VOL. XXX 111 COME AND SEE US We are Located on South Main Street, Opposite Hotel Butler, -1 In the room formerly occupied by Hartzell & I Kemper. We have received our spring stock I of Tans in different shades, Patent Leathers, j \ Kangaroos, etc. Our stock of Ladies Fine j >u3 \ Shoes and Oxfords is very large—all the latest | jffi \ style lasts to be found among our stock. We y Mr-" H carry these goods in all sizes and widths, and | prices the lowest. Come and see us. We jj*i have many bargains in store for you. J fin The variety was never so great, J Itt&'f*'* The styles were never so perfect, ? J The quality never so good, f And the prices were never so low. * 6«ER6IB«MBCO i A FEW OF OUR PRICES Ladies fine dongola pat tip ox fords 75 l JC*S Ladies fne serge congress goit ers 45c »» 1 Ladies grain shoes pat tip heel •'*. or spring 90c Ladies waterproof oil grain "H j 22] Ja shoes 75c ■ 1 **] Ladies fine calf slippers 50c V v yd Mens waterproof working shoes 95c v J\ gi Mens fine dress shoes lace or \ congress. .' $ 1.00 Boys fine shoes.. .S7SC, sl, $1.25 Misses good wearing school Childrens fine dongola pat tip shoes Full stock of Leather and Findings. Shoemakers supplies of all kinds. AH kinds of dressing for Dongola. Tan and Patent Leather shoes at reduced pi ices. Mail orders receive prompt attention. JOHN BICKEL 323 South Main St. Branch Store, "RntW P'l 125 N. Main St., JJUIItJI Id. \ SPRING &• SUfiriEß \ FOOTWEAR! [ B. C. HUSELTON > Undeniably Shows the Largest Stock of Ladies s 1 and Gents Fine Shoes of the Latest and v S Most Stylish Patterns ever Displayed in C 1 a. Have You Seen the v JBe ■ \I ] One of the most perfect shoes for t j W. \AI women ever made. Dark wine f C i 'vPJ shade of Russia Calf, the latest r f II iff tint; black eyelets, silk stitched. 7 \ 20th Century shape welt. ✓ 1 Ladies low cut shoes in tan / and black. i f lir t nn Tai'or made, in lace or button, \ 1 TT Omail S R u cset or Dongola, Kid or Pat- 3 / rUntnrv fthnra cnt Ix * alher Ti r ,s - We sdl these / v V>eillUiy OllOtJo beautiful and comfortable shoes at \ r our trade winning figures, $1.50. # 2 > i WOMEN'S DONGOLA SHOES IN HE | ( } $1.25 and $1.50. Easy shoes a speci- ( S MEN'S AND BOYS' TANS / lasts, pointed or derby toe, positively / unequaled in Butler. Men's at $ 1.50, $2, $2.50, $3, $3 50, ) $4 and $5; Boys' at $1.35, $1.50 and $2; Youths' at $1.25, C X J Luit I Men's and Boys' Fine Shoes. C \ WPl.lin, Square, Needle or Opera Toe; S J ■ ignl a " widths, Ht f 2 ' < 2 -s°, *3 an.l C V <3 50; Buff and A Calf at 90c, fi, ? ft' .'Zs and Jtr.so; Youths' at 75c, f 1 C f /J&W4' ,eht y° u ever saw at 75c, sl, # 1.25 S f ' an<l #i.yj. Sec our ft.no shoe with v ) dfSnf bellus Credemore, the best shoe made r v for the money—others get #1.25 and / Misses St Childrens Spring-beel Sboes 7 ( All the New Styles in Tan and Black, Lace or Button, Pointed or S»|uan- x 1 Toe, at 75c, fi, ft.25 and ft.so, sizes 12-2; Child, at 40c, 50c, 75c fi and f I ft.25, sizes f Come in and see us and try our shoes. f S B. C. HUSELTON.Opp. Hotel Lowry. ? As Usual We have The Best Stock of Millinery At the lowest prices in the city. 50c quality Leghorn hats for 39c. Large bunch silk roses worth 40c only 25c. Moss rose sprays 25c worth 50c. New Buds—New Foliage—New Berries—this week. Childrens hats a specialty. Special sale of Corsets this week M. F. & M MARKS, 113 to 117 S. Main St. liutlcr Pa THE BUTLER CITIZEN. Sharp Shooting pains in the head and face are symptoms <»f nerves for pure blood." Therefore to cure neii ralgiaPf»r»fy tiie bioo<l and builtl up bj taking Hood's Sarsaparilla T!. <>n- True lilo xl rn-ifi<>r. $1: six ff-r Hood's Pitts - - t i| t »cents. Profssaisiai Cards A- M. CHRISTLEY, ATIOR.VEY AT I.AW. -Office on North Diamond Strce*. opposite th' Court HOUSP— Lower K!oo r . ALEX KUSSt:i_L. Attorney-at-Law. OfTice with Newton Black, Esq. South Diamond, Butler, Pa. A. T. BLACK. Boom J—Armory Building. VriOKN'iSY AT LAW. C. F. L. McQuistion. CIVIL EMHNKKK A*>D FITKVKVOR. Officp near Court Iloace Ilutler Pa. NEWTON BLACK. at Law- Office 10 Son* i> aide of Plaraono cutler. Pa. A. T. SCOTT. ATTOHNEY-AT-LAW.; at No. H. S'm:' * Dlamotil. Bnt.!er. Pe . J M. PAINTEK. .Attor ney-at-Law. nee— Betwp'jn l"wtot?1' hpl inamond, Butler I* h. S. H. PIEKSOL. ATTORNEY at LAW. OBlce at No. 104 East Diamond H*. •COULTER & BAKEP. ATTORNEYS AT LAW. <>U'.e In room 1!.. > rr:iory Building, Butler Pa. FI. H. GOUCHER. A tcomey-at-lftw. Off>(.t- iii jMitcLel! tiulldiu. B'ltler Pa. DR CHAS R B HUNT, * Physician and Surgeon. Eye, ear, nose and throat a apecialtj. 132 and 134 8. Main Street., Ralston building. VV. H. BROWN, Homceopathlc Physician av:<J Surgeon. Oll'ce 23t> 8. Main St., opp. P. O. Re«Henfe 3to N. McKmq tjt. J. J. DONALDSON, Dontlst. Bullar, Penn'a. Artificial Tci th lnm-rted on the latest im -rovwl nian. (iolil Killing a 3poct»lty. Office ■,v< r Hch.iUl'M (Jloti'lnu Store. V. M ivIcALPiNE Dentist, Main St. Naeßtheticfe Administered. SAMUEL M. BIPPUS. Physician and Surgeon, 200 west Cunffiuuliatn St. Dr. N. M. HOOVER, I 137 K. Wayn^S!'.nt'-n hours. 1<» <-i 12 M. all 10 3 P. M. DR. S. A. JOHNSTON. JENTiST, - - BUTLER, PA. n<;old Killing Painless Kxtractlon of '(•eelti u(J ArttOci.il ['•••■ ill wii.bout I'lat'-sa npeclaltj \troas OxHii or Vitalized Air or Local lunatiiett.M tito 1. oitce "v -r Milter's <Ar>>;'try i:a.sl ol Lowiy ouge. URlCrt dowil la. s and Tl:ursd fcys DR. J. E KAULK Dentist. OlC<:«v—fn (iilkoy building < p{>< tiitoP. 0. L. BLACK, PHYSICIAN AND BUHOEON, X»iw Troutman Building. Butler, PH. • G. M. ZIMMERMAN. rHYHIC'IAH Otflat No. ■ 4ft, w. Malu. <i»ci Lit t barratry.Bailor. l*a. C. A N D D. GmmmmwmiQ 1 |Wcar 1 | Points 1 Ou rv * irrltata©!? , SN» \J CXJ rxJ * *S> fi'tinnz So M pricey rvj s^^ r\j C\J ' <V cmmztmmmmo All grad* 1 of rnderwcr at very low prices. Largest stock of hats and furnishings for gentleman ni the country. An inspection will prove this to any ones satisfacture. CoJberl <Sc Dale. 242 S. Main St., Butler, I'enn'a M. A, HERKIMER Funeral Director 37 S._Main,St. Butler fa. inTTLKK. PA., THURSDAY. APRIL 130. 1890. THE SMILE ON OUR BABY'S FACE. on gel w:ia buliien to niuko bir fair, So h,- wo*, e the sunshine into her hair. Ho took of the midnoon's cloudless skios And fashioned therefrom hi r two blue eyc«. He washed her white with the sinless snowa Ar.d painted her rhoeks with the dawn's faint roac. it- dlu;pl**l her tiny hands and feet, lit- m«ide h<.r sunny uiid &oft and sweet. He mUrlcd her ruund white limbs with art Be pot her from heaven o pure child heart; Th'll he kissed her lips and her brow and eyes And brought her, sleeping, from paradise, tueh virtue lies in those kisses throe That, how bo weary at heart are we, The look and ''its sruiio on our baby's face Brinp rest and comfort and endless graeo —Bessie Gray in Good Housekeeping A GHOST COMMITTEE. The wind drove the hail and sleet violently against the car windows, and what with its melancholy howling, ac companying the incessant rattle of the panes, I could hardly hear the shrieks of the locomotive's whistle as the train plunged thronfth the dense darkness. It v.-as a hard night to travel, and I did not wonder that the car was empty savo for the man who had just seated himself beside me. Such being the ca."», how ever, I could not but feel surprised that this single other passenger should havo crowded into my seat when lie might have Lid a whole one to himself. I can not say that I was indipnant, for though he forced me to move toward the drafty window he was company, and I had felt lonely from the very beginning of the forlorn trip on tho midni«ht express. Then, too, L* was such a mild, harm less looking fellow. I glanced toward him. Intending to open tlie conversation, when my eye fell upon the timetable in which he was deeply engri sscd. It was a thumb worn piece of paper, and no wonder, for across the top I read in big black type, "To go into v-ffect on April 1, 1884." It seemed strange that a m;ut should consult a tn..n schedule II years old. My curiosity was ari and I <irew my own time table from my pocket and held it towui I hiin. "Pardon me, sir, but perhaps this will bo of more uae to you. Whore are you f!< ing?" "Thank you, " he replied sadly, "but you cannot t.olp me. I >-ould tliat you could, tin .ugh. You see, lam bound for Tutherford, but it seems that I will never got there." "Tutherford!" I exclaimed. "Why, y< ti are on the wrong traiii!" I knew this place well <is one of the prettiest little suburban villages on the lino of the New York, Lackahudson and Western, but I also was aware that this train never stopped there and that we had long since passed it. "That is just the devil of it," replied my companion vigorously. A melan choly smile passed over his pale face, and then lu* added: "I've been getting on the wrong train for 11 years. Bil excuse me, sir, you are sitting on my beefsteak." Curiosity now gave place to astonish ment. My lu'st impulse was to believe that I had a madman for a companion, but his every look belied such an idea. Every detail of his clothing denoted ex treme neatness and self respect. He was a small, slender man, with a slightly bald head and clean shaven face. At his feet were two large, neatly done up bundles; at his side and partly under mo was a third parcel, wrapped in brown paper, which I had no reason to believe contained meat. "A thousand pardous," I Raid, rising so that ho could rescue his steak from diittLrui t iou. "I iuxi afraid that I have ruined it. 1 was not aware that I w:is sitting qn anything." "Littlo wonder, " lie replied quietly. "No human beinj* could fuel that steak. And us for injuring it, I purchased it 11 years and liavo been trying to tcot it home to Tutherford ever since. To make things plain, that is a phan tom beefsteak." I broke out Into a hearty laugh and exclaimed, "You are either considerable of a WOK, sir, or else an idiot." My fellow traveler drew himself up and cried hotly: "Do you know whom you are addressing? lam the late R. G. Jones, sir, for many years a leading citizen of Tutherford." "The late R. G. Jones of Tuther ford!" I retorted, and then I made a motion to jfive him a little jovial dig in the ribs, but to my horror my hand went right through him and struck the arm of the seat on his other side. He smiled. I drew back in amazement I will not attempt to depict my sen sations. Wonder gave way to utter as tonishment, astonishment to horror, horror to fright But this last emotion passed, for I knew that there was no escape. 1 could not leave the car, and then the very appearance of the ghost was so peaceable and respectable that a sense of security came to me. Reason prevailed, and I soon found myself trav eling on the best of terms with my Strang*; companion. "I see you travel on a pass, Mr. Dockboy," said th« late R G. Jones after our relationship had assumed a state of mutual confidence. "That is why I made myself known to you. 1 suppose you have a pull on this road. " "My fourth cousin is the wife of the president of the New York, Lackahud son and Western," I replied proudly, for I was not a little vain about this relationship. "That is 1 news for mo," began the late R. G. Jones. "You sec, Mr. Dockboy, I have long needed a friend with some influence on the road, for 1 want to have this train stopped at Tuth erford just once." "Whatl" I cried. "Yes, stopped at Tirtherford," he continued. "1 do not wonder at ymir surprise, but then you will not Ist much astonished when you know my reasons. 1 have told you my late name, and j«'r haps it will interest you to hear that for many years I was an alderman in Tuth erford—a place of no mean importance. My business was in New York. Every morning for ten years 1 left my house promptly at 8:22, reached the station at 8:80 and took the 8:31 for town. At just 5:18 o'clock in theevening iTcach ed the Jersey City station and boarded the train for home. It so happened that for tlv last five years of my life 1 al ways pit on the third car from the en gine and took the third seat from the rear. It became a habit with me. I was known and respected on the road, and there was a tacit understanding among the other commuters that that place (liould always be reserved for me. This is the same car, No. 883, and tho very same seat" "And you are haunting it?" I asked, tor the light was bcgim*ng to bn ak. "Temporarily and accidentally," re plied the late R. G. Jclics. "When 1 can get this train Stopped at Tutherford, I will get off and go baek to my old home. Don't you remember seeing in the pa J M IS about ten years ago how R. G. Jones, a prominent citizen of Tuth erford, Huecumbed to an attack of heart, failure brought on by overexertion while trying to catch the 15:18?" "Oli, yes, I recall that well. A very sad cjise, indued. " Of oour&o I didn't, but that didn't matter. Th<- late R. G. Jones looked grateful. "That was when I became a ghost," he said. "A few days later I received niy orders to proceed to Tutherford and haunt my old home. There have always been Strang" and confused ideas exist ing about ghosts. These impressions, that we do everything in a hiKKh'ty pigglety way are all crroiHHius —deeid- odlj,' erroneous. I couhlxi't go sailing back In >me in any way bur an oraeriy one—hy train, just as I did when I w;is not late. And, moreover, custom re quired that 1 shi uld travel on car No. 835, third seat fr>in the rear, as I had done day in and day out for years. So I went to the station with my phantom umbrella, t«u;dles and bei fsteak. Promptly at 5 :12 I prot off the ferry, stopped at the newsstand which is run for the commuters and pur chased a si ,rting extra of 'a phantom evening paper, repaired to the train sited and got on this car, No. 885, and took this very seat. But the train did not start as usual. It was midnight 1 - fore we left tlie station, and then, to my horror, we whirled through Tuther ford and never made a stop until we reached the unction <iO miles west. I will not dwell cn my sorrow when I realized my predicament C';ir 335 had been shifted to tlie midnight express, and until it could be stopped at Tuther ford I was doomed to haunt this uncom fortable seat instead of my own pretty suburban home. "Years have passed since then, and every night I have got on the same car and sat in this same seat, oftentimes crowded between two men, who could not see me, always doomed to go whirl ing by the familiar little station with out a speck of a chance of getting off. Did you ever travel in the same car seat with two fat women with babies and bundles?" "No,"' I replied. "But I can conceive more pleasant positions." "Yet such has many a time been my fate," continued the late li. G. Jones, in spectr.d mournfulness. "I have trav eled with noisy drummers, with chat tering Italians, opium smelling Chinese, with every possible kind of man that it is unpleasant for a sensitive man liko I was to sit in the ,same seat with. Once, in desperation, I made myself visible to the conductor and pleaded with him to stop the train at Tutherford. He refused absolutely, and not only that, he de manded my ticket. I got out my com mutation card, seven years out of date, and handed it to him. He asked me if I thought he was a fool and used very violent and personal language. When I told him 1 could uot pay, he declared that he would put me off the train. 'Please leave me off at Tutherford,' I said foolishly. I have regretted those words greatly, for the man saw that nothing would suit me better than to get off the train, and he carried me to the end of the lint*. Since then I have in vain watched a chance to speak to some one who has a pull on the road. They have been wearisome years to me, and when tonight tho longed for oppor tunity came I seized it I saw you had a pass." "My dear Mr. Jones," I said, for I was deeply affected by the story of my companion, who, with his eyes filled with cloudlike tears, was now leaning 'eagerly toward me, awaiting my reply, "you have my sympathy. I have heard much of gi. .sts, but you uro the first I ever met. Your story is a sad one, and I will do what I can to alleviate your sufferings. I see what you want. You wish to have this car stopped at Tuther ford so that you can get off tlie tTain like an ordinary phantom and obey your instructions to haunt your own house.'' A look of joy and expectancy came over the phantom's face. "You have my wcnl that I will use my influence with n v . usin, the presi dent of the New York, Lackahudson and Western, to have this train stopped just once at Tutherford. I will take such steps as soon its I get back to town." "It is almost daylight, and we are approaching tho junction, where I al ways get off," said the late R. G. Jones. His voice was husky, but a gleam of hope und happiness transfused his face. "I must leave you now. It Is probable tha I will never be able to re pay your k.udness, Mr. Dockboy, but you will ha the consciousness of hav ing done a n,.bledeed in freeing a phan tom commuter from an awful thralL " Then ho gathered up his phantom bundles and walked down tho aisle, but before ho reached the dotir ho had pass ed frt 'in my sight I kept my word to him Many were the subterfuges I used to have the mid night express stopped at Tutherford, but 1 succeeded, thanks to my cousin, the presidentof the road, and the knowl edge that tho respectable and late R. G. Jones has at last got off that train at his late place of residence after 11 long years of travel has been to me a source of continued satisfaction-—Now York Sun. The Caw In AlterwL "See tho «lrl with the pug nose!" "Hush! She is worth |15,000,000 in her own right" "What a charming retrousse!"—Life- stately Diwcm uf <>l<l. The minuet is alroady known to many, wero it only through tho Innumerable pictures executed hy pustelists, now dead but still celebrated. The dainty gestures, tho graceful steps, tho sweeping courte sies, aro no s«joret to us, but the sara band and tho pa vane we do not know much about, although they aro well worth boing studied. The saraband Is what one might call an almost religious dance, ftir it is so deliberate, so solemn and yet so gracefully beautiful. Tlie cavaliers, when they bend before their fair partners, literally sweep the floor with their plumed hats, while tho la dies' brocades and laces flutter around them like the wings of some bright, hued butterfly about to take its flight. Tho promenade—a sort of polonaise—which follows, the couples marching with iru poniiiK demeanor behind one another, is, beyond everything else, becomingly dainty, although somewhat strait laced, but one cannot be anything but en chanted by something so entirely re moved from the hurry and scurry seen in our salons when dancing is written on the cards of invitation. Tlie pavane is sprightlier, more liko the gavotte, and bring* into constant play funs, well managed trains and again plumed hats, the tout ensemble making up a tableau of unsurpassed charm and aristocratic motion. The es sential qualities of all these dances are simplicity and grace, for they afford no opportunity for displays of gymnastics, of hurried athleticism,noforcoof biceps, no pushing or jolting or elbowing. They aro tho very essence of easy gliding and of keeping time to strains of melody, which remind one involuntarily of tho evanescent odor of some raro old per fume liko those we still find in tho silk en sachets made by our great-grund mothers. —Exchange. ilariiml Ci mm. In tho delta of tho (hinges a mysteri ous sound is sometimes heard, to which tho name of "Barisal guns" is given, because of its roHeinhlunco to the dull re port of distant artillery. Similar noises are well known to tho lighthouse keep ers siiill fishermen of Ostond and Bou logne, whocall them tho "mist pouffers, or fog dihMpators, and generally hear them on tho evening of a hot day in sum mer. Although the sounds aro compared to the detonations of guns, they are not very like these, and they occur at irreg ular inteivals. Their origin is enveloped in mystery, but some physicists regard them as electrical detonations, such as might be produced by flashes of ordinary lightning or tho explosion of globe light ning, while others refer them to the shocks of fluid matter in the bowels of the earth or the rumbling of slight earth quakes.—Puhlio Opinion. THE "OUT OF DATE" COUPLE. Wtj art- 4 *so out of daU.%" they ;«ay t Netl and 1; We low in an old fswhiomrd way. Long sin:-.* gono by. lit - «ys I ljii his h» lpmato true la evert thing. And I—Wil. I will own to you He is my king. We met in no romantic way Twist "glow and gloom." He wooed mo on u winter <lny And in—a room. Yet, thr igh life's hours of stress and storm, When uriefa befell. Love kept our small h >mv corner warm, And all was well. 2«ed thinks n«> woman like his wife— But le* . hat pas^; P« rhaps we view the dual life # Through roseate Even if the prospect be not bright. We holu it true The heaviest burdens rray grow light When shared l y two. Cpon the gilded scroll of fame, Emblar nod fair, I cannot hope to road the name I proudly bear; But. happy in their even flow. The yt j»rs glide by. We are behind the times, we know, Ned and I. —Chambers' Journal. THE WILL. I knew this tall young man who was called Rene de Bourneval. He was very agreeable in company, although a trifle sad, seeming to dislike everything, very skeptical—a formal and biting skep ticism—clever (specially in laying ban 1 in one word worldly hypocrisies. He often repeated, "There are no virtuous men—or at least they are only relative ly temperate. " He had two brothers whom he did not visit, the MM. de Court-ils. On account of their diftV rent names I believed him the offspring of a second marriage. I had been told on several occasions that a strange story had happened in this family, bnt no details had been given me. This man being entirely agreeable to mo, we were soon g>»xl friends. One evening, after I had dined with him, I accidentally asked him, "Were you tho oflspring of your mother's lirst or second marriage?" I saw him turn slightly pale, then blush, and he re mained some sec-onds without speaking, visibly embarrassed. Then he smiled in a sweet and melancholy manner which was peculiar to him and said: "My dear friend, if it does not tire you, I will give you some singular details of my parentage. I know you for an intelligent man. Ido not therefore fe» - your friendship for me will suffer, ar. if it should suffer I should no longer care to have you for a friend. "My mother, Mma de Court ils, was a poor, timid little woman, wh< .m her husband had married for her fortune. Her •vhole lj'e was a martyrdom Af fectionate, fi .irful, delicate, she was ill treated without intermission by him who should have lieen my father, ono of those churls who are called country gentlemen. After thoy had been married a month he lived with a servant. Ho had besides for mistresses the wives and daughters of his tenants. This did not prevent his wife from having two chil dren; including myself, tliree should be reckoned. My mother said nothing. She lived in that ever noisy house like those little mice that slip hi and out under the furniture. Effacing herself, flying away, trembling, she looked at people with her clear, restless eyes, which, always in motion, looked scared with the fear that never left them. She was still pretty, very pretty—very fair with a grayish fairness, u timid fair ness, as if her hair had faded it little from her incessant fear. "Among the friends of M. de Cour cils who came frequently to the castle was an old cavalry ofliter, a widower, a formidable man, tender and violent, capable of the most energetic resolves— M. de Bourneval, whose name I bear. He was a tall, spare fellow, with a heavy black mustache. I resemble him very much. This man had read and thought far more than those of his class. His great-grandmother had been a lover of Jean Jacques Rousseau, and it was said that he had inherited something from this connection of his ancestress. He knew by heart tho 'S<x-ial Con tract,' the 'New Heloise* and all those philosophical books which have prepared beforehand the future over throw of our ancient customs, of our prejudicial, our obsolete laws, our foolish moral* "Ho loved my mother, it appeared, and was loved by her. This affair was kept so secret that no one it The poor woman, sad and abandoned, clung to him desperately and imbibed all his habits of thought, theories of free opinion, boldness of independent love; but, ns she was so timid that she never durwl sjjeak loudly, till of it wtu driven batik, condensed, pressed into her heart, which was never opened. "My two brothers wero harsh to ward her, liko my father—did not caress her—and, accustomed to seeing that she did not count for anything in the house, treated her almost like a servant "I was the only oue of lux sons who really loved her and whom she loved. "She died. I was then 18. I ought to add, in order that you may under ptand what is to follow, tluit, by legal advice, her husband had been provided tor, and she had retained her own sepa rate estate, having, thanks to the arti fices of the law and the intelligent de votion of a notary, preserved the right to make her will as she pleased "We wer-', therefore, informed by this notary that, a will existed and in vited to bo present at its mtding. "I recall It as if it wero yesterday. It was a grand, dramatic, burlesque, surprising scene, called forth by the posthumous rpvolt of the dead woman, by tills cry of liberty, this claim from the depth of the grave of this m.-irtyr crushed by our morals during her life. From her shut coffin she threw a de spairing appeal towufH indt-jteudenco, "He who believed himself my fik ther, a stout, plethoric man, who put one in mind of a butcher, and my broth ers, two n(bust fellows of 20 and »2, waited tranquilly on their seats. M. do Bouruevul, who was invited to lie pres ent, entered and placed himself Ixiiind Die. His frock coat was buttoned tight ly. He was very pale, and ho often nib bled his mustache, now a little grizzled. He doubtless expected what was com ing. "The notary double looked the door und commenced the midinj, after hav ing in our presence broken the ivd wax |eal of the envelope, of whose contents he was ignorant" Suddenly my friend was silent, rose and took fro-i his secretary an old pa per, unfoldt d it, kissed it for a long time and n;;umed. "Hero is the last will of my dearly lovtd mother: " 'l, tlie undersigned, Anne-Cather ine (ieiievieve Matliilde de ('roixluce, lawful wife of Jean Leopild Joseph Gontran de Coureils, lieing of sound mind and lmdy, do hereby make my last wilL " 'I a*k ti of God ulnrve, and linn >f mydn-jir mn ltcur, fur what I am now to fUn 1 think my child 1* stout h.m ti (I enough to nnrl< r Ktand ami t<« forgive liu'. 1 have BUi?<-n<«l all my lifi". I wiw married from lonßld <ratioiiH of advaut ag>- «nd WHS nfti*rvv;ud deepiwd, flif-ri Karrtnl, op]ir« «Kni! mid de ceived uno<■ singly by my huKbimd. " 'J forgive him, but I owo him nothing. " 'My elder HOIIH have not loved me, have not cr.ri«s<<l m<', have wjuwly treated mo like a mother. " "I have been to them during my life all I should have been; after my death I no longer eve them ai • thing. The ties ft blo<<l do 11' t CI lltilli.i V. if! out the const.uit, sacred affect ion < f < ach day. An ungrateful son 1.-r l«>-thana straup r. He is a culprit, fi.r he has nt the right to 1»- indifferent to his m ther. " '1 have alwajs trembled b f .e mankind, before tin ir iniquitous laws their inhumrji custom'', their iufanu as prejudices. Before Ci. I no longer fear. Dead. I throw away fr, m ui< tl at shmneful hypocrisy: I dare to utter my tliwu,, "d to openly avow tlie secrets of my he... . " 'Therefore I • trust the whole of that part ci u v . . of which the law permits me to di-i-n.se to my dearly loved lovt r, Pierre ti< r mer Simon do Bourneval, afterward to revert to our dear son Rene.' (This will has been drawn up in ad dition, in a more formal manner, by a notary.) " 'And before the Supreme Judge, who hears me, I declare that I should have cursed heaven and my existence if I had not found the deep, devoted, tender, un shaken affect ion of my lover, if I had not learned u his aims that the Creator has made human beings to love, to sus tain und to console each other ;uid to weep together in hours of bitterness. " 'My two eldest sons are the chil dren of M. deCourcils. Rene alone owes his existence to M. de Bourneval. 1 pray the Ruler of mankind and their desti nies to place the father and son above social prejudices, to make them love each other until their death, und love me still in my grave. " 'Such are my last thoughts and my last- desire.' "M. do Coureils had risen. He cried, 'That Is the will of a mad woman.' Then M. tie Btmrucvul stepped forward and declared in a loud and decisive voice: 'I, Simon tie Bourneval, declare that this writing contains only the strict truth. lam ready to prove it by letters in my possession.' "Then M de Coureils walked to ward him. I thought they would seize each other by the Collar. There they stood, both l".11, the tno stout, the oth er spare, quivering. The husband of my mother stammeringly articulated, 'You are a villain!' The other said, in a ilry, vigirous tone: 'We will meet in another plate, monsieur. I should havo affronted and provoked y< u a long time ago if I had not valued above all else tlie tran.piillity during her life of tho ptxir woman whom you have made to suffer so much.' "Then he turned toward me: 'You are my son. Will you come with me? I have not the right to ttike you a.vuy, but I will take you if yon wish to accom pany me.' "I pressed his hand without answer ing. Indeed, I was almost overcome. "Two days later M. de Bourneval killed M. do Coureils in a duel. My brothers, afraid of a frightful scandal, kept silence. I transferred to them and they accepted their share of the fortune left by my mother. "I took th" name of my true father, renouncing that which tho law gave and which was not mine. "M. de Bourneval died five years ago. I have not yet found consolation for my grief." Ho rose, took sevt ral stejis, and, plac ing himself in front of me, said: "Well, I say tluit my mother's will Was one of tho most beautiful, most loyal, grandest things a woman could accomplish. Isnot that your opinion?" I stretched out both hands to him, "Yes, surely, my friend."—Guy de Maupassant New Orleans Trunin Court*. "I was walking out St Charles uv enne this morning," said a northern visitor, '"and I saw several tenuis courts the lines of which were marked out on tho sward by grass of u different color from that which carpotcd tho cou/t. I made Inquiries ;;l*>ut th« mat ter and found that in arly all the New Orleans tennis ground.-! were marked jjff in that way. It is a very pretty idea, and one that I luive never seen any where elso. " New Orleans Times- Democrat A Prelatf'n Kloquence. In 1104, when Henry I was In Nor mandy, a prelate named Serlo preached Ao eloquently against the. fashion of wearing long huir that tho monarch und his courtiers were moved to tears Taking advantage of the impression he had produced, the enthusiastic prel ate whipped a pair of scissors out of hifl sleeves and cropped tho whole congrega tion.—London Fun. HOW THEY DINED. Thn Methodn of tbx Kubllhli ut Table In the Heventeentli Century. Tho old English had throo meals a day, of which tho chief meal was taken when tho worlr of the day was finished. The first moul was at 9, dinner was about a o'clock, and supper was taken just before bedtime. The Normans dined at the old Ebglish breakfast time or a little later and supped at 7 p. m. In Tudpr times th<i higher classes dined al 11 and supped at 6, but the merchants seldom took their meals before 1U and <> o'clock. Tho chief meals, dinner and supper, wero taken in tho hall both by the old English and tho Normans, for the parlor did not come into use until tho reign of Elizabeth. Breakfast did not become a regular meal until quito lately, and Dr. Murray, in the Oxford Dictionary, gave 14(53 as the date of tho earliest, quota tion in which tho word occurred. Tho meal did nt# become recognized until Into in the seventeenth century, for Popys habitually look his draft of half a pint of Rhenish wine or a dram of strong waters in place of a morning meal. Dinner was always the great meal of tint day, and from the accession of Henry IV to the death of Eliza beth tho dinners wore as sumptuous and extravagant as any of those now served. Carving was then a lino art. Each guest brought his own knifo and spoon, for tho small fork was not introduced into England until Thomas Coryate of Odcombo published his "Crudities" in 1(511. Popys took his spion and fork with him to tho lord mayor's feast in 1(5<1!J. Tho absence of forks led to much stress being laid upon the act of wash ing tile hands both before and after meals and to tho rule that tho left hand alone should bo dipped into tho com mon dish, the right hand being occupied with tho knifo. Tlie perfect dinner at tho best time of English cookery consisted of throe courses, each complete in itself, and ter minated by a subtlety or device, the whole being rounded off with ypocras, after which the guests retired into an other room, where pastry, sweetmeats and fruit were served with tho choicer winos. The English were essentially meat eaters, and it was not until tho time of the commonwealth that pud ding attained its extraordinary populari ty. Indeed, the first mention of pudding in tho menus of the "Buckfoust" ut St. Bartholomew's hospital did not occur until 1710, and in 1712 is an item of 0 shillings fur ice.—London Times. The honey of tho snnislragon cannot bo extracted by tlie common bee, which has not weight enough to pull down tho lower jaw of this curious flower; only tho liumblebeo has aocoss to tho interior. Nothing is more silly than tho pleas ure some people take in "speaking their minds." A man of this make will say a rude thing for tho mere pleasure of say ing. i MOONRISE SERENADE. MoonrUo and a mellow *h-t n All th- Hlnmbrotui hill* are steeping?. Wake, mv §weet on-*, nor be Hleepinsr Through sirwt Cyuthla a -ft*■*% phasae— Wake lii.d rise and hwifuy To thy lattice, ?v»vt. for, «.h. One who w<». »«b th**o f r hi» bride fifghi'th fa ore below! I lovo you! I love jroa! My heart, I mast confom. Con no more Jove you n»*»re Th.ui it csai low y u less. Moourla**' Through tho oaftcment blind, Lo, thi widen lon-llght fitrx ai!!ing- Lady. la«.y, pant my dreaming, Thou art kind, most kind! Ho who luard thy gartner Swiftly o\ rth happy « r. He who wooed thee f«>r his bride *Sigh< ;h now no more. I lc v ;i thto! I love th****! My heart—i h. fness!— Oan liever love th* "nor '. Need never love theo 1« —O. K. Bell in New Orleans Times-Democrat SHE RODE FOR FI N. ".Tim." said 1, breaking in upon his ditty, "what was the yarn yt u were go ing to toll about the time yon enginecr rd that English hunting party through the Bear Paw mountains?" We were riding along the "Brail which stretches its serpentine length at the feet of the eternally grand old Rockies between Forts McLeod and Calgary on a bright, warm ufternoon in January. When they liave a "chinook" out there, sp rting in its rude, b listen .us, yet withal genial fashion, through the deep defiles of the mountains fn-m over the Pacific, with a nimble like Niagara at a distance and a force which makes you button your coat up tightly to keep it firm blowing < -ff. the snow soon van ishes even in midwinter, and the ther mometer jumps fit in "40 below" to "temperate" so suddenly that you won der if the sun hufl not wheeled himself several degree out of his normal course at Btich a season or the breath of an ap pn aching prairio fire is not fanning your cheek Tlir singer gave the wad of tobacco in Ills jaw a twist with his t< ngne and aimed an amber jet at a "bulldog" on his horse's ear before turning upon me a pair of glistening eyes, with black points set in saucers <f milk, a short, impudent nose and » rather weak mouth, round the corners of which lurked u musing smile. Then, after a pause, he said: "Oh, yes. Well, Littlefield was the chief of the outfit, an he hod his wife along—fine, spankin woman, good to look at There was another Englishman —a great shot—called Wells, an a nig ger cook, a big, slashin buck, but with no mo' sand in him than a pusillani mous jack rabbit. Lord, how we did scan 1 that poor critter! His teeth used to chittcr like a squirrel's; it's a wonder he didn't shake 'em out of his big wool ly head. " Fraidof his own sliadder after night, an he'd make one any time, even if it was pitch dark, he was so infunal black You might as soon git this here buzzard head I'm a-ridln t<> stand on one leg as coax that nigger to mosy outside the flare o' the campfire after sundown fer a pail o' watf r or fer any other pu'pos', fer the matter o' that. You see, he as a 'pilgrim'—never been on a layout < f this sort afore, mi he was that bliuned tender a goat would nibble him. "But, I b'leeve, to talk Christian, I \vn- partly re-sponsiblo fer his be in so extray-ordinary skittish. 110 sta'ted oncet < r twieec for \v ater after night to a crick quite handy, sho'tly after we went into camp. I Jest stepped off 15 paces into the pines an let a 'yoe-ow' or two out ef me, mi Jumbo, he throw ed ba»'k his ears au veiled—toe-rilHc, I tell you—an conic praiioin up to the campfire—jest techin high spoW, you understand—with his two sighters stick in out like the knobs on the horns of a ornery freight ox, shakin like a sick cow in a north wind, tin dcrn a pail in sight. "After that a Quaker meetin nor a cyclone wouldn't budge him, an if yon asked him to put a tree between him an the blaze after dark he'd weep like, a wolf. All that woman! No—she didn't laugh none —o-oli, no-ol" And Jim lay hack In his saddle und sent a jH'al echoing up among the foothills which shook the few lingering traces of soft snow from tlio branches of the spruces. That Jim waa a "mule skinner" di.es not imply that ho was expert at remov ing hides—in toto. Simply that ho be longed to that select bunch of frontiers nien whose superlative boast is that they can drive or ride "anything that weal's hair"—that ho was passed master in the craft of teamstorism. He adjusted the pistols in his belt, gave a forward tilt to his broad rimmed buckskin hat and a hitch to his fringed leather "oh .ps," and kicked his big, jingling Mexican spurs against his cay- UKO'S flanks before resuming: "Hut I wi.3 a-goin to till you 'liont Mis' Li'l Held. She was a mighty flue woman, as I suid before, au well put up —fond of out of door sport an of ridin in partie'lar. Well, one bright, warm morn in Ll'i'field an Wells went of huntil), an I got orders (I was teamster an guide to the outfit, you know) to move camp acrosst the 'divide'—about 20 mile—in the meantime. So, aft*"- breakfast an the dishes hed Is-en wiped, we packed Op the outfit on struck camp, but it was well on in tho day before we pulled out. "Now, Mis' LiTflcld hed a spaukin bay hoss specially fer her own use. 1 liedn't no objections to her ridin, <if commonly. But you know it ain't jest nice to 1)0 rollin down a blamed co'kscrew mount'in trail after dark an gettln into ciunp late an hevln to plant yer tents an square things out., cut yer kindlin IUI git }-er water by cat light an wall till 0 o'clock, mobbe, fer yer supper. Tins was what hod happen ed different times through Mis' LiT flold She allers wanted to 'ride' when we shifted camp an follered tho wagon on her bay hoss. It was unde'stood that when I was goin too fast or hed got too fur in the lead she would wave her luuidkerchor, an 1 was to slack up or It op till she k etched the wagon. So 1 jest, uattorly 'lowed I'd give her a song uu dance, licvin a pretty smart day ahead o' me ui wantin to git into camp early. Consekently I told the nigger— who rode with me—not to h>ok back. "When we sta'ted, uf co'so the fust ten mile or so was up hill mostly, an I Couldn't truvel extra fast, so it was 'bout 2 when we hit the summit, an everything Led went lovely. Tlien we hed a little 'hand out," an the descent begun. ''l didn't l<we no timet The mules itepjx d out gay* me a-poppln the buck- ( <kin among 'em oncet an awhile j«*st to keep 'em choe'ful all iu good humor, all the hill—well, chain lightnin could go down—with britchln. I liedn't went a great ways when 1 hoerd a fur off call— like a coyote got astray. Jvunbo shifted kind of uneasylike on the seat an squinted sideways at me, but I was a-w iilst lin 'The Oal With the Travail Train,' and didn't see nor hear notliin, <if CO'SK Pretty soon the nigger lie couldn't set peaceful an no longer an si<<idod a Jook I ■chin. Then ho leaned forrard, 'th his ban's 'tween his knees, an chuckled to hissolf. 1 paid no manner of notice. Now he screws KKUid again in his s.sit. chuckles, an twists a lltt.lo hairier, squints at mo •hleways again, an suyst " 'She's a-wnvin, Jim. 1 " 'Set still, you blamed black breast ed sandpiper,' says I. 'Let 'or wave.' "He was tol'abul quiet fer a sho't space, wliilo you might cut a pine of ISroTIS? terbacker, mebbe. The calls sounded pretty faint now Far back pp the nicky trail 1 coulo ketch the clear, sharp ring of her hoss' hoof*—pit-e-pat! pit-e- IMit! pit-e-pat!—remiudiu me somethin of one of th« m K'ds fit>m the east down . m H< i t n ehuKsayin np an down the r>* i in a uewiaugled wardance they call the Uusiiiu Polkay. "Jumo'S he.ul swung an rand again >ii its piv *. He wjuinned an twisted an chuc.khsl some more. The fun was r<*> fast fer his ornery, woolly scalp, an lie bu'st < ut "'Dahl she waves, Jim. Now—now! she waves. I)aii—dah! she's a-wavin. Now—now! sh' s a-wavin, Jim. Now! sh» waves. Jim Jim— Jim! she Wiiv s. Jim— -he waves!—she waves!— -he waves." "Here he tbrowed < at his wings—un dulatinlike an very takin an winds up in a loud Vah, yah. yah!'—doublin hiss, if up an ■ ntortin an roll in round on the seat till 1 tlionght he'd drop out 0 the v, agm. the most extropu lous coon 1 evei^ec—that's right! I tried to kick him under the sent, but fact is, I was u-laughin at him till I was nigh uon campus Memphis myself. " 'Pit-e-pat! Pit-e-pat! Pit-e-pat!' come from far back in the distance. "Now I commenced to pull in my mules. We were gittin pretty well down the slope an a few mr : re would fetch us to the camp pro: (I lied changed 'The Gal With 'ie' - ail Train' fer 'The Old I Lett Beliio de.') It was still middlin early in tl. Jter noon an mighty hot After awhi I got my team down to a walk an befcre long 1 hoerd the hoss' hoofs comin cluster. "I turned around an watched her as she come up. Bay! I've eat canned lobsters an heerd talk of spankod babies —but you'd oughtor seen that woman's face! *• • Whoosh! To sta't a lire fer the pu'pose o' toustin a baunack while she wer' round an that color lasted, us the poet says, 'wer' unnecessary.' But that wa'n't all, neither. She was mad clean through—as a sage hen with a bnxKl of young uns; it stuck out In pints all over her. An you could set 1 where the tears hod left marks on her cheeks, through the dust, an her hair was like a shower bath on her shoulders. " 'How could you be so moon, Jim,' she says. " 'Well—you see, mum—er —this her>'—ah—blamed hill is so confounded ornery pu'peudje'lar—uli—l couldn't hold 'em up—'poll honor I couldn't!' "Of co'se I guess she didn't b'leeve me ha'dly, but what could she say? We traveled pretty slow the rest of the road to camp I iliil feel tarnation moan, us well as sony fer her, an that's right! I wanted to kick myself, to moke myself feel—er—all—< incomfortabie. I lied liulf a mind to make Jumbo do it But then, he was a nigger, an didn't know nothiu. "Well, Li'l'field got his leg broke sho'tly after an that bu'st np tno expe dition—got into a wrestle with a grizzly an took second money, 110 left his hoss an went close to git a good pull, but the bear was i nly wounded an charged. He waltzed with him. I reckon it 'ud 'a' been all day with Li'l'field if Wells hedn't been nigh. He was a dead shot, you know. As it was, lie got out of it with u broken thigh an a gash in his hip from the bear's claw you might cache n flask in. So as soon as ho could be moved, we went into Helena an they left for England. "Ehlf On, tke woman! Why—well, she nde with me on the wagin after that when wo mo\ed camp—Jest orner ly didn't can- to much as look ut a sad dle fer more'n a week. When she shook I;u's on says goodby (an 1 w;is real Borry to see the lust of her), she looks at mo an smiles an says: " 'An Jim, next time we come to Montana to hunt, try iui pick us out a span of mules that ain't so hard to hold up, will you i l ' "An I hanged my head, like a denied idjut, mi said 1 would."—William Blcasdcll Cameron in Ban Francisco Ar gonaut Mile. Hugo. M Trebuchet, who died in Paris the other day, was the guardian of Mile. Allele Hugo, the insane daughter (if the poet, now aliout tlO years old. The for tune which Mllu. Hugo inherited has increased under the management of M. Trebuchet, so that she is now, French pa l«>rs suy, several times u millionaire. She is confined in a private asylum, lier only pleasure being to visit the theater. It is always difficult, howvver, to get her t«> leave the building after the per formance, as she thinks a play never ends. TROLLEY CARS IN ROME. Bow They Are Equipped to Mount the IIIUs of the Eternal City. The Eternal City, "Rome of Ciesar, Rome of Peter," has been invaded again, this time by the trolley oar. The road connects the main railway station with the center ol the city. It starts from the Piazza San Silvostro and goes up the Via di Capo de Case and then through the Ludovisiau quarter to tho Piazza dl Termiui. It is a double track and is nearly two miles long. The power stution is locuted on the slope of tho Sabine hills, und the olec trioity is generated from turbines placed in the waterfulls übout 18 miles out of the city. Power is conveyed to tho city by four large cubles that run into a transformer house near tho Porta Pia. The cars, like all stock on European trolley lines, are model vehicles. They are flooded with light at night, and in stead of signaling the conductor wbuu oue wants to stop all he has to do is to press a button on the seat behind him. Some of the bills on the lino aro so steep ilmt special brakes ure necessary. Both li.nid and foot brakes uro used, ono acting dn tho wheels directly and the other on the rails. In addition there is an electric emergency bruke, which will stop the enr in a few ynrds, even when going quickly down hill The principle of it consists in short circuiting tho mo tors, which are then driven us dynamos by tho momentum of the cur, which is thus rapidly stopped. An American company strung the overhead wi: and equipped tho cars.— Buffalo Commercial. A Doubtful Compliment. Bishop Lawrence of Massachusetts was up at. the capitol the other day, and his presence recalled to the mind of u good Episcopaliun senator u story which the bishop told on himself. At the time of the story the bishop was dean of tho seminary ut Cambridge. Phillips Brooks hud just been elected bishop and hud accepted, when one fine morning President Eliot of Harvard met Dean Lawrence on the street. "The church bus made the greatest mistake of a lifetime," said tho presi dent to the dean. "Brooks was the pivot around which we revolved in Boston. Now you have spread him out ull over Massachusetts. 1 toll you it is it mistake, u great mistake. Any oue would do for bishop." Time rolled on, uud death cluimed Bishop Brooks, and later Deun Luwrenou was chosen his successor. A few days after ho again met President Eliot, and the latter was most warm in his con gratulations. "My dear bishop," he said, "I must Congratulate you. Tho church couldn't have made u better selection. I thought you should have been tho choice when Brooks wus chosen." The bishop laughs as heartily as any one over the incideut.—Washington Times.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers