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PROFESSIONAL CARDS OF _ BELLEFONTE. C. T. Alexander. C. M. Bower. A LKXANDER & BOWER, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. BKLLKFONTK, PA. Office In Garm&n's new building. JOHN B. LINN, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BKLLKFONTK, PA. Office on Allegheny Street. OLEMENT DALE, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BKIXEroNTS, PA. Northwest corner of Diamond, Y° CUM 4 HASTINGS, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. BELLKFONTE. PA. High street, opposite First National Bank. C. HEINLE, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BKLLKFONTK. PA. Practices in all the courts of Centre County. Spec al attention to Collections. Consultations in German or English. ILBUR F. REEDER, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BKLLKFONTK, PA All bus'ness promptly attended to. Collection or claims a speciality. J. A. Beaver. J. W. GepUart. JJEAVE* A GEPHART, ATTORNEYS AT LAW, BKLLKFONTK, PA. Office on Alleghany Street, North of High. W. A. MORRISON, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA. Office on Woodrlng's Block, Opposite Court House. JY S. KELLER, ATTORNEY AT LA W, BELLEFONTE, PA. Consultations in English or German. Office In Lyons Building, Allegheny Street. JOHN G. LOVE, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BKLLKFONTK, PA Office In the rooms formerly occupied by the late w. p. Wilson. BUSINESS CARDS OF MILLHEIM, &C. A. STURGIS, * DEALER 151 Watches, Clocks, Jewelry, Silverware, Ac. Re pairing neatly and promptly don* and war ranted. Main Street, opposite Bank, M llhetm, Pa. O DEININGER, * NOTARY PUBLIC. SCRIBNXR AND CONVEYANCER, MILLHEIM, PA. All business entrusted to htm, such as writing and acknowledging Deeds, Mortgages, Releas* s, Ac., will be executed wbh neatness aud dis patch. Office on Main Street. ~¥~T H. TOMLINSON, * DEALER IN ALL KINDS OF Groceries. Notions, Drugs, Tobaccos, Cigars, Fine Confectioneries and everything in the line of a flrst-clasa Grocery st jre. Country Produce taken In exchange for goods. Main st eet, opposite Bank, Ml lhelin Pa. I. BROWN, MANUFACTURER AND DEALER IN TINWARE, STOVEPIPES, Ac., SPOUTING A SPECIALTY. Shop on Main Street, two houses east of Bank, Mlllhelm, Peima. T EISENHUTH, * JUSTICE OF THE PEACE, MILLHEIM, PA. All business promptly attended to. collection of claims a specialty. Office opposite Eisenhuth's Drug Store. 1* USSER & SMITH, DEALERS IN Hardware, Stoves, Oils, Paints, Glass, Wall Paper-, coach Trimmings, and Saddlery Ware, Ac., Ac. All grades of Patent Wheels. Corner of Main and Fenn Streets, Mlllhelm, Fenna. JACOB WOLF, FASHIONABLE TAILOR, MILLHEIM, PA. Cutting a specialty. shop next door to Journal Book Store. JJJILLHEIM BANKING CO., MAIN STREET, MILLHEIM, PA. A. WALTER.Cashier. DAV. KRA.PE, Pres. HARTER, AUCTIONEER, REBERSBURQ. PA. Jatisfaetlon Guaranteed. lie Pillleiw Smirmtl Lightly I hold my life with little dread. And little hope for what may spring tlx ro from. llut live like oue that builde hie Summer's home For coolness on a dried-lip river bed. And takes no thought for frescoed blue or red. To paint the walls, an 1 pans uo golden dome. Knowing the flood, when Autumn rains are come. Shall roll its raving waters overhead. Ai d wherefore should I plant my ground and sow ? Siuce, though I know not of the day or hour. The Couquerer comes at last, the alien foe SSliall come to my defenceless place in power. With force, with arms, with ruinous over throw, Taking the goods I gathered for his dower. The Sister of Mercy. In the chamber on the first floor in the Avenue Montaigne, a woman was dying. From the apartment itself, which was al most empty, it would be difficult to dis cover to what class of society the dying woman belonged. The salon was empty. Not a siugle piece of furniture remained in it. Some old blue velvet curtains were still hanging at the windows, doubtless lie cause the brokers had disdained to take them. It was old velvet, yellow at every crease, and eaten away by dust. In what had been the dining room, there remained only a dilapidated caue-seated chair and a little table of white wood, covered with Unties of all kinds. On the floor were two or tliree dirty towels, still wet, a sponge and a chipped salad bowl, that served as a washing basin. The bed-room was evidently the only room that the bailiffs had spared. There, a threadbare carpet still covered the floor. At the foot of the bed was a large arm chair placed as if it were a sentry-box. Tlia stuff curtains had been left, but a practiced eye would have seen by the rents in the muslin eurtaius that a rapacious hand had torn away tlie laee. Two billets of wood were smoking sadly in the fireplace, haviug for sole companion a kettle, from which emerged two or three leaves covered with a white foam. The room was lighted from a sanded courtyard in the midst of which a close-cropped grass plot humiliated itself at the foot of an rcacia. The leaves had fallen ; the black, gnarled branches, twisted iuto knots, were waiting for the rays of spring in order to put on a little verdure. "Madeleine," murmured the sick woman, "I am thirsty." A woman of some fifty years, who was standing by the window, came up to the bedside and poured a few drops of potion into a glass. Then she raised the head of her mistress, approaching the glass to her lips, and said: "Does Madame la Comptesse suffer much ?" "Yes, there is fire there," replied the sick woman, placing an emaciated hand on her breast. The woman, who was dying thus in a de serted and desolate room, was no other than the Comptesse de San Castelii, about whom there was so much talk a few years ago. Now, of her past luxury, there remained only an Indian shawl of a reddish brown, embroidered with gold, in which, she wrapped herself up for want of a bed cover. The success of the Countess in the world of fashion liad not been forgotten, and more than one European Prince still keeps a me dallion in which the features of the fallen idol have remained young aud smiling. To day her black liair seems to fatigue her enfeebled head with its weight; life has already retreated from her hollow cheeks and pale brow. A diy aud jerky cough tears her bosom; at the age of thirty-five death has marked her as his own. A sovereign, who had enriched her, had left before her for the regions where go the souls of those who have souls. The Prince X., her third loved, has ruined himself aud disappeared. The Banker L., who had given the Countess her hotel in the Avenue Jena, can no longer even pay his margins at the Bourse. It is only by a miracle that he has been able to escape the hand of the law. He was not declared a bankrupt personall)',but the company that he directed has gone to join the swarm of companies that are of no account. Raoul is in Africa with his regiment; Gontran is married ; Adrien has disappeared. A hurricane of ruin has blown upon all her old adorers. The two or tliree who have held out have been wearied by repeated requests for money ; another is placed in such an ele vated position that he is unapproachuble. The Countess has sold her jewels, one by one, and after her jewels her toilets, and after her toilets her furniture. She has still but one only friend, Dr. D , whose fortune she made, but Dr. D himself, whose fortune has been en croached upon by unlucky speculations, has scarcely anything to live upon but the income obtained from his practice. Still he comes to see the Countess every morn ing, aud after each visit he leaves a louis on the corner of the chimney piece. It is this daily louis that has hitherto kept the Coun tess and her chambermaid. Madeleine, who has seen the horses and arriagesand diamonds, who ri members tlie days when the Countess had fifteen servants and fifty admirers, cannot believe that these times will not return. As for the husband of the Countess, he never knew liis wife. The marriage was ar ranged by the Prince de M , and a post of three thousand francs a year was given to the ruined descendant of a great family in exchange for his title, lie saw his wife during the marriage ceremony, then lie took possession of his post, and sometimes read with mediocre interest in the newspapers that the Oorntesse de San Castelii was ob taining great success at St Petersburg and at Pari6. It did not seem to him that she was his wife, and when he was questioned on the subject tlie Count replied coldly : "I believe that she is a relation who has turned out badly. Madeleine had passed more that thirty nights in the large arm-chair at the foot of her mistress' bed. The doctor said: "That woman needs rest There are Sisters of Charity who have imposed upon themselves the mission of watching over the sick. I will send oue here to-night." At six o'clock a little sharp aud rattling THE ONE CERTAINTY. Ml LI.II KIM. PA., THURSDAY, AUGUST 5, 1880. noise was heard, produced by a hell-rope pulling a broken spring. Madeleine went and opened the door. The Sister of Charity followed her. "Here are the potions," said Madeleine, *'this one every ten minutes, that one every hour. There is still a little wood in the corner." Madeleine went io share the bed of a chambermaid, a frifnd of Iters, who lodged in a neighboring hotel, and the Sister of Charity took her seat at the foot of the bed. Mine, tie San Cast el li asked to drink. She sister raised her head gently ; then the siek woman, instead of drinking, fixed her large black eyes on the face of the Sister. "How old are you?" she asked. "Eighteen years, madatne." The Countess murmured to herself: "Eighteen years !"• drank greedily, and re sumed, as she let her head fall hack on the pillow: "Do you know that I am going to die ?" "They did not tell me so, Madame; jht lmps there is still a possibility of saving you." "Saving me!" cried the Countess, with irouy, "and why? Life means youth and beauty. lam already dead, my child." The Sister opened the book of her order which she had brought with her and liegan to read. This young girl had the most charming face that artist ever dreamed of. Hers was an improbable beauty, shining forth with sweetness and holiness. The white band that confined her pure ivory brow hid her hair, leaving visible only her eyebrows, which might have been traced with Indian ink, so delicate and correct were their lines. The Com tease de Sau Uaslelli contem plated her with admiration and envy. Sud denly she exclaimed ; "Are your vows eternal ?" "Yes, Madame." "What is your name ?" "Sister Rose de Lima." "But your family name ?" "It is forbidden us to reveal it, Mad ame." "Why?" "It is the rule of the order." "Stili, you may tell me if you have any parents ?" "None, Madame." "Your mother?" "I never knew her." "Your father?" ' 'lie is dead." Wearied with so persistent an investi gation lister Rose de Lima asked gently if she would have a little tisaue. "No, thank you," replied the countess, and then suddenly she added : "You are more dead than I am, young girl ! To morrow, perhaps, a spadeful of earth will bury even my memory, but 1 have had of life all that life can give. * You will only have known walls, bars and silence—dry bread, prayers and austerity. When 1 en tered a salon I used to raise a murmur of admiration as J passed along. I have made queens and princesses weep wit li rage. The horses pranced at my door and adorers crowded my staircase. I have worn on my brow a diamond that Scmiraimus would have envied, and I have melted more pearls than Cleopatra. Noise, movement, luxury, flattery; all that I have exhausted, with out departing from an inflexible motto: 'Slnne, seduce, and love not.' Poor young girl, you might have all that if you wished—" The Sister of Charity rose: "What are you talking about, Madame? Do you not see what these vanities are ? You have had alt that, and 1 am happier thau you are. If I had need of consolation, the history of Mary, the sister of Martha, would suffice. For me a contemplative life has replaced an active life. In the depths of my solitude 1 love to lose myself in mute adoration, and I forget the world that passes in view of the world which does not pass." The voice of the young nun had assumed a sonority full of enthusiasm. "Just now," she added, "you spoke to me of my father. I received his last sigh and his last benediction. 1 cultivate that cherished souvenir like a precious plant, aud I should tear to see it withered outside of the retreat that I have chosen Mme. de San Castilli interrupted her: "Vanities, did you sa)' ? And what is life without its cortege of pleasures? In hu man passions there is sometimes a mixture of the gigantic. To be beautiful is to reign. A cavalier who leved me killed himself at ray feet.; he gave me there what he would have given to uo other. I have been adored like a goddess of antiquity. To make one's self the rival of God is something high and terrible. Little as our life is, it is enlarged by pleasures, and takes a peculiar iuport ance by the profusion of our disdains and the number of our victims!" Sister Rose de Lima placed her hands on the Countess' lips as if to arrest her words. "You are feverish," she said. "You blaspheme and pain me." A Mme. tie San Castelii seemed to reflect. "Nevertheless, I have loved. 1 have loved once in my life. I was sixteen. What has become of htm ? I was carried away in the whirlpool of life. But if he were here my life would lie sweeter. Open that casket, I pray you, Sister. Here are my papers— My certificate of birth —Florence, 10 Oc tober—Maria Theodora Dasti." The Sister advanced slowly toward the bed, holding out ner hands. "The mau whom you loved," she mur mured, "was named Gabriel?" "Yes," cried the dying woman, "Ga briel de Beryls, flow do you know that ? "It was he who brought me up." "Your father?" "Gabriel de Beryls." The Countess continued wildly : "You were horn in Italy, lie brought you to France after my treason—and he is dead!" The poor woman sobbed. Sister Rose de Lima had fallen on her knees and hidden her face iu her hands. The Countess seized her and covered her with feverish, passion ate kisses. "You aid not, then, know who I was when you came here ?" "My father never pronounced the name of Castelii." "True; for him I was never anything but Theodora Dasti. But tell me, how did he die ? What did lie say ?" • "He died with one hand in mine and the other in that of his best friend—an old man —a priest." The Countess raised up her daughter. "You are my redemption," she eried "I die in peace. Go, fetch me that old man." —An Eiigiisn nrin soiu 8000 fire proof safes in Turkey belore it was as certained that the tilling was only saw dust. Thw Water Lily Down in the depths of the river near the shore where Uie mud and slime were not swept away by the current, grew a humble plant. The flags pressed about it, and thrust their leaves like green swords through the water up into the brightness and pure air, and the eel-grass made a tangled net work alxive it. No one expected the little plant to amount to much. But lying there in the ooze, it thought; "The water is luminous over my head. There is more brightness above than I have iiad. The tlags aud the rushes swaying and fluttering up there whisper together of ihe warm south wind, the gray clouds, and the glory of the sun. if I only could rise ! If 1 only could !" By-and-hy the plant sent forth a leaf, an (Hid, round thing like a fan, and slowly it lifted the leaf on 'he summit of its flexible stem toward the surface of the water. "llo! Ho I" laughed the polliwogs. flouncing by, "what a droll leaf! When it gets to the surface, and we are froge, 'twill be a tine seat for us while we sing, 'Trick-sa-trix, Triek-sa-lrix,' and our old papa plays the trombone." "Pray, don't be too pushing." said the duckweed. "You're as well off as the rest of us. A plant of yoir condition ought to be modest. Don'the too pushing; no good will come of it." The humble plant gave no heed to its neighbors' comments, but patiently lifted the round leaf a little higher each day. One morning it felt a strange electric thrill. The leaf had reached the surface of the riv er, and the suu shone upon it; aud the tall flags parted a little to make room, while they whispered kindly "G(xxt morning, neighbor." Soon the humble plant found a round, green hall in its bosom. "All! this is a hud," it said to itself. "It shall go up to my happy kaf, and there expand the loveliness I know is hidden with in it. Patiently as it had lifted the leaf the plant lifted the hud toward the sunshine. The dreamy summer day went by, and at last the round bud opened its sepals, and like a radiant, golden-hearted star of snow, a blossom lay upon the river and looked into the sky. The red-winged blackbirds flitting to ami Iro among the flags, sang of it; the south wind breathed its spicy fra grance; the tall flags whispered: "How beautiful! how beautiful! ' and the hope of the humble plant was fulfilled. Bertram Krause was the son of a poor lalx>rer. llis father wanted him to become a smith. "Ah! now, if Bertram could shoe an ox, or mend a cart-wheel, that's all I'd ask," lie would say. But Bertram had different aspirations for himself. He wished to become an art ist and paint great pictures like tnose in the cathedral, into which he often stole to dream and hope. With a bit of charcoal he could sketch anything, and the lads thought it fine spori to he his models; but his father declared such idling wicked, and said : "Who are you, Bertram Krause, to de spise honest work such as your father has done all his life? You will never le worth your salt." Oue day, Bertram went to the river hank to cut flags. He worked industriously all the morning, and at noon, when he sat down upon the shore to eat his bread and cheese, he was hot, and after he had eaten he stretched himself upon the grass and feli asleep. When he awoke the first thing lie saw was a water-lily shining white among the flags. "Hurrah!" lie cried, "Hurrah! a water lily!" and quickly springing up, he waded into the water and picked it. With the blossom came the long, trailing stem, the mud and slime still clinging to it. "This beauty is lowly born," lie thought, as he smelled its spicy fragrance, and with that thought a plan and a hope came into his mind. His mother was a quiet woman, who had learned to watch aud wait, and she sympa thized with, and encouraged Ins dreams. To her he went with his plan, and she pro cured for him a sheet of coarse paper and some crayons. With all the skill he had, he drew a sketch of the river, the tlags and the water lily amidst them and when it was done he carried it tremblingly to a great artist in the city. Years rolled away and at the yearly art exhibition at Munich a picture appeared representing a summer sky, a tangle of reeds and flags, a stretch of sullen river, and upon the grassy shore a ragged bare foot boy who was holding a water lily at which he gazed with' a look of love ana joy. "That," said an artist, "is by the cele brated Bertram Krause, and is called the dawn of hope." Supporting tlie Gun*. Did you ever see a battery take posi tion ? P It hasn't the thrill of a cavalry charge, nor the grinraefls of a line of ba}'onets moving slowly und determinedly on, but there is a peculiar excitement about it that makes old veterans rise in their saddles and cheer. We have been fighting at the edge ot the woods. Every cartridge-box lias been emptied once and more, and a fourth of the brigade lias melted away iu dead and wounded and missing. Not a cheer is heard iu the whole brigade. We know that we are being driven foot by foot, and that when we break hack once more the line will go to pieces and the enemy will pour through the gap. Here comes help! Down the crowded highway gallops a battery, withdrawn from some other posi tion to save ours. The field fence is scat tered while you could count thirty, and the guns rush for the hill behind us. Six horses to a piece—three riders to each gun. Over dry ditches where a farmer would not drive a wagon, tin ougli clumps cf bushes, over logs a foot tlnck, every horse on the gallop, ever}' rider lashing his team and yelling— the sight behind us make us forget the foe in front. The guns jump two feet high as the heavy wheeis strike rock or log, but not a liorse slackens Ins pace, not a can noneer loses his seat. Six guns, six cais sons, sixty horses, eighty men race" for the brow of the bill as if he who reached it first would be knighted. A moment ago the battery was a con fused mob. We look again, ai*l the six guns are in position, the detached lie rses hurrying away, the ammunition chests open, and along our line runs the command, "Give them one more volley and fall back to support the gnus!" We have scarcely obeyed when boom! boom! boom! opens the battery, aud jets of Are jump down and scorch the green trees under which we fought and despaired. The shattered old brigade has a chance to breathe for the first time in three hours as we form a line of battle behind the guns and lie down. What grim, cool fellows those cannoneers are! Every man is a perfect machine. Bullets plash dust into their faces, but they do not wince. Bullets sing over and around them, but they do not dodge. There goes one to the earth, shot through the head as he sponged his gun. The machinery luses just one heat— misses just one cog in the wheel—aud then works away again as before. Every gun is using short-fuse shell. The ground shakes and trembles—the roar shuts out all sounds from a battle-line three miles long, and the shells go shriekiug through the swamp to cut trees short off—to mow great gaps in the hushes—to hunt out and shatter and mangle men until their corpses can not he recognized as human. You would think a tornado was howling through the forest, followed by billows of fire, aud yet men live tlumigli it—aye! press forward to cap ture the battery ! We can hear their shouts as they form for the rush. Now the shells are changed for grape and canister, and the guns are served so fast that all reports blend into one mighty roar. The shriek of a shell is the wickedest sound in war. but nothing makes the flesh crawl like the demoniac singing, purring, whitt ling grape shot and the serpent-like hiss of canister. Men's legs and arms are not shot through, hut torn off. Heads are torn from bodies, and bodies cut iu two. A round shot or shell takes two men out of the ranks as it crashes through. Grape and canister mow a swath aud pile the dead on top of each other. Through the smoke we see a swarm of men. It is not a battle line, hut a tnob of men desperate enough to bathe their bayo nets in the flame of the guns. The guns leap from the ground, a* most as they are depressed on the foe, and shrieks aud screams and shouts blend into one awful and steady cry. Twenty men out on the battery are down, and the firing is inter rupted. The foe accepts it as a sign of wavering and come rushing on. They are not ten feet away when the guns give them a last shot. That discharge picks living men ofl their feet and throws them inlotke swamps, a blackened, bloody mass. Up now, as the enemy are among the guns! There is a silence of ten seconds, and then the flash and roar of more than three thousand muskets, and a rush for ward with bayonets. For what? Neither on the right, nor left, nor in fiont of us is a living foe! There are corpses arounu us which have been struck by three, four and even six bullets, and no where on this acre of ground is a wounded man! The wheels of the guns can not move until tli block ade of dead is removed. Men cannot pass from caisson to gun without climbing over wiurows of dead. Every gun and wheel is smeared with blood—every foot of grass has Its horrible stain. Aerial Navigation. A Spanish Artillery officer has con structed a new Aerial machine. The ma chine, which is of considerable extension horizontally, but of very small vertical dimensions, can de made to ascend or de scend at pleasure, and can,according to the statement of the inventor, tie turned in any required direction. It consists of two air bags, as they are called by the inventor, one of which is filled with hydrogen gas and the other with compressed air. When the latter is so far filled that its weight, to gether With that of the oar and its load, exactly counterbalances the lifting power of the former, the machine naturally will neither rise nor fali. If the compressed air is allowed to*escape from its bag the whole weight will lie reduced and the machine will rise, the altitude it will attain depend ing upon the amount of compressed air liberated. If, on the other hand, it is de sired to make the machine descend, air can, by a simple mechanical contrivance, be pumped into the compressed air hag until the total weight of the machine ex ceeds the buoyancy or lifting power of the hydrogen bag. To change the direction of the machine a rudder is provided, to be worked by a small steam-engiDe, while by a simple arrangement the position of the center of gravity of the whole apparatus can he altered so that the resistance of the air shall affect the machine in the most favorable manner possible. The machine, in fact, is designed to act in the same way that a bird does. When a bird wishes to change the direction of its flight it lowers one wing and raises the other, and as it works the latter rapidly and diminishes the speed of its flight, the resistance of the air on the oblique surface presented to it turns the bird around into the re quired course. In the new aerial ma chine this principle is applied; but whether it will he possible to overcome the difficulties which may arise remains to he seen. A Salt Old Joke. Sudors are proverbially jovial; but they are generally a contented, unambitious class and do not seek to go out of the nar row and beaten track of the part for their amusement. Moreover they are loyal to traditions of the sea and would prefer a joke three hundred years old, provided it bad done regular duty during all that time, to the choicest selection in the finest orig inal st(Kik that could he set before them. I bis is not as strange as it might be, for the sailor's life is not a very varied one, and he misses the myriad suggestions that excite and stimulate the fancy of the lands man. The sailor is a practical joker, but his lange is about as limited as that of the last surviver of the crew of the Nancy Bell, who would "sit and croak, and a single joke he had, which was to sify," &c. The sailor lovs his single joke and he practices it at odd intervals whenever he finds time banging heavily upon his hands. It may be called the bottle joke, and the jolly tars are not as simple as they may seem in re peating what we might suppose would be too familiar by this time to deceive any one. But the reverse is the fact. Land lubbers are easily impressed by the mys teries of old ocean, and whenever a fresh tale of woe in its water-proof case of a de pleted grog bottle is cast overboard, the chances are that it will in time find its way into wandering circles ready to believe any things that comes back by .his round about route from those who go down to the sea in ships. As long as this ancient sell does its work, why should the sailor fret his brains to devise anything new for the mystification of credulous and snper stitous landsmen? A Poetic l.treune Wauled. He was a tall, square man, with a sharp, sunburned ucse, an J an unshaven face. He wore a chip hat, well sweated through in front, with a rim turned down all around, and a dark, narrow hit of braid for a hand. His butternut pants were neatly tuckled into his cowhide Ixxits, and the thumbs of his bronzed hands were thrust into the arm holes of his vest. He entered the Mayor's office with the air of a man of busi ness, and marching up to his Honor, said, inquiringly: "Be you the Mayor?" "Yes, I have that honor." "Well, I want a licemse for my (laugh er, Maria Jane." "Ah, I see; your daughter is about to get married and you wish to procure a mar nag licensee. We do not issue those pap ers here. You must go over on the north side to the county building." "No, 'squire, you arc mistaken—as much mistaken as if you had burnt your last shirt or had accidhntally got into the wrong pew in meeting; but Marin Jane doesn't want a license to get married, not by no means—not by more than considerable. She is a darned smart girl, if she is my daughter, and if 1 do say it, as hadn't ought to. She has been keepin' school and hoarding round up in the persimmon dees trict and writing verses for the Summer field Weekly ISaglc. She thinks now of giviu' up teachin' and devotin' her hull time to literary pereoots, and, 'squire, as I'm a law-abidin' man and loyal to the core—tliree of my hoys went dean through to the sea with Sherman —"squire, and I want to do the business for the girl on the square, and so 1 called to take out a poetic license for Maria Jane. You see, Will Morrison, who has been to college, told Maria that anybody must have a license before lie writ much poetry." Here the Mayor's face turned very red, as if suffering from some intense internal emotion, and it was observed that his eyes were suffused with tears. His secretary suddenly approached the window and gazed abstractedly out upon the trees in the tubs, whose emerald branches " ere grace fully swaying-in the summer breeze in front of the saloons across the way. The former fixed his cut ions eyes upon the Mayor for a moment, w ho finally sufficient ly recovered himself to say: "My dear sir, your daughter needs no license to write poetry. She can write as much as ever sue pleases, and it will he all right." hU Ttd-plioii. "I guess I have to give up my delephonc already," said an old citizen on Gratiot avenue, Detroit, recently, as he entered the office of the company with a very long face. "Why, what's the matter now?" "Oh! efrytings. I got dot dclephone in mine hoHsc so as 1 could sphcak mit dcr poys in der saloon down town, and mit my relations in Springwells, but I haf to gif it up. I never haf so much droubles." "How?" "Vbell, ray poy Sbon, in der saloon, he rings der pell und me oop utid says an old frcnt of mine vhants to see how she works. Dot ish all right. I say: "Hello!" und he says: "Come closer." 1 goes closer and helloes again. Den he says: "Sthand a little off." I sthand a little off und yells vunce more, und he says: Spheak louder." It goes dot vay for ten minutes, und den he says: "Go to Texas, you old Dutchmans!" You see?" "Y(*B." "And den my bruddir in Springwells he rings de pell und calls me oop und says I vhas feeling like some colts, und he says: "Who vhants to buy some goats?" I saj': "Colts—colts—colts!" und he an swers: ••Oh! coats, I thought you saidt goatß." Vhen I goes to ask him if he feels petter I hears a voice crying out. "Vhat Dutchman ish dot on dis line!" "I doan' know, hut I likes to punch his head!" You see ?" "Yes." "Vbell, somediraes my vhife vhants to spheak mit me vhen I am down der saloon. She rings ruein pell und 1 says, "Hellow!" Nopody spheaks to me. She rings again, und I suv's "Hello!" like dunder! Den der Central Office tells me go aheadt, und den tells mein vhife dot I am gone avhay. I yells oudt dot ish not so, und somepody says, "How can I talk if dot old Dutchmans doan' keep sthill!" You see ?" "Yes." "And vhen I gets in pedt at night, some pod}' rings der pell like der house vas on fire, und ven I schumps oudt und says hello, I hear somepody saying: "Kaiser, doan't }'ou vliant to puy a dog?" I vhants no dog, und when I tells 'em so, I hear somebeobleslaughing "Haw? haw! haw! You see. "Yes." "Und so you dake it oudt, und vhen somepody likes to spheak mit me dey shall come rigtit ava}' to mein saloon. Oof my brudder ish sick he shall get petter, und if somelxxlv vhauls to puy me a dog, he shall come vh i 'can puuch him mit a glub!" Flhlilqk for Mnkeya. Walking careless j through their haunts I strewed some iimm upon a place, on which I dug with my knife a few round holes about four inches deep. Coming hack to the spot in half an hour I dropped a grain into each hole and left a noose round one of them, concealed with earth. The other end of the line was in a bush. 1 was there in a short time, and monkeys were busy picking the grain. An old fellow would look into a hole and chatter; others came and looked and all chattered. By and-by a plueky little fellow popped in his paw, and out again. Next time he got the corn, then others dipped in till they finished that hole.' In due course they got to the noose, with some chatter and the same results till the line was pulled. A sudden scream, a general hustle while the captive was hauled home and enveloped in a horse-rug. By this time the troop ran up in the trees, screaming and shaking the boughs most Gerociously, following me as I went away, with the lost one kicking till he was tired. I believe this noose plan is frequently practiced. I once caught a moukey on the Trimluck Hill Fort that fell down the face of the scarps, knockii.g his head against projections till he was brought up with a thud ou a slab. He was nearly senseless when I picked him up. No bones were broken. In a few minutes I let him go to his relations, who had never ceased, letting lnm know w here they were, lie crawled quietly up the scarp rock, and seemed to be received with anger. Possi bly they only wished to know what had been said to him by the fellow without a tail. Talking Twenty-nix Honra, Tbe longest speech on record is believed to have been made by a member of the Legislature of British Columbia, named l)e Cosmos. It was in the interests of settlers, who were to be defrauded of their lands. l)e Cosmos was in the hopeless minority. The job had been held back till the eve of the close of the session. Unless legislation was taken before noon of a certain day the act of confiscation would fall. The day liefore the expiration of the limitation De Cosmos got the floor about 10 o'clock A. M. and began a speech atrainst the bill. Its friends cared little, for they supposed that by 1 or 2 P. M. he would be through, and the bill could be put on its passage. One o'clock came and went, and De Cosmos was still speaking, Two o'clock—he was saying, "In the second place." Three o'clock—he produced a fearful bundle of evidence and insisted on reading it. The majority liegan to have a suspicion of the truth—he was going to speak until noon and kill the bill. For a while they made merry over it, but as it came on dusk they began to get alarmed. They tried inter ruptions, but soon abandoned them because each one afforded him a cnance to digress and gain time. They tried to shout him down, but that gave hiin a breathing space, and finally settled down to watch the combat between the strength of will and the weakness of body. They gave him no mercy. No adjournment for din ner; no cliauce to do more than wet his lips with water, no wandering from the subject; no sitting down. Twilight dark ened, the gas was lit, members slipped out to supper in relays and returned to sleep in squads, but De Cosmos went on. The speaker to whom he was addressing him self was alternately dozing, snoring, aud trying to look awake. Day dawned, aud a majority of the members slipped out to breakfast, and the speaker still held ou. It can't be said it was a very logical, eloquent or sustained speech. There were digres sions in it; repetitions also. But the speaker kept on, and at last noon came to a bbfiled majority, livid with rage and im potence; and a single man who was triumphant, though his voice had sunk to. a whisper, his eyes were sunken, bleared and blood-shot, his legs tottered under him, aud his baked lips were cracked aud smeared with blood. De Cosmos had spokeu twenty-six hours, and saved the settlers their lands. Jewish Coins. The New York collection is chiefly in teresting as showing how the coins—from the first, struck Simon Maccabteus, from 140 to 37 B. C., to those coined after the revolts which gave Rome power in the Holy Land —improved in artistic qualities. The silvt r shekels and the divisions of that coin struck by the Maccabees were rude and bore no figures or images, it being for bidden by the Jewish religion to have im ages or "Idols," on the coins. This shekel was the first coined money of the Jews, though it existed as a value and was men tioned in the Bible before this time. It was upon the coin of Herod Agrippa, the rule of whose family succeeded from B. C. 37 to A. D. 100, that the umbrella first ap peared. Of the coins of the Roman Pro curators, those of Pontius Pilate are chief They bore the head of the Emperor Ves pasian, and were commemorative of the captivity of J udea. Then followed in or der the coins of the second revolt in 97 A.. D. With these Jewish coins ot silver and bronze Mr. Feuardent has arranged sev eral gold and silver pieces of the foreigu neighbors of the Jews circulated as money among the Jews themselves after their re turn from Babylon. They bear most art is - tic designs, being portraits of the Em perors and figures of warriors on horse back, and show the greatest possible im provements in artistic work over the early Jewish coin. Blarkimltliiiig in Germany. In the interior towns and villages of Ger many, it has been the custom for many years for the farmer to purchase the irou for his tires and horseshoes, and in some in stances, when having a new wagon built, to purchase all the iron entering into the same, the lengths of ever}' piece being fur nished him by the smith. One part of the contract is that the smith shall return to the farmer all ends and cuttings from the iron, and it frequently occnrs that the farmer remains at the shop until the iron is all cut up, in order that the smith shall not indulge in too much cabbage. Each smith shop has what is termed "the hell," and in cutting off a set of tires, if the farmer be not present, the largest half of the end cut off finds its way to "the hell," the duty of putting it there devolving upon the young est apprentice. From this always plentiful store the smith furnishes his materials for the manufacture of bolts, horseshoes, etc., for transient customers. The horse shoe ing part is also a feature; the farmer will bring with him the end of some piece of iron or tire, with which to make the shoes, or perhaps a dozen or more old horseshoes to be converted into new ones. The farmer must blow the bellows until the work is forged or the shoes all made, and must then hold up the horse's foot while the shoes are being driven on or taken off. and invariably carries the old shoes home with him, unless he prefers to give the old shoes in payment for the apprentice's service iu holding up the feet. Walklug-Stlcks. Walking-sticks for ladies, so we are tolti by an oracle ot fashion, are coming intc favor again. Thus does the whirligig ol lime bring round his revenge for a discard ed custom. The Empress Eugenie made the carrying of canes fashionable for her sex during the gay days of the second Em pire. But back in another century we find the women appreciatve of tue walking stick. Ladies advanced iu life walked with a staff between five and six feet iu height, taper and slender in substance, turned over at the upper end in the manner of a shepherd's crook, and "twisted throughout the whole exteut." Some times these wands were formed of palegreen glass, but oftener of wood, ivory, or whalebone. A writer of 1762, speaking of the most fashionable sticks of this period, says: "Do not some of us strut about with walkings-sticks as long as hickory poles, or else with a yard of varnished cane scraped taper, and bound at one end with a waxed thread, and the other tipped with a neat ivory head as big as a silver penny ?" It is, indeed, as an appendage of personal utility that we regard the walk ing-sticks of modern times, though in all ages man has made the sons of the forest contribute to his support under weariness and old age. NO. 31.