VOL XXXI THE PHOENIX. Do you know why the PHOENIX bicycle is the most popular wheel in Pittsburg? Do you know why it won the Butler-Pittsbugh race, and the Wheeling-Pittsburg? Simply because bearing, chain, tire, frame—all the parts —are made of the best material. Because we build the lightest,easiest running wheel that is safe and reliable for the roads. We also make a specialty of an easy running and light lady's wheel, which is equally popular. A guarantee is a good thing in its way. The PHOENIX guarantee cov ers every point- hut tW point of all is the fact that repairs or claims for de fective parts constitute an exceedingly small per centage of our cost of manu facture. For catalogue and other information address, THE STOVER BICYCLE M'f'g. Co. FREEPORT, ILL, or J. E. FORSYTHE, Agent. BUTLER, PA. DECLINE. There has been a decline in the price of materials from which buggies lind other vehicles are made, therefore a decline in the price of vehicles. Come quick and see before it advances again. S. B MARTINCOURT & CO. BUTLER, -. - - PA. W. F. HARTZELL. L. M. COCHRAN. BUTLER ROOFING COMPANY, Wholesale and Retail Dealers in —Excelsior Fire-Proof Slate Paint— For Shingle Roofs,and Ebonite Varnish for all Metal Roofs. Also, Agents for the Climax Wool and Asbestos Felt, the King of Roofing Felts. All kinds of roofs repaired and painted on the shortest notice. Estimates given on old or new work and the same promptly attended to. ALL WORK GUARANTEED. BUTLER ROOFING COMPANY, J2O SOUTH MCKEAN STREET, # * * BUTLER, PA. SPRING! SPRING! Are You interested In Low Prices? We offer a magnificent new stock for Spring and Summer at PRICES THE LOWEST YET NAMED FOR STRICTLY FIRST CLASS GOODS. High Grades in all Departments. True merit in every Article. Hon est Quality Everywhere. An Immense Assortment. Nothing Missing. o o Everything the Best. The Quality will tell it. The Price will sell it. And that is the reason you should come early to pet vour bargains from our splendid line of Shoes, Slippers and Oxfords We show all the latest novelties in great profusion. We keep the very finest selections in all standard styles. We make it a poinc to have every article in stock the best of its kind. IHE AT BTTUI7 114 Shoe Dealer. A" flUrr. s. Main St. THE BUTLER CITIZEN. The Testimonials ! Published in behalf of Hood's Sarsaparilla I are not purchased. nor are they written up ! in our office, nor they from our employes, i They are facts from truthful people, prov ! ing, as surely as anything can be proved i by direct, personal, positive evidence, that J-food's A 1%%%%%% parilla Be Sure to get r'ures Hood's Hood's Pills cure nausea, sick headache, indigestion, biliousness. Sold by all druggieU. SMT > ' Af JgIBUH SeiNK ■~i jibPACKABES !=■ MA\/FIKE PREMIUMS GIVEN FREE TO DRINKERS OF LION COFFEB A Scientist claims the Root of Diseases to be la the Clothes we Wear. The best Spring remedy for tlieiblues, etc., is to discard your uncomfortable old duds which irri tate the body:-leave your measure at ALAND'S for a new suit which will fit well, improve the appearance by re lieving you instant ly of that tired feel ing, and making you cheerful and active. The cost of this sure cure is very moderate. TRY IT. JOHN KEMPER, Manufacturer of Hai ■ness, Collars, and Strap Work, and Fly Nets, j 7 and Dealer in Whips, Dusters, Trunks and Valises. My Goods are all new and strict first-c ; i i work guaran teed Repairing a Specialty. :o: :o: Opposite Campbell & Templeton's Furniture Store. 342 S. Main St., - Butler, Pa. All light suits at reduced prices at THE RACKET STORE. $8 Suits Reduced to $5 10 Suits Reduced to 8 12 Suits Reduced to 10 TRE RACKET STORE BOOKS FOR 25 CENTS! ALTEMUR ED., CLOTH AND SILVER. STANDARD WORKS. NEW ISSUES. EXAMINE THEM AT DOUGLASS'. Near Postoffice. AT TH' END O' TH' ROAD. 1 was born way back at th end o' th' road. **ere my remembrance of things first An' .uere 1 lived. pl>jed. wcrked an' growed. Jes natural like an' Jes because I lived At th' 1 -<1 o' th' road At th' end o' th' f *5 'twas much th' same This day or thai—except 'twas play When up from th' turnpike some oae came. An' jes as long as they happened to stay An' talk, At th' end o' th' road. If I strnysd away I was glad to get home To th' little red house, where mother an' dad An' I bad a little world all our own. An' jes as good irs anyone had, Out there At th' end o' the' road. From my attic window I've looked amazed Hour after hour at th' turnpike's line. A yellowish streak, till I grew dazed, Wondering where an' in what long time I'd get At th' end o' th' road. For where did they come from, th' folks that went Jogging along th' old turnpike? An' most all strangers that I hadn't met; An' over th' hills—what was it like. Somewhere, At th' end o' th' road? Oae day me an' ma an' dad Started off with th'old gray mare On th' longest ride I'd ever had. An 'twas almost night when we got there, I thought. At th' end o' th' road. , When T dot un next dav an' see The road still winding, winding down, Twas th' biggest world. It seemed to me. From where th' end was. through our town Up home, At th' end o" th' road. I've traveled that road now many a year. An' I've found some good an" found soma bad; Some up hill an' down, an' I'm not clear If I will be sorry or I will be glad To get At th' end o' th' road. —Walter U. Hazeltlne. In Good Housekeep ing. UNDER STRESS. How an Urgent Suitor Won a Widow in a Railway Train. The Comtesse de Moncley—who will soon change her name, as you shall see—ls one of the most dellaious wid ows imaginable, and also one of the cleverest I have ever met. From the very first day she knew precisely how to avoid any exaggeration that could be considered bad taste in the expres aion of her sorrow, without falling into the other extreme and making those who saw her In her widow's weeds think she must wear red satin under her crape. Early in April she had quietly left her Paris apartment, where no mala visitor had set foot since her husband's death, and it was only by accident that, a week later, I discovered the ad dreas she had so carefully oonoealod from everyone. It was "Syoamore Villa, Chantilly." On the first of May there might have been sesn to ar rive at a little bit of a house, situated at a convenient distance from Syca more villa, several trunks, an English cart and pony, a saddle-horse, a bull terrier, two servants, and a man bor dering on thirty. That man waa my self. I hasten to add that, in this circum stance, I acted solely at my own risk and peril, without any authorization, any right whatever, and with no other motive than my love—my profound love —to prompt me to hope that my change of domi cile would not be a dead loss. Ah, well —nothing venture, nothing win. And what did I venture? The salon, the May fetes, the Grand Prix, the mob in the Alle des Poteaux, a few balls —what were they in comparison with the charms of a most attractive neighborhood? I' have known men to cross the seas and spend fortunes to follow to the ends of the world ad venturesses whose whole body was not worth the tip of Mme. de Moncley*s little finger. Clarisse's pretty anger when I pre sented myself at her house, on the day of my arrival, was my first delightful recompense. In spite of her grand air, I saw that she was touohed, and I doubt if ever lover experienced so much pleasure in being shown the door by a pretty woman. She took her time about it, too, and only pushed me into the street after a regulation philippic, to which I listened very humbly, replying only so much as was necessary to lengthen the lecture, which concluded in these words: "And now you will do me the favor to return to Paris. The train leaves in an hour." "An hour!" I objected, timidly. That is hardly time to ship two horses and a carriage and throw up a lease—" "What is this!" she cried. "A lease! You presumed to —go, Bir! What audacity! A lease! And, if you please, where is your house?" "A long distance from here," I has tened to reply; "at the other end of the forest. I am sure it must have taken me fully three-quarters of an hour to come here." To be precise, it had taken me about five minutes. "To think," she exclaimed, "what a poor woman, deprived of her proteotor, is exposed to! You would not have dared to do this if my husband were still alive. And to think that he con sidered you his best friend! Poor Charles!" "He has never had any cause to com plain," I murmured. "Let us talk to gether of ,him." "Never!" "Then let us talk of ourselves, that will be better still." This suggestion shocked her so that it took me a long time to calm her. Finally, she did not wish to let me go without having sworn never to set foot in her house again. It is needless to say that it took half an hour to per suade me to make this promise—which I broke the next morning and as often as possible. I over the months that fol lowed, merely declaring that in this vale of tears there is no more happy lot than that of such an unhappy lover as I was. Clarisse had the most ador- Itble way of annihilating me with a, look from her blue eyes—eyes that were intended for quite another pur pose than annihilating—whenever she saw that I was going to fall on my knees before her, and I must confess she saw it at least ten times during every visit I made her, still in despite of her express prohibition. And when Iso far forgot myself as to tell her, if the intent were as good as the deed, the late lamented ought to have a heavy grudge against "his best friend," seeing that I had laved his wife madly from the very first. "Not another word," she would say, severely; "you blaspheme against friendship. Poor Charles!" And her white, dimpled hand would pitilessly stop my mouth, so that, if I had followed my Inclination, I would, have blasphemed from morning till night like the worst traitor to friend ship in the world. The day she left off crape, I profited by the occasion—naturally enough, it seems to me—to propose myself in set terms as a candidate to succeed poor Charles. That evening—it was a June evening, and the acacias made the most of the power which certain vege tables possess of intoxicating one with their perfume—that evening, her hand did not stop my mouth at all, it reached for the bell. Clarisse did not threaten, this time; she acted I saw that I was on the point of being put out by her servants—who consisted of U T TLER. PA., FRIDAY, AUGUST IQ, 1894. an old woman who had been her nurse and whom I could have bowled over with a breath. However, it was no time for airy persiflage. Without waiting for Nancy to seize me by the collar, I took my hat and fled. When day broke, I had not closed my eyes; not that the situation seemed desperate, for I had learned to read Clarisse's eyes. But, all night long, J had repeated over and over again to myself: "Heaven grant that the little hotel In the Avenue Friedland is still for sale! We would be so comfortable there." In spite of this, I was no further ad vanced when September came, the last month of my lease. I was no longer shown the door when I suggested my candidacy, but Clarisse assumed a bored air and calmly talked of some thing else. Between ourselves, I would rather she rajig the bell, for I divined that she was thinking: "My dear friend, you do not dis please me: quite the contrary. But you must confess that, in the solitude of Chantilly I have scarcely had oppor tunity to enjoy my widowhood. Let me see if it is really worthy of its rep utation. In a j-ear or two we can talk of your affair." In a year or two! Pretty and charm ing as she was, Clarisse would have a score of adorers aronnd her. and ador ers around the woman one wants to marry «re like flioa in milk —they may do no great harm, but they certainly do not improve the milk. Early in September Mme. de Monc ley informed me one day that she was going: to Paris on the morrow to have a look at her apartment. "I sincerely hope," she added, in a severe tone, "that you do not think of accompanying me." "How can you suggest such a thing?" said I, with appwent submission. "You leave at—" "At eight in the evening, as I do not wish to be seen. I shall send Nancy in the afternoon to prepare my room. Ah, poor Paris!" She no longer said "Poor Charles!" 1 admit that this "Poor Paris!" made me much more uneasy. The next evening, at eight o'clock, the doors of the express train, which stops hardly a minute, were already close. Clarisse had not appeared. She reached the station just as the bell ran?. "Quick, hurry up, madamel" oried the railroad official. "Hurry!" I repeated, opening a com partment at random and helping ner In. But, instead of getting in, she fell back, almost fainting, in my arms. Here is what she bad seen, and what I, too, had seen over her shoulder: The seats of the compartment were unoeou pied, and three men, perched like tnonkeys on the backs of the seats, held to their shoulders three guns, Whereof the barrels shone in the lamp light like cannons. One of them, as we opened the door, had shouted in a terrible voice: "Don't come in, for —" I had closed the door so quickly that we had not heard the end of the sen tence. Then Clarisse and I bundled ourselves Into the next oompartment without quite knowing what we were doing. The train was already under way. We were alone. Mme. de Moncley seemed half dead with fear, and I must confess I was violently shaken. "Did you see them?" she oried. "What can be happening in that com partment? They are going to fight— to kill each other! What terrible trag edy is to be enacted right beside us?" "I don't understand It at all," I re plied. "Only one explanation seems possible to me. They are hunteiu who have suddenly gone crasy. Other wise, why should they climb upon the seats? If they siljuply wanted to kill oach other, they <*s#ld do it without all that gymnastics." "No," suggested Clarisse, "It is some dreadful American kind of duel. In such a case, it seems, they climb up on anything they can find. But why didn't they stop them at Chantilly?" "The train itself scarcely stopped there." "Did you hear how they called out 'Don't come in!'? The wretches, they don't want to be disturbed while they are killing themselves. Goodness! Just listen!" The fusillade had commenced right beside us. Several gun-shots had eounded, dominated by a shrill pierc ing cry, whioh still rings in my ears. Then a deathly silence ensued: they were all dead, however bad shots they might have been. Though we were making about fifty miles an, hour at the time, I made ready to g(fc-out upon the step and find out what was going on in our neigh bors' compartment. As I lowered the window two arms seized me and a voice broken with anguish but which sounded very sweet, just the same— gasped behind me: "Philip, if you love me, do not gol They will kill you!" It was precisely like the fourth act of "The Huguenots," except that my name is not Raoul. I saw the advantage of my situation, and I resolved to profit by it. I profited by it so well that, after a dialogue too intimate to be repeated here, I was in a position to sing—if I had had a voice, which I haven't: "Thou-ou ha-ast said it." For she had said it. Poor Charles was distanced now. She had said the sweet words: "I love you." A prey to emotions bordering on the hysterical, Clarisse sobbed and clung to me with all her strength, though I had not the faintest desire to intrude on the massacre next door. They •ould kill themselves at their ease. Let every man tend to his own affairs. As for me, I was very much occupied just then. That Is why, early the next morning, I hurried to my lawyer to speak to him about the little hotel in the Avenue Friedland, which was still for sale, but, thank fortune, is now no longer in the market. Decorators and fur nishers are at work in it, and when January comes, you will see it occu pied by a certain young couple that I know of. But let us not anticipate. When the train p*Ued into the city, my compan ion and I had quite forgotten our neighbors, or what was left of them; but now the authorities must be in formed and the bodies removed. I had jumped out, and was looking about for a sergeant de rille, when I beheld the door of the famous compartment open and the three hunters calmly desoend from it, carrying, rolled up in a rug, an inert mass which looked as if it might be the body of a young child. Without an instant's hesitation, I seized one of the assassins by the col» lar. "Scoundrel!" 1 cried. "What have you got in that rug?'' "Don't make such a row," he replied, "or we'll have a hundred people at our backs. It is only my poor dog." "Dog!" I repeated, indignant at the man's coolness. "Come, come, you cannot deceive me, I saw it all." My captive, whom I still held by the collar, opened a corner of the rug and showed me a setter's muzzle, with fleeks of foam on it dappled with blood. I dropped my hold on the man's collar in the greatest confusion. "Really, I scarcely kuow how to apologize," 1 said. "But, frankly. It la not astonishing that I should havo been deceived —three men crouching on the seats of the carriage and shoot ing—" "Still, the explanation is very simple, cjyg was bitten three weeks ago. I had the wound cauterized, and thought the animal was saved. We had been hunting all day near O'reil, but, no sooner were we on the train than hydrophobia developed and the animal began to snap at us. To at tempt to put the beast out was to tempt death, and there was nothing for it but for us to climb up on the seats and shoot the doff. We were not able to do so dntil after we left Chan tilly, for the poor brute had taken refuge under the seat. Finally, by oalllng it, I persuaded it to put its he*d out, and then we shot it. I tell you, it's a trip I shall not soon forget." "Nor shall I," I replied, and I re joined Clarisse, who was waiting for me at a little distance and whose curi osity was vastly excited to see me thus politely take leave of the assassins. "Well, then," she said, making a lit tle face when I had told her the story, "that doesn't count. I take back what I said." But at the same time she softly squeezed my arm with her own, and I saw in her eyes that '•that" did "coant." —From the French of Leon de Tinseau, in San Francisco Argonaut. A PUZZLED WAITER. Sad Beault of Attempting to Speak a Language He Didn't Know. A correspondent who has returned from the Antwerp exhibition, narrates an adventure which befell two English men there. He says: "Two very pre sentable. well-dressed gentlemen, who bore the stamp of Englishmen in face, figure, clothes and easy-goinjr air, en tered the restaurant where I was sit ting, and one of them called out in self-confident tones, which could bo heard easily at the neighboring tables, what was undoubtedly intended to be 'Garoon! Deux bocks,' but which sounded: 'Gassong! too bo.' 'Oui, mon sieur,' replied the waiter, as he rushed into the inner room. "The two gentlemen engaged in ami cable conversation over the table for about five minutes, when it struck them that the waiter was a long time with their beer. 'Gassongl' was again shouted. 'Oui, monsieur," answered the waiter. 'Lay too do, si TOO play.' 'Oui, monsieur, tout de 9uite,' replied the Belgian, and ouoe more rushed into the other apartment. Again the two Eng lishmen engaged ia conversation for five or six minutes, and again one of them shouted indignantly: 'Gassong! lay too bo!' "The waiter rushed behind the scenes with more violence than ever, and in two minutes returned with a triumph ant face to plaee before the astonished visitors two plates of boiled turbot. They looked at the man and next at the fish and then, with the help more of signs than of words, managed to explain to the waiter that they wanted beer —bocks—not turbot. The situa tion was an embarrassing one for all concerned, and I could not help think ing that something should be done at home to prevent my company abroad meeting with such inconveniences."— London Telegraph. —"I like to see a man think a good deal of his home," said old Mrs. Jason, "but when he stays out all night to brag about how happy a home he has I think ho is carrying his affection a lit tle too far."—lndianapolis Journal. A DECEPTIVE TARGET. It Costs Something to l.earn to Hit the Dangling Ball. A shooting gallery peculiarity that has recently came into popularity con sists in a very light and fragile ball of blown glass, or in some cases a hollow egg shell suspended from a string. This always attracts the inexpert* enced marksmen, because the natural destructlveness inherent in human na ture causes him to prefer to shoot at something which he can smash rather than at a target that gets no harm from his accuracy. Therefore, says the New York Sun. be wastes his three shots, at one and two-thirds cents a shot, not on targets, but on the suspended mark. And he never hits it. The experienced man in rifle range gunnery wastes no time on the de ceitful ball. He knows that it can't bo hit. Probably he knows it from ex perience, for it is one of tSose facta that no man will believe until he has tried It for himself. The reason for it is that a very light hollow glass ball, or a blown egg if properly hung on a slender thread, will dodge any bullet that ever came from a gun barrel. The air that the bullet piles up in front of it blows the light mark out of the projectile's path until it has passed, after which the target swings back to its original po sition. This is very provoking for the marks man, who, if he be a good shot, bu the doubtful satisfaction of seeing hi# target execute three quick dodges at the aforementioned price of one and two-thirds cents per dodge. There is nothing, however, so re numerative to the proprietor as these pendent marks, for the gunners, pro voked at their lack of success, will keep on and on and on trying to hit a mark compared to which a pin head would be a barn door shot, and they only give it up in disgust when the cost be gins to tell upon them or when some wiser friend explains their lack of suc cess. Two dollars Is a cheap price to pay for the knowledge that one of these hanging targets is a better mark for a baseball than for a bullet. Ground for Disbelief. Mrs. Mullins (reading the news paper)—A Philadelphia man rejoices in the name of Medycvnv Garczynskiegro. Mr. Mullins—l don't believe it. "You don't believe that is his right name?" "Xo; I don't believe he rejoices in it."—Life. A 8or« Way. Maud —How did you get Ned to pro pose to you, dear? Marie—l told him that you were dead in love with him, and were de termined to win him at any cost, dear est.—N. Y. World. Trmclng: the Record. Teacher—And Lot's wife— Pnpil—Was turned into a pillar of salt. Say, teacher, that's the first pil lar-case mentioned in history, isn't it? —Harper's Young People. THE MORTAL COIL WINTFB. SPRINB. —Truth. Sorry Tbroe Time*. When a friend who shared our hobby horse and our cookies in childhood floats off on a European steamship we are sorry. When she returns grasp ing a cane wo suppose she is lame and are sorry. When we ask after her poor foot and tind she is only trying to be a swell we are sorry again—this time for ourselves. —JJ. Y. Herald. IN PASSING. Through halls whose carved panels held A of cherubim. Cp stairways wide I wandered »n Through curtained alcoves dim: And ever as my footsteps came By alcove, hall and stair. A myriad mirrors started up And caught my shadow there. Sometimes my profile paled and sank A smile upon my lips; Sometimes a blur my features were, Swift darkening to eclipse; But following as these figures fled Faint ghosts of grayish gleams— I walked beside, as one who walks Companioned in his dreams Oh: winding years that round my path Like mirrors Sash and pass. Once, always, do you hold for me The wraith within the glass; Some nfuht or day. some star or sun (As what should say: "Beware:") Reveals in your dead seasons' flight My shadow passing there. —Ernest McClaficy, in N. Y. Independent. fly Ma ckftH- Ev C/Ov£fvmrt- »■%—TT#K were seated |! ySwl i, \fCW. at the card rt !.'1 r VWI table in the ! °® ccr! *' c l u k" ' t ,1 I I' room, playing B if! I P°k er w ' * if I // the post-trad jjl {I t jj er and drink ing warm beer. The windows had all been thrown open to admit the night air, which, from radiation, becomes quickly freshened in drv climates, when skies are clear and the sun has set, and bathes the thick-walled, adobe buildings, tempering them and making them habitable, and, if closed in the early morning, seem cloister* of coolness —welcome refuge, after drill or duty done in the glare and pitiless heat of day. No other mater ial know n to architecture so well re sists the penetrating ardor of untem pered rays shed in southern summer by a cloudless sun; for adobe is of mother earth, the grand conservator of heat and cold, and, like her, makes stubborn resistance to changing tem perature. The walls of the building now seemed hot and exhaled through the room the expiring heat of day. Stand ing near them, hot air was breathed on the face like the slow, warm breath of a great animal sinking into silent sleep. The sun had set, and the dimness of twilight was creeping from the valley over the foot-hills and rising in shadowy cones of moun tain purple up the pine-clad slopes be yond, spreading over forests that framed the base of frozen bastions, whose faded whiteness, seen in fail ing light, was that of snows a sunset had left cold. The curtains and flanks of nature's grand redoubt were no longer visible, for the fugitive after-glow had faded into gray, and the sharp tracery of the divide was lost for want of light. Through the open window we could see the sentry-lamps, just lighted, bor dering the rectangle of the bare parade—steady, sultry, and yellow, like the street-lamps of a foreign town. Around each, as far as the illu mination extended, lay a disk of yel low where the white parade had taken up the tone of light that fell upon it. Certainly in each disk lay a circular shadow, cast by the base of the lamp On the side of the general bar-room a light near the door of the traders' store illuminated the compound as far as the troop corral, where a stable guard paced the trravel in his rounds past the heavy gates, challenging and admitting mounted parties returning from duty or from pass. It was shortly after dinner, and, be ing yet warm, the game had not grown hilarious. Davis, out post-surgeon, had not joined in the play. That afternoon he had been shooting fool quail on the mesquite flat up the Gila; he was late at mess, so had missed the arrival of the week's 'mail, this being Friday; and, still in shooting-jacket, was seated at the reading-table, look ing over news contained in latest New York papers, now ten days old, and opening his letters. "I thought I heard firing toward Maekay." David had walked across the room and was standing near an open window. lie spoke quietly t<s the trader's clerk, still giving the alert attention of one uncertain that he has heard a sound. Mackay was an adobe village ad joining the garrison, where soldiers became intoxicated and were then robbed, for the territorial laws were getting severe and it was not wise to rob men sober. Several shots fired in quick succes sion confirmed the doctor's opinion; there was a pause in the poker game, a shuffling back of chairs, and some one said: "Remember, Jones, it was your ante," as we joined the surgeon at the window. The shooting had ceased, and in the village we could now hear the barking of dogs, the hurrying of feet, and the sound of an unshod horse galloping over soft earth on the flat leading up to the post. A moment later the horse was halted under the sentry'a challenge at the corral, and a cowboy, clad as on rodeo, came into the gen eral bar and asked for the post-sur geon, saying, as Davis entered: "Doc, they've had a scrap at the Harmony, and need you and undertaker." He spoke with the short, quick breath of one who has hastened. "The undertaking can wait," said Davis; "but I'll go down at oncs. Ride around to the hospital and tell the steward to bring my operating case and bandages to the Harmony. I'll walk; you can overtake me." I accompanied Davis to the village, distant a few hundred 3*ards and com prising a double row of square adobe flats along the Calle Audea, an un- paved street lined with aeequias, now dry, but containing a few Lombardy poplars whose pivotal leaves were too languid to flutter, so still was th® night air. There were no lights in the Btreets, and in the most of houses they bad been extinguished as soon as the firing began; the few that remained shone through windows opened to ad mit the air and fell in rectangular patches on the bare adobe footpath be tween the buildings and the acequia. These desultory illuminations made the rest of the street seem dark, though, from the splendid starlight) •ummer nights in Arizona are never really so. We were guided to the Harmony by the tramp of feet and the sound of voices at the lower end of the street, and as we walked toward it and en tered the darkened space which suc ceeded the illumination from a solitary window, we stumbled over what, on ex amination, proved to be the body of a man, lying where he had stumbled over the edge of the actquia in crossing the street. We turned him over, and Davis, on examination, found that h* w&t dead, being shot through the base of the neck. We left him lying where we found him and hurried on to the Harmony, which, together with the portion of the street directly in front of it, must, when we got there, have contained every inhabitant of the vil lage, even to the last Chinaman and 1 **.... Davis forced his way through the outer erowTl that jammed the entrance to the door; those recognizing his per son tried to fall back and admit him. I followed Davis, and finally found my self inside the Harmony—a bar, gam bling house and consert hall com bined, and consisting of a single, large, rectangular adobe room, dimly lighted by a few dirty bracket reflector lamps, whose siekly flames seemed sinking for want of oxygen in the op pressive alcoholic air. The tarnished reflectors were set level so that the limiting shadows from the base of the lamps almost covered the floor, leav ing the lower angles of the room in feeble, uncertain half-light. Lying quietly on a faro table was a gambler, shot through the lungs. The blood welled profusely from a bullet hole iu his side and trickled into an increasing pool, which was now over spreading the "lay out" like a last mocking, sanguinary wager, offered ironically by one who had already ac cepted the terms of death. To the left stood a rancher, leaning against the bar. holding with his right hand liis left forearm, which was bad ly shattered below the wrist. In the dimly-lighted corner most re mote from the door, seated on a piano stool, was a young girl, sobbing vio lently, as if in pain or in great grief. In her despair, she had thrown herself forward on to the piano and buried her fair but dissipated face in a mass of brown hair, drawn from nude shoulders it had served to drape, and now confined only by her white, bare arms, which rested on the white, bare keys. Her physical abandonment was as utter as her moral hopelessness seemed complete. After stanching the hemorrhage of the man shot through the lungs, Davis turned his attention to the girl. Lay ing his hand gently on her bare shoul* der, which was trembling accompania ment to her violent, intermittent sobs, Davis asked her where she was hurt. She sobbed in reply that she did not SHE LEANED HE A.VILT OS THE PIXSO. know. Then he made examination and found that she was not hurt, but that a stray shot from the direotlon of the gaming-table had struck the key board of the piano, ripping up some of the keys beneath her fingers while she was playing. She was unnerved with fright, hysteria accompanying it. Then the doetor bound up the ranoh er's shattered wrist, after removing some splintered fragments. The full extent of the shooting now being known and having been discussed, the crowd began to thin away. When the surgeon's work was fin ished, a venerable frontiersman, who had greatly assisted Davis in dressing the wounded, spoke to the crowd that still remained, saying, solemnly and slowly: "Well, gentlemen, thi9 'ere scrap has taught me one thing!" "What was that. Uncle Jerry?" asked a chorus of bystanders. "Uncle Jerry" pulled himself up to his full frontier height, and, after a pause long enough to prepare us for a speech oracular in patriarchal wisdom, replied: "It has taught me, gentlemen, never to decline a drink." He had been watching the poker game, and just after he had risen from nls seat and had started to the bar at Tom Collins' inTitation to drink, the ball had opened and the bullet which finally lodged in the piano-keys passed through the back of his then vacant chair. —C. Overton, in San Francisco Argonaut. —All legal treatises and documents during the twelfth and two following centuries were written in a very stiff, affected and undecipherable hand called "court hand." It wa6 inten tionally illegible, that the knowledge of the law might be kept from the com mon people. The Wrong Husband. Mrs. Alimony (to companion in lobby of divorce court) —There comes my last husband but three. Ido so want to in troduce you, but I can't recall the dear fellow's name. How annoying! Ex-Husband (advancing gallantly)— Madam, you look even more charming than when you were Mrs. Jolliboy. Mrs. Alimony—Thank you. (To com panion. Let me introduce you to a former spouse of mine, Mr. Jolliboy. Ex-Husband (haughtily)— Madam, I am not Jolliboy. Jolliboy was my im mediate predecessor. —Life. Woman and Man. Inquiring' Son—Papa, what is reason? Fond Parent—Reason, my boy, is that which enables a man to determine what is right. Inquiring Son —And what is instinct? Fond Parent —Instinct Is that which tells a woman she is right whether she is or not. —Tid-Bits. Xo Money There. First Burglar—Hark! I hear some man talking. Second Burglar—What's he saying? First Burglar—That he never will bet on another horse as long as he lives. Second Burglar— Let's get out of this! No money here; he's lost every cent. — Puck. Approving the Journal. "As I look into your face, dearest," said young Wumpmug, "I can see the whole record of the present congress. "Tell me its features," said his steady girl. "Ayes, noes, lip, chin, cheek"—and then the usual executive session fol lowed. —Puck. A Poser. Her Adorer—No, sir, it Is not for the sake of your daughter's money I love her. It is on account of her sweet tem per and charming manners. Her Father—lf it is not for money you wish to marry I can let you have my niece. She has a much sweeter temper and no money whatever. —Spare Moments. To the Best of Hli Knowledge. Purchaser (bringing back purchase) —This dog is the most ferocious beast I ever camo across, and you said he was as gentle as a woman. Dealer in Canines—That's straight! My wife's the only woman I know any thing about.—Puck. Too Eipenilfe "Then you consent'." exclaimed the young man, joyously. "Yes," said her father. "It pains me to give her up, but I really can't affora to keep her any longer."—Chioago Record. A Vteful Man. She—He's a bad scholar and a Door athlete. Why don't the college author ities put him out, anyhow? He—But you ought to hear his ool" lege T all^ TSTo. 3 2 tpSAgy. TO MAKE A HAYRICK. A Simple Contrivance Which Save* Lots of labor. The cut represents how to make a saving in labor at hay making. AAA A are four poles 32 feet long. They may be made of 4x4 material and spliced. BB arc 4x4 and 4 feet long. DD are two timbers 4x4 and '2O feet long, fas tened together with five one-half-inch bolts 12 inches long. A pulley for inch rope is under B and F a trip block for a Lay carrier. Any hay carrier that will work on a 4x4 may be used. About 100 feet of inch rope is required, which should run from the top of the poles AA to a stack K. It is unneces sary to dig holes for the poles; whea moving the rigging, move but one pole at a time. The load of hay must be out«ide of the poles under F, as shown in the cut To unload, from 20 to 80 tons of hay must be put in a riok or 8 tons in a stack. In the center of BB a round groove is cut and a yoke made of three quarter-inch rod passes over BB and down through the 4x4 D. This may be put together on the ground and raised with a team of horses. When the der rick is on the ground drive a small stake in the ground at the end of each pole to prevent slipping when being raised. M is a stake with pulley for a rope to run from pulley under B for the horse to pull the hay up by. AA is fastened at the top end with ft bolt B is fas tened to A A with bolts. I have used such a rigging for two years with great success.—Eddie Richardson, in Farm and Home. HOMEMADE CHEESE. Slmpla Mat hod by Which It May Be Pr*- duccu on the Farm. To make cheese at home get a tin man to solder a faucet near the bot tom at one end of an ordinary tin wash-boiler, which will hold five or six pailfuls, says a writer in Hoard's Dairyman. Fit a movable tin screen inside about three inches from the faucet and extending about the same distance above it, which shall hold the curd away from the faucet. This, with a long, wooden paddle, is all you need order especially for the work, ex cept cheese-cloth, rennet and a cheese press. Six pailfuls of sweet milk with the cream all In It will make about fif teen pounds of cheese. It need not be of one milking if It is perfectly sweet. Put the milk in the boiler on the stove and heat it to eighty degrees. Re move from the stove and add the ren net When the milk has coagulated, which will take place in ten minutes or less, it must be cut to the bottom of the boiler each way, making about two inch squares. They will begin to start almost at once. Sink a small dipper into it slowly and the whey may be re moved gradually until two quarts or more have been collected. Heat over the curd, stirring it carefully. When at one hundred degrees open the f ancet and allow the whey to drain out, dip ping it out from the top. When drained, sprinkle half a teacupful of fine dairy salt upon the curd and crum ble and mix in thoroughly with the hands. Have a square of strong, loosely woven cloth wet and placed in the cheese hoop, which should be the size of a peck measure. Press the curd Into the hoop, adjust the cover after the cloth has been folded on top of thd ourd, and submit the cheese to gentle pressure. Prepare a bandage of cheese cloth large enough to go around the cheese and wide enough to nearly cov er the ends. Lay on the ends another piece and sew it to the piece around the cheese. Keep at seventy degrees in a dry room. Too much salt or too much scalding when heating the curd hardens the cheese, while carelesg stirring starts the "white whey" and allows much of the butter fats to es cape. Dehorning Young Calve*. The most practical and satisfactory method of dehorning a calf when quite young is to remove the button like, semi-horny substance with an in strument known as the trephine, which is constructed for the purpose of cutting out circular sections of without injury to the underlying 6oft tissues. By this method the horn is removed with its foundation and the brain is denuded of its bony covering for a short period, but no horny ex* crescence will appear to disfigure the head of the matured animal, as may happen when other methods are usedj and the opening caused by the Shine will become obliterated In a few ays. The Quality of Cheeee. The quality of cheese will vary fto-. cording to the quality of the mlllt from which it is made, and propop? tionately to the amount of fat present in that milk. The fat is the oonstltife ent which most affects the quality pt the cheese, hence it is not possible tO expect the same quality of cheese to mado from large quantities of QPOf milk as from small quantities of rich milk. Hut with due care, the larger yield of cheese which cau be obtained from the poorer milk should In value that of the higher quality which can be made from the rleh milk. Self AMorsncei Father—That young man of yours might just as well live here. Daughter —That's what he propose* to do after we are married. —Truth. A Terrible Revelation. He—At last we are alone, and we have an opportunity to speak. I have been seeking this moment for days and days, for I have something to say to you. She—Go on, Mr. Harkins. He—l will. Miss Jones, you perhaps have not noticed that at times I have been constrained, uneasy, even awk ward, in your presence, that I have had something on my mind that I felt I must say to you. She (softly)— Yes. He —That constraint, that awkward ness, Miss Jones, was due to—due to— She—Goon, Mr. II ark ins. He—Was due to the fact that I feared you were not aware that I am engaged to your mother. —Harper's Magazine. All Kplcure'* Daughter. A certain gentleman in this city known as an epicure was dining a friend not long ago, and the baby daughter of the house, Katharine, aged seven, was brought at dessert to 6ee the guest. The guest, who is very fond of children, was asking her all sorts of questions, but her father was somewhat taken aback when he asked: "What do you love best in the world?" and she answered: "Papa and corn fritters, "-N. Y. UltM* __
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers