I, THE FOBEST REPUBLICAN b pablUhtd vor7 v?lnfl7, kr J. E. WENK. O2!oe In Bmearbaugh & Co.'e llulldlnt; RLM STREET, TIONKSTA, PA. RATES OF ADVERTISING. On 8qur, on Inch, on Ir.srtlon.. On Sqnre, on Inch, on month.... On Bqoar, on Incb, tkr month.. On Sqnr, on toh, on jar Two Baoar, on r ...U o ....I K .... 0 .. 10 m ... 11 m Qnrtf Otlamn, on 7ar...aa e tV Half Colina, n ..... M On Celamnjon jrr J tfti Mtlrra i Mtabtlifc4 r4i. ' MurrUe and Oattfc boOom fntl. AD WJ for jmj arwVmnH e ' terlT. fWmpoHtfj 4rTtlMBMaM muut JW ftl dTkn. Jo wark Mh M aTi7. Ttrmt, I. BO pr Yr, Ho abtorlptlona rtTd for aortr pr! tltaa thr month. CorTMpondMiM folNtad from all Mill of YOLIVII. HO. 13. eoDiUf. No nolle will b uuian f enai TIOINESIA, PA., WEDNESDAY, JULY 16, 1884. $1,50 PER ANNUM. commnnioteonj. SUNSET. Bweat star of summer's eventidol O'er yonder soa of light, Where many a cloudlet crimson dyed ' In cradled on the nlghtv, And buck from many a purplo Isle The darkness rolloth for awhile, As sunset o'er that billowy wa Unveil hor heart of h carta to thoo. I watched thy coming, long ago, "When but a pensive child, Where Vlneott's dnrk Who mountain's glow By Huron wldo and wild, And softly, lovingly as now, The night dew klusfnl my throbbing brow; I folt with bird and breeze and bowor The wltchory of the iiunsot hour. Oh, for ofT homo of lxyhood's dreamal Dear land romomlered long I The magic of thy mountain streams, The valleys filled with song; Through blighted hope, through pain an tears, Through wandering and through burdened years, Denied, unsought and tempest driven, Ye toil of rest and homo In heaven. To-night! and such a night as this His touch on yondor skies, Whore clouils are bnthod in Edon bliss, And stars In splendor riso; I blow Him, In the bonds He's cleft; The wealth of hope, of joy that's loft; The shield and shelter ever nigh; The peace that Cometh by and by. . I turn from these, Thy works, to Thee, A refuge of our race! If earthly scenes be fair to son, What is Thy dwelling placet The glowing sunset's crimson light; The splondor of the starry night; Tho ralnliow, arched from zone to cone, Are shadows only of Thy throne. Thou stoopet with a tender hoart To every littlo thing; A refuge and a rock Thou art, A father and a king! Did not life's darkness dim our sight; Tt's sorrows hide Thine own sweet light, How much of goodness could we see f How much of love that tolls of Thee? American Monthly. SIDDY'S ADVICE. I. WHEN IT WAS GIVES. You could not -find a moro notable woman in tho fishermen's quarter of our pretty seaside town than the wife of Joel tiiiis. Ho might work bard in his boat, but he spent all his hours on shore in lounging about or sleeping, whereas Biddy bims was never idle. Tho four fnt little children who called her mother wcro as rosy and healthy as plenty of tubbing and wholesome food could nv.ikc them ; and spiders avoided the quecrly-lnult tenement on the clill- side, that might be known as Siddy RiHs' by tho whiteness of tho rough stono Uilio door and the redness of tho pots of flowers that tilled the windows. Yet, with all her occupations at home, Siddy was sure to be one of the first on tho beach in the early morning, when tho boats ramc in ; first to help sort the fish; first to take her place iu the mar ket, where her bright , smiling foce and civility attracted ninny a customer. And who, when business was over there, tramped away more undauntedly with her basket, to sell her whiting and soles at the doors of the smart villas on the outskirts of the town; coming home not unfrequently to mend nets or make creels; and if help in the sick-room were needed, to take her turn at sitting up as readily ns if it were a pleasure instead ota toil. Siddy was the best of mothers, after the rough fashion that thinks love may be as truly expressed by a slap or shake as a curess ; but it is doubtful whether her children were nearer to her heart than a younger brother of Joel's, who occupied hor spare bed-room, and had called her mother ever since sho nursed him through a dangerous illness. That Ned Sims had recovered at all had been due so said everybody to her untiring care; and now that no had de veloped into a great, broad-chested, handsome young fellow, half a foot taller than Joel, and endowed with three times his industry ana energy, biddy was rather apt to take all the credit to hor self, and to be proud of him accordingly, Sho very often planned his future as she sat making his new shirts or mending his jacket. Ho was no drinker, thank heaven 1 and so his savings were mount ing up, and he would soon be able to buy himself a share in one of the boats. And then, he must marry. ''It would be moro 'spectable-like to have a wife than to be sauntering about with first one lass and then another." Yet it gave her a smart shock when instead of "keeping company" with some girl "to tho manner born," some tosher man's daughter liko herself, she met Kd ward, flushed with pride and happiness. by tho side of one of the best looking and best dressed of the chambermaids at the huge hotel lately elected at the top of the clin. It was Sunday morning, and Siddy coming out of tho tiny fishermen's church with her baby in her arms, stopped short and frowned disapproval, let it would be hard to sav what fault could be found with the pretty little creature who listened to the young fisherman. "Tako my advice," said Siddy the fol lowinir day, "and breaK witn ner. bne i too Ik i a ladv for you." "Hno don't think so," Ned retorted. "She didn't show no airs nor graces, did he, wh"n she walked homo with you from the church, but praised your cold pie, and talked to Joel as nice us nice f And didn't you see how tho children took to her?" "An' kep' me in a fldge to my fingers' ends that they'd spoil her fine clothes. If she's going to walk with you, Eddard, them fal lals; it's waste o' money 1" "I don't believe her brown gown, '"was the angry rotort, "cost more than that shawl of your'n, Siddy; and it's not half as flaring.' After hurling this shaft Nod made his escape, for lie knew Siddy would not find it easy to forgive a slighting remark on tho huge-patterned plaid which she had hitherto worn in happy ignorance of its ugliness. But ere long she had forgiven tho speech, and the cause of it, welcoming pretty Liz whenever sho could find tame to visit tho fishermen s quarter. The senson had, not commenced yet, and tho huge, half-empty hotel was so inexpressibly dreary thnt Liz preferred Biddy's homely Kiucucn, even tnougn it was inconvicntly crowded when the children camo in from play; Joel's burly frame filled up tho end nearest tho fixe, and Ned took a boyish delight in getting in tho way of tho busy wife and motlicr. Not that Liz was always a gratclul re cipient of her lover's attentions. Khe had her fits of willfulness, sometimes evincing an irritability that would lesud to a quarrel. Then Ned would stalk out of the house, refusing to hear the re morseful voice that entreated his return; and Liz cither fled in another direction, or when advised to keep her tongue within her teeth in future, retorted with the reproach that it was Biddy's fault ; she was always making misccicf between them. "If it ain't enough to cut a body to the heart to be told that I" exclaimed tho dis comfitcd Siddy. "Don't you never roarry her, Eddard." "I don t suppose she'll let me," replied Ned, with a heavy sigh. Tho varying moods of the girl were perplexing nun sorely. It was not like her to bo so petu lant. Had he loved her too well? His gloomy airfiettcd the woman who loved him with a mother's love, till at last she cried : "Ha' done with it, ladl You'd better take the shillin' and bo a soldier than make yourself miserable for a chit of a girl that ain't worth it." "Think so?" was all the response ne made, but he lounged away, and was not forthcoming when Joel, his supper eaten, went off to the beach. An hour afterward Siddy was watch ing the fishing fleet glide away toward the setting sun, when she found Liz by her side, ghastly with agitation. "Where s Nedf ' Ihe girl's lips formed the question more than uttered it. "He s down town 'stead of where he ought to be 1" and Siddy indicated the boats. "That's vour doing 1" "No, no; I've been down the High street," moaned Liz, clutching at her friend for support; "he's not there. Ho was seen at the railway station with tho recruiting sergeant, lie s away with him ; he's taken the shilling and gone for a sol dier I" "And it was my advice that done it!" As she spoke Siddv drooped on the rough bench in tho porch, and for a few minutes she was too giddy to know what else the cuually unhappy Liz was saying, II. TUE RESULT. Siddy shut her door against the well- meaning neighbors who would have con doled with her, and all the next day (die sought by working harder than ever to forget the violence of the reproaches with which she had driven the weeping Liz from her presence. Ned a soldier I sent abroad not to wrestle with the elements that was man's work but to be cut and hacked by savages 1 And her eyes would turn. against their will, to a wretcned dauu upon the cottage wall a picture of a battle with tho Zulus, in which half a dozen hideous savages were hewing down a young Englishman, who, to her excited fancy looked like Ned. When the children had been put to bed this horrid picture kept her company, till, unublo to bear it any longer, she tore it down and thrust it'into the fire. "Siddy 1" It was Liz who had stolen upon her, and with extended hands was beseeching her forbearance. "Oh! bid me good-by kindly," moaned the girl, "for I am going away.' "What's that fort" asked Siddy, harshly. "I was ill after I went back to my place lust night, and they sent for a doc tor, and jand I haven't felt well ever since I slipped off the ladder when we were cleaning the paint." "Goon," said Siddy. beginning to di-i vine the reason of those tits of irrita bility that had often surprised her. "The doctor says I have strained the muscles of my side, and must have a long rest, and so I am no use here and must make room for some one else." "And you have no friends in London, I've heard you say so. Where'll you go?" "The doctor has given me a letter for a hospital. Oh, Siddy 1 say a kind word to lighten my troubles, for they seem more than I can bear!" The strong arms of Siddy were thrown round her, and there was silence, till, ashamed of her own emotion, the cider woman began making up the fire and putting on the kettle. "I cannot stay," cried Liz. "I shall lose the train, and they will not keep me at the hotel another night." "We'll not ask them. You'll bide here. You'll have Ned's room, and I'm going to nurse you well again." So Liz, her heart heavy, her limbs aching, submitted to be put to bed, and there wept herself into resignation. When Ned wrote oh! surely he would write, and tell them where he Was I she could let him know how penitent she was; and though unequal to hard work, she was clever with her needle, and could find plenty who would be willing to em ploy her. Joel was away longer than usual, and at the end of the week he came home ulky. To lose good chtncti si he had don't you let her wear no more o1 done all through being short-handed had exasperated him, and he growled at his wife, abused the missing JNcd and looked so black at tho truest that she was fain to keep out of his way. biddv had mucn to cope with, while his ill humor lasted, but sho bore it as tho richly deserved punishment of her hasty advice. In other respects the world went smoothly. The doctor called on Liz and predicted her speedy recovery. . liut nothing would lift the load that lay on Biddy's heart, and as she went homo down the cliff side with her empty basket she felt weak and spiritiess, for the sight of Lizzie's pule face and the sound of tho heavy sighs the girl breathed as she sat in the old arm-chair with her sewing wore continual re proaches to her hostess. Mechanically tho sorrowing woman looked toward tho pretty landlocked bay lying below the rocky ledge on which she was resting. The smack of old Aaron Jones, who hud sailed away far beyond where the other fishermen cast their nets, had just como to an nnchor, and, borne shoreward by tho flowing tide, came the smack's boat with tho first installment of finny treasures. One of tho rowers, catching sight of Siddy, greeted her with a lusty cheer. She recognized him in a moment. It was Ned 1 Tho report of his having en listed was a false one, invented by a naif tipsy idler. He had sailed in the Won der, because in treaty with the owner foi a share in his. ventures, and tho oppor tunity of talking over and clinching the bargain was too good to be missed. How Siddy laughed and cried in hei joy no one ever knew. Sho kept out of sight till the lovers met and were recon ciled, and her first words to Ned were a reproach for not wiping his boots cleaner. "If you two'll bo said by me," she told the young couple, "you'll get mar ried as soon as you can. And that's the last bit of advice I ever mean to give 1" But whether Siddy will keep this re solve remains to be seen. CatseWt Mag atine. , Churchyard Poetry. That the following, near Leamington, is genuine, there is no reason to doubt. The lines are touching. They are in memory of a man named John Trees: Poorly lived, Ana poorly died, Poorly buried, Ana no one cried. Equally melancholy, though with a different kind of sadness, are the rhymes on John Hill. They come from a "church yard at Manchester :" Here lies John Hill, a man of skill; His age was five timos ten. He ne'er did good, nor ever would Had he lived as long again. Very likely not, for if in half a cen tury a man does no good he will hardly turn over a new leaf at fifty years of age. Is the following to be considered as an eulogium on the person commemmorated? Provost Peter Patterson was Provost of Dun dee, Provost Peter Patterson, here lies he, iioiieiujan, noueiujeei And what is the meaning of this sin gular inscription in Cusop churchyard, Herefordshire? Has it any