unless he cured the Englishman he would be killed, Tre. lawny bared his breast, the leech made an incision with a razor and began searching with his finger and thumb for the ball, But it was not to be found, and the wounded man carried that bul. let in his body till him death. It may be mentioned that the Greek surgeon was not called upon to pay the penalty of his failure, much, doubtless, to his sur- prise and delight. to Doctors mo $e submitie eaeaesemt— Death in the Kerosene Can, Fatalities attributable to pouring kerosene on the kitchen fire to hasten its burning seem on the increase, We during the past six weeks. evidently needs instruction. the general idea Bridget She has that kerosene will ling. And she means to handle it care- fully, Bit she supposes—and some better-tanght people share the error that if she is very prudent in what ste does with this mysterious, inflammable oil, all will go well. Now the danger of explosion lies, not in the oil itself, but in a vapor which is formed from it, which Bridget cannot see, and therefore, naturally enough, disregards. The foe lurks in the upper, or empty part of the can, not in the lower part where the oil is. Kerosene nary conditions, Indeed, the legal test of quality is that the oil shall not emit vapor at a temperature below one hundred degrees of the ordi- nary thermometer. As it stands iu the 18 not any general 80 very dangerous. Bat volatile liquid of this nature—aleohol, benzine share the peculiarity—when taken up into the air by evaporation, may form agement a little oil is poured from the A space filled with con- beneath. upper part of the lamp as the quantity of burning at the wick; and it is this vapor grate or stove already somewhat lain to Bridget that the peril lies in the invisible atmosphere so easily formed over the oil, not in the oil itself; and that no eare taken of the visible oil will avert it.— New York Tribune, Effects of Brain Work, M. Gley, a French physiologist, has been investigating the effects of brain work on the circulation of blood. In his experiments he has found that when he applied himself to a difficult sub- ject, upon which he had to concentrate all his energies, the rhythm of the heart was far more accelerated than when con- sidering somme atter with which he was familiar. The ag te of income liable to in- come tax in England has risen from $2,- 525,000,000 in 1870 to $2,890,000,000 in FOR THE LADIES, News and Notes for Women, United States, Senator Bayard's wife is an invalid, and rarely goes out or receives calls, A lady at Pekin, 111, has given birth to a boy on every Fourth of July dur ing the last four years There is a young lady in Keokuk, Towa, who is six feet fourinches tal, and she is engaged to be married The widow of John Cretzer, who to be Uncle Bam's oldest pensioner. she is 108 and was married in 1801, Ladies who come in monds and furs, are said to support the majority of New York fortune tellers, late convention in their hair Mrs, General Lew Wallace wore hers ent short. Julia Ward Howe wore a white cap, black silk basque and plain skirt; the Rev, Miss Oliver, pliin black skirt and basque; Luey Stone, black silk, trimmed in velvet; Mra, Clay, black satin with brocade, real lace and diamonds; Mrs. Gongar, wine-col ored silk, with embossed velvet over skirt; Mrs. Fuller, black silk and bro- trimmed in jot; Mrs. Haggart, cashmere; Miss Eastman, black who attended the Louisville, wore back smoothly. cade, black silk, Fashion Notes, Dark gloves are preferred even with light dresses, Chine broecasdes are new and as lovely as they are novel, Novel and exquisite fancies are shown in made up lace goods. Artificial flowers for household deco- rations are made of porcelain, English feathered walking hats, Derbys and turbans are all fashionable, Bleache d beaver, that looks like « 1d gold, is the most fashionable favey fur. Black undressed kid gloves are em. broidered with silver for full dress oe Casions, The china erape kerchiels with chen ille fringe are shown in | and colors, 3 hi HACK, While Bustles are imperative with the pres ent style of dresses to keep the drag I 168 1h place, of LaDy cheviot TOWsS of Tailor-made costumes cloth are finished with wachine-stitehing. Arne d'Auntriche sashes, tied very low on the skirt, and fastened by Irish dia- mond buekles, will be much worn with ball toilets, Velvet stripes are exhibited in black, and very dark shades of ruby, clive, plum or seal brown, alternating with those of white moire, “ Lapland" plush is now a variety of that material which bas a long furry gray and white pile, and is designed es- pecially for heavy ¥ winter cloaks, Some of the French bonnets have no trimming except a beaded insect or bird, or a beaded diadem, but their material is expensive enough to make New chatelaine bags are made of fine imported feathers. In the center of the bag is set the tiny head of a bright bird. They are suspended from the belt by a slender chain of old silver COLus, Old Valenciennes lace, outlined with gold thread, is just now quite as fash. ionable a dress trimming as gold. wrought Spanish lace, many ladies pre ferring the Valenciennes patterns to those of the large Spanish designs, The newest lace is the Oriental, which a fair imitation of lin, and is about as dear as the Breton lace was in its early days. Itis worked by a needle, although the needle is propelled by machinery, and its effect is better than that of the woven laces. The chief feature mn winter millinery 18 mech double shadings. There is an upper and under hue of opposite dyes. For example, a plume with the flukes show. ing a deep marine blue has the under flukes in scarlet, Velvel chapeanx are popular, They are adorned with beads and more ribbons, and often the trim. ming is composed entirely of ostrich tips and plumes, The novelties in winter jewelry are sure of receiving favor. are artistic and odd. Cameo sets are beautifully executed, presenting a num- ber of new styles; the medallion pat tern is much liked. In carrings there are several rich styles executed “rolled” gold, the * campania” bell, with filingree works on the surface, is greatly admired. Hoop earrings are again fashionable—the antique models are preferred. Chatelaines of * dull” jeweled settings, Quakers, Quakers, as a sect, says an exchange, their own in this country, especially at the West. years show that 461 members have been added by request during that time, while 111 have become birth, Dadueting 303 members who have left the society, the net increase more than a thousand members within a year, and now has 20,000 members. The unusual numbers of additions by re- quest in the New York yearly meeting Indiana yearly meeting is largely at- visory SO — 535555 A Curious Castom, The Japan Weekly Mail states that in been the custom to disinter the dead at leges to confer the degree of A. M. on their alumni of three years’ standing, on the supposition that wherever they are, their intellectual march will be on- ward and upward, As Rinkin was rav- aged by cholerain 1878, the government of Japan naturally objects to the resur- rection of the dead for cleansing pur- poses, and has issued an edict forbid - ding the ceremonial. The Rinkinans, however, ara obstinate, and to wash or not wash is the question now agitating the minds of the living, and possibly the dead, subjects of the mikado. The average age of the justices of the United States supreme court is sixty- one years. Justices Waite, Field and Miller were all born in the year 1821. A Mental Freak. A Dayton (Ohio) correspondent of the Cincinnati Gfazetic tells this queer story: the Mount Anburn female seminary was bri ge. of entertainment, near midnight, and there being vo street cars at the to run, they were walking to hilltop, Just after they crossed bridge a couple of roughs made of some vulgar and insulting lan the gua the ruflians stabbed him to death and A full ae ticulars were published in the Gasente and other dailies the next morning, giving the names of the professor and sonally to the writer of this article. At the time of the murder I was liv ing in Piqua, Ohio, and the Cincinnati dailies reached the city then as now, near noon time, Reaching my residence about 14 o'clock I stepped into the yard to see if the paper bad arrived, and not finding it I threw myself on a lounge in the dining-room to wait for dinner, I dreamed I had in my hands the Com- tion was attracted to the headlines read through quite carefully, reading all the names and circumstances as there deeply interested. As soon as | awoke, being called to dinner, I stepped into the yard and found my paper had arrived. Judge of my sur. prise on opening it to find the exact ao count of the murder just as I had read it in my dream, and so far as I could recollect giving the same language 1 had read in my sleep, and occupying just the same amount of space paper that I had found in my dream While sleeping, 1 had read correctly the name of the professor and the ladies, although 1 nave recol. lection of ever having heard of them before. This has ever been to me a mystery whieh I could not comprehend, unless the theory be true, sometimes advanced, that the mind took a step out side of the body and went down street no ¥ wl have been related. Struck by Lightuing, A strange from Union county, Arkansas. Three young men were sitting on their horses in the road, discussing the probabilities of rain from a clond which just then was rising in the west. The youngest of the group, named John Freeman, referred to the drought and remarked that 1 God who would allow his people to suffer this couldn't amount much. As he was speaking this the boys were encircled with lightning and the speaker stunned thougl =i his unscathed, glory GOINGS io verely, were Recovering, he re- newed the subject, bitterly reviling the Supreme power. Instantly a bolt of lightning flashed from the cloud over. head, snd the young man fell dead in Nearly eggry bone in his body was mashed to 4 jelly, while his boots were torn from his foet and the clothing from his lower extremities, The body presented a horrible appear ance, being a blackened and mangled of humanity. His companions stunned and thrown on the The young man occurred the next day, and attracted a large crowd, the larger portion of whom were drawn thither by the rumor of the strange events preceding the death of the deceased. When the body was deposited in the grave and the loose earth had been thrown in until the aperture was filled, and while the friends of the dead man vet lingered in the cemetery, a bolt of his tracks. RRS iAass were had passed lengthwise through it. No ope was injured, but those present scat. tered, almost paralyzed with terror. The incident excited a great deal of atten: tion, winisters and religious peoph generally holding that the young man was the victim of the wrath of an of- fended God, while others asserted that the case was simply a wonderful coinei- dence, having no connection with causes either physical or supernatual, One Way to Quench Thirst, The agony of thirst at sea—when a crew of their supply of fresh water vot enjoy. As Coleridge in his “ An “Wate r, water everywher And not a drop , to drink ! Kennedy away, had an opportunity of making the experiment. With great difficulty he to follow his example, and they all sur- vived; while the four who refused and drank salt water became deliricus and died. In addition to putting on the clothes while wet, night and morning, they may Captain Kennedy goes “ After these operations we uniformly found that the violent drought went on, and the parched tongue was “After bathing and washing the clothes nourishment,” Topnoody. Mr. Topnoody was quietly reading waper at home the other evening, gide of the room sewing. down at last and said : “I've just been reading of Anna Dickinson appearing as Hamlet, and I am free to confess that I don't think it proper.” “ Why don't you?" said Mrs. Top- noody. “ Because, I don’t like the business of women wearing the pants, either on the stage or elsewhere, that's why.” “Oh, don't you?" replied Mrs, Top- noody, with a slight flush of sunset on her cheeks. ‘Well, I can tell you, Topnoody, if all the men were uo better adapted to wear the pants than some I know, either the women would have to wear them, or the tailors wouldn't have to make anything else but coats and vests,” and Mrs. Topnoody locked at Mr. Topnoody in such a piercing and significant way that he twisted uneasil in his chair, and at last got up to see if the doors were all locked. — Steubenville Ferald. A man who will ‘steal a march,” will not hesitate to ** take a wa'k,” He put it | TATTOOING AS A TRADE, i The Men That Like to See Figures on Thelr an Old Operator. | street, says a | framed sign bearing an elaborately ex- | ecuted and vividly colored goddess of { words underneath : | Here by Martin Hildebrandt.” Ascend. | ing a narrow stairway and turning to the | small room. | was at present tattooing a man, but | would be done directly. Under the La- | pression that the reporter was a ous- | information handed bim a book which | she said contained the designs her hus. | human epidermis, The book was a curiosity in itself. It | contained about fifty erndely executed {and highly-colored drawings and de- { signs, There were goddesses of liberty | coats of arms of the United States, { England, France, Germany, Spain, | Italy, Bweden, Denmark and Russia; { anchors and chains; a foll-rigged man- | of war firing off a cannon; ships of all { kinds; the flags of different national lities; a ballet girl with a very short | skirt and very muscular limbs; a Venus; {a willow-surrounded tomb with the | words, “My mother,” on its face; | butcher's knife and cleaver crossed; | blacksmith's hammer and tongs; mer. { maids sitting on a rock playing on a { lyre; Masonic emblems; burning hearts, | eagles, lions, ete. Underneath each | design was the cost of having it execut. { ed, the prices ranging from twenty-five | cents to 83, | customers of the shop preferred realis. {tic pictures to asllegorieal hints, and a heart pierced by an arrow | cost only twenty-five cents, while the | design of a jauntily-clad sailor embrae- $d. | While the reporter was still admir. | ing these * works of wrt,” the * artist” | himself entered. He is a short, thick. | set man, some fifty years of age. He | was very willing to give information | concerning his peculiar trade, Seeing | his book of designs in the reporter's hands, he hastened to assure him that { “them's not all the designs I kin make by a good deal; I kin tatoo unything a | customer calls for.” “1 suppose sailors are your chief customers ¥"’ *¢* Dh, no, mechanics, tradesmen and {ing a short-skirted female cost | do most of my tatooing on. Ihave cus. | tomers from all over the United States, | all kinds of people, and have even had | gentlemen come to my door in their { private carriages. 1 am the only man i {in the city who has a permanent place | of business. Theres an old fellow who goes round among the sailors on the docks, but his trade isn't big.” ““ What designs are the most popu. lar 7" “Well, that's all sccording to taste { or hobby. American sailors like god- desses of liberty, sailors of other na- | tions the coat-of-arms of their country. An Indian waving a tomabawk is a great faverite with some tars. Then I've put many kpives and cleavers on butchery’ | arms, hammers and tongs on black smichs'. Masonic emblems sro always in demand. Bometimes there sre sailors | who want the initials of their sweet: girls afterward have their names or ini- of the fellows who 1sed ‘to run wid tures of a fireman with a speaking tram- pet at the mouth on their hands or fore- arm. Young men have the coats-of -arms of their country or state put on. A de. sign of a willow surrounded tomb with the words, ‘To the memory of my { men,” designs on any one person “Yes, I've tattooed one man from head to foot. Washington's tomb on his breast, and | smaller figures of flowers, leaves, ete., { on the rest of his person. He exhib- £40 a week, Another man I almost covered with pictures was a Spaniard | about fifty vears of age. He brought | pattern. They were almost all of | religions character, ithe Virgin Mary and thirty-three angels. A large pictare of the erunel. | fixion I put on his breast. Then there was the picture of a blind man led by a land saved from falling over by an | angel. Three mermaids 1 tattooed on | one side, a rooster and cat respectively | figures on his arma.” | “Did he go into the show business, | too 7" | “No. I asked him if he intended to do so, but he said no; then 1 asked him his reasons for having himself tattooed | all over, but he wonldn't tell me.” | “Do not many boys come to you to | be tattooed 7" “Sometimes fathers bring their boys and have their name or some mark put on them, so that they can be recog- nized when stolen or lost. A sea captain was lately drowned in the East river, and his body was only recognized by an with the Army of the Potomac I put the arms and breasts, and many were recog- or wounded. I learnt my business from an engraver with whom I served on during the Mexican war.” for your work ?" “The winter, as the work dries quicker ; but I'm busy in the summer, as there seems to be more money around." “With ing? “With six neadles tied together in a line, one much higher than the others. The wounds are very slight, and heal in a few days. The Burmese are the only nation who now practice tattoing. They use a hollow instrament contain- ing the India ink, something like one o' them ere fountain pens.” what do you do the tattoo- erased “No, it is impossible to remove it. See here'—showing his right hand, covered with the design of a ship—*"1I had a gathering here some time ago, and mt a poultice on that ateaway the skin. Vhen the new skin came there was the design as plain as ever. 1l've made as much as 830 in one day. I've been in the busiiess for the last twenty-five years.” “Do you ever have any women ous- tomers ?" “ Very rarely. 1've had some, though, who had their lover's or husband's names surrounded by roses and other flowers, put on their arms,” Mr. Hildebrandt's business is evi- dently well known in the neighborhood, for as the reporter was stepping out of | the door he was accosted by two small | boys, with the question: * Bay, mister, | wot did yer have put on yer arm? A | ship or yer gal's name?” Story of an Indian Captive, General John R. Baylor fornishes the Ban Antonio (Texas) Fepress with | the following incident eovnected with his late visit to Corpus Christi, where he met a Spaniard by the name of Tito | Rivers, whom he rescued from the | Comanches a quarter of a funley afta: In 1856 1 was United States Indian agent at the Comanche reservation on the Clear Fork of the Brazos, then Throck- morten county. One day I found a note | on my teble from a boy, who asked that | he be taken from the Indians. Soon afterward the boy walked into my office with a bunch of turkey feathers fastened ‘to the top of his head, and his faco painted and dressed in the -Jndisn costume, and said he was the boy who left the note on my table, I asked bimawhere he came from, snd he said that his father was & Spanisrd, and | lived in the mining town of Tapio, in the state of Durango, Mexico. Hespoke Spanish and also Comanche. [I didnt | believe that he had written the note, and to try him asked him to sit down at my desk and show me how he could write, boy. Questioning him as to how he came to fall into the hands of the In- dians, he said that his father owned a pack train, and one day he went out with the mules and the men in charge of the mules and camped. The Indisus came on them and took him into cap. tivity. After hearing his story I sent for the Indian who claimed to own the boy, and when he came I told him I { must have Tito. He replied that I eould not, and I told him I would or we would fight. He said that fightit would be then ; the boy eonld not go, I went to see General Robert E. Lee, who was then lientenant-colonel of the Second United States cavalry, at Cam Cooper, and who had been station there to protect the Comanche camp. While there, Chief Cateman, of the Co- manches, who had heard of the object of my visit, came to see me and said that be wanted no trouble between my- ' self and the Indians, and that if I won | give up $100 worth of goods I conld get the boy. 1 gave him an order on the sutler, and be was given the goods, and the boy was turned over to me. I sent the little fellow to my house ani be lived with my children for about two years, being treated as one of the family. Afterward I met Major Neighbors, who | then lived near San Antonio, on the Salado. Major Neighbors ssid he | wanted him, and if I would give him to { him he would send him back to his { mother, I turned him over to the major, but he didn’t send him back to | his mother, and the war came on and {he went into the Confederate army. i The boy was twelve years old when I | took him, and the Indians had captured him when nine, having had him three years. He spoke the Cemanche lan- guage perfectly, and I nsed him as in- terpreter. Major Neighbors left the | boy on his ranche on the Salado, near San Antonio, sud the boy entered the Confederate army when about sixteen vears. Upon returning from the war lace, oun the Cibolo, fifteen miles north of San Antonio, and from there went to Galveston and thence to Corpus Christi. While with Captain boy. I went to Corpus Christi to see the boy, Tito Rivera, now cashier of the bank of Davis & Dodridge in Cor- pus Christi, and one of the most respect- {able men of Corpus. Miss Mollie Woodward, and now has one boy and two little girls, and the best of my visit was that the little | children came about me threw their arms around my peck and exlled me grandpa. Rivera is a man now about thirty six years of age and is a magpi- ficent-looking man. Bees in California, We give from an exchange the fol- | owing interesting arc unt of bees in California : The extent to which honey- making is carried on to the foothills of these extreme sonthern counties is informed apiarists place the number of three counties of Los Angeles, San There are at least six hun- dred men wholly engaged in saving | honey this season, and an average exp is assured. Last year the honey erop of San Dieze county amounted to 1,291,- 800 pounds, and this year will larger. The total crop of Ventura, Los Angeles, San Diego aad San Bernardine oounties will not fall short, if it does not exceed, 3 000,030 pounds this season— ut least that is the opinion of well-informed apiarists The growth of this business has been | very rapid, and may now be said to be | 200,000. %+.7 Who profess to be friends of the he Are much like the bad dog thai stole thirty years lawsuit for its possession | in dispute was whether the sal . {was coal or asphalt, or whether : should be ranked as a highly | ous coal or a highly carbonized | tum, Muay experts and mes Gf | were called as fact, unique. It broke with | choidal fracture and a Blassy | It could be ignited with a match melted in burning. It was | christened Albertite, | since known to | About 280, { from the | came 50 thin as to be un was worth $18 to $21 on board vessel at Hillsboro’. According ; | Sun, the capital stock | $240,000 sometimes | high as 250 fouling yometinids | pense work. A § material | New Ireland, another settlement . same county. tia do with their tub? They must | a new bottom, or all their coop | will be lost labor. The bottom of the number of bee colonies, now so nu- merous along the southern coast range. In 1877 there were twenty-twe bee ranches in this southern region; new there are not less than five hundred. Five years ago the crop of honey was | little in excess of home consumption; ' now several large ships can be loaded with the crop of a favorable year. The bee keeper usually lives upon government land, not hecause he is unable to purchase what land he re- becanse the wild sage, button sage, sumac and other honey flowers and shrubs are found growing luxuriantly where land considered wor. hless for | grazing or cultivation is left un- | claimed and undisturbed. In almost | any accessible gulch, gully and walley where water can be had-—for bees use much water—and where the white sage blossoms, a bee mnch may be | discovered. They are solitary places, | veritable hermitage, where intruders | from the outside world never find | way. Many of them are very beautiful | little rural gems, set within a bower of roses and honeysuckles; some are merely a shed among rocks and bush, devoid of taste or comfort. The bee- raisers cultivate a sort of free-masonry among themselves, and aid and advise | each other when called upon. The soon become accustomed to their soli- tude, and gradually accumulate a com- petence. There are a few exceptional | cases where men have failed in bee- keeping down here, but they are few and not often found. No one should attempt to keep a bee ranch buta lover of solitude. It requires close care and attention, much patience and little capital. Ns os 00 A father with marriageable danghters, like a maiden with sensitive skin, often dreads the winter, because it brings so many chaps on his hands. —Zoledo American, The well-known poplar tree ted by Marie Antoinette B the ples of Petit Trianon at Versailles been blown down. To — I —————— : “1 am drassed to kill,” as the recruit said when he donned his uniform. ohns, land, drifting at the rate of one-half miles an hour toward the p between
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers