®ht Centre scm.ocr.it.$ cm.ocr.it. BELLEFONTE, PA. TheLsrgMt,Chsspnt and Beat Paper FUHLISHBO IN CENTRE COUNTT. Manners and Service. Boa ton AdrartUcr. Many of tho small annoyances that spoil tempers and mnke life disagreea ble might bo avoided by calling things by their right names. For instance, a great amount of bad manners and insolence passes current in all classes of society as independence, personal pride or social superiority. It is dif ficult to define real independence of character; to tell just what the combi nation of self-respect, good judgment and mental strength is which makes it; but it is easy enough to tell what it is not. When a cook lioils the mutton she was told to roast, she is disobedient, not independent. When a writer re venges his personal slights in u news- Eaper, or gratifies dislike of his neigh or by false imputation of motives, lie playes the part of a coward, and has no courage in him. When a passen ger stretches his legs across a horse car, or sits sideways with his feet in his neighbor's way, and looks like a thunder-clond at any one who stumbles over him, he is simply a nuisance and intensely disagreeable. Th 6 false notion that work for an employer is incompatible with inde pendence and service incompatible with pride, have made immeasurable mischief in the world. It is evident that the old fashioned doctrines of humility and self-sacrifice are of little account among men, excepting as pleasant theories to lie preached from the pulpit and moralized alxiut in con ference meetings. "In honor preferring one another," "ministering instead of being ministered unto," are not the or dinary rsles of life. et everybody is bound to some kind of service; everybody is dependent upon bis fel lows; the veriest recluse must have food, clothes, and a shelter; and if be can make these himself be is still de pendent upon the courtesy of bis neighbor to let him alone. It is im possible to be wholly independent, and the attempt might as well be abandon ed. But it is possible to he reasona ble; that is within the reach of every , one. Sinecures and perquisites are sweet to the faithless and lazy of both sexes and all classes, from politicians ; and the hangers-on of parties all along the line to ignorant cooks and over dress waiters —they are all alike un deserving the name of servant, public or private, and they should be called, as they are, shirks and sponges. Here one is inclined to pause nnd at what point in the social scale does the word servant become objectiona ble ? A public servant is proud of the title : and when a man calls himself n servant of the people he assumes a ti tle that is finer to the common ear than that of a servant of God. To lie j a servant of the church is the ambition of brilliant and learned men ; to serve at the altar means something better than to officiate there. The measure of professional and scientific reputation is the service done. The expression of the most graceful courtesy is, "Com mand me —how can I serve you ?' The phrase of formal respect is, "Your obedient servant." And yet, unac countably, the very service that friends do for each other, that the members of , a family give in common, if they hap pen to be poor in money, is absurdly considered disgraceful, a personal dis honor, when performed for wages. Thedishoner cannot come in with the pay, for the President is paid, nnd so are legislators, honorable and dishon orable. Ministers are paid, and doc tors and scientists. Tbe fact is that heads are full of nonsense about these things that it is hard to get at the sound reason which would set them right. Everybody—for the exceptions are so few that it is safe to say every body—must have relations with other human beings, his equals, his inferi ors and his superiors ; if he lives he must do something, and whnt he doe* must serve or harm himself nnd other people. To be absolutely independent and free from service, we repeat, is granted to no one and even the choice of service and of fellow-workers is very much limited. To talk of freedom is in great part sheer boast ing. We are born in harness; and the best we can do is to keep the har ness from chafing, and to make it a help. Having tried to find out what they can do and what they waut others to do for them, let people give the faith fulness they require, and let us stop calling insolence spirit, rudeness inde pendence, noisy self assertion manli ness, conceit pride, and boorishnenn dignity. Give credit for good work, whether it is eulogy or a puduing, and confess that success is doing well that which one undertakes. Duties as well as rights are to be considered ; and it can do no harm to use as common everyday sense just a little of that humility, just a trifle of that confes sion of weakness and blundering, which is made so unconditionally and on so large a scale on Hundays. There would be smoother days and less care worn faces in return lor it. All this has nothing to do with social equality, or an equal division of property; both are as impossible aa individual inde pendence is. But decent manners ought to make all intercourse agreea ble; and decent manners will never prevail while had ones are baptised in all classes by false and misleading names. ■ _ Old Age. Do wo ever pause to think what a beautiful thing is old age? What, a pathos there is in the trembling voice! What eloquence in the wrinkled face! The "hoary head" is called by the wisest of men "a crown of glory." Wo cau not wonder that it is so. Think of a life extending over a period of three-score years and ten! Think of a heart bearing the test of toil uud trial for three-quarters of a century! Think of one man breasting the storm, year after year, till* bis head grows white with Hakes that have gathered there, bearing the burden of care and anxiety until bis pulses grow feeble, his limbs lose their tension, and "the pitcher" is ready to bo "broken at the fountain." Can we wonder at the command, "Thou shalt rise up before the hoary bead, and honor the face of the old man?" Hut how often it is forgotten. Instead of venerating old ago we learn to treat it lightly. Fre quently the smile of amusement sup plants the answer of gentle respect. The homely advice, the old-fashioned ways, are made the subjects of jokes and puns. Even the titles of filial respect, "father," "mother," are drop ped for "the old man," "the old wo man," or "the governor." Ah! can we with impunity speak thus of tin dear ones who have spent their best years in toil for us? Can we seethe form once strong and erect becoming bent and feeble, the waving brown hair daily whitening, tho firm, cla-tie step growing slow and weary, and heartlessly call that dear father "tin old governor!" Can we note the fur rows upon the ouce clear brow, tin glasses shading the once bright eyes,' uud tho wrinkles in bauds that hav< lost their whiteness in toil for us, and lightly speak of that patient, loving mother as "the old woman?" Our warmest friends should be among those who ar- aged. '1 he weight of years does not nece-sarilv chill the ln-art or sour the disjnwiitioii. Mow many furrowed faces cau we think of that are ever wreathed with smiles? How many wrinkled, toil worn hand have held our own in a clasp warm and cliugiug as that of youth ? How many an aged heart yearns over u with love as tender ami ardent a- we ever can receive from our light-hearted young companions? Let us, then, give love for love. Smooth their declining pathway with gentle words and kind attentions ; and when they linger upon the scenes of their own early days, let us learn what memories they cherish, what actions they regret, that, by emulating their worthy deeds, gentle recollections may enhance the joys of our latter years. Some of us will doubtless live to In old. Silver locks will take the place of the brown. Dimples will be ex changed for wrinkles. The lily and the rose, that now vie with each other in freshness and beauty, shall both b<- blighted by lifes chilling bla-t. The eye that now glow- and spnrkh-ahull be dimmed by the dust of way. The firm, elastic step will In feeble and tottering: the erect form In-nt nnd unsteady. When we have climbed the rugged steep that now frowns before us, and linger upon its summit, so weary ami feeble, just wait ing for the summons to launili into eternity, will there not be nn awful sublimity overhanging that brief time? How our glance will wander back along the path we trod from childhood to old age! How strange will seem the thought that we were once merry, light-hearted children—that youth, with nil it- j,,ys and pleasures, was ours. How tenderly then shall we think of our early friends. Other* will not remember them, only that their names are carved UJH>II the gleaming marble in the churchyard. But how distinct to us will IKI the memory of each face and form, each smile nnd word. How we shall long for just one such day as we sfiend with the aged now. Aye, we shall rejoice to meet even a stranger who knew one of them in youth. Oh, we cannot conceive how earnest and touching the memory of that past. What a solemn, la-autilul thing, that serene old age. 1 low he would claim for it the rcsjx-ct nnd Veneration of the young. Then obeying that grand old rule let us do to others as we would they ahould do to us. These aged ones around u* look back over a youth as sweet and as precious as our own. The friends ami companions of their early days were just as dear to them as ours are to us. They cherish memories as ten der and sacred as we ever can. Their life-work has lieen as noble and as faithfully discharged as ours ever can be. (Lan we feel the tenderness of the thought, they once were younjj and now are old ? They are only enjoying a little rest after life's storm, a brief moment in which to collect their thoughts and compose their mind be fore embarking for unknown shores. Let these last (lays be brightened by our smiles and gladdened by our love. Let us honor, admire—yea, reverence the hoary head. We have often seen persons, upon finishing a task, brush their aoiied garments before going to meet a friend. That la just what old age is doing. Ita life-work is finished. Now it is only smoothing tbe Crinkles and the dust of toil from its garments ready to meet tbe King.— Dora Dean. GENEBAI. QEAMT denies tbe Chicago report that he is interested in any in ■uraii oe schemes. A Blond Curdling Romance. "Coal costs money." A hitter, mocking smile —the smile of a demon that has been bullied in his unholy efforts to lure a soul to the ut termost depths of the Inferno —played around the Grecian lips of (lirolle Mahafiy as these cruel words fell with cruel iticisivuness from her lips. Over the backyard fence came the silvery gleams of the inconstant moon as she moved through the heavens in bril liant sph ndor, and touched with gen tle hand tlio tines covered woodshed and caused the dog, whose blood curd ling hay had fallen in such fearful cadences upon Rupert iletherington's large, West Sidecars, to stand out, per fect in every outline, against the pure mezzotints of the recently painted dour stems. "You are jesting, sweetheart," mur mured Rupert, pulling up his pants so they would not wrinkle at ilie knees, and seating himself beside the girl. "Am I?" was the reply in cold Crystal-I.ake accents, that -■ ruled In Rupert t< pierce hi- very vest. * ll'yoii really think so look out of the w inclow ." Rupert obeyed. The moonlight streamed into the room as lie pushed aside the heavy pome-granule < urtuins, lulling in mellow splendor on vase of malachite ami alabaster, on statue and bronze. Tazzas of jo*|>er ami lapis lazuli stood in recess and alcove crowded with (lower* ; curious trilb* in gold and silver carving, in amber and mosaic, slo id ou table and etag n . A curiously-wrought sideboard that was new in the days of the Crusaders stood at its lel't. The (ire glowed rud dily in the grate, the pure white flarm* leapitig up the chimney as if in very glee. Amber-tinted sour tuub, us Rupert well knew, lay concealed with iin the recesses of the sideboard. < >ut- I side the keen wind of Decern In r whi-t- I led shrilly through the d< ud hrnueht - of the sturdy oaks, telling ol the cold and suffering that wa- to < tne ere the .soft breath of spring ki--. S.,rf Ik Ti-lsffsm. Secretary I'relinghuyen is aivi r tising in the daily paper- to notify the heirs, executors, administrators, agents and a-signee- of the captain, offio r-. owners and cr w of the privateer Gen eral Armstrong, d*stroys| by the Eng lish at Fatal, in i*cpteml>er, I*l4, to transmit to him, in writing, a state ment of the amount and nature of their claims In-fore the 13th of the present mouth. This i* probably the la-t official mention that will In- made | of ono of the tnoii him from the rnoun j tain side-. In a moment tic littl* I hand of 300 men were surrounded, i ami tlicum-<|unl battle wa-<• .iium ic •d. j Beck -aid that Custer showed no far, hut r into the light with eye* ami -ahre fla-hing, ami m v, r raised it hut that he left upon - me redskin's fac< , hi* bh.' dy and ragged-edg- 1 trade mark "X," which so many of hi- vie j tims iu the late war knew *o well. <>ne ; by one hi* men tell around l.itn, and at la-t he st( d alone among tic nr battling with hi- tru-ty -.il>r- iu hi* re maining right hand. But at la-t h< jto . I'. 11, pi< -r<'d ley .-even shot*. I! k -aid that hi* tight wa- terrible iu it de-trin tiven. -s. Fourteen of tic • ' Indians wlto en tercel the- fray paid I r |it with tic ir lives, and tin :r cold, ! copper-huetl face* lay turned to tic tnor: ing's sun next day, with 300 brave -uldii-i* who followed the brave | Cu-ter into his last fight. 'I hi i* the j • *t ; the hoy* are all gone ' and I will go with them."— ltvhc*>er , I h mur rot. Some If bltr House .Memories. J r-ee /lure Kit. ; f .rt in I h'lUhm.' Wt.h,f*-j B .nl. . . Martin Van Iluren stepped from the Vice Pre iih'iicy into the Presidential chair. He was n peculiarly dignified mau, able ami accomplished. IL* *< n*<- e>f decorum wa* erne of his im-t striking charae teri.-ti, , ami lie wa* far fr m sympathizing in Jackson's dctmi. iati'' ide-.is. Mrs. Eaton, the l>. autiful wife of Jack-en's favorite t'abinet officer, tells a witty story at tic rxpe'iiseot Mr. Van Buren. Her hu*haud,(>t n< ral Eaton, was a* frank, grufl anel unpolished as .lnoing ofa hnr i rel eif oysters just se nt lim front Nor folk. A few moment.* after the arrival |of the di*tingui*hd party the butler i announced the oysters r< adv fiir >n sumption. Mrs. Eaton led the way, t escorted by Mr. Van Buren, and a* he j approached the kite-hen door lie < x • claimed: "Good heave ns! madam, where are you going to take u 7" "Inlei the kitchen, e,f course," re plied Mrs. I!aton cheerfully. Mrs. Eaton was a model housewife in he r elay, taking n. much pride in her kitchen a* in her parlor, nnd o she threw open the door a novel sight pre sented itself. The floor was as white a* soap and water could make it, ami covered with fine white sand. The tables looked like box-wood, and the tins were bright n* mirrors. Added to this, the appetizing eedor e>f oysters roasted in the shell, the novelty f the occasion ami the sprightly l>e?auty of the hostess, one woulei seippose that even Mr. Van Buren might melt into a state eif pleasantry. But, on the contrary, his featured reflected only his inability to enjoy a frolic of this kind, anel he sat upright and unsmil ing until towarels the end ef the im iirejmptu fete, when he turned towarels drs. Eaton and said ; "This is the first meal of the kind served in like manner I have ever in dulged in, hut I trust it will not tie the iasL I think oysters never haei such a delicious taste befeirc." 'Fatiici, you are an awful brave man,' •aiel a Detroit youth, as be smoothed down the old man's gray locks the other evening. "How do you know that Willie T" "Oh, I heard some men down at the atore say that vou killed thou sands of soldiers during the war." "Me? Why, I was a beef contractor for the army!" "Yes, that's what they **id I" explained young innocence, aa he slid for the kitchen.— Detroit Ft** Frtu. Hi who obey* with modesty appears worthy of some day or other Ming a!- 1 lowed to command. Bernhardt and Her Sew Relative*. 'I lie 24th of the present month Sarah Bernhardt is to make her ap pearance iu a Paris theatre, at a bono* lit organized for the Widow Clieret. It is safe l<> predict flint the widow will gain at least6o,ooo francs, or 818,- 000, by this performance. The play will lie "La Dame aux Carnclia*. AI: the boxes are sold, the prices rang ing from 2W to 800 francs ; n-nts j|, tin orchestra brought oO to 100 franc* cadi; ditto in the first gallery, and to to 40 in the second gal rv. Tiic only ones in the cast who play ed with Sarah in Am'-riea nr< h• a doll baby's drc-- in the Magazine du I. mvre. The brutal manager or | i"j ri t.r of that big shop refused torecogni/ - that the poor lady wa ill, and In- had In r locked up in a police cell. Her friend- f tirid her the next day, hut it was only on ihcdemuud of the coinrni--aire of police that the mana ger withdrew his charge. There are a great many ladie-here in Paris who declare they will never again put f .t in the Magazine du I>uvre. J r. MaeCraig i- somewhere iu America. Ljok out for him. Mm Hauled < oniedy. Thr e month- ngo, when a -crvant ! girl came t . a well-to-do family ; the |ii*lrt -< -aid she desired lu js.-t the ; girl in advance on one <- ( rlnin little | point. Sin-ami her husband belonged to an amateur theatrical company, and iii ca-e Jane hear* any racket around i lb" house .-he must not imagine that they were quarreling—they would ' -imply hi- rehearsing lie ir part*. The ' pliiv I g:m on the third evening of the j girl-' i. gageim nt. The husband taunted ii* wife with extravagance, and *h- - played "poker" for mote y: i and* chair* v. re tip*et, an I f. opto J. I H'-n 1. k I ar> :;nd and threat* were i made of "going I rn to mother." Next morning the mi-'n -aid to th j girl "Did you hear tr playing our path* in' The j ri _*• I Wife,la-t night "Y-s'm!" "It wa* simply a rehearsal, you j know : nnd you inusu't think strange i d my throwing a vase at ray huzhaml I and calling him a 'vile wretch !* " 'I hr- • < r four nights after that, the curtain v ent up on a play called the ■ "Jtah i - Husband.' and Jane le ard sols, sigh-, protestations, threats and i exclamations. The next day was call ll M Coa>inf Bonta Tight, and was ' m -tly in the ft nt hall. The followed " flie Depth* of Di sjwir," "Threats of Divorce," and "Sc ha Wretch !" until Jane wa* at last tired of linving a | private l.ox and of being the only audit net . The other morning she aje ;nar I in the sitting-room with her hat on and her bundle under her arm, I and said; "I'lease ma'am! hut I'm tired of tragedy. I'm a girl as naturally like* ito sec hugging and ki--mg ami love making, on the -tage; and when Marks :ho law ver come* in on the what-do yoti-eall it, I'm sure to be tickled to death! I think I'll try some family where they rehearse comedy and have a di al of kiwing. and perhaps I may j come in as a'supe.'nnd get a small ! sl-.are of it for myself!" The Irishman's Hream, Two Irishmen traveling, came to n poorly supplied inn. "What ran you give us for supper?" said they to the lean and shivering landlord. "I have uaught in the house but oiii pigeon;" replied he;"so you must make the mo-i of it between ye." "All right," replied the shrewder of the two; "bring us your bird, and we'll divide lym." The dish wa* accordingly produced, w hen Faddy, turning to his companion, said: "Now, Mike, I've been think ing this ghost ofa bird won't hear di viding : what d'ye say, to tossing up for it in this way : We'll go to bod, and to-morrow moruirg whoever has had the finest dream shall have the pigeon for his breakfast. The proposal was accented, and next morning, when the fellow-travel er* met, Faddy took the word, and inquired of his companion bow he had slept, and what he had dreamed. "Bedad !" replied Mike," and did not I just dratne, and wasn't it a drame that'll hate hollow every other that was iver drained. There wa* lin the very midst of the vivinth heaven, with all the powers of glory round me, and clouds of angels and archangels and a bewilderment of saints and patriarchs, all making much of me hoisting me up, and up, till I couldn't go any higher, and then I woke." 'Och, well," said the other, "it's a strange thing, but I had exactly the self same drame meself, and I know what you say is true. Ibr I saw ye liv ing up and up, and I says to moself, "Sure, now Mike's got so h gh as he'll never be sich a fool so to come down any more,*' so I got up and ate the pigeon, I A Woman'* Whim*. The Ktnprew Josephine har Mr personal espeoae*, but tlu cum was tint sufficient, utul her debt* Mcreaaed to an appalling degree. Notwithstanding the jKMition of her hu-baiul, bo cog hi never submit to i either order or etiquette in her private ! life. She ro-<-at !> o'clock. Her toilet . coniMuined much time, and she lavish* ed unwearied efforts on the pn-erva tion and embellishment of her JTSOII. •She changed her linen three time* i 4 day, and never wore a pair of stock ings that were not new. Huge has j k ts were brought to her containing I different drosses, shawls and hats. I rom tbe-e she selected her costume foi the day. Hlie possessed luiween llireo and four hundred shawls, and ! always wore one in the morning, which die draped about hnt two, and 1 don t Is lieve I'd like ; to spare one." "God bless you, child—hie-- sou - forever, - Jibed the old woman, and tor a minute her face. wa buried in j Iter nprou. "Hut I'll tell you what I'll do," - ri ou-ly continued the child. "You may kis- us all oucc, and if litth Hen isn't . afraid, you may ki-- him four time-, to he - just a- swift a- eandv." Pedestrians, who saw three well ;dr I children put tin ir arm- around that strango. old woman's neck and ki her, were greatly puzzled. Thev didn't know th< hearts of children, and ' they didn't hear the wotnauV words ns g, !■ i "to go ; "('.children, I'm only a poor old woman, believing I'd n .thing to live i tor; hut vou'v gave me a light'r h<-art than I've had for leu long year-." Don't llox t ur ( hildren's Mars. An exchange give- the following -en-ihle advice in regard to the to • cotum .a practice among parents of ! isixing tin ir children's ears. The drum of the ear is a- thin as paper, an l isstretclied like a curtain between the air outride and that within; an l thus having to support it and being extremely delicate, a slap wiih the hand on the side of the foci', made with the force which sudden and vio* | lent anger gives it, has in multitudes , <.f cases ruptured this delicate mem brane "resulting in the affliction of deafness for lite. As the right hand is almost always used, it is the loft ear which is stricken ; this aids in account ing for the fact that the left car is more frequently affected with deafness than the right. Ol.ti Scotch gontlenian sitting in a Toronto car —a young lady enters and makes a rush for the topmost scat. The car starts rather suddenly, the young lady lands on the old gentle man's knee, blushing, and exclaiming, "Oh! hog your |tardon." Old O.— "Dinna mention it, lassie. I'd raythor bao y sittin' on my knee tliau stand ing on ceremony." A umr whose husband was the chum pion snorer of the community in which they resided, confided to a female friend the following painful intelligence: "My life has not been one of unalloyed de light. I have had the roeasiee, the chteken pox, the cholera, the typhoid fever and the inflammatory rheumatism, but I never knew what real misfortune was until I married a burglar alarm." Ilroolyn k EagU* To bcoutiiy the loaf we Iroat it* top, but when Father Time front* our human top, we do not oonaider it in that aenae, but haaten to cover up bia work. ArraaaxT evil ia but an anti-chamber to higher bliaa, aa every aunael ia hut veiled at night, and will ahow itself again aa the red down ol a new day. Wnx Abel waa followed to the grave the funeral prooesainn consisted only "of member* of the first lamily," Warn a burglar make* a raid on the dwelling of a Texas editor, the only thing the burglar takes when he leaves, ia bia departure.