meaning at all? If earth be all, WThy o'er and o'er a beaten path You walk, and draw up nothing new Not so our martyred seraph did When from the Verge of Wales ho fled. The martyred seraph was William Seward, of Badsey, Worcester,, who died October 22, 1742. How a man could bo a seraph, and how a seraph could be martyred, are unexplained mys teries. It is somewhat curious to find a person not only writing his own epitaph, but doing it in the following manner. Mr. Thompson speaks of himself as dead and buried ; and yet he survived himself for the space of sixteen years. At Kirk Brnddan, in the Isle of Man, we read ; Here underlveth the body of the Keverund Mr. Patrick Thompson, Minister of Uod's Word forty years, At present vicar of Kirk Braddan, Aged b7, Anno 1673. Deceased ye U4th April, Anno 1089. This vicar apparently looked forward with calm equanimity to his death. "A calm despair " is indicated by these mel ancholy lines : At threescore winter's end I died, A cheerlehs being, lone and sad; The nuptial knot I never tied, And wished my father never had. London Society, Japan's Lacquer Industry. Japanese papers are crying out at the extinction of the lacquer industry of the country. The tree from which the var nish is obtained is disappearing. For merly, like the mulberry tree on which tho silk worm feeds, it was protected by law. Each family of tho upper classes was obliged to rear 100 trees, tho middle classes seventy, and tho lower classes forty. Since the law fell into disuse the cultivation of the lacquer tree has rapidly declined. Tho trees were cut down with out care and none were planted to re place them, so that they have become exceedingly rare whilo the price of lacquer has enormously increased. Similar com plaints, too. are heard of the process ol disafforcstation going on in Japan since the ancient law, which required every one who cut down a tree to plant two in its place, was abolished. , The Freshness of Youth. Old gentleman: "I am delighted to have met you, Miss Bonniface; I knew your grandmother, a charming woman! You can form no conception of her grace and beauty." Miss Bonniface: "Oh, yes, I can? People constantly tell me I am her living Image." Utter collapse of eld gentleman. IN HIE ITALIAN QUARTER. ITALY'S B0H8 AHD DAUGHTERS XJT HEW YOKE. Hon- the Itolri-ntN Ire, Act, Lire and Work Sidewalk Hnckstere IHuMtpntlon and I'lcawnre. Nowhere else in tho cosmopolitan life of New York city, can such grotesque realities and picturesque, if sometimes sorrowful, incidents be observed as those which exist in tho Italian colony, It embraces tho district lengthwise, from Worth street to Spring, and crosswise it extends from tho east side of Mott street to the rear of the west side of Mulberry. The colony comprises only tho most ig norant and tho poorest of tho children of Italy, and within tho territory named there are not two dozen families of other nationalities. Not many years ago a handful of Americans, and a sprinkling of Europeans might have been found in the district, but the steady influx of the Neapolitans with their peculiar mode of living, caused a line of demarcation to bo draw, and left thnt section in their possession. And the district is a faith ful reproduction of uncultured Italian life. AVithin tho territory virile vice keeps abreast of virtue, thick lined pov erty rears its gaunt head with infinite ease above tho modicum of moderate wealth, and whichever way tho eye may glance characteristics startling, customs fanciful, scenes outlandish may be ob served. The people live within them selves. They revel in their peculiar and riotous fun, breathe the uncloistered at mosphere of friendly fellowship, and earn a livelihood in a manner peculiar to tho Italian. The women of the colony are fantastic and diverse. They are fantastic as to dress and diverse as to their habits and modes of living. Some of them are slat tern, coarse in their homeliness and clown ish in their rusticity. Others avoid tho ground-swell of vice. They are cleanly in their habits even if ignorant, and im prove themselves each hour that passes in the gradation and continuity of their lives. But all are picturesque. Every woman wears jewelry. Lonir pieces of gold of antique make hang from their ears, jno matter how poor the woman may be the pendants are there. Some of them have bands of gold or silver on their wrists, and hero and there one may be seen with a glittering carcanet around her neck. The women wear low shoes in every case, and heavy garments made. as a rule, out of fustian cloth. Generally the upper portion of the costumes is worn .511- . .1 ' . . ml uiauLiiia-wise over ineir neaas. ine ei- fect is never somber, for their dress is al ways garnished with some flimsev gew gaw. Nearly every woman carries a baby strapped to her back and never seems to be conscious of its existence. The rest of the brood toddle along as best they may. But the male population must be from the very dregs of Italian civilization. All are inelegant. Some ore disfigured, oth ers grisly and many cadaverous. Every one oi tnera wears a stilt Derby hat. This is the only article of dress in which they are alike. Their habits are not cleanly. To wash their faces once a week is the greatest punctilio the majority of tnem observe, ineir dress is fantastic, too. Some of them, wear clothes that once may have decked the persons of European royalty; others add to their appearance by wearing the cast-off gar ments ot American dudes, and none of them is the possessor of a brand new suit of clothes. When not working or en gaged ip games they stand in groups and jabber. Each one of them carries at his waist a hook that aids him to dive into barrels and ash heaps for many things of value to nobody until made so by Italian ingenuity, borne of these fellows are in tensely jealous, some are good-humored, and some are habitually churlish. But the most familiar feature of the many to be observed in the colony are the sidewalk hucksters. From Worth to Broomo street booths litter the curb stones. Behind them women and chil dren are ensconced, but rarely.if ever men. What do they sell? Everything that he or she of the Italian colony may need in every day me. uid clothes and hats are ped died from threo or four booths, but the traffic is mostly confined to articles of food dear to tho palate of the Italian. They live simply and find on the curb stone stands tho food which comprises their daily meals. What do they eat? Stale bread, decayed fruit, beans and old vegetables of every variety. The beans are the only sound commodity sold. The bread is several days old and is pur chased in the wee sma' hours for a mere pittance from tho bakeries. The oranges are unripe and the bananas decayed. Tho cabbages are rotten and the potatoes worm-eaten. Tho hucksters buy the miscellany for almost nothing, and all day long they sell their wares to their compatriots. A loaf or two of this stale bread, a rancid orange, two bananas and a gill of the prepared beans can be pur chased for five cents, and a whole family can subsist on ten cents worth. If the Italian has made a lucky strike or is feel ing jubilant, he repairs to one of the four restaurants in the colony, and there he can purchase from the following bill of fare wtuch is displayed conspicuously on the outside: Conee 2 cents. Coffee and bread 'i " Beef steak and potato 5 " Mutton chop and coffee tt " Macraroni 'i " Puddings 3 " Most of the sidewalk hucksters have husbands working elsewhere, and conse quently they savo all tho profits of their sales. Ihese people comprise the aris tocracy of the colony, because they com prise the major portion of the modicum of wealth. But living in this style and puying rent only for one room for an entire family, the Italian must save money. And so he does. There ere no less than three banks la the Italian colony, The most preten tious is the Banca de Italiana in Mul berry street. Tho men put their sav ings in this, and their pile is augmented by driblets from their wives and chil dren. But surclv tho reader may ask if these men are ablo to save money on their small wages, they would be con tent to live better. No; they nro willing to drudge and starve, willing to subsist on a crust, so that their ambition, tho great one of their lives, may bo realized. Tho poor Italian has but ono object in view and thnt is to get bnck to his na tive land. It is to compass that object that he slaves and starves. Every day that goes by sees him nearer to tho goal of his ambition. If he feels tho chill air on a winter's night becnusc of tho lack of an overcoat he consoles himself with the knowledge that soon he will have money to bring him to sunny Italy, where, with his modest fortune, ho can become a tradesman or a farmer. When the Garibaldian has acquired $1,000 or $1,200 he sails with his wife for home. Tho children are then old enough to take care of themselves and they are left to do so. Theso Neapolitans have their pleasures and their dissipations too. To be sure, they do not go to the theatres, nor do they study tho rhythm of the waves upon tho seashore. . But they find surcease of toil and sorrow in their liquor saloons. These abound. They are vile places, but they suit the customers. . There they dance tho brisk rigadon, play cards for stale beer, and after an evening's dissi pation only spend ten cents. The beer costs two cents a glass and is tho drain age collected from kegs. The cigars are sold for the same price, and a vile com pound called whisky may be purchased for three cents. The" men piny cards for tho drinks, and only tho victors quaff the stuff. Sometimes they quarrel and vile oalns noat out into the atmosphere. Sometimes they jest, but their wit never reaches an Attic height and rarely gets to-the level of a banter. If some Jack pudding comes along they entertain him while he gets off his gasconade, but oaths are far more frequent than laughter. And this is how they live. A hundred families occupy a building and at least one a room. In it they eat and live and sleep and sometimes die. The funerals are inexpensive but affecting. The cof fin is as rude and cheap as pine can be. Tho hearse is simple also. When the time for the funeral arrives the windows in the vicinity are black with Italian hu manity. The coffin is enclosed in the hearse, a male member of the family sits beside the driver, and the solitary pro cession is ready to start. Then two or three native musicians play a dirge upon their violin and harp, and when they have concluded the funeral starts. This is the actual everyday life of these strange people, and they number over 5,000 now. New York Mail and Ejrpreu. Fish In the Bosphorus. . . Dr. Neale, who witnessed the periodi cal passage of fish through tho Bospho rus, thus describes the scene : "The wind continuing for two oi three days from the north, we were sur prised at beholding a singular rippling appearance in the midst of the waters of the Bosphorus, forming a dark serpentine line about a mile and a half in length. Over and all around this rippling were assembled a prodigious concourse of aquatic fowls, swans, cormorants, peli cans, penguins, solan geese, ducks, quails, divers, etc., which shrieked in hoarse concert as they dived upon the myriads of pelamydes (for such they were) which floated down in mid-channel. While we were beholding this sin gular phenomenon from the windows of the palace, the boats from Constantino ple and the adjoining villages began to arrive, and then commenced that ancient fishery which has been so much celebrated in the golden verses of Oppiau. "But to return; this shoal proved only the advanced guard of tho grand army of pelamydes, which were coming down from the Palus Maiotis, terrified by the first approach of the bleak northern blasts and equinoctial gales. "Before mid-day. some hundred boats having arrived, the numbers of fish cap tured were prodigious. The boats were navigated by Turks, Albanians, and Greeks, habited in the diversified and richly colored f ostumes of their respec tive nations, throwing their seines, aud pulling against the rapid current; bawl ing, shouting, and wrangling for the prize, which they were even forced to contest with the fowls of tho air, who iutrepidly descended to seize tho fish when struggling amidst tho meshes of their nets. They gave a lifo and anima tion to the picture, which, surrounded by tho sublimo scenery of the Bosphorus, constituted, as a whole, ono of the most superb and impressive spectacles 1 had ever beheld. This occupation con tinued, without ceasing, day and night, till the fourth morning, when the last of the shoal passed Terapia. l'alamys is tho term given by tho ancients to the young tunny when under a year old. Tho tunny is the same with tho Spanish mackerel, a large fish of the scomber kind, the scomber thynnus of Linmeus, the arcynus limosa, and pclainys, of other writers. It has eight or nine fins in the hinder part of the back, w hich, as well as the abdominal tins, rise from a deep furrow. The til is of a semi-lunar shape. "The tunny was a fish well known and highly prized by the ancients, hav ing coustituted from tho earliest ages, a great source of riches and commerce to nations inhabiting the shores of the Mediterranean, and, in fact, being the principal food of the people of liithvuia. The periods of its arrival in the Mediter ranean sea were observed and stations for taking the tish were established on the capes and inlets most favorable to that occupation." In Cuba the money is worth eo little that it takes cert lod of it to i bribe Bptnlsh effleial, THANSCRIPTS from nature. THE GIANT BEACH. A million little beech leaves sway In the warm wind above me here; A speckled marvis sings quite near, Tho cuckoo calls from far away, But only beech leaves can I see, Trembling and tossing carolossly A world of green lost in the fair Surrounding space of azure air. OLD FISHER-BOAT. Bright as a burnished shield, the sea In calm, in moveless peace doth sleep, Only the tide's faint ripples creep Along the brown sands hushfully, Till now they lap the old worn boat That never more on them will float. A year ago a wild storm made The sands a grave where it was laid. A HERRINO HHOAL, WEST HIGHLANDS. Between dark hills on either side Tho salt sea-loch runs for a mile; And now, sun-charmed to a smile, Gleams bright its flowing, frothing tide. But, lot each wave to silver turns, In dazzling fire the whole loch burns. Millions of herring dart and splash, Each one a living lightning-flash. William Sharp, in Harper"$. HUMOR OF THE DAY. ' The man who has the floor The father of twins at midnight. Nev York Journal. A scientist asserts that a bee can only sting once in two minutes. We would respectfully submit that this is often enough. Chicago Timet. Do boys or girls make the most noise? is the latest conundrum. Turn a mouse into a school-room and it will be settled so quick it will make your head swim. Chicago Eye. A correspondent asks: "What shall I get for moths?" There is nothing that gives a moth or a lady greater pleasure than a seal skin sack. Suppose you try it. PecVi Sun. Umbrellas look tired. They have be come faded and worn, although carried every day. Its been a bad season for the crop and they are hardly worth taking. Cambridge Tribune. A Cincinnati man claims to have a wife so hot-tempered that he can light his cigar from the flash of her eyes. He made a good match when he married ' her. Lowell Citizen. A compositor with a great prophetio soul, while putting into type a wedding notice, instead of "the high contracting Sanies," made it read "the high contra cting parties." Derrick. " Is snoring bad for the health?" asks a correspondent. That depends largely upon the size and temper of tho parties disturbed by it. There are cases on record where it has produced serious con tusions. Cleveland Liader. She was admiring herself and a twenty five dollar spring bonnet. "Do you think it becoming, dear?" she asked of her young husband. "Y'es, I do," was his response, "I think it is becoming very decidedly dear." Saturday Night. Thero is comfort for the child who swallows a two-cent piece, as one child or another is in the habit of doing almost daily; an eminent French physician says that the copper absorbed into the sys tem is a sure preventative of cholera.- JJurdette. HE DOESN'T ADVERTISE, I feel like one Who treads alone Some market hall deserted, Whose cash is fled, Whowe trade is dead, And all but he deiarted. Wilmington Star. In tho beautiful metaphor of the Orient, a Chinese girl's foot is called a "golden lily." There is nothing so fragile about the old man's hoof, how ever. It can iudicato tho way to the front gate just as pointedly and effec tively as the regular orthodox American pedal. Lowell Citizen. The Brlarwood Pipe Industry. "The short clay pipe formerly used by smokers has of late years been to a grea' extent supplanted by the wooden pipe, the manufacture of which is now an im portant industry," says the St. James' Gazette. "Some interesting information respecting these pipes is given in Consul lnglis' trade report on Leghorn, whence the material for making wooden pipes is now largely exported. Similar works are also to Le found at Siena and Gros seto. Selected roots of the heath pref erence being given to tho male variety aro collected on the hills of tho Maremma. where the plant grows luxuriantly, and attains a great size. When brought to the factory the roots are cleared of earth, aud any decayed parts are cut away. They are then shaped into blocks of various dimensions with a cir cular saw set in motion by a small steam engine. Great dexterity is necessary at this stage in cutting tho wood to the best advantage, and it is only after a long ap prenticeshi p that a workman is thoroughly efficient. The blocks aro theu placed in a vat, and subjected to a gentle simmering for a space of twelve hours. During this process they acquire tho rich yellowish brown hue for which the best pipes are noted, and are then iu a condition to receive tho final turning; but this is done elsewhere. The rough blocks are packed in sacks containing forty to ouo hundred dozen each, aud sunt abroad, principally to France (St. Cloud), where they are finished into the famous O. B. D., or 'pipes de bruyere,' known to smokers in England under the name of 'briarwood' pines. Tho production of this article is considerable, four hands turning out about sixty Backs per mouth. Consign ments are also mado to England and Ger many; but the Anti-Tobacco association w ill be glad to hear at prewsut ". de mand is said to be rather slack."
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers