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PROFESSIONAL CARDS OF BELT jEF O N T E C. T. Alexander. C. M. bower. A LEXANDER A BOWER, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. BKLLEFONTK, PA. OlSce to Uarman's new building. JOHN B. LINN, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BKLLEFONTK, PA. Offlce on Allegheny Street. OLKMENT DALE, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BKLLEFONTK, PA. Northwest corner of Diamond. Y° cIM & HASTINGS, ATTORNEYS AT LAW, BKLLEFONTK, PA. High Street, opposite First National Hank. C - HEINLE, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BKLLgTONTX. PA. Practices in all the courts of Centre County. Special attention to CoUections. Consultations in German or English. ILBUR F. REEDER, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BKLLEFONTK, PA. All business promptly attended to. collection of claims a speciality. J. A. Beaver. J. w. Geph&rt. JJEAVER A GEPHART, • ATTORNEYS AT LAW. BKLLEFONTK, PA. Offlce on Alleghany Street, North of High. A. MORRISON, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BKLLEFONTK, PA. Offlce on Woodrlng*s Block, Opposite Court House. S. KELLER, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BKLLEFONTK, PA. Consultations in English or German. Offlce in Lyon's Building, Allegheny Street. JOHN G. LOVE, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BKLLEFONTK, PA. Offlce in the rooms formerly occupied by the late w. P. Wilson. BUSINESS CARDS OF MILLHEIM, &. A. STURGIS, * ' DEALER IN Watches, Clocks. Jewelry, Silverware, Ac. Re pairing neatly and promptly done and war ranted. Main Street, opposite Bank, M llhelm, Pa. A O. DEININGER, NOTARY FTBIJC. SCRIBNKR AND CONVEYANCER, MILLHEIM, PA. All business entrusted to htm, such as writing and acknowledging Deeds. Mortgages, Releas> s, Ac., will be executed with neatness and dis patch. Offlce on Main Street. TT H. TOM LIN SON, DEALER IN ALL KINDS OF Groceries, Notions, Drugs, Tobaccos, Cigars, Fine Confectioneries and everything in the line of a flret-class Grocery store. Country Produce taken In exchange for goods. Main Stieet, opposite Bank, MlUhelm. Pa. JJAVID I. BROWN, MANUFACTURER AND DEALER IN TINWARE, STOVEPIPES, Ac., SPOUTING A SPECIALTY. Shop on Main Btreet, two h uses east of Bank, Mlllhelm, Penna. J EJSENHUTH, JUSTICE OF THE PEACE, MILLHEIM, PA. All business promptly attended to. collection of claims a specialty. Offlce opposite Elsenhuth's Drug btore. X| USSER & SMITH, DEALERS IN Hardware. Stoves, Oils, Paints, Glass, Wa Paper-, coach Trimmings, and Saddlery Ware, Ac,. Ac. All grades of Patent Wheels. Corner of Main and Penn Streets, Mlllhelm. Penna. I ACOB WOLF, FASHIONABLE TAILOR. MILLHEIM, PA. Cutting a Specialty. Shop next door to Journal Book Store. . jyjILLHEIM BANKING CO., MAIM STREET, MILLHEIM, PA. A. WALTER, Cashier. DAV. KRAPE, Pres. HARTER, AUCTIONEER, RKBERSBURG, PA. iatUfactlon Guaranteed, MY OLD FRIEND. You've H manner all o mellow, My old friend. That it cbeera and a arms a fellow, My old friend, Just to meet and greet von. and Keel tlie preeeure of a hand That one may uuderetaud. My old friend! Though dimmed in youthful splendor, My old friend. Your smiles are still as tender, My old friend; And your eyes as true a blue As your childhood ever fcuew. And your laugh as merry, too, My old frieud. For though your hair is faded. My old friend. For j our body bent and jaded. My old fraud, Old Time, with all his lures lu the trophies he secures. Loaves vouug that heart of yours. My old friend. And so it is you cheer me. My old friend ; And to kuow you still so near me. My old friend. Makes my hopes of clearer light, And my faith of surer sight. And mv soul a purer white. My old friend. Bachelor's Luck. "Who is living in Swan's house I 1 see it is occupied," said Mr. Tartuffe to his servant. "A Mr. Ernest Simpson, and his wife and mother. He is just married,l beiieve," was the reply. "Strange," he muttered, "that I should come home to find them here', oi all places in the world. I knew this morning that the young fellow mu-t be in some way conueeted wiih Ernest Simpson. The like ness is unmistakable. There comes a wo man now. 1 wonder if it can l>e his moth er?" A large woman with a fresh-colored face and with a bundle on her arm entered the gate and hurried up the walk with the air of one very much at home. "Yes, it must be she; yet who could have believed that Sophie Martyn would become such a great, blowsy creature ? Twenty-five years work great changes" The fact was, it was Mrs, Simpson's dsess; but how was Mr Tartuffe to know that? For five years he had been travel ing after a fashion of his own. Five years had wrought great changes. Of his old friends aud associates some were dead, others moved away, aud the rest were so immersed in business, so interested in ti.eir own particular pursuits,that they had little time or thought to spare for him. * • 'Tis like coming back from the dead to find dne's place filled and one's self forgot ten," he said sadly. And now to all the rest was added the unewelcome discovery that the wife and son of Ernest Simpson, the man who had done him a cruel wrong and marred his life, were living next door to liiui. Some time he stood at the window drumming softly upon the pane and look ing idly out; suddenly his face lighted up. "That's an idea; I'll doit. Forsyth will jump at the chance, I've no doubt." Whatever the idea was, he immediately proceeded to put it into execution, A few miuues later he left the house and took Jus way down town. "Why, good moring, Tartuffe. Glad to see you; sit down; I'll be at leisure in a few minutes." When the busy lawyer was at last able te pay some attention to his visitors, Mr. Tartuffe began without preliminary: "Forsyth, I have been thinking over what yon said yesterday, a d have a proposition to make. Suppose we make an exchange." "Make an exchange ?" repeated the puz zled lawyer. "Yes; you can take my house and I take yours, for a year. Your family are desir ous of coming to town, and I want to leave it. Take the house as they stand. It will save the bother of my moving." "Welt," mused Mr. Forsyth, "that's an idea, certainly,and it strikes me favorably, but I must consult my wifes first, of couise Why d J you wish to leave towu, though ? you've just got here. You ought to get married, and settle down quietlv." "Get married!" repeated the other, with an expression of scorn; "what woman would have an old man like me, except for his money?" "Old man, indeed!" exclaimed Mr. For syth: "why, you're just in the prime of life, and there isn't a young man in the city who can boast an ore splendid phys ique. Besides,you need hot marry a school girl, you know. 1 know just the woman for.you, about your own age, a widow with one son." "The idea of my marrying a widow!" ejaculated Mr. Tartuffe in silent wrath as he took his way homeward. As he ascended the steps, the red-faced dressmaker seated by the window in Mrs. Simpson's room, exclaimed: "There goes Mr. Tartuffe!'-' "What did you say his name was ?" said Mrs. Simpson rather eagerly. "Simon Tartuffe. he's a rich old bach. You had better set your cap at him. But I'm afraid 'twouldn'i do no good, for they do say he's a woman-hater." Mrs. Simpson made no reply,but resumed her work with a thoughtful face. "Moti er, here is a letter tor you," said Ernest's wife, enter ng the room. Mrs. Simpson read the few lines it contained,and then said: Aunt Elizabeth is ill; an attack similar to the one she had three years ago, and she wants me to come and stay with her." 'Oh, dear, how sorry I am !" exclaimed Jennie, "I don't know what we shall do without you. One afternoon, a fornight later, Mr. Tar tuffe alighted from the train at Brierdale station, and without stopping, took his way up the village street to bis new home. For the next few day he fairly lived out of doors, exploring the country for miles round, walking, driving, fishing and boat ing. One afternoon, toward sunset, as he lay fetretcked ut full length under a tree at the brink of the river, the sound of oars attracted his attention, and looking up he saw a small boat coming rapidly toward him. It was propelled" by two ladies, one of them evidently a young girl yet in her teens; the other, a splendidly developed and still very handsome woman. - "There comes Bob iu his wherry, cousin MI 1.1.1 I KIM. PA., THURSDAY. OCTOBER 14, 1880. Lizzie; let's have a race!" exclaimed the younger of the two. Mr. TartulTe raised himself upon his el bow as he caught sight of it. "Strange!'' he muttered, "but 1 could swear 1 had seen that face before some where or some time;yet it is like a dream." Mr. Tartuffe rose and walked homeward. "That's the sort of a woman I thought Sophie would make, and. in fact, there is something in her face that reminds me very much of her." The next Sunday Mr. TartulTe went to church aud occupied the Forsyth pew. In front of him were three ladies and two gentlemen. Two of the ladies were young and pretty, and in one them he recognized the Katie of the boat. The third was elder ly, and as plainly the mother of the two. "And that must be Boh and the father," said Mr. Tartuffe to himself; "and now where is cousin Lizzie?' The question was no sooner asked than it was answered by the appearance of that lady. She en tered a Dew just across the aisle and oppo site to the family party that Mr. Tartuffe had been so closely observing. He studied the sweet face ami the costume, so simple in its appointments, yet perfect in taste. At tli close of the service the gentlemen whom Mr. TartulTe had taken to be the paterfamilias came up and introduced him self as a neighbor and old friend of the Forsytlis. "1 do not know whether you have ever heard Forsyth speak of Emory Taylor." "ludeed 1 have, aud in the highest terms." responded Mr. Tartuffe, cordially shaking the proffered hand. "1 am exceed ingly happy to make your acquaintance." "1 must make you acquainted with my family," Mr. Taylor said, as h ; s wife and children joined him, and then followed an Introduction to the different members. "Where is Cousin Lizzie?" asked Mr. Taylor, looking around. "She was in haste to get home, for fear her aunt might need her; there she goes now," pointing up the street, where a stately figure was fast disappearing from view. "Our roads lie in the same direct ion; may I have the pleasure of accompanying you?" said Mr. Tartuffe to Katie. "If you will make yourself very agree able,ami not expect to be entertained in re turn," she said, Hashing a saucy glance at him. A fortnight ago Mr. Tartuffe would have considered the whole thing an unmitigated bore, but tne last few days had wrought a wonderful change in him. He exerted him self to be entertaining, and succeeded ad mirably. When they reached the gate, Katie said: "And now for your reward. IX) you like croquet?" "I have always detested it hitherto," he said coolly, "but with you for a partner, 1 do nit doubt 1 shall soon become a com plete votary of it." "Very pretty, but you cannot impose upon me with your gallant speeches. How ever, lam to have a small croquet party to-morrow afternoon, and wish you to make one of the number. Cousin Lizzie Simpson shall be your opponent, and, I assure you, you will find her 'a foeman worthy oi your steel.' She is the lady who'sat opposite to us in church." "Yes, 1 saw her with you in a boat the otli er afternoon,"he said, quietly. The croquet pany was a success, and Mr. Tartuffe proved no despicable player after all. "That was a very close game; Ccusin Lizzie, you must look or you will lose your laurels. Another stroke would have fin ished you," exclaimed Bob. "1 should count it no dishonor to be beaten by such a foe," she answered, smiling. Here tea was announced, aud the guests turned their tootsteps toward the house. Mr. Tartuffe found himse'f walking aloag with Katie and her cousiu Lizzie. "Miss Simpson, do you excel in every thing you uudertake?" he began. "Why, no, certainly not," she said, opening her eyes in surprise. Here Katie glided away from them to the rest of the party. Hush Katie!" she said, softly, laying her fingers on her lip. "lie thinks Cousin Lizzie is unmarried; don't you enlighten him for your lives." "But do you think it quite right ?" re monstrated Katie's sis;er, Greta. "Of course it is, so long as her husband is dead." One bright afternoon,some months later, Lizzie Simpson stood by the window in her room looking out with a troubled face. "It has gone on too long already. I must tell him the truth and take the consquences Just then a carriage rolled up to the front of the house, and Mr. Tartuffe alighted. Hastily tying'a veil over her face, Mrs. Simpson went down to meet him. It was with a very lover-like air that he assisted her into the carriage, and his manner caused her to shrink with a premonition of what was coming. A little snnle crept into the corners of his mouth, and at length, laying his hand upon hers, he said, quietly, "it is of no use, lam not to be diverted from my purpose, Lizzie; I love you with a love which I believed nothing could create in my neart again. 1 want you. Will you come?" She trembled like a leaf, and for a mo ment strove to'speak in rain; then she said: "Mr. Tartuffe, I have a confession to make which may alter your feelings towards me. I have been a widow for fifteen years." He looked at her kindly for a moment; she resumed hurriedly: "I thought you knew, of course, at first, and then it grew rather hard for me to tell you; and I kept hoping you would find out your mistake. Indeed, I had not the slighest intention of deceiving you." He smiled and drew her clpsely to hini "Is that all ?" "No; it is only the smallest part of my confession, Simon," she cried vebniently; 'is it possible that you have never recognized me ?" "Sophie!" he exclaimed. "Ernest Simpson's wife t" His face was pale, but he only tightened his clasp, while he looked into her eyes as if he would read her verv soul. She continued, witti choked voice: "For ten years I believed yeu false and treacherous, It was not until he lay on his dying bed that he confessed the truth to me, and I knew how cruelly you had been wronged." "I absolved you from all blame years ago. As soon as I heard of Ernest's mar riage tne truth flashed across me at once that he loved you himself, and had been the sole cause of our estrangement. I cutsed myself for a blind fool when I realized that I nad been hut an unsuspecting tool in his hands. ('an you wonder that I had hated him. and with a bitterness that—" "Keuienioer that he is dead, and that he was but human after all,"she interrup ted. " Let the dead past bury ItH dead." He bowed his head silently, aud, after a pause, with a rther mischievous look, he said: "Do you know why 1 left the city and came to Brierdale ?" "No," she replied, wonderingly. "1 was running away from you. But you have not answered my question yet; iH this Mrs.Tartuffe that I hold in ily arms?" suiting the action to the words, and drop ping t lie reins as lie did so. Fortunately the horse wins well trained. "If you wish it." was the low reply. When the rare June days ciune with their rose-sented breath and dazzling skies, Mr. Tartuffe took his bride home. Together they stood at night upon the verandah aud watched the moon as it rose, flooding the whole earth with its silver. "What can be more beautiful ou earth ?" Lizzie said softly. "Are you satisfied with your home—our home?" he asked, looking down upon her lovingly, "Perfectly; and you?" "1 came to Brierdale, anticipating one happy year, instead of which I have ob tained bliss for a lifetime." Vineyards In Switzerland. Did you ever see them build vineyards in Switzerland? The operation is a curious one, and would, we fancy, make an Illinois farmer open his eyes. We had for some time been amused by watching the modus operandi from a window, well knowing that we could never see anything of the kind again. The locality was originally the slope of a ravine, through which a vi vacious little torrent leaps from the moun tains; ami is, even now, so steep that we looked apprehensively to see the adventur ous workmen tumble off. When we saw the men clearing away the debris of years, and inaugurate the undertaking by a new line of stone wall alongside the frisky little stream, we could not imagine their object, The next step was a series of these same walls, built at right angles with the first, and finally, one parallel with it, which also served as a defence against the publi being built close against the roadside. By this time the affair presented the appear ance of a new work of stone, forming an acute iucliued plane. After several weeks of steady work—these people never hurry —our curiosity hail reached its highest pitch, and we were divided between two ideas —the one being that of a playground for the neighboring school-boys, and the other that it was the foundation of a new marine pension—when one morning our attention was attracted to a squad of men, each carrying a pamer of earth on his hack, who were slowly approaching the scene of action. The mystery was solved, and this was the way they built vineyards in Suisse! Day after day, and week after week, did this hopeless task continue. To judge by the long intervals between the arrivals, the soil must have been biougnt from a great distance but at length the task was finished and the walls were quite covered. They are intended for keeping the prospective vineyards from sliding down into the ravine; and now it only remained to grade it. This delicate operation was completed by men who laid fiat against the steep face of this novel ar rangement, and smoothed and graded at their leisure, afterward planting the vine slips in the same calm and equable manner, under circumstances which others would consider unfavorable. New and Stale Bread. The nature of the difference between new aud stale bread is far from being known. It is only lately that the celebrated French cheuust, Boussingault, instituted an in quiry into it, from which it results that the difference is not the consequence of dedi cation, but solely of the cooling of the bread. If we take fresh bread into the cel lar or in any place where it cannot dry, the inner part of the loaf, is true, is found to be crumbly, but the crust is no longet brit tle. If stale bread is taken into the oven again it assumes all the qualities of fresh baked bread, although iu the hot oveii it must uudoubleuly have lost part of its moisture. M. Boussingault has made a fresh loaf of bread the subject of minute investigation, ami the results are anything hut uninteresting. New bread, in its smallest parts, is so soft, clanuny my, flexible and glutinous, (in consequence of the starch during the process of ferment ing and baking being changed into mucila ginous dextrine) that by mastication it is with greater difficulty separated and reduced to smallest parts is less uuder the influence of the saliva aud digestive juices. It con sequently forms itself into hard balls by careless aud hasty mastication and deg lutition, becomes coated over by saliva and slime, and in this state enters the stomach. The gastric juice being unable to penetrate such hard masses, and being scarcely able even to act upon the surface of them, they frequently remain in the stomach un changed, and, like foreign bodies, irritate and incommode it, inducing every species of suffering—oppression of the stomach, pain in chest, disturbed circulation of the blood, congestions and pains in the head irritation of the brain, and inflammation, apopleptic attacks, cramp and delirium— The ltaiplad Date Mark. Bagdad is noted for a curious and mys terious malady, which affects everybody in the city, whether he be a cirizen or a stran ger. It is a sore called a "date mark, 1 ' be cause after it has healed i leaves an iudelli ble mark about the size andshape of a date, it generally makes its appearace upon the face, lasts a year and then disappears. The cheek of nearly every man and woman in Bagdad shows the inevitable mark. Sometimes it settles upon the nose and then the disfigurement is great, sometimes on the eyelid when blindness is the result. Strangers are atacked even after a brief residence; but forunately, if they are adults the sore is more apt to come on the arm. In every case the attack runs its course for one year. No treatment, no ointment, nor medicine has the slightest effect upon it. Once the sore appearing the sufferer knows what to expect, and may as well resign himself to his fate. The Arabs say that every one that goes to Bagdad must get the "date mark" or if he does not get it while in the city, he will be followed by it—have it sooner or later, he must, Dr. Thorn, of the American Mission, states that he has examined the ulcer microscopi cally, and fcund it to be composed of a fungoid growth; but nothing that he had ever tried had proved remedial. I.eaaon* lu Woodcraft. 1. Notes of the barred owl aud loon in dicate rain within twelve hours, lu the lall wet weather follows the cry of the tree-frog. 2. Bark grows thickest on the north side of trees. Girdle a tree if you wish to tell which is north. 8. The Center of rotten stumps affords dry stuff for kindling fire iu drenching ruin. 4. A torch which will last many hours is made from half-inch strips of cedar hark bound together in faggots two feet long or more' 6. To hold a bout in a swift current, set the pole, oar or paddle ou the bottom at an oblique angle with the side of the Ixmt resting against it. Very little strength will be required. 0. To uieud a birch eanoe cut a patch of bark large enough to cover the fracture; sew it ou with an awl and stout cord of hemlock roots; then apply a piece of natural spruce gum to tlie seams or joints with a glowing brand used as a soldering iron is used. 7. To carry a fish of two |x>imds weight and upward, place it between hemlock boughs of the proper length, tied together at both ends and in the middle, with bark, r<x)ts, or cord. It will keep fresh and sweet a long time, is easily cured, and will not soil what it touches. 8. To mend a broken oar or paddle, l>evel the fractured parts so as to make a neat joint, pass a wooden plug through both, aud serve neatly with twine to cover the joint. Or, having made a joint, as alxive, bore two gimlet holes two inches Hpart ; double four feet of wire so that the ends will pass through the holes in the same direction; then whip or serve neatly with the wire, and finish with a service of twine. 9. For night shooting, chalk the gun barrels lengthwise from breech to muzzle; or, make a foresight by lashing a V shaped stick to the muzzle. By bringing the object within the V. a good bead can be drawn. 10. When a tree brushes off wisps of buy from a load, the hay falls on that side of the tree toward which the cart is going. In summer hay is carted from the field to the barn, unless stacked when cut. in winter it is carted out from the barn to stock employed in cutting logs, wood, etc. Salt oi wild hay is most generally stacked. It can be distinguished from field hay by the taste and suiell. 11. An excellent moccasin, nearly watei proof, is made from the hind leg of a moose, cut alxive and below the hock, the hock forming the heel. It is wholly with out seaiu, except where sewed up at the toe. If tanned with the hair on it, it is very warm when worn in dry snow. 12. A table is easily constructed by taking a turn with a rope armiid each trunk of three or moie trees or saplings conveniently near together; haul taut, make fast, and lay Ixiards on top. The Eighty of the Popes are saints, thirty one martyrs aad forty-three confessors. St. Agatho, was the only Pope who lived to be a ccntennarian, as he is also the only one, alter St. Peter, who may be honored with the title of miracle worker, St. Agatho died at the age of 107 years, in OS'2, having resigned three years six months and fifteen days. Gregory IX. died at the age of 98 years. Celestine 111. aud Gre gory XIl., died at tlie age of 02; John XXII. at the age of 00; Clem ent XII. at the age ot 88 years, and Clement X aud Pius IX, at the age of 86. The Popes have been drawn from all classes of society. Nineteen were sous of near relatives of priuces; an equal number came from illustrious families. Many were nobles in rank, or of great wealth. Others sprang from obscurity. Sixtus VJ. was the son of a fisherman, Alexander V. was the son of poor, unknown parents, and passed his first year iu begging from door to door. Adrian IV., the only English Pope, was abandoned by his father and had to subsist on charity, until going to France, he entered a convent as a servant, where, by his intelligence and his virtues, he was afterward deemed worthy to be received into religion. Sixtus V. had for his father a jxxir laborer, for mother, a servant, and for a sister, a laundress. St. Celestine V. was the son of a simple farmer. Benedict XII. was the child of a baker. Urban IV. had a carpenter for a father, as also had Gregory Vll. Five of the Popes had studied medicine Ixffore taking the holy orders. Benedict XI. was tlie child of a notary. Julius 111. was the descendant of a famous juriscon sult. Pelagius I. was the son of a vicar of the prefect of his province Paul V. had for his father a pa* rician of Sienna, and Eugene IV.. Gregory XII. and Alex ander VII. belonged to patriciau families of Venice. Without I urtner Objection. A man with a grip sack in his hand halted before a Jefferson avenue fruit stand, Detroit, and priced a choice variety of peaches. When told that they were twenty cents a dozen, he whistled to him self, walked softly around, and finally asked: "Are you a Baptist?' 1 "Hardly." "Neither am J. I did'nt know but that if we both belonged to the same denomina tion you'd throw off a little. Do you lean to the Methodists?" "Can't say that I do." "That's my case. I never did take much stock in the Methodists. Twenty cents a dozen is an awful price for those peaches, considering how tight money is. 1 expect you are a Universalis, eh?" "No." "Neither am I. Can't you say fifteen cents for a dozen of these ?" "Hardly." "Aren't you an Kpiscopalain ?" "No, sir." "Neither am 1, but I was afraid you were. I've been sort o' looking you over, and I shouldn't wonder if you trained with the United Brethren. Come, now, own up." "I never attend that church," was the steady reply. "Nor 1, either. Say, what are you any how?" "I'm a hard baked old sinner." "No! Whoop! That's my case to a dot! I am called the wickedest man in Washe naw County ! I knew there was a bond of sympathy between us if we could only find it out! Now, do you say fifteen cents for a dozen ?" The fruit dealer counted them out with out further objection. Tlie Fatal Enountr. It WHS toward the end of April, a season whose arrival the dillttauti in Paris always witness with dismay, for then the first ar tists aud cantratices of the metropolis leave to reap a golden harvest in the provincial towns. The uvenue leading to the theatre of Pergola was crowded with a long file of brilliant equipages. A considerable crowd, which had not been able to find places within the house, already filled by the wealthy and privileged classes, vented their indignation in loud words near the principal entrance. A riot even was ex ja-ctcd, so much dissatisfaction was there manifested in the lunguage aud gestures of the multitude. But fortunately, the in flammable crowd was at last pacified. Madame P. was to appear that night in the ojiera of Norma for the last time. The audience that assembled to greet her on the occasion was composed of the elite of Flor entine society. Never was a more bril liant dress circle to be seen, in one of tlie side boxes sat the young Count Bach eroni and his friends. This nobleman, well known for his liberal principles, was regarded as one of the chiefs of the repub lican party of Florence and Italy. Indeed, whether from motives of ambition cr dis interestedness, the Count had always been found arrayed in opposition to the ancient nobility of Tuscany, and had always shown himself an ardent and prompt defender of the menaced liberties of the people. The people, who are never ungrateful when a man devotes himself to the interests of the country, seeing in him an intrepid protector, cherished for him a kind of worship ap proaching the reverence of a son for his father. Although gifted with a good edu cation and a rare intelligence, the Count partook of the opinions of the vulgar with, regard to stage-play ere, and was imbued with the same prejudices. In this view an actress was entitled to no respect, aDd a singer was of less consideration than the lowest of the populace. Ensnared by the graces and lieauty of Madame I'., he had made that celebrated vocalist offers, the most munificent and brilliant, but they were met with contin ued repulses. The evening of the depar ture of the actress was arrived, and the Count was no further advanced in her good graces. Irritated by her indifference, and inflamed with anger, he entered the theatre with the fixed intention of bantering the ro ll, lious cautatrice into compliance with his wishes. Madame P. was in the midst of a scene with the tenor singer Zorelli, who person ated tlie part of "Pa'cone," when the Count, from his position near the stage, hazarded some pleasantries at first gay and satirical, then gross and injurious, while his friends applauded and laughed at his sallies. Zorelli spproached near the box of the Count aud listened attentively. tso absorbed did lie become that he lost kis cue and forgot his part, while Bacheroni, perceiving that he watched him began to hit*. In this he showed himself less in dulgent than any of the audience, who had pardoned the actor his momentary distrac tion. Zorelli leveled an angry glance at the Count anil resumed his part. Backer oui continued his annoying remarks until he lall of the curtain. They were yet laughing in the box of the Count, w hen the door opened aud a man appeared upon the threshold. It was the singer Zorelli. His face was pale and his brow contracted with emotion. "Sir Count." he said, advancing, "you have traduced and injured a female when she was without protection against your in sults, and who had given you no cause ex cept the rejection of your dishonorable pro posals. That female i regard as a sister. I am the only protector she has in the world, and 1 come to demand satisfaction from you for the wrong you have done her. "Faith, you are not over fastidious in your selection," replied the (!ount, with a phlegmatic air, and with his hand waved Zorelli away, as beneath his notice: "If, in order to coutend with you, sir, it is necessary that I should be of noble birth, I will prove that my family is of a rank equal, if not superior to your own: but in the first place, swear that you will render me satisfaction." "You uoble!" interrupted Bacheroni, "away, away! What would be thought of me, were 1 to cross swords with a stroller —a —*' The Count was stopped in the midst f his remarks by a blow from the \iand of Zorelli. Bacheroni rushed toward his adversary, but his friends intercepted him and held him back. The actor remained standing near the door, with his arms folded upon his breast. The Count, having been calm ed down, approached him, and said in a whisper, "1 consent." "Name your place, hour and weapon," said Zorelli. "At the San-Gallo gate at midnight, with swords; they will make less distur bance than fire-arms—the light of the moon will be enough—there must be no witness es." "Agreed," said Zorelli, and he went to resume his part in the opera. He saDg till the close without manifesting the slightest alteration in his voice, and with out betraying the least emotion. Madame P. having evinced some curiosity as to the cause of his absence, he quieted her ap prehensions by the coolness and self-posr session of his manner. The Count retired from his box shortly after the encounter with Zorelli and did not re-appeer there the rest of the even ing. In interrogating his conscience Zorelli snt tisfied himself that he had acted as became him toward his adversary. He had owed such a debt of gratitude to the noble can tatrice, that he would liave proved himself a recreant and an ingratc if he had suffered her to be outraged with impunity. Born of a noble family of Trieste, Zorelli had, from his youth manifested a remarkable talent for music, and his father had per mitted him to pursue his favorite study, under any circumstances so natural in Italy, without forseeing how far it would lead him. At an age when the imagination of a young men is easily inflamed and responds readily to the beautiful, he heard Madame P., and from that time resolved to devote himself to the theatre. Gifted with a sonorous voice, aud of elegant manners, he easily obtained an engagement and his debuts were highly successful. More lately his talent displayed itselt with such brilliant eclat that he found himselt ap plauded by the side of the most admirable songstrs&sof Italy. It was to the well-direct - Ed lessons of Madame P. that he had vowed a gratitude without bounds. At midnight Zorelli enveloped himself ia his cloak, took a sword under his arm, and directed his steps toward the spot de signated by the Count. The moon shone sufficiently bright for the distinguishing of surrounding objects. On reaching the ground he perceived a man pacing slowly to and fro, his head reclined upon his breast. He approached him. It was the Count. "Sir Count," said Zorelli, "consent to retract your abusive remarks to-morrow in the presence of witnesses and all will be forgotten." "On guard!" exclaimed Bacheroni, lev eling his sword. As these words were pronounced, Zorelli saw issue from the shade, two men whom he had not before remarked. At the same instant he mortally wounded the Count, who fell, exclaiming-. "In the name of heaven, do not kill him. I slandered— * But the poniard of the assassins had already transfixed the ill-fated Zorelli. Tne sword dropped from his hand, his knees gave way beneath him, and he fell by the side of his late adversary. "Pierced to the heartl" said one of the men, as he examined the wounds of Zorelli. "He will not revive. And his excellency breathes no more!" The assassins who were none other than two domestics of the Count, took away the body of their master, and left that of Zo relli. The same night Italian liberty had lost her strongest defender, her most devoted champion, music ber most worthy and skillful interpreter. The next morning the populace, among whom the servants of the Count had spread the report that their master had been asassinatsd by Zorelli, rushed upon the unburied remains of the actor and tore them into fragments. The Ancient Migain HUNOUTI. Some time ago, a number of men engaged in iron mining about three miles from Dry Branch, a station on the St. Louis and Sante Fe Railroad. At a depth of eighteen teel below the surface the miners uncover ed a human skull, with portions of the ribs, vertebral column, and collar bone. With them were found two flint arrow heads of the most primitive type, imper fect in shape and barbed. A few pieces of charcoal were also found at the same time and place. Dr. Booth was fully aware of the importance of the discovery and tried to preserve everything found, but upon touch ing the skull it crumbled to dust, and some of the other bones broke into small pieces and partly crumbled away, but enough was preserved to fully establish the fact that they are human bones. Some fifteen or twenty days subsequent to the first finding, at a depth of twenty-four feet below the surface, other bones were found—a thigh bone and a portion of the vertebra, aud several pieces of charred wood, the bones apparently belonging to the first found skeleton. In both cases the bones rested on a fibrous stratum, suspected at time to be a fragment of coarse matting. This lay upon a floor of soft, but solid iron ore, which retained the imprint of the fi bers. Overlying the last found bones was a stratum of what appeared to be loam or sod from two and a half to three inches thick, below which was a deposit of soft red hematite iron ore, lying upon two large bowlders of hard ore standing on edge standing at an angle of about 45 degrees, the upper ends leaning against each other, thus forming a considerable cavity, which was tilled with blue specular and hard red ore and clay, lying upon a floor of solid red hematite. It was in this cavity, that the I nines, matting, and charred wood were found, intermixed with ore. The indi cations are that the filled cavity had origi nally been a sort of cave, and that the sup posed matting was more probably a layer of twigs, rushes or weeds, which the in habitants of the cave had used as a bed, as the fiber marks cross each other irregularly. The ore bed in which the remains were found, and part of which seems to have formed after the period of human occupa tion of the cave, lies in the second (or sac charoidal) sandstone of the Lower Siluriau. A Dlsreputable'Famiiy, There was a little shooting scrape at a little town in the interior of Texas not long ago, and it was not long before a reporter was on the spot interviewing one of the principals. "So you are going to write it up," said the survivor. "\cs, I want the facts." "I don't care a cent what you say about the shooting, but I have one little favor to ask." The reporter said he would grant it cheerfully if be could "Well said the shootist, "I want you to put down that my grandfather was one of pirates Latitte's, and the worst cutthroat of thegang/* The reporter stared a little, but the shootist went on to say: "Please put in that one of my uncles was hung by the Vigilance Committee iu Sau F ,4w " l "sco, and two more of them are niakii shos in the Illinois penitentiary; that a cher one of them is practicing law iu Nev York, and my only sister ran away from home with the clown of a circus; that as far as you can learn, there is not a mem ber oi the family that has not done some thingjdisgracef ul," "Why, what do you want all that in the paper for?" "Because I am sick of reading in the pa pers that every fellow who has a little shooting scrape belongs to one of the most respectable families in the country. Just put it down, for once, that one of the parties to the unfortuuate affair belongs to a highlydisreputable family. If you dou't pnt it that way, you will wish you had." Heatiug Cities. A company with a capital of $1,000,000 is being organized at Cmcinnati to supply steam for heating purposes to that city at an estimate cost to consumers of 20 to 30 per cent, less than they now have to pay for their own fires. The company propose to erect twelve immense steam boilers on the bank of a river, and to run pipes from them under all the principal streets. Each house desiring a supply of steam for heat ing and cooking purposes will secure it by making connection with the street main; this will give it connection with the steam reservoirs and supply it with all the heat it reqiures. NO. 41.