' " " . ' ' -1 ... J - ',,n, ,,.,.iM-,! ; ,.J L,T1,0 v. t ii fn , )' n't ..! i.-t'.jt.;i- j i ' 11 ; n,-i: r- w-.?iU. .vtfurioJIA oi..."J u liji'l ), ll irl ti!'l 1 I n1j V( 1 -t re M ,i:im T HENRY A. PARSONS, Jr., Editor and Publisher. N Ili " DE S P E H AK DTJ M.- fjrtroi o 1 1 a r 8 p e r. : A n n u m 1 ( i t i f i .1 - I 111. w f r-r- VOL. X. The Battle or the Bones. How many bones in the human face T Fourteen, when thsy're all In place. How many bonet In the fanman head T Eight, my child, as I'ye often Bald. ' How many bones in the human ear ? Three in eaoh, and they help to hear. How many bones in the human spine TJ Twenty-six, like a climbing vine. How many bones in the human chest T Twenty-lour ribs, and two of the rest. How many bones the shoulders bind ? Two In eachone before, one behind. How many bones in the human arm? In each arm one) two in each forearm How many bones in the human wrist T Eight in each, if none are missed. How many bones in the palm of the hand ? Five in eaoh, with many aband. How many bones in the lingers ton T Twenty-eight, and by joints they bend. How many bones in the human hip T One in eaoh like a dish they dip. How many bones in the human thigh ? One in each, and deep thoy lie. How many bones in the human knees ? One in eaoh, the knoepan, please. How many bones in the log lrora tko kneo t Two in escli we can plainly see. How many bones in the ankle strong ? Seven iu eucli, but none are long. How many bones in the ball of the foot? Five in each, as the palms were put. How many bones in the toos half a score ? Twenty-eight, and there are no more. And now, altogether, these many bones fix, And they count in the body, two hundred and six And ' uen we ha e, in the hnman mouth Oi unper and under, tbirty-two teeth. And now and then have bone I should think That forma on a joint or to fill up a chink. A sesamoid bone or a worm can we call, And now we may rest lor we've told them all, Indianapolit Sentinel. An Unexpected Meeting. It was a small, one-story frame struc ture, presenting some of the character istics of a cabin and cottage, built only a little way in from the road, and ap proached from it by a narrow wooden Bridge, under wbich meandered, in temperate seasons, a gentle stream, but which, in the fervid vigor of the sum mer and the rigor of the winter, was dry and Bilent. Away down in a meadow behind this little sentry-box was a large farmhouse, with a colony of smaller buildings springing up about it, and back of those was a wood, rising precipitously! to the brow of a protecting hill. Iu summer-time this homestead of Farmer Gilman was a smiling, shady place to look upon, as was, indeed, all the country in which nestled the ham let of Fairbank, distant a couple of miles away ; but now that the iron fet ters of winter were on everything, it looked cold, cheerless and uninviting. It had been snowing all day snow was everywhere. It was on Lhe rich pasture lands, on the closely-shaven meadows, on last year's tillage; it crowned fences, and maintained a pre carious existence on the roots ol nouses; it rendered sightless gaps in broken roads, and lent a treacherous expansion to highways; it, in short, blotted ou the ordin ary landmarks, and was on great, white, itnring eyesore on the face of the landscape. Night had come on. and with it in creased activity on the part of the storm. It was bitterly cold, too, and there was an edge on the air like a knife. It was a night to enjoy a grateful meal and a comfortable fireside, and this was what May Sefton was prepar ing for her father's return in the little cottage by the roadside. The ample stove was aglow with the orackling wood-fire ; the bright lamp light illumined the neat, decorous little kitchen ; the old easy-chair wore a look of expectation as it stood by the table that awaited the burden of the substan tial 8UDDer. and the blue-eyed rose-bud herself was blithely singing snatches of a amy, as li in aeaance ox uie g.ooui and storm without. For a dozen years and upward May Sefton had occupied this same abode with her father, and had been Lis sole companion and housekeeper. About that time George Sefton had made his first appearance in Fail bank, bringing with him little else than a fair' sweet child of four or five vears old, and carrying about him an air of sup pressed suftering that silenced in quiries, albeit that it somewhat excited curiosity. But this curiosity was sat isfied and turned to tympatb when it was learned that the stranger had re cently buried his partner, anr' that the golden-haired child he so tenderly cher ished was motherless. George Sefton had not furnished Fair bank with this information in to many words. From the day of his arrival to the (time whereof we write, he had never opened his lips on the subject of his antecedents. Abraham Gilman, or old Al p. as he was more universally called. t distin guish him from a younger t be, had once askea ueorge, wnen tuey weie working in the fields together, if ho was not a widower like himself, whereat Abe's new employee had bent his head, and then maintained a silence so impres sive that the lact was taken for granted, and never after discussed. As for May, if questioned on the sub ject, she could only tell of a big town and a large house, and a fine lady that used sometimes ,to kiss her, and who', one night, she was told by her father, had died and was buried away for evcr moer. . " Six o'clock." cries Mav. stnnrjinir her warbling to laugh up in the face of me oia ciock that chimed the hour. "Six o'clock," she laughs.as she tnixB the fragrant rashers in the oven, and . Casts a Se&rchin? ilanpe t. tl.n tahln t.n see that it contains all her own home made dainties. "Father will be here presently.- I wonder if Abe will Hush, you naughty thing." she adds. under her breath, and pressing . her hands to her rosy mouth, as she beam a vruncftlPg sound drawing nigh. The sound draws nearer till it stops outside, when there is a scraping and stamping of feet, and then the door opens, and a fragrant, warm smell, and a bright gleam of light, and a smile of delicious youth and innocence stream out in the face of the night and salute the intruders. The first to enter is a man, tall, and slightly bent, with a thin, aged face, and a fair, long beard, plentifully leav ened with gray hairs. He bends down, with an air not quite in keeping with his homely garb, and impresses a fer vent kiss on the sweet, upturned face that greets him. He then steps aside with a courteous movement and dis closes the figure of a robust youth, with a beardless face wreathed in smiles, half-diffident, half-assured, altogether guileless. "tUome in, Abe," says the little hostess, as he beams at her from the doorway. Smiling, Abe insinuates himself past her, without a word, merely rubbing the top of his frost-smitten nose by way of salutation. In or about this hour. Abe Gilman generally insinuated himself into the presence of May, and beguiled his even ings in the company of her and her father. George Sefton had some books which greatly interested him, especially when read to him by the owner or his daughter, and he occasionally borrowed one, though frequently puzzled by some of the words ; for Abe was not much of a scholar, but he had a taste for litera ture, and for May's society, which was a sort of education in itself. " You haven't had supper, Abe," said May. invitingly, to the visitor, with a peep at him that might have upset a more confident youth. " I'm mst goin' back to it." said Abe. apologetically. " I only kern for a book yer father promised to loan me." " Better stay for supper now, Abe," said George Sefton, in his quiet but kindly way. " Don't require to be coaxed too much before you consent," said May, with mock gravity, and a merry twinkle in her blue eye, that Kent Abe into a con vulsive titter, and brought him to the table without further parley. " Who went to Fairbank to-day P" in quired May, when she had set the meal in full motion. " Abe, my dar ; he brought you your paper," answered her father. "I was chopping wood all day ; much warmer work eh. AbeP" " Yes, sir," returned Abe, with an emphasis on the second word that left no mistake as to his thorough agreement with his friend's opinion. "I never thought I'd get home. There wasn't a soul to be seen in the village, 'cept what was keepin' the stove warm in the store. There was a lady that kem by the cars, an' she wanted to start straight away for Mansfield, an' she offered ten dollars to any one that'd take her, an', by golly, sir. she couldn't to save her life git one that'd face it." "She was a trump," laughed May, "and she'd face it herself?" "Yes, by golly, she would that," said Abe; "but she had so many shawls an' furs, an' wrap with her, that I think she could have slep' in the snow for a week without being frozen." " It's a nasty road from hero to Mans field, such a night", said George Sefton ; ' but that was a stiff price." " She may get somo one.that'll take her yet," said May. " She mav. and she mayn't." said Abe. erinninff comfortably at the fire. " If Jack Price was around, I don't think he'd let so much money go. I think he'd skin himself an' that horse of his for the whiskv that ten dollars'd buy. " " I fear he'd run the risk of it, Abe," said tieorge. smiling. s foor.JacK is a rare fellow for his whisky." - " Hush !'' cried May, " this is a sleigh. coming now; I'm sure I heard the bolls PerhaDS it s she. Jook and see. Abe." "He couldn't see his finger outside.in v dear," said her father, taking down his pipe off the mantle and filling it, whilst Abe rose to peep out. The tinkling sound advanced rapidly, but it was dark as pitch, and sleet and snow were traveling furiously with the wind. Abe could see nothing from the door step, so he ran down to the wooden bridee that spanned the frozen stream He could now discern the dark object coming furiously toward him, but he noticed, with anxiety, that it was in clinirji uangerously near the side of the top '. on which was the little ravine. Onward came the snorting horse at tne top of his speed. but closer and closer to the brink ol the highway. Abe raised ris hands and voice in alarm to the driver, but his warning was not heard, or heard too late, for the next instant the hore and sleigh had tumbled into the bed of frozen water. The hoarse cry of a man in pain and a stifled moan reached the ears of the horrified Abe, as he shouted ' out, "George! lieorge'." But George, who had heard the crash . was on hand a moment after the acci dent with a lantern, and, taking the situation in at a glance, first released the furiously struggling horse, anc1. then lifted up the heavy sleigh that had com' nletelv turned over on the occupants. Jack Price for he it was was so full of whisky that, when he regained his liberty, he scarce felt the pain of his broken arm and bruised and bloody face. George Sefton had already raised the other traveler in his arms, and i troubled lor k had gathered on his brow " Take that druken fellow-back to the village, Abe,' he said, when Jack Price and his vehicle were once more in run ning order; "and make all the haste you can back with the doctor, I fear this is aserious case." Is it thfl lady. fatherP" said Mav, who had come forward and was hold ing the lantern, us George clambered up to the road with the unconscious bun dle in his arms. - , . I suppose so, May," he replied, fol lowing her into the cottage. "Who ever it is, is, I dread, badly hurt." May drew the lounge close to the fire, and on it the insensible woman was laid. Abe did not exaggerate when he stated that the lady was well protected from the weather. She was wrapped and muffled up till her face was no loneer visible, and May's first efforts were directed to relieve her from some of this now unnecessary covering. George Seiton was bending anxiously over the two women, watching for a glimpse oi the stranfeer's face. When it was revealed to him, ghastly white, but still aggressively beautiful, his breathing for a moment ceased, and a scared expression lit up bis mild, blue eyes. Miy, too, was startled at the sight of RIDGWAYjf ELK. COUKTY, PA-THURBBAXMAJIC the death-like face; but when she trlanced un at her father, and beheld his ashen countennnce and trembling form, she was filled with terror. " What is it. fatherP" she exclaimed. " Do you think, hen, she's deadP" His dazed look wanaerea irom tne prostrate figure on the lounge, and rested on the innocent being kneeling at her side. . .. . "No. I don't think sue is," he replied, at length, in a voice scarcely above a whisper. The scared expression in his face had stolen into his voice, and it was hushed and frightened. Tears welled up into May's eyes, and dropned on the cold hands she was chafing. The lady, after a while, showed symp toms of returning consciousness. Be yond her pallor and insensibility, she presented no outward sign of injury. "I don't think she's much hurt, father," said May, leaning tenderly over her patient, the tears still glistening like pearls on her eyelashes ; but noting, with hope and pleasure, the increasing evidences of animation. He made no response to May's re mark, but continued to stare straight down at the pallid, beautiful face of the lady. Suddenly a nair of eves, larsrer and more liquid than May's, but of the same azure hue, are opened out upon him, and the conscious woman is scrutiniz ing his weird, haggard countenance. For a brief moment a crimson flush banishes the pallor, and the hands that May holds are clutched convulsively. Then the red blood deserts the face again, and it becomes ten times more livid. The beautiiui, liquid eyes droop abashed before the man's gaze, and trav erse searchingly the room, till they rest nn Mav kneefinir bv her. "I'm not deceived, then," she leeoiy mutters. Is this " Hei voice broke the spell, or stupor that had seized George Sefton at the first glimpse of her, and, in a low and j V . i : a . uecisive tune, ue tuuu : You mustn't speak just now. madam, till the doctor arrives, and we know what's the trouble. Prepare your bed for this lady, May," he added, mo tioning the young girl to her room, gravely. Mav had scarcely disappeared, when he was at the woman's side, whisper ing excitedly in her ear : I ou mustn't lot ner Known nothing. It's better for her it's better for you. I don't want to reproach you now. I don't know what strange fatality brought you to my cabin to-night; but whatever it was leave us leave her in the peace and innocence that you have found her. Since tne hour that vou de serted her I've led her to believe you dead. I've striven to hide you and your sin irom your child with the charitable mantle of the grave, and for that sole purpose I've since hidden my self here. Don't seek to undeceive her. Let her still think of you with re gret. Let her merrory of you continue to be a fragrant one " The errinu weman listened with closed eyes and blanched cheeks to the man's passionate words. "May I kiss her?" was all she fal tered. " Yes. if" May entered, and George Sefton moved away, and nung lumseit into a chair in a far corner ot the room. Mav resumed her watch bv the ladv's side, taking the cold, slender hands once more in hers. She noticed that the lovely eyes, which were turned with in finite tenderness on her, were dimmed with tears, and that the hands she clasped pressed hers caressingly lhe monotonous tick, tick, or the old clock was all ti.at broke the silence of the room. The lady closed her eyes, and Mav was beginning to think that she was no' ing to sleep, when a sweet voice wliis. pered in her ear : kiss me. darling. The young girl crept closer, and wind ing her arms round the woman s neck, wrapped the poor soul in her chaste em brace. Was it the instinct of love or pitv ? When George Sefton awoke from his painful reverie an hour later to admit Abe Gilman and the doctor, he found the two women asleep, the elder resting on tne oosom oi tue younger. The girl was easily aroused, but the other awoke no more. The friends who came for the dead woman knew not the unhappy husband under his assumed name and altered ap pearance.and May never learned that her mother had passed out of the sphere of sin ana sname in ner arms Her father lived long enough to see her the happy wife of Abe Gilman, and then passed away, carrying his secret with him. Artificial Diamonds. Professor Maskelyne's positive state. ment that the method of producing dia monds cuemicauy has been discovered, does not admit of much doubt or dis cussion. He is, prjabably, the highest living auiQonty on precious stones: and just as bis dictum quashed the claim re cently preierrea by Mr. UcTear, so does it now sustain the claim preferred bv Mr. Hannay. Probably the diamonds produced by this ingenious Scotchman are of no value as gems mere tiny scraps of crystallized carbon. But even in this form they will be of great value commercially, being as useful for tern cutting and poliBhing as natural dia monds, lor a little while, therefore, the iewelers with diamonds in stock. the well-to-do folk who own diamond rings and necklaces, will not be dis turbed by the depreciation of their property upon their hands. In the long run, uuwevoi, mo uepi euiauon is cur tain to cooie. If Mr. Hannav has dis covered the principle in accordance with which the transformation of carbon into diamonds is effected, the perfection of the process is inevitable. While the useful arts will reap great benefits from this triumph oi modern alchemy, ro mance will suffer. For the children of the next generation the story of uin dab's excursion into the valley of dia monds will have no charm ! F hiladel pnia limes. Two gushing Boston girls were walk infe'one day in the suburbs of the Hub, when they stumbled on a little old-fashioned mile-stone, forgotten in the march of improvement. One of them stopped. and parting the grass discovered the half-effaced inscription, "I. m. from Boston," upon which she exclaimed, ecstatically : " Here is a sxave. perhana. of some young girl who wished it writ ten on her tombstone, 'I 'rafrotn Boston. How touching! so simple and so suffi cienti" TIMELY TOPICS. r f e ; f ! I It is proposed to butld in certain dis tricts on the western frontier of Kan sas churches made of sods. A few such already exist. The walls are of sods. the ' roofs are covered with ' sods, and the floors are of earth. A church can be built, in size about 20x36, for an outlay in money of only $10, and this has already been done in at least one instance. A wall of sods, if prop erly built, and protected, will last 100 years, koois ot shingles and floors of wood are firreatlv to be desired, but. of course, they add very much to the cost of a church. , 1 ':" Germany, with a population of 42.- 000,000 has 60,000 schools and an at tendance Of 6.000.000 nunilS! Great Britain and Ireland, with a population of 34,000,000 has 68,000 schools and 3,000,000 pupils ; Austria:Hungary, with a population of 37,000,000, has 30;000 schools and 3,000,000 pupils; France, with a population of 37,000,000, has 71, 000 schools and 4,700,000 pupils; Spain, with a population of 17,000,000, has 20, 000 schools and 1,600,000 pupils; Italy, with a population of 88.000,000, has 47. 000 schools and 1,900,000 pupils; and Russia, with a population of 74,000,000, has 32,000 schools and 1,100,000 pupils. Glucose manufacture is making an ex citement in the maize districts of the West, the factory at Buffalo and its re markable success being the prime stim ulant. Half a dozen establishments have been planted within a month in Indiana, Illinois and Iowa. Cyrus Mc Cormick and others have, it is said. put $650,000 into one at Chicago. It is to have a capacity of 20,000 bushels a day, which is the equivalent of 300 tons of sugar. A bushel of corn, costing about forty cents, produces thirty pounds of grape sugar, or three gallons of syrup. This sugar, which costs them net two cents per pound, they can sell at from three atffi one-half to four cents, while the three gallons of syrup can be sold at from thirty-five to forty cents a gauon. One of the Irish parish priests to whom Mr. Redpath, the New York Tribune correspondent, sent a letter of inquiry concerning the distress caused by lamine, says : " It would be impos sible for me to individualize, where hun dreds and hundreds in my parish are in this state. May God, in His mercy, open wide to us the American heart. in it, under tiod, is our hope. A better day, I trust, is coming; and when it comes and when the merry word and joyous laugh are again heard, believe me, though we forget everything else connected with the dread time3 of the year 1880, we shall never, never forget America, who, by being the true ' friend in need.' proved herself to be the 'friend indeed."' Anothes priest writes: "My house is actually besieged from early dawn till late at night bv hundreds of ragged, hungry-iookiag persons, most piieousiy "raving anu clamoring ior re lief. No amount of private charitv. I fear, will be sufficient to meet the present appalling distress." Professor Swiner. the well-known Chicago minister, thinks it must be ac cepted as a lact that there is great suf fering in Ireland to-day, and that the money forwarded from this laud, and irom au lands, and irom hne and her. self, is the tribute due from the lortu nato to tne uniortunate in an era which declares all men to be brethren If the grasshoppers in Nebraska made outside help necessary, it the yellow fever in the South demanded an upris ing in Northern charity, sot lie famine in Ireland proclaims that another time lias come lor help to pass over from the strong to the weak. The utter failure ot crops lor several seasons has made it impossible for parents to buj new cloth ing for the children, and hence the awful scene of several little ones wrapped in one ragged blanket, at once without food and without covering. Before these repeated failures of crops there were thousands in this afflicted coun try who were just on the edge of star vation. in good times these had not enough food or clothing, and now that tue crops nave ianea ior three consecu tive seasons, it ought not to require much more than a rumor to convince one that there must be great distress in many parts oi tue irisn country. A Martial Ornament. Hungarians are celebrated for their remarkably fine mustaches, and are in the habit of devoting much care to the cultivation of this martial ornament. The national custom originated with a number ot cavalry regiments who dis tinguished themselves in the wars against the Turks, and whose colonels finding that the fashion served to in. spire the troopers with manly pride and dashing gallantry, made the training and cultivating of their mustaches regulation affair. A beardless youth was excluded from cavalry service. Here is the method employed, and which is in daily use throughout the land among men who set their pride upon the display of a fine curly and provokingly sticking out mustache. - After the morning ablution, and while the beard is still wet, a piece ot string is drawn across the face, under the nose, and fastened over both ears. Both hands then twist the hair around the string, to which an extra pun is given, with a nnai fastening behind the ears. In this ingenious condition ot early toilet, one may comfortably get through breakfast and a lot of early work indoors, and emerge at noon with a more or less fierce and martial countenance, the pride of the girls and the object of envi ous swells ignorant of the plan. During the 1 rencb wars toward the end ot the last and the beginning ef this century, there was one Hungarian hussar regi ment specially! distinguished for the magnificence and fierceness of its mus taches. The regulation exacted a dis play of five inches of hair, in corkscrew form and shape, on each side of the upper lip, and, when nature's supply proved insufficient, the regu'ation lengtn nan to ne made of oits oi horse tail worked into nrickinir points au each end b means of a sticky mass of grease and wax, which became known in Paris during the restoration under the elegant name of " f ommade Hongroise." The proverb. " Everv bullet has its billet." is said to have originated in a superstition common among soldiers fifty years back that their name was written on the bullet that ttretebed them dead. s The Brakeman Who Went to Church To me comes the brakeman, and- seat ing himself on the arm of the seat, says ; ' I went to church yesterday." , , . , i "YesP',' I said, with that interested inflection that asks for more. And What church did you attendP'l j , V Which do you guess P" he asked. I ,' Some .,; union mission church I hazarded. . ' t ' " Naw," he said, " I don't like to ' run on these branch roads very much. don't often go to church, and when I do, I want to run on the main line, where your run is regular and you go on a schedule time and don't have to wait on connections. I don't like to run on a branch. - Good enough, but I don't like it." ' ( . " Episcopal P" I gueBsed. ' . . "Limited express," he said, "all pal ace cars and two dollars , extra for a seat; fast time, and only stops at the big stations. Nice line, but too ex haustive for a brakeman. All train men in uniform, conductor's punch and lantern silver plated, and no : train boys allowed. Then the passengers are allowed to talk back at the conductor; and it makes them too free and easy. No, I couldn't stand the palace cars. Rich road, though. Don't often hear of a receiver being appointed for that line. Some mighty nice people travel on it, too." '. " UniversalistP" I guessed. ., ...... "Broad gauge," said the brakeman, "does too mucli complimentary busi ness. Everybody travels on a pass. Conductor doesn't get a fare once in fifty miles; Stops at all flag stations, and won't run into anything but a union depot. No smoking car on the train. Train orders are vague, thought and the trainmen don't get along well with the passengers. No, I don't go to the Universalist, though I know some awfully good men who run on that road." ' ' " Perhaps you went to the Unitari ans!"' No, I didn't, but I might have done worse. That is a mighty good road, well ballasted with reason, though it runs through a regioa a little bit cold, and there is apt to be some ice and snow on the track, but in case of acci dent there is no danger of upsetting the stoves and being burnt up ; and there's one good thing about it, the neighbors are generally ready to come and neip when you do get into trouble. They like to have things nice and com tor t able in this world, doing what they think is about right and taking their chances for the other. They don't seem to take much stock in being as miser able as you can here in the hope that you will be the happier for it there. They seem to think that a man's going to reap the same kind of crop that he plants, and that if he puts in a selfish. worthless kind of a life on this earth it ain t a-going to come out a very fine specimen in heaven. Seems to me some sense as well as poetry in that but I wag raised an 'orthodox' and 'twouldn't do for me to be seen on that train or I might lose my place on the other line, as there's a good deal of competition between the two roads, and our folks are . getting afraid, of losing travel." " Presbyterian?" I asked. " Narrow crauee. ehP" said the brake man. " pretty track, straight as a rule; tunnei right through a mountain rather than go around it; spirit-level grade; passengers have to show their tickets before thev get on the train. Mighly strict roaa, Dut me cars are a uiue nar . r . row;haveto sit one m a seat and no room in the aisle to dance. Then there's no stop-over tickets allowed; got to go straight through to the station you re ticketed for. or you can t get on at a ll. When the car's full, no extra coaches ; cars built at the shops to hold iust so many and nobody else allowed on. But you don't often hear of an accident on this road. It's ruu right up to the rules." "Milvbe vou j-ined the free thinkers?" I said. "Scrub road," said the brakeman, " dirt road bed and no ballast; no time card and no train dispatcher. All trains run wild and every engineer makes his own time, just as he pleases. Smoke if you want to ; kind of a go-as-you-please road. Too many side tracks and every switch wide open all the time, with the switchman sound asleep and the target lamp dead out. Get on as you pleate and get off when you want to. Don't have to show your tickets, and the conductor isn't expected to do anything but amuse the passen- fers. No, sir, I was offered a pass, but don't like the line. I don't like to travel on a line that has no terminus. Do you know, sir, I asked a division superintendent where that road run to, and he said he hoped to die if he knew. I asked him if the general superinten dent could tell me, and he said he didnt believe they had a general su perintendent, and if they had. he didn't know any more about the road than the passengers. I asked him who he reported to, and he said nobody.' I asked a conductor who he got his or ders from, and he said he didn't take orders from any living man or dead ghost. And when I asked the engineer who he got his orders from, he said he'd like to see anybody give him or ders, he'd run that train to suit him self or he'd run it into the ditch. Now you see, sir, I'm a railroad man, and I don't care to run on a road that makes no connections, runs nowhere and has no superintendent. It may be all right, but l'Vrf railroaaed too long to under stand it," Did you try the Method istr" I asked. Now you're shoutine." he said with some enthusiasm. ".Nice road, eh' Fast time and plenty ot passengers. Engines carry a power of steam, and don't you forget it; steam gauge show3 a hundred and enougn alt tne time Lively road; when the conductor Bhtuts 'all aboard,' you can hear him to the next station. Every train lamp shines like headlight. Stop-over checks given on all through tickets; passengers drop off the train as often as they like, do the station two or three days and hop on the next revival train that comes thundering alon) Good, whole-souled, companionab. conductors; ain't a road in the country where the passengers feel more at home. No passes; every passenger pays full traffic rates, for his ticket. Weslevan house air brakes on all trains. too, Pretty safe road, but I didn't ride over it yesterday." " Maybe you went to the Congrega tional churchP" 1 said. ; ' " Popular road,'.' said the brakeman "an old road, too : one of the verv old est in this country. Good road-bed and comfortable cars, i Well-managed road toot directors don't interfere with di vision superintendents and train order '"'ri i"i in mi Road's talithtf peuarl'but ItV pretty independent, too.' See, didn't one oi the division superintendents , down . East discontinue one of the oldest stations on this line two or three years agoF But It's a mighty pleasant road to travel on. Always lias such a pleasant i class of passengers," , , . , ... "Perhaps you tried the Baptist F", I guessed onoe more. ' ' " " v--- "Ah, hat" said the brakeman, '"she's a daisy, isn't sheP i River road ; beauti ful curves ; sweep around anything to keep close to the river, but it's all steel rail and rock ballast, single track all the way, and not aside track from the road house to the terminus. Takes a heap of water to run her through ; double tanks at every station,' and there isn't an en gine in the shops that can pull a pound or run a mile in less than two gauges. But it runs through a lovely country; these river roads always do river on one side and hills on the other, and it's a steady climb up the grade all the way till the run ends where the fountain head of the river begins. Yes, sir, I'll take the river road every time for a lovely trip ; sure connections and good time, and no prairie dust blowing in at the windows. And yesterday when the conductor came round for the' tickets with a little basket punch, I didn't ask him to pass me, but I paid my fare like a little man twenty-five cents for an hour's run, and a little concert by the passengers throwed in'. I tell you ; Pil grim, you take the river road when you want .'u ! .'-. i.. , But iust here the loner whistle from the eneine announced a station, and 'the brakeman hurried to the door, shouting: "" ; "i i - : t i . &ionsville I This train makes no stops between here and Indianapolis!" Burlington Hawkey e. - . Andrew Jackson's Tow. " Shortly after the occupation of Pensa- cola and the expulsion of the Spanish authorities from Florida by General Jackson, Mr. Edward Palfrey, an old citizen of New Orleans, now dead, was wont to relate that while standing De hind the counter of the National batik, his attention was attracted to a group of military officers who entered the bank and inquired for the cashier. The chief oi tne party was a man gaunt stern-featured, spare and wasted of form, but erect and firm of carriage. The cashier having appeared, the chief introduced himself: "I am An drew Jackson, major-general ol the United States army, commanding the forces now occupying Pensaoola. My soldiers arc suffering greatly for the want of provisions, clothing and medi cines. Immediate relief is required, and I must have $20,000 to purchase them supplies. Here is my draft on the gov ernment. 1 desire to have it cashed. The cashier was appalled by this de mand. ' There was no authority to honor this check. -The courteous but firm manner and the prestige of the chieftain, however, restrained any such intimation from the cashier. Request ing the general and his staff to be seated, lie retired to the rear office of the presi dent, and communicated the appalling demand of the conqueror of Florida. The president was equally alarmed, and dispatched a messenger to convoke the directory. They quickly assembled, and the BUbject was referred to them. It should be borne in mind that at. that time General Jackson was regarded with a great deal Jjf bitterness and dis trust by a large political party in the country. He was looked upon as a dnn gerous and assuring military chieftain who menaced the integrity and freedom of our civil institutions, and especially of such institutions as the great national bank. The directors of the branch bank here were doubtless somewhat per vaded with this sentiment. Still the rules of the bank justified them in de clining to advance the fund required by General Jackson, and the president was instructed to communicate this conclusion of the board. He did so with all the suavity . usual on such occasions. Then rising from his seat and ndvano ing to the counter, rehind which the polite president stood, the old chief asked: "Do I understand you, sir, to; say that this bank, having the money of the United States in its vaults, declines to advance a sum sufficient to Supply the immediate needs of 2,000 patriot soldiers whom 1 have left in the swamps of Florida exposed to fevers and starva tion?" With profound regret the rules must be observed. Whereupon, with 1 flashing eye and that terrible aspect never to be forgot ten by any one who ever beueid uid Hickorv in a rape, the eeneial. risinc high his gauntleted hand, brought it down with great force upon the counter, exclaiming, "By the Eternal! I will live to serve your rascally bank asi have the Spaniards in Florida, as equally enemies of the people and of liberty." With this fearful menace and vow he strode with his staff out of the bank.- As he emerged from the bank, the gen eral encountered two Irish-born citizens and merchants of New Orleans, who had heard of the order of the bank, and had hastened to join the general, with offers to cash his draft and furnish all that he needed for his arm . Daily Slates. . i . : . He Remembered Exactly. . , A lying witness will often tell a very glib story, but he generally fails to guard all his weak points. At a recent trial in court the following took plaai in attempting to prove an alibi: . , - Attorney B. -r Xou say that f.ms S' lowed for you all day on the 20th of TovemberP ' ' ....... Witness referring to his note-book Yes. , S.-What did he do on the 30thf i W. We chopped wood. . - ; 1 1 8.-Onthe31stP , ' W. That was Sunday, and we went squirrel hunting. .-, , ' ,,,, - . what did ne uo on tne rod' ' W. He thrashed wheat on that day.' S. What did he do on the 33d P - W. It was raining, and be shaved out some handles. , . . . . .,, S What did be do on the 34th? -W. He chopped wood. - r K. What did he do on the-P t i But before the Question could be fin ished. the witnesses's wife seized him by the collar and whisked ' him outside of the witness-box, yelling in his affright ed ear-r -i - ,".: i - .' :.- i ..u " You old fool don't you know there are only thirty days, in the month ot November P" ' ....... ..i - . . . ,1. ui - " 1 i' ,; ' " Does your maehinesew evenly. Mrs. Smith?'!. -"Even sew," was the laconic response oi Mrs. bmith, as she held up her work for inspection r L' -Weir d. .Fancy , , If tbe tleadr1yid tinder the grasses? UtisRen linger near the bereft, " Having knowledge and sense ol what passes In the hearts and homes they have left, What tear-drops, than sea-waterS Salter, Must lall when they see all the strife When they see how we foil, how we falter, How we miss in the duties of. Hie. ;; '' V If the great') who go ont with their faces. Bedewed by a weeping world's tears, Stand near and see how thoir places I Are filled, whilo the multitude oheerS; If the parent, whose baek la bent do 1 .1 With delving for riches and gold, Lends an eu to the wrangle and trot - le i About him, before he Is cold;,,) ,i; i If the Wife, Who left weeping arid eon r W " Behind her, bends down from abov i'1 And beholds the tears dried on the mo. ioW, And the eyes newly burning with 1ot;I If the gracious and royal-sonled mother t F.rom the silence and hush ol the tomb, , Can hear the harsh voioe of another, , , fc j Slow-blighting the fruit of her womb , j It the old hear their dearly-forgotten J . Rejoicing that burdens are gono ; If the young know how soon they're tor- .......Rotten,. , .. -. , ,.. ,..,.,,,.,.,, While the mirth and the revel go on - What sighing of sorrow and anguish Most sound through the chambers ol space , What desolate spirits must languish . ,V In that mystio and nndweribed place I . Then lile were, a tarce with its burden, , , y And death but a terrible (est ! , But they cannot. The grave gives its guerdon Of silence and beautiful rest- .' .... j , , ITEMS OF INTEREST. M. de LesBcps never indulges iu alco holio beverages. ,.... t . The number of families living in New York city is 213,467. . ; . A noarse snoo never Dnngs goon, iuck to a foraging hen. Wheeling Leader. ' Peter Cooper has a fine collection of Greek and Roman coins which he has been gathering during the last fifty-nine years.. t- , - . -, , , , . , ..,. A slab of wood marks the grave of Stonewall Jackson's - mother, who was buried on an eminence 700 feet above the river at nawk's Nest,, Virginia. : -, . i ' " Two sisters of Glasgow got mad at a plumber and threw him out of the fifth story window." But he got even with the sisters. He charged them double time from the minute he left the window until be struck the sidewalk. Norristown Herald. , : .v The records of life ' insurance com panies as presented in the reports for the last year show that the death claims were considerably greater than in pre vious years, which would seem to indi cate .that last year , was an unhealthy one. . -. He told her that be loved her . In tones so soft and mellow j " But she ssid she couldn't marry him, For she'd a9ked another fellow. (This is lenp-yoar.) -Steuben rnvlie I Herald. In digging the Suez canal Egyptian workmen were forced to make hods of their backs, placing their hands behind them and clasping tue.. ieit wnscwitn the right hand. Boys under twelve years of age were made to do this It is hardly necessary to add that thousands perished under such inhuman, treat ment. ,'J . ,.. .. , ,' : i .. , A physician at Areata, Cal., had for a patient a girl for whom he entertained a high regard, as sho was tho daughter of an intimate 'friend.' He could not cure her, however,: and she died with out the exact nature of her disease be ing discovered. Immediately on hear ing of her deatli he accused himself of a lack of medical skill, and committed suicide. ' '- J A certain painter was bragging of his wonderful command of color to a friend one day. His friend did not seem to take it quite rllin. " w hy," exclaimed the painter, " do you know that there are but three painters in the world, sir, who understand color?" "And who are they?" at last asked the friend. " Why, sir, I am one, and and and and I forget the name of the other two !" There hangs in the office of the Walla Walla (W.T.) Statesman the sign under which the Nez Perces fought acd sur rendered to General Howard in tho war of 1877. It is nothing more than the skin of a red fox, with the exception that at the base of the neck there is a scalp lock. When fighting at Bear Paw mountain, this was hung up on a higli pole, as a sign that they would use all the cunning and strategy of that animal while fighting.- ' - " '. ' ! An erring husband, -who had ex hausted U explanations for late hours' and had no apology ready, recently slipped into the house,, about two o'clock, very softly, denuded himself tently, and began rocking the cradle by the bedside,; as if ,(ic had been awakened out of a sound sleep by infantile cries. ' He had-rocked away for ten minutes, when Mary Jane, who. had silently observed tne wuoie maneuver,, said,,". Come to bed, ;you fool! the baby ain't there." Toronto Graphic. - - - X. a, t ! Words of Wisdom. ; ,i Good will, like a crood name, is Kot by many actions and lost by one, , , Convey thy love to thy friend as an arrow to tho mark, to Btick there;' noi as a ball against the wall, to rcbout. - back to thee. a ".n e ' Self devotion is hut a form of gener osity ; the generosity of those who give to themselves, navu:g nothing more ana nothing better to give, and belongs equally to the nobler natured !of both sexes.t.l.i !.;! i.uoi xt mfc(. i It; is well enough bo be humble, but it is possible to boast of your humanity until it sours into the worst kind of self-pride. ' There is hardly a virtue in the calendar which a man will not lose if he talks much about it. : : . . .iS tr Whatever your sex or position, life is a battle iu which you are to show your pluck.' and woe be to the coward! nether passed on a bed of sickness or in the tented field; it ir. ever the same fair flag, and admits Qf.no distinction. Without earnestness no man is ever ereat. or does reallyj great things. He mav be the cleverest of nin ! he may be brilliant, entertaining, popular ;'lut hei will want. 'weight.-" Ko oul-niovinir picture was ever painted that had nt4 in it the depth of shadow.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers