iLeiiilim 13. F. SCIIWEIEIi, THE COUSTITUTIOS-THE XUTIOlf-AlD THE DTFOECEMEST OF THE LAWS. Editor and Proprietor. VOL. XXXIL MIFFLIN1WN, JUNIATA COUNTY, PENNA., WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 6, 1S7S. NO. 15. V - LONGING. Of ill the myriad moods of mind That through the soul come thronging, much one na e'er bo dear, so kind. So bemutif ul as longing? The tiling we long for, that we are, , For one transcendent moment, JVfore the present poor and bare. Can make its sneering oomnieut. Still, thronch or paltry stir and strife. Glows down the wished ideal, And longing moulds in clay what life Carres in the marble real; To let the new life in, we know IMure must ope the portal; Perhaps the longing to be so llt'Ijw make the soul immortal. Longing is God's fresh, heavenward will With our poor earthward striving; We quench it that we may be still Conteut with merely living; Cut would we learn tnat heart's full scope Which we are hourly wronging. Our Uvea must climb from hope to hope, Aud realize our longing. Ah! lot us hope that to our praise Good Clod not only reckons The moment when we tread bis ways. But when the spirit beckons That some slight good is also wrought Ifeyoud self-satisfaction. When we are simply good in thought, liowe'er we fall in action. Two Fair Deceivers. What lo young men talk about when they --it at the 0k-u windows smoking on summer evenings? Io you suppose it is of love? Indeed, I suspect it is of money ; if not of money then at least of something that either makes money or siiends it. t'leve Sullivan has been spending his for four years iu Europe, and he has just been telling his friend John Sei dell how he spent it. John has spent his in Xew York.he isincliued to think just as profitably. Both stories con cluded in the same way. "I haw not a thousand dollars left. John." "Nor I. Cleve." '1 thought your cousin died two years ago; surely you have not spent all the old gentleman's money already? "I only got $20,000; owed half of it." "Only $20,KjO! What did he do with it?" "Gave it to his wife. He married a beauty about a year after you went away, di.xl i i a ew months afterward, and left her his whole fortune. I had no claim ou him. He educated me, gave me a profession, and $20,000.Tbat was very well. He wasonly my moth er's cousin." "And the widow where is she?' ''Living at her country seat. I have never seen her. She was one of the St. Maurs, of Maryland." "Good family and all beauties. Why don't you marry the widow?" "Why, I never thought of such a thing." "You can't think of anything better. Write her a note at once ; say that you and I will soon be in her neighbor hood, and that gratitude to your cou sin and all that sort of thing then beg leave to call and pay respects, etc. etc.' John demurred a good deal to the plan, but Cleve was masterful, and the note was written, Cleve putting it Into the post-oftice himself. That was on Monday night. On Wed nesday morning the Widow Clare seen it with a dozen others upon her break fast table. She was a dainty, very high-bred little lady, with -Ki that !row? with tirpaniT aplenlur, CUerk with roa-leai tiiititva teuiler. Lips like fragTaot poT," and withal a kind, hospitable temper, well-inclined to be happy in the happi ness of others. But this letter could not be answered with the usual polite formula. She was quite aware that John Selden had regarded himself for many years as his cousin's heir, and that her marriage with the late Thomas Clare had seri ously altered his prospects. Women easily see through the best laid plans of men. and this plan was transparent enough to the shrewd little widow. John would scarcely have liked the half-contemptuous shrug and smile which terminated her private thoughts on the matter. "Clementine, if you can spare a mo ment from your fashion paper, I want to consult you, dear, about a visitor." Clementine raised her blue eyes, aud dropped her paper, and said, "Who is it, Fan?" " is John Selden. If Mr. Clare had not married me, he would have inher ited the Clare estate. I think. he is coming now to see if it is worth while asking for, encumbered by his cousin's widow." "What selfishness! Write and tell him that you are just leaving for the Suez Canal, or the Sandwich Islands, or any other inconvenient place." "Xo; I have a better plan than that. Clementine do stop reading a few min utes. I will take that pretty cottage at Rynbank for the summer, and Mr. Selden and hia friend shall visit us there. Xo one knows us in the place, and I will take none of the servants with me." "Well?" "Then, Clementine, you are to he the Widow Clare, and 1 your poor friend and companion." "Good ! very good ! 'The Fair De ceivers'an excellent comedy. . How I shall snub you, Fan! And for once I shall have the pleasure of outdressing you. But lias not Mr. Selden seen you?" "Xo; I was married in Maryland, and went immediately to Europe- I came back a widow two years ago, but Mr. Selden has never remembered me until now. I wonder who this friend Uthat he proposes to bring with him?" "Oh, men always think in pairs.Fan. They never decide on anything' until their particular friend approves. I dare say they wrote'the letter together. What is the gentleman's name?- The widow examined the note. "My friend Mr. Cleve Sullivan.' Do you know him, Clementine?" "Xo; I am quite sure I never saw Mr. Cleve Sullivan. I dont fall in love with the name, do you? But pray accept the offer for both gentlemen, Fan, and write this morning, dear." Then Clementine returned to the consideration of the lace in coquilles for her new evening dress. .The plan so hastily sketched was subsequently thoroughly discussed and carried out. The cottage at Ryebank was taken, and one evening at the end of J une the two ladies took possession of it. The new Widow Clare had en gaged a maid in Xew York and fell into her part with charming ease and a very pretty assumption of authority, and the real widow, in her plain dress and pensive, quiet manners, realized effect ively the idea of a cultivated but de pendent companion. They had two days in which to rehearse their pans and get all the household machinery in order, and then the gentlemen arrived at Ryebank. Fan and Clementine were quite ready for their first call, the latter in a rich and exquisite mourning cos tume, the former in a simple dress of spotted lawn. Clementine wenf through the introduction with consummate ease of manner, anO in half an hour, they were a very pleasant party. John's "cousinship" afforded an excellent ba sis for informal companionship, and Clementine gave it full promiuence. Indeed, in a few days John began to find the relationship tiresome ; it had been, "Cousin John, do this," and 'Cousin John, come here" continually, and one night when Cleve and he sat down to smoke their final cigar, he was irritable enough to give his objec tions the form of speech. "Cleve, to tell you the honest truth, 1 do not like Mrs. Clare." "I think she is a very lovely woman, John." "I say nothing against her beauty, Cleve; I don't like her, and I have no mind to occupy the place that beautiful ill-used Miss Marat fills. The way Cousin Clare ignores or snubs a wo man to whom she is in every way infe rior makes me angry enough I assure you." "Don't fall in love with the wrong woman, John." "Y'our advice is too late, Cleve ; I'm in love. There Is no use iu us deceiv ing ourselves or each other. You seem to like the widow why not marry her. I am quite willing you should." "Thank yon, John; I have already made some advances that way. They have been favorably received,! think." "You are so handsome, a fellow has no chance against you. But we shall hardly quarrel, if you do not interfere between lovely little Clement and my self." "I coull not afford to smile on her, John, she is too poor. And what on earth are you going to do with a poor wife? Nothing added to nothing will not make a decent living." "I am going to ask her to be my w ife, and if she does me the honor to say yes, I will make a decent living out of my protession." From this time forth John devoted himself with some ostentation to his supposed cousin's companion. He was determined to let the w idow perceive that he had made his choice, and that he could not be bought with nionev. Mr. Selden and Miss Marat were al ways together, and the widow did not interfere between her companion and her cousin. Perhaps she was rather glad of their close friendship, for the handsome Cleve made a much more de lightful attendant. Thus the party fell quite naturally into couples, and the two weeks that the gentlemen had first fixed as the limit of their stay lengthened into two months. It was noticeable that, as the ladies became more confidential with their lovers they had less to say to each other, and it began at last to be quite evident to the real widow that the play must end for the present.or the denoue ment ould come prematurely. Cir cumstances favored her determination. One night Clementine with a radiant face, came into her friend's room and said, "Fan, I have something to tell you. Cleve has asked me to marry him." "Now, Clement, you have told him all ; I know you have." "Not a word. Fan. He still believes me the Widow Clare." "Did you accept him?" "Conditionally. I am to give him a final answer when we go to the city in October. You are going to New Y'ork this winter, are you not?" "Y'es. Our little play progresses finely. John Selden asked me to be his wife to-night." "I told you men think and act in pairs." "John is a noble fellow. I pretended to think his cousin had ill used him, until 1 was ashamed of myself; I abso lutely said, Clement, that you were a sufficient excuse for Mr. Clare's w ill. Then he blamed his own past idleness so much, and promised if I would only try and endure "the slings and arrows' of rour outrageous temper, Clement, for two years longer, he would have made a heme for me in which I could be happy. Yes, Clement, I should marry John Selden If we had not one five-dollar bill between us." "I wish Cleve had beeu a little more explicit about his money affairs. How ever, there is time enough yet. When they leave tomorrow what shall we do?' "We will remain here another month ; Levine will have the house ready for me by that time. I have written to him about refurnishing the parlors." So next day the lovers parted w ith many promises of constant letters and future happy days together. The inter val was dull enough, but it passed, and one morning both geutlemen received notes of invitation to a small diuner partv at the Widow Clare's mansion in 1 street. There was a good deal of dressing for this party. Cleve wished make his -entrance into his future home as became the prospective I master of a million and a half of money, and John was desirous of not suffering in Clement's eyes by any comparison with the other geutlemen who would be there. Scarcely had they entered the draw ing room when the ladies appeared, the true V'idow Clare no longer in the un assuming toilet she had hitherto worn, but magnificent iu white crepe lisse and satin, her arms and throat and her rretty head flashing with sapphires aud diamonds. Her companion had now assumed the role of simplicity .and Cleve was disappointed with the first glance at her plain white Chamberry gauze dress. John had seen nothing but the bright lace of the girl he loved aud the love light iu her eye. Before she could say anything he had taken both her hands and whispered, "Dearest, best aud loveliest Clement." "Her smile answered him first. Then she said, "Pardon me, Mr. Selden, but we have been in masquerade all sum mer, aud now we must unmask bctore real life begins. My name is not Clem entine, but Fanny Clare. Cousin John I hoe you are not disappointed." Then she put her hand into John's and they wandered off into the conser vatory to finish their explanations. Mr. Cleve Sullivan found himself at that moment in the most trying circum stances of his life. The real Clemen tine Marat stood looking down at a flower on the carpet, but evidently ex pecting him to resume the tender atti tude he had been accustomed to bear towards her. He was a man of quick decisions where his own interests were concerned, and it did not take him half a luiuute to review his position and de termine what to do. This plain blonde girl without fortune was not the girl he could marry, aud she had deceived him, too; he had a sudden and severe spasm of morality ; his confidence was broken ; he thought it was very poor sport to play witli a man's most sacred feelings; he had been deeply disap pointed and grieved, etc. Clementine stood fierfectly stlll.with her eyes fixed on the carpet and her cheeks flushing, as Cleve madehisawk ward accusations. She gave him no help and she made no defence, and it soon becomes eiubarassiiig tor a man to stand in the middle of a large drawing room and talk to himself about any girl. Cleve felt it so. "Have you done, sir?" at length she asked, lifting to his face a pair of blue eyes scintillating with scorn and an ger. "1 promised you my final answer to your suit when we met iu New York. You have spared me that trouble. Good evening, sir." Clementine showed her disapjKiiut ment to no one, and she probably soon recovered from it. Her life was lull of many other pleasant ;laris and hopes, and she could well afl'or J to let a selfish lover pass out of it. She re mained with her friend until after the marriage between her and John Sel deu had beeu consummated, and then Cleve saw her name among the list of passengers sailing ou one particular day for Europe. As John and his bride left on the same steamer, Cleve supposed, of course, she had gone in their company. "Nice thing it would have been for Cleve Sullivan to marry John Seidell's wife's maid, or something or other: John always was a lucky fellow. Some fellows are always unlucky iu love af fairs I always am." Half a year afterwards he reiterated this statement with a great deal of un necessary emphasis. He was just but toning his gloves preparatory to start ing lor his afternoon's drive, when an old acquaintance hailed him. "Oh, it's that fool Belmar," he mut tered. "I shall have to offer him a ride. I thought he was in I'aris Hel lo, Belmar, when did you get back? Have a ride?" "Xo, thank you. I have promised my wife to ride with her this after noon." "Your wife ! Why, when were you married ?" "I-ast month, in Faris." "And the happy lady was " "Why. I thought you knew; every one is talking alMut my good fortune. Mrs. Belmar is old Paul Marat's child.' "What!!" "Miss Clementine Marat. She brings me nearly $3,000,000 in mcney and real estate, and a heart beyond all price." "How on earth did you meet her?" "She was travelling with Mr. and Mrs. Selden you know John Selden. She has lived with Mrs. Selden ever since she left school ; they were friends when they were girls together. Cleve gathered up his reins and, nod diug to Mr. Frank Belmar, drove at a fearful rate up th avenue aud down the park. He could not trust himself to sjeak toany one, and when he did. the remark which he made to himself in strict confidence was not flattering. For once, Mr. Cleve Sullivan told Mr. Cleve Sullivan that he had beeu badly punished, and that he well deserved it. Novel Funeral system. A novel suggestion in the way of funeral reform is made by a corres pondent to a French newspajier. He suggests that bodies might with ad vantage be buried in the sea, which he considers to be the natural cemetery for the dead. He proposes that funeral boats, large euough to contain several bodies, be periodically despatched from convenient places on the sea shore, and that the bodies, be committed to the deep at such a distance from the land as will prevent all possibility of their interfering with the public health. The Japanese, in fact, have already adopted a similar system. One of their funeral junks was recently reported about one hundred miles north of San Francisco. There was not a living person on board, but a number of corpses were found, some shackled together. They must from their appearance have been dead at least a month. Many of the bodies were dressed in costly materials. There was no food in the vessel, and appear ances indicated that the craft and iu ghastly burden had been left to the mercy of the waves, or else had acci dentally got loose from those entrusted with the duty of sinking the corpses. Good Manners. More than one wise man has observed that "Manners make the state." With out some thought upon the subject one would hardly realize what is involved in tiie common courtesies of life. The word courtesy means, elegance and po liteness of manners; civility; complai sance. Carried into daily life it ac knowledges the individuality of every member of society, and accords to all, from the prince to the beggar, that re spect to which he is entitled. By good manners is net meant sim ply matters of etiquette as practiced iu society, for outside of etiquette one's manners can be agreeable and even no ble. Although a thorough knowledge of social usages is desirable, it is not absolutely essential. A scavenger on the streets has rendered assistance to a lady with as much grace and manliness as one accustomed to polite society from his youth up, and yet, in all pro bability, that laborer had never known the ordinary comforts of a home. Some years ago, on one of our principal thor oughfares, a sudden gust blew from the hand of a lady her umbrella. A carter passing by secured it, and handing it back to the lady,said, "Miss, if you were as strong as you are purty, the umbrella could not get away from you." The lady, smiling, said: "Which shall I thank you for, the compliment or the umbrella?" "Miss," said he, "that smile pays me well lor both-" "The first gentleman in England" could uot have acted with more gallantry. The statutes of a country are eviden ces of the manners and customs of the people. If their habits are severe and manners rude, the laws partake of that nature. If the manners are simple and gentle, so will be the laws. Long be fore the laws become mild the manners become so. An examination of the laws will show the estimation placed upon human life, and, in fact, brings us almost face to face w ith the people. If woman is not accorded political rights, nor deemed as important as she would wish to be in affairs of state, she is a very important and controlling ele ment. In her hand, broad as the asser tion may appear, is the keeping of the manners of the world, and what higher task can she undertake? By her influ ence home is made a paradise to which husband and children cling with un faltering devotion. Here her pure un selfishness shines out brightly when contracted with the selfishness if the outride world, and teaches a lesson in sell" denial worthy of imitation. The "soft answer which turneth away wrath," the sympathetic look aud man ner arc precious to man, and although they may pass unnoticed at the time, the good effect is felt, and shows itself in our being kinder of the feel ings of others. The effect produced by good women upon the rising genera tion in home life is incalculable. Well would it be if woman occupied the same sound position all over the world as in America. In countries where she is not looked uKn as the equal of man, the manners of the male sex are far below those where her refining influ ence has had full sway. To-day in the East, where woman is in a state of vas salage, she sees springing up around her a host of sons, weak in mind and body, awaiting the advent of a more civilized race to fail an easy victim. Indeed it may be safely said that the promotion aud perpetuation of civiliza tion dejen.is, iu a great measure, on good manners as taught by good wo men. Turn for a moment from the more serious contemplation of the subject aud observe what inexpressible grace aud beauty good manners add to the varied scenes of our daily life; how they brighten the dark spots and smooth the rugged places in our path. How naturally we turn for Sympathy to the possessor of this charm, and how quickly we turn away from the harsh and rude in times when kind words are needed. Cultivate good manners in the home circle, aud it will have a good effect outside. Remember always that good manners, although an article hav ing no fixed commercial value, yet adds very materially in the extinguishment of debt. Good manners we always" ad mire and they are believed to be conta gious. It would be a good thing if they were epidemic, and let us hope that they may become so. Thirty Years' Fatal Shipwrecks. The annals of maritime disaster dur ing the Dast thirty years fail to show an v catastrophe entailing such a lament able loss of life, as that which marked the sinking of the Princess Alice by the Bv well Castle, on the Thames. England. Setting aside the loss of the Grosser Kurfurst, the most fatal accident or a like character that has taken place in British waters during the period in question was the running down of the NorthnVet emigrant ship, while at an chor off Dungeness on the night of Jan uary 22d, 1873, by the Spanish steamer Mnrilio. when 203 persons were drown ed. A collision almost equally disas trous, and strongly recalling in some respects that which has just occurred on the Thames, took place on Lake Michi gan on September 7, 18C3. The steam boat Lady Elgin, which had started from Chicago on a pleasure trip with nearly 400 excursionists on board, was run into by a schooner and sank within a nuarterof an hour with 285 people. The year 1854 was marked by a series of fatal collisions. The Italian mail steamer Ercolano, left Genoa on April 24th. with a number of passengers, in cluding several English, French and Italian families, and at midnight was cut dowu to the water's edge by the Sicllia; only fourteen of the passengers escaped, among them Delng Sir KoDert Peel, whose Secretary and Mr. Charles Halsey, the member for Hertfordshire, were among the drowned. On April 28th, tha emigrant bark Favorite, from Bremen, was run into off the Start by the Hesper, and went down like a stone with 201 of her passengers and crew, six of the crew only saving themselves by clambering over the Hesper'a bows. On Sentember 27th. the Arctic, a splen did ship of the Collins' Line, came into collision with the screw steamer Vesta, in a fog off the Banks of Newfoundland, and out of 308 persons on board 323 per ished, among them the Due de Gram mont and the Due de Guynea. The same year was also rendered memorable in maritime disasters by the disap pearance of the City of Glasgow, screw steamer, which left tne Mersey for Philadelphia, on March 1st, with 480 persons on board, ail told, and of the Lady Nugent, transport, which sailed from Madras on May 10th, with rein forcements for the army at Rangoon, forming with her crew a total of some 400 persous. Neither of these vessels was ever beard of again a fate shared by the Pacific, which left Liverpool on January 23d, 1856, with 1SG, and the City of Boston, which sailed from Hali fax on January 28th, 1870, with 191 persons on board. The mail steamship Europa, on her way to England in July, 1849, ran down the emigrant bark Charles Bcrtlett, causing the death of 132 persons; and the Irish steamer Man gerton blundered Into the New Zealand clipper Josephine Willis, just off the South Foreland, and sent her and 69 people mostly passengers m the bottom. The foundering of the Captain off Cape Finisterre, on the night of September 6th. 1870, with Captain Burgoyne and 500 officers and seamen, remains the heaviest calamity that has befallen the navy during the latter half of the pres ent century. The severest loss suffered at sea by the' army was from the con tingent furnished by the Twelfth Lan cers and Forty-third and Ninety-second Foot, toward the 428 lives lost with the Birkenhead off the Cape of Good Hope on February 26th, 1852. The American Army sustained an almost equal loss when about 300 of the troops ou board the San Francisco were washed overboard or died from exhaustion or exposure, during her passage from Cal ifornia, in December, 1853. The most disastrous conflagration iu British wa ters was that which caused the deaths of 173 people on board the emigrant packet Ocean Monarch, in Abergele Bay, on the afternoon of August 24th, 1S46. But its horror, were even eclipsed by those attending the burning of the steamship Austria, between Hamburg and New Y'ork, on September 13th, 1858, when 461 out 528 persons on board were burned or drowned. Alike fate overtook 204 out of 33$ persons ou board the Golden Gate on her passage from San Francisco to Panama on the 27ta of July, 1862; while the number who per ished in a similar manner with Eliot Warburton, on board the Amazon, in the Bay of Biscay on the 4th of January, 1852 amounted to 102 out of 161 persous. The author of "The Crescent and the Cross," has written that "since the days of steam navigation the Bay of Biscay was no longer formidable," yet the London Steamship went down in it on her way to Australia, on the 11th of January, 1S66, carrying with her 239 out of her complement of 253; and among them G. V. Brooke, the actor. The most disastrous shipwrercks of recent date were those of the Atlantic and the Reyal Charter. The Ittter a homeward-bound Australian clipper, was crushed like an egg-shell on the rocky coast ot Anglesea, jut before daybreak on October 26ib, 1859, and 459 men, women and children were drown ed, some forty or so managing to scram ble ashore. The number of lives lost with the Atlantic one of the White Star Line, was even more appalling. She struck on a sunken rock off the coast of Nova Scotia, on April 1st, 1873, with 931 persous on board, and the breakers swept away 481 of them. The Anna Jane, of Liverpool, bound for Canada, with 450 emigrants and a crew of 4S, was driven on shore on Barra Island, one of the Hebrides, on September 29th, 1853, and 393 persons perished. The Pomona, another' emigrant ship from the same port, was suffered, through an error in her reckoning, to run on the Wexford coast during the night of April 29th, 1859, the result being the loss of 386 lives. Iu 185s, the Tayleur, another Liverpool emigrant ship, ran on Lam bay Island near Howtb, on January 21, when 290 lives were lost; and a similar fate overtook the Powhattan, from Havre, on the coast of Barnegat, on April 15th, not a soul of the 250 on board her escaping. In the terrible gale of April 30tb, 1850. the Royal Adelaide steam-packet from Cork to London went on the Tongue Sands near Margate, and of the 260 persons forming her pasengers and crew, not one sur vived to give the details of her fate. The Pine Apple. The pine apples we get here are so unlike those that ripen on their native soil, instead of being plucked green, and allowed to mature with time, that they do not taste like the same fruit. The Bahama pines enjoy an axellent reputation, especially those of New Providence and a new industry has re cently sprung up in that island which cannot fail of appreciation by lovers of fine fruit. It is preserved in tins when fully ripened, and sent off in perfect condition, Quantities will soon be shipped to the L. States a large factory for preserving it having been establish ed at Nassau. It is said to be almost a delicious as when gathered from the plant, and ought to be a welcome im provement upon the fruit we have been accustomed to eating here. Delicious as the piue is at its best estate, the first particular account given of it was by Oviedo, the Spanish historian, in 1515. The Netherlander were the first to raise it in hothouses; but it was introduced into England at the end of the seventeenth century, and has beeu extensicely cultivated there. It is uot more than seventy years since it re ceived attention iu Continental Europe. The English claim that, as raised in their hothouses, it is better than when grown in the open air in the West In dies ; but those who have tasted it in both places will not be likely to agree with them, particulary since so much attention has bevn bestowed upon it in the Bahamas. Great Britain has $1,250,000,000 In vested in live stock. A Startling Calculation. It requires ten-directed blows with an ordinary boot-jack to kill the aver age cat ; and at the distauce of a foot, the chances are ten to one that you will miss the cat. If you don't believe it, try it. Secure the cat by a string one foot long, so as to give the cat plenty of play, aud after a week's practice you will consider that a scant estimate for the cat. Therefore, at a distance of one foot, it will require one hundred boot acks. But your chances of killing the cat decrease as the square of the dist ance increases. This is an axiom in natural philosophy, and a fundamental truth of fclinology. Therefore, at a distauce of ten feet, it will require teu thousand. Again, the force of the pro jectile decreases as the square of the distance increases. Ten squares equal 100, 10,000x100, 1,0U0,000, equals numb er of boot-jacks ou this count. Uut then the darkness of night decreases the chances of a fair hite two to one. Hence at night, it will require 10,000, 000 boot-jacks. Fourthly, the Tomcat being black, decreases the chances twenty to one, according to the well known rule of optics. Fourth count 200.000,000. At tiiis stage of our solution we will leave the domain of science and draw a couple of logical inferences. First, after a man lias hurled 200,000,000 boot jacks he will be old, as we shall here. after show, and very feeble. We hav no means of knowing how much his projecting forces decrease or his aim fail. But, at a very fair allowance the chance from these two causes would decrease in the ratio of 100 to 1. Count fifth, 20,000,000,000. It is true that 20, 000,000,000 boot-jacks thrown round promiscuously might afford the cat al most invincible shelter, but to save paer, we will suppose th'.s to diminish the chances only as teu to one. Count six and answer, 200,000,000,000. It is true the man might imbrove iu his aim, but the cat would improve equally in his dodging. Now, sujipose Adaui to have thrown, on a average, 500 er day. This is a liberal estimate when we make no allowance lor Sundays, "bums", mending his breeches, blowing op Eve, etc. He would have a job of 1,056.220 years. At present the cat would be 1 l85lh dead. Or, suppose the weapons to contain one square foot of inch pine, and six eight-penny nails. The lumber, third clear, would cost $20 ier 1000 feet, or $5,200,0i. And the uails, 15,- 400,000,000 pounds at thret cents er pound wvuld cost $402,000,000. These figures are startling. If ever a Tom cat is killed, it is by a siiecial intervention of Divine Providence. Skeleton of the Wreck While Sir Michael Seymour was in the command of the Amethyst frigate, aud was cruising In the Bay of Biscay, the wreck of a merchant ship drove pat. Her deck was just above water, her lower mast alone standing. Not a soul could be seen on board, but there was a cub-house on deek, which had the appearance of having been reeentlj patched with old canvas and tarpaulin, as If to afford shelter to some forlorn remnant of the crew. It blew at this time a strong gale; but Sir Michael, listening only to the dictates of human ity, ordered the ship to be put about, and sent off a boat with instructions to board the wreck, and ascertain whether there were any surviving, whom the help of his fellow-man might save from the grasp of death. The boat rowed towards the drifting mass, and, while struggling with the difficulty of getting through a high running sea close along side, the crew shouting all the time as loud as they could, an object resembling in appearance a bundle of clothes, was observed to roll out of the cub-house against the lee-shrouds of the luast. With the end of a boat-hook they man aged to get hold of it, and had bauleJ it into the boat when it proved to be the trunk of a man, bent head and knees together, and so wasted away as scarce ly to be felt within the ample clothes which had once fitted it when in a state of life and strength. The boat's crew hastened back to the Amethyst with this remnant of mortality; and so small was it in bulk, that a lad of fourteen years of age was able with his own hands to lilt it into the ship. When placed on deck, it showed for the first time, to the astonishment of all, signs of remaining life; he tried to move and the next moment uttered in a hollow, sepulchral tone: "There Is another man !" The instant these words were heard, Sir Michael ordered the boat to shove off again for the wreck. The sea having now become smoother, they sue ceeded this time in boarding the wreck. and on looking into the cub-house, they found two other human bodies wasted, like the one they had saved, to the very bones, but without the least spark of life remaining. They were sitting in a shrunk up posture a hand of one resting on a tin-pot, in which there was about a giil of water, and a haud of the other reaching to the deck, as if to re gain a bit of salt beef about the size of a walnut which bad slipped from his nervous grasp. Unfortunate men! They had lived on their scanty store till they had not strength remaining to lift the last morsel to their mouths! The boat's crew having completed their melancholy survey, returned on board, where they found the attention of tbe ship's company engrossed by the efforts aiade to preserve the generous skeleton who seemed just to have lite enough to breathe the remembrance, that there was still "another man," his companion in suffering to be saved. Captain Sey mour committed him to the special charge of the Burgeon, who spared no means which humanity or skill would suggest to achieve the jioble object of creating anew as It were, a fellow-creature, whom famine had stripped of almost every energy. For three weeks he scarcely ever left his patient, giving him nourishment with bis own band every five or ten minutes; and at the end of three weeks more, the "skeleton of the wreck" was seen walking on the deck of the Amethyst; and to the sur prise of all who recollected that he had been lifted Into the ship by a cabin boy, presented the stately figure of a man nearly six feet high. I seems that death from hunger oc curs soonest In the young and robust, their vital oagans being accustomed to greater action than those of persons past the adult age. In the foregoing cases, the lives of the sufferers may be said to have been in a dormant state, the natural functions being in a great measure suspended, and the exhausted condition of the frame, as in a state of disease not permitting the action of the stomachic juices When death from hunger occurs in persons of good health of body, the pangs they lndnre are tru ly dreadful- Hunger and intense thirst are felt at an early period ; the nervous system becomes disordered ; the conser vative power of the constitution, dis tressed by want of nourishment, urges the absorbents to prey upon tbe lutes tines and delirium and madness often conclude the scene. Lace Making. Brussels. Belgium, is chiefly known in America from being the source of product of that article which the ladies are fond of describing as "real laee." I .ace, in these modern days, makes its presence known iu Brussels by appear ing in myriads of shop wiudows, and tempting the eye and threatening the pocketbook on every side. It is a great sight to visit a lace factory aud see the patient workers fashioning this lace, which looks so tine but involves such terrible labor. The girls begin work at six years of age, aud gradually ac quire proficiency in handling the bob bins or plying the needle until death or wornout eyesight ends their toil and its tedioiisness. 1 was shown one piece of lace that an old woman was working at, which covered a breadth of but three iuches, yet in this space there were over four hundred threads, each at tached to its bobbin, all of which she was skilfully twisting, turning and fastening among the thousand or more pins stuck into a cushion which formed the plan of the work. This looked dif ficult enough, ye I was told that only the coarser laces 'were made in this way, and that the finer ones had all to be made with the needle and by hand, and there were other patient toilers using their needles with thread as line as a hair to work out the gossimer fa bric that had such an electric influence over the female mind. Talk of Wis 'Song of the Shirt ;" that "stitch.slitch slitch," though hard enough, is noth ing to this. There they worked, twenty-five women, of all ages, iu a room, some of them bent almost double,others with magnifying glasses, some with strange, nervous twitches, that con vulsed their entire bodies every time they took a stitch ; yet all patient and plodding, and hoping that someday the slow weaving of the tedious web would end. X'ear them hungthe medals of all the international exhibitions to attest their proficiency, including the medal aud diploma from Philadelphia in 1876. These were the workers in the house, but there were besides nearly 3,000 others outside who did the work at their homes. In the warerooms the sight of carrying about these almost priceless laces by the armloads, and tossing them over counters regardless of their great value, was calculated to create the same impression on the mind as the sight of men shoveling gold about in the Hank of England. It was certainly unique. The thread of w hich this la-e is made is spun from the finest flax, and the best grows just outside of Brussels, near Halle. fifteen ft'rnalties. The penalty of popularity is envy. The penalty of thin shoes is a Co d. The penalty of tight boots is corns. The penalty of a baby is sleepless nights. The penalty of a public dinner is bad wine. The penalty of marrying is a mother-in-law. The penalty of a pretty cook is an empty larder. The penalty of a godfather is a silver knife, fork and spoon. The penalty of kissing a baby is half a dollar one dollar if you are liberal to the nurse. The penalty of having a haunch of venison sent to you is inviting a dozen friends to come aud eat it. The penalty of interfering between man and wile is abuse, frequently ac companied with blows from both. The penalty of remaining single is, having no one who cares a button for you, as will be abundantly proved by the state of your shirt. The penalty of buying very cheap clothes is the same as that of going to law the certainty of losing your suit and having to pay for it. The penalty of a legacy ,or a fortune, is the sudden discovery of a host of poor relations you never dreamt of.and of a number of debts you had quite for gotten. The penalty of lending is with a book or an umbrella, the .-ertain loss of it; with your name to , bill, the sure payment of it, and witn a horse, the lamest chance of ever ieeing it back again sound. How It feel to be Htruek by Llehtal T. Rev. Dr. Bartol, of Boston, who came near being killed by lightning, has written an account of his sensation. He says its suddenness beyond conception is tha marked property. It gives no time for fear or even surprise, and the selfloss does not appreciably last. If the blow be not fatal the restoration may be so quick that in less than a minute's time horses and cows and pigs and men, escaping or delivered, swarm together, under the flash and tempest on the greensward. A resistless,heavy weight, steaming and running through the frame, Is the consciousness I chief ly remember, with the idea that I had been chosen as part of the lightningrod for a huge and incomputable discharge The experience w as, moreover, a sin gle moment in wonderland. All cus toms aud institutions were abolished for a time. In such a passage as I was allowed to stand in far a moment,death becomes nothing and life is all, but a wakeful night and a weeks headache was the result. Scriptural Antiquities. Many rude instruments have been collected by modem travelers, and are but little changed from tueir ancient forms. The drum or timbrel is made ot thiu baked clay, something iu the shape of a bottle, with parchment stretched over the wider part. On being struck with tbe finger, t 'is instrument makes a remarkably loud sound. These rel ics are lodged in the Loudon Scriptu ral Museum, and are all ticketed with the texts they serve to illustrate. This arrangement is very judiciuus, and gives a great additional interest to the sacred objects while under inspection. The distaff was the instrument which wrought the materials lor tiie robes of the Egyptian kings, and for the "little coat" which Hannah made for Samu el; by it, too, were wrought the cloths and other fabrics used in Solomon's Temple. X'othing can be more simple than this ancient instrument, which is a sort of wooden skewer, round which the flax is wrapped; it is then spur, on the ground in the same manner as a boy's top, aud the thread w rought off and wound upon a reel, "ytieins," or stone hand-mills, of various sizes, h..ve been repeatedly found iu connection with Roman, Saxon, and other ancient remains in England. They are still to be met with iu constant use over the greater part of India, iu Africa, and also those districts of the East which are more particularly associated with Holy writ. It may be worth while to mention that this description of mill is an improvement iiHn the method of simply crushing the corn laid on a flat stone held in the hand. The "qiieru" is a hard stone, roughly rounded and partly hollowed, into which another stone, which has a handle, is loosely fitted. The com required to be ground is placed iu a hollow receptncle.and the inner stone is moved rapidly round, and iu course of time, by immense la bor, the wheat etc., is ground into flour. The Scripture prophecies men tion that of two women grinding at the mill, one shall be left and the other taken the two-handed mill will ex plain the meaning of this passage. An AnVetluc Sentence. Judge , of the Judicial District of Arkansas, had brought before hiui a convicted felon to be sentenced. The opportunity to "improve" the occasion was not to be lost, aud so, alter the usual demand for reason why sentence should not be pronounced, his Honor slowly and with genuine feeling ad dressed the prisoner: '.Mv poor fellow, you are about to go to the penitentiary. You are required to give up everything which the great world values; your fumily and, instead, to take for your associates only felons like yourselt; your h-uK and to take instead what can never have the semblance of a home; your trill and so be subject to order of mvn who have no sympathy with you. Even your ordinary cloth ing you will exchange for here his Honor hesitated, and raiing his left arm, pointed to it w ith the index-finger of the right hand you w ill exchange for stried clothes, the tripes running not lengthwise, like these, but round mid r-iinil lite a emm's f'i.7." A family Aduat. During the late rain storm in North western Pennsylvania, Mr. George Randall, w hose house was u)on the bank of the creek at North Springfield, Erie county, suffered the loss of all his earthly is.es!.ion, which, though not large, yet like the "widows mite," constituted all his living, and narrow ly and almost miraculously escaped with his life. Mr. Randall's family consists of a wife and child about tw o years of age. At about 3 o'clock Mr. Randall was awakened by the rushing of the waters, and on arising and drawing ou a pair of overalls lying near, he com menced picking up things from the floor, and placing them on the table, to protect them from the water which had commenced to enter his house. Supposing the worst was pat he made no attempt to escape. In an instant the tidal wave caused by the breaking of the dams above, struck his dwelling, and it floated away and was dashed with such violence against the railroad embankment that it was crushed like a paper house and the inmates hurled into the set-thing flood. The current caused by the waters rushing through the aqueduct, w hich was now nearly or quite full, drew iu the shattered fragments of the house. The strug gling family were swept through the aqueduct, a distance of some fifteen rods, and on emerging at the lower side the husband descried the wife holding the child clasped iu her arms floating near him. Fortunately at that instant a log came sweeping by, aud seizing it with one baud and his wife with the other, they drifted down with the current until they struck a cluster of willow trees and affected a landing where they remained till rescued the next morning. The wreck occurred about half-past three, and the rescue about half-past five in the morning. At early dawn it was discovered that the house was gone and search w as imme diately instituted for the inmates.They were soon discovered and no time was lost in providing means for the rescue. The telegraph operator, fastening a rope about his body, one end of which was held,by the spectators on the shore, plunged into the flood and reached in safety the trees where Mr. Randall and family were. The rope was then fas tened at both ends, aud Mr. Randall, tying his child upon his hark, started for the shore, which be readied with his precious freight in safety. Return ing in a similar manner, he brought his wife to the shore, aud thus the whole family were rescued, but nearly in as destitute circumstances as when they made their advent upon this mun dane sphere. Ofthe2C4 millions of capital in- vested in British railways, forty-one and a half paid no dividends at all last year, and less than ten millions paid over eight per cent. .V C'j 4 if,
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