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HARTER, AUCTIONEER, REBERSBURG. PA. J C SPRINGER, Fashionable Barber. Next D,ior to JOURNAL Store, MILI.HKIH, PA. JgROCKERHOFF HOUSE, (Opposite Court House.) H. BROCKEBHOFF, Proprietor. WU. MCKKKVKR, Manager. Goal sample rooms *u first floor. Free bus to and from all trains. Special rates to jurors and wttne-ses. Strictly First Class. IRVIN HOUSE. (Mast Central Hotel iu the City,) Corner MAIN and JAY Streets, Lock Haven, Pa. S. WOODS IALWKLL, Proprietor. Good Sample Rooms for Commercial Travelers on first floor. |JR. D. H. MINGLE. Physician and Surgeou, MAIN Street, MILLHKIM, Pa. JOHN F. HARTER, PRACTICAL DENTIST, Office in 2d story of Tomliuson's Gro cery Store, On MAIN Street, MILLHKIM, Pa. C. T. Alexander. C. M. Bower. ATTORNEYS AT LAW. BKLLETONTB, PA. Oince in Qannan's new building. JOHN B. LINN, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA. Office OB Allegheny Street. QLEMENT DALE, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, PA. Northwest corner ot Diamond. Y° cum & HASTINGS, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. BELLEFONTE, PA. High Street, opposite First National Bank. % C.HEINLE, ATTORNEY AT LA W. BELLEFONTE, 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. BELLEFONTE, PA. All business promptly attended to. Collection of claims a speciality. J. A. Beaver. J W. Gephart. JJEAVER <fc GEPHART. ATTORNEYS AT LAW, BELLEFONTE, FA. Office on Alleghany Street, North of High. A. MORRISON, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BELLEFONTE, PA Office on Woodrlng's Block, Opposite Court House. S. KELLER, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BELLEFONTE, PA Consultations In English or German. Office in Lyon's Building, Allegheny Street. JOHN G. LOVE, * ATTORNEY AT LAW. ; BELLEFONTE, PA Office in the rooms formerly occupied by the late w. P. Wilson. ADVERTISE IN THE Millheim Journa 1 RATES ON APPLICATION. She pilthcim luirtal BY THK NORTH SKA. Miles, and uiiles, and miles of dvsolattou ! Leagues on leagues on leagues without aehauge, Sign or token of some eldest nation, Here would make the strange land not so strange, rime forgotten, yea siuee lime's creation, Seeiu these borders where the sea birds range. Slowly, gladly, full of peace aud wonder Grows his heart who journeys here alone, Karth aud all its thoughts of earth sink under Deep as deep iu water sinks a stone. Hardly knows it if the rollers thunder, Hardly whcuce the lonely wind is blowu. Tall the plumage of the rush-flower tosses, Sharp and soft in tuany a curve and line Gleam and glow the sea-colored marsh-mosses, Salt aud spleudid from the circling brine. Streak on streak of glimmering seashlue crosses All the land sea-saturate aa with wine. Far and far between, in divers orders, Clear gray steeples cleave the low gray sky ; Fast and Arm as time-unshaken warders, Hearts made sure by faith, by hope made high, These alone in all the wild sea-borders Fears uo blast of days and nights that die. All the laud is like as oue man's face is, Pale and troubled still with change of cares. Doubt and death pervade her clouded spaces; Strength ami length of life ami peace are theirs Theirs alone amid these weary places, Seeing not how the wide world frets and fares Firm and fast where all is cloud that changes, Cloud-clogged sunlight, cloud by sunlight thinned Stern and sweet, above the sand-hill ranges Watch the towers aud tombs of men that sinned Once, uow calm as earth whose only chauge is Wind, aud light, and wind, aud cloud, and wind LITTLE KATE ASl> I. We didn't wait fur an income to marry on, little Kate and I. We had no rick relations to leave us legacies or to send l>earl necklaces, diamond ornaments, or thousand dollar bonds for wedding pres ents. 1 was simply a brakemau on the Eastern Michigan Railway, a long and lonely stretch of rails over desolate marshes, steep mountain grades, and solitary sweeps of prairie land; she was tha bright-eyed waitress in one of the restaurants along the hue. But when 1 fell from the platform when the great accident happened—you've heard of the Great Accident, I suppose, when there was such a shocking loss of life—-it was Kate's care, and nothing else, that brought me back into the world I hail so nearly quitted for good and all! "I would have done it for anybody, Mark !" said she, when I tried to thank her. "Would you?" said I. "But it isn't everylsxly that would have done it for me, Kate!'" So I asked her to marry me, and she said yes. And I took a little cottage on the edge of the Swampscot woods, and furnished it as well As I could, with a red carpet, cheese-cloth curtains at the windows, a real Connecticut clock, and a set of walnut chairs that I made myself, with seats of rushes, woven in by old Billy, the Indian, who carried his bas kets and mats around the country, and Mrs. Perkins, the parson's wife, made us a wedding cake, and so we were mar ried. Pretty soon I found out that Kate was pining a little. "What is it, sweetheart ?"said I. "Re member, it was a contract between us that we were to have no secrets from each other ! Are you not perfectly happy ?" "Oh, yes, yes!" cried Kate, hiding her face on my shoulder. "But it's my mother, Mark. She's getting old, and if I could only go East to see her, just once, before the Lord takes her away ! It was then that I felt the sting of my povertv most. If I had only been a rich man to have handed her out a check, and said "Go at once !" I think I could have been quite happy. "Never mind, sweetheart," said I, stroking down her hair. "We'll manage it after a little. We'll lay up a few dol lars from month to month, and you shall go out and see her before she dies !" And with that little Kate was forced to be content. But there was a hungry homesick look upon her face which it went to my heart to see. "If I was rich !" I kept saying to my self. "Oh, if I was only rich !" One stormy autumn night we were be lated on the road, for the wind was ter rible, shaking the century old pines and oaks, as if they were nothing more than tall swamp grasses, and driving through the ravines with a slniek and a howl like a whole pack of hungry wolvesr And the heavy rains had raised the streams so that we were compelled to go carefully and slowly over the bridges, and keep a long look ahead for fear of accidents. I was standing at my post, in front of the second passenger car, stamping my feet on the platform to keep them warm, and hoping little Kate would not be per turbed at my prolonged absence, when the news agent came chuckling out: "We're to stop at Stuinpville Station," said he. "Nonsense," said I, "I know better. This train never stops short of Wauken sha City, least of all when we are run ning to make up for lost time, as we are to-night. "Oh, but this is an exceptional occa sion," said Johnny Mills (which was the news agent's name. "We're going to put an old woman off.) She has lost her ticket, she says. More likely she never had one. Goes on as though she'd had her pocket picked." * -It's most a pity, isn't it, to put one off to-night ?"Baid I. Least of all at such a lonely place as Stumpville Station, where there are only two houses and a blacksmith shop." "Yes, I know," said Mills, adjusting the newspapers that he carried in a rub ber case under his arm. "But the Sup erintendent of the road has got out a new set of instructions, and he's that particular that Jones wouldn't dare to overlook a case like this. There's been MILLHEIM, PA., THURSDAY, AUGUST 4. JSBI so in tiny confidence games played on the road lately." "Which is the one ?" said 1, turning to hn>k at the end window of the car which was at the rear. "Don't you see? The old party at the back of the two fat women in the red shawls. She's haranguing Jones now." "1 see," saiil I. It was a little old woman iu black silk poke-bonnet, a re speetable cloth cloak, bordered with an cient fur, and a long green veil, who was earnestly talking and gesticulating with the conductor. But he slnsik his head and passed on, and she sank back in a helpless little heap behind the green veil, and 1 could sec her take a small handkerchief from a small basket and put it piteouslv to her eyes. "It's too bad," said I. "Jones might rememlver that he once had—if he hasn't got now—a mother of his own." "And lose his place on the road, "said Mills, "No, no, old fellow, all that sort of thing does very well to talk about, but it don't work in real life." So he went into the next ear, and the signal to slack up came presently. I turned to Mr. Jones, the conductor, who just thou stepped out on the platform. "Is it for that old lady?" said I. He answered, "Yes." Said 1, ' How far did she want to go?" "To Swampscott," said he. "You needn't stop, Mr. Jones," said I, "I'll pay her fare." "You!" he echoed. "Yes, I," said I. "I'll take her to my own house, until she can telegrtqm to her friends or something. My wife will be gotnl to her, 1 know, for the sake of her own old mother out West!" "Just as you please," said Mr. Jones, "Hut when you've been on the road as long as I have, you'll tind that this sort of thing doesn't answer." "I hope I shall never be on the road too long to forget mv Christian charity," I answered, a little nettled. And I took out my worn pocket-lx>ok and handed over the money. We did not stop at Stumpvillo Station after all, but put on more steam and ran as fast as it was safe to drive our engine —and when, a little past midnight, we reached Swampscott, where we were due at 7:30, Pierre Bene, the Frenchman, came on Ixnird to relieve me, and I help ed my old lady off the train, tiat basket, traveling bag and all. "Am I to be put off after all?" said she. with a scared look around her. "Cheer up, ma'am," said I, "You are all right. Now, then—look out for the step! Here ***>." , "Where am I?" me ofc y. "At Swampscott, ma'am," said I. "And you are the kind man who paid my fare?" said she. "But my daughter and her husband w ill repay you when—" "All right, ma'am," said L "And now, if you'll just take my arm, we'll be home in a quarter of an hour." "But," said she, "why can't I go di rectly to my destination?" "It's middling late, ma'am," said I. "And houses don't stand shoulder to shoulder iu Swampscott. My nearest neighbor is a mile anil a-half away. But never fear, ma'am, I've a wife that will be glad to bid you welcome for the sake of her own mother." She murmured a few words of thanks, but she was old and weary, and the path was rough and uneven, in the very teeth of the keen November blast— JUKl walk ing wasn't an easy task. And presently, we came to the little cottage on the edge of the Swampscott woods, where the light glowed warmly through tin Turkey red curtains. "Oh, Mark, dearest, how late you are?" cried Kate, making haste to open the door. "Come in, quick, out of the wind. Supper is all ready, and—but who is that with you?" In a hurried whisper I told her all. "Did I do right,' Katie,?" said I. "Right! Of conre you did," said she. "Ask her to come iu at once. And I'll put another cup and saucer on the table." Tenderly I assisted the chilled and weary old lady across the threshold. "Here's my wife," said I. "And here's a cup of smoking hot coffee and some of Katie's own biscuits and chicken pie! You'll be all right when the cold is out of your joints a hit!" "You arc very, very welcome," said Kate, brightly, as she advanced to untie our visitor's veil and loosen the folds of her cloak. But, all of a sudden, I heard a cry, "Mother, oh, mother!" And looking around, I saw Kate and the old lady clasped in each other's arms. "Hold on, Kate!" said I, with the coffee-pot still in my hand, as I had been lifting it from the tire. "This is never —" "But it is, Mark!" cried out Kate, breathlessly. "It's mother; my own mother! Oh, help me, dearest, quickly; she has fainted away!" But she was all right again, presently, sitting by the fire with her feet on one of the warm cushions, which Kate had knit on wooden needles, and drinking hot coffee. It was all true. The unfortunate passenger whose pocket had been picked on the train, and to whose rescue I had come, was no other than my Kate's own mother, who had determined to risk the perils of a journey to the far West to see her child once again. And she lias been with us ever since, the dearest old mother-in-law that ever a man had, the comfort of our household, and the guardian angel of little Kate and the baby, when I am away on my long trips. And little Kate declares now that she is "perfectly happy!" God bless her— may she never be otherwise The White Stripe. A rough-looking man? Yes, pe-lmps 1 am. We ain't all responsible for iur out side husk, uo more than a horse-dicstuut or a hazel nut is. The kiud of lift I lead can't be lived in white kid gloves aui dress coats. 1 wasu't brought up with maiy ad antages, and I'm only a brakemai on the Rensselaer & Saratoga Line. Old Jones was telling you about me, WHI he, sir? He'd better hold his tongue. There's more profitable subjects of conversation than i am. But Old Jones means well enough, aud if he told you to ask me how that stripe of white hair came on my black mane, 1 ain't the man to go back on hint. Oh, you needn't beg my pardon, sir! 1 don't mind talking about it now, though the time was when I couldn't speak of it without a big lump commg in my throat. We hadn't beeu married long, Polly and me, when it happened. Polly was as trim and bright-eyed a slip of a girl as ever you'd wish to see. She was oue of the waitresses in the Albany lunch room; aud the first 1 ever set eyes upon her I made up my miud to make that girl my wife. So, when they raised mv wages, I took heart and asked her if she would have them with me, with a wedding ring thrown iu the bargain. "Do you really mean it, Jake?'* said she, looking me fully iu the face, with those dark blue eyes of hers, that are like skies in the night. "I do really mean it, Polly," said I. "Then," said sheputting both her hands into mine, "I'll trust you, I've no living relative to advise me, so I can only take council with my heart." So we were married. I rented a little one-story house, under the hill on the height that overlooked the Hudson—a co zy place, with a good-sized wood-pile at the rear, for winter meant winter m those parts and the snow used to be drifted up even with our door yard fence many aud many a cold grey morning. And every thing went smooth until Polly began to object to my mates at the White Black bird. ad the. Saturday evenings I spent with the lioys, after my train was safely run on the side track at the junction. "SVhy, Polly, girl," said 1, where's the harm? A man can't live by himself, like an oyster in its shell, and a social glass never yet banned any one." "No," said Polly, ,4 not a social glass, Jake, but the habit And if you would only put every five cent piece that you spent for liquor into cur little Bertie's tiny savings bank—' "Pshaw!" said L "I'm not a drunk ard, and 1 nevei mean to become one. Aud no oue likes to be preached to by his wife, Polly. Remember that, my girl, aud you'll save yourself a deal of trouble." J kissed her and went away. But that was the beginning of the little, grave shad ows. that grew on my Polly'a face, like a creeping fog over the hills, and that she has never got rid of since. It was a sore point between us—whit the politicians call & vexed question. 1 felt that Poiiy wa *;<ching me; ami x .. IBU u) be pU. . _5 _p, strings by a woman. So—l shame to say it —I went to the W bite Blackbird oftener than ever, and I didn't often count the glasses of beer that I drank, and ouce or twice, of a particularly cold night, I let myself be persuaded into drinking some thing stronger than beer; and my brain wasn't the kind that could stand liquid with impunity. And Polly cried, and 1 lost my temper, and —well, I don't like to think of all these things now. Thank goodness they are over and gone. That afternoon as 1 stood on the back platform of my car, with my arms folded and my eyes fixed on the snowy waste of flat fields through which the iron track seemed to extend itself like an endless black serpent, 1 looked my own life in the face. 1 made up my mind that 1 had been behaving like a brute. "What are those senseless fellows at the White blackbird to me," muttered I, "as compared with one of Polly's sweet, bright looks? I will give the whole thing up, I'll draw the line just here now We shall be off duty early astonish Polly!" But as night fell, the blinding drift of a great snow storm came with it. We were belated by the snow which collected on the rails, and when we reached Earldale there was a little girl, who had been sent on in the care of the conductor, who must wait either three or four hours for away train in the cold and cheerless station, or be taken borne across a snowy field by some one who knew the way. 1 thought of iny own little children. "IU take her," said I —and lifting her up, 1 gathered my coarse, warm coat about her, and I started for the long, cold walk under the whispering pines along the edge of the river. 1 honestly believe she would have frozen to death if she had been left in the cold station until the way train could call for her. And when I had left, her safe in charge of her aunt, I saw by the old kitch en time-piece that it was ten o'clock. "Polly will think I have slipped back into the Slough of Degpond," I said to my self, with half smile; "but I'll give her an agreeable surprise!'' Ploughing down amid the snow drift through a grove of pine trees that edged a ravine at the back of my house, I sprang lightly on the door-step; the door was shut anil locked, i went around to the front. Here 1 effected aud entrance, nut the fire was dying on the hearth aud little Bertie, tucked up in his crib called out. "Papa, is that you?" 'Where is mamma, my son?" I asked looking eagerly around at the desolate room. "Gone out with the baby in her arms to look for vou;" he said. "Didn't yon meet her, papa?" • 1 stood a minute in silence. "Lie still, Bertie," said 1, in a voice that sounded strange and husky even to myself. And I thought with dismay, of the blinding snowstorm outside, the treacher ous gorges, which lay between there and the White Blackbird, the trackless woods, through which it was difficult enough to find one's way even in the sunshine of noonday, and—worst of all —the lonely track, across which an "express" shot like a meteor a few minutes before midnight. Oh, heavenl what possible doom might 1 not have brought upon myself by the wretched passion iu which 1 had gone away that morning! The town clock, sounding dim and muf fled through the storm, struck eleven as I burned down the hill. Eleven —and who knew what a length of time might elapse before I could find her? And like a fiery phantasmagoria before my mind's eye, I beheld the wild tush of the midnight ex press, and dreaded—l knew not what. For all that i could realize was, that the storm was growing fiercer with every mo ment, aud Polly and the baby were out in its fury. As steadily as I could, 1 worked my way down toward the track, but more than once 1 became bewildered, aud had to stop and reflect before 1 could resume my quest. And at length when i came out close to a ruined wood and water station on the edge of the track, 1 knew that 1 was full half a mile below the White Blackbird. And in the distance 1 heard the long, shrill shriek of the midnight train. Borne oue else had heard it, too, for as 1 stood thus, t saw, faintly visible through the blindiug snow, u shadowy figure issue from the ruiucd shed and come out upon the track, looking with a bewildered, un certain air, up aud down—the form of Polly, my wife, with the iittle baby in her arms! 1 hurried down to her as fast as the rap idly increasing snow drifts would let her but it was only just in time to drag her from the place of peril, and stand, breath lessly holding her back, while the fiery, eyed monster of steam swept by witli a rush and a rattle that neatly tool away my Oreutli. "Polly!,' 1 cried. "Poly! -speak tome!" She turned her wandering gaze toward me, with her vague eyes that seemed scarcely to recognize me. "Have you seen my husband?', said she; "one Jacob Coltcrel, brakcinan on the local express?" "Polly! little woman! don't you know me?" I gasped. "And 1 thought, perhaps," she added, vacantly, "you might have met hi ill. It's very cold here, and—aud— ' And then site fainted iu mv arn s. The long, long brain fever that follow ed was a sort of death. There was a time when they told me she would never know me again, but, thank God, she did. She recovered at last. And since that night 1 never had lasted a drop of liquor, and, please heaven, 1 never will again. The baby, bless its dear little heart, wasn't iiarmed at all. It lay snug and warm on its mother's breast. But if I hadn't hap pened to be close by them at that instant, the night express would have ground them into powder. And the while stripe came iuto my hair upon the night of that fearful suow storm. That's how it happened, sir. Not My Fault. "No, I am not one of the old veterans of the war," lie slowly replied to the in quiry, "but it is not my fault. I wanted to lx there, but something always held me back." "That was too bad." "Yea, it was. When the war broke out I offered to go, but I was iu jail on a six uiom* -o-ijuvi and'they wouldn't mji,. a**?. I was innocent, of course, out as I was in jail the recruiting officer hud had to refuse me. Lands ! but how I did ache to get down at the front and wade iu gore !" "And when you got out of jail ?" "Yes, I got out, but just then my mother died. I was on my way to enlist when she died, and of course that altered my plans. No one knows how badly I wanted to be down there ami wade around in blood and glory." "Well, you didn't have to mourn all through the war did you ?" "Oh, no. Bless your soul, but I only mourned for thirty days, and then I started out to enlist in the artillery. I was just about to write down my name when a constable arrested me for breach of promise, and it was four months be fore I got through with the suit. Ah ! sir, but if you only knew how I suffered at being held back when others were winning glory on the field of carnage you would pity mc !" "But the suit was finally decided?" "Yes, finally, and within an hour after the jury brought in a verdict I started for Toledo to enlist in the cavalry." And you enlisted ?" Almost. I was being examined by the doctor when I got a dispatch that the old man had tumbled into the well, and of course I had to go home. I had to go home. I hadn't got the undertaker paid before lightning struck the barn. Then gome one set fire to the cheese factory u aud soon after that I had three ribs broken and was laid up for a year. When I finally did get around to enlist the doctor rejected me because I was color blind, near-sighted, lame and deaf. I tell you, sir, when I think of the glory lost, and the gore I didn't shed it breaks me right down and I don't even care for soda water. Hear the band! See the old vets and the exprisoners 1 Hang my hat, but why wasn't I born with legs long enough to kick myself over iuto Canada!" A Ball-Headed Heathen. They were walking on the avenue in Detroit the other evening when it was so very warm, arrayed in their summer clothes. In the distance shone the light of an ice cream saloon, merry inside with the jingle of spoons and dishes. "Oh ! Augustus, it is so warm." "So it is, pet." "Don't you think, dear, that we could find a cooler place than on the street?" "Perhaps we'd better go in the park and get a drink of water. "I'd scream first." • 'Why would you scream, love ?" "Oh! because —because, oh! look, Qua, tllOKo'o Ml mo® —— -—— —l— " "I read, Angelique, darling, in the paper, that ice cream contained the germ of smallspox. That's the reason I didn't ask you to have some. Let's go and get some soda water." When Angelique got home she scream ed to ma that she'd "never go out with that stingy, old, bald-headed heathen again,'' *_ Johiifton'a Boy. Johnson was a boy. There is nothing peculiarly startling iu this asHertiou, but there is something peculiarly startling ( in that boy. His name is George and , every time George makes a move the whole town gets tip and wlioops itself and goes out on a target excursion after George. George has shaved more cats with his father's clipping machine, liuh broken more windows, knows more about water melon patches, catches more salted fish, sends more strangers on imaginary er rands, and alxmnds in more pure eus seduosH than any urchin of his size, weight, age, length of feet in all Closter. When the neighlxirs look at their brix keu window or hunt around for things that George's mischievous propensities have induced him to hide, they feel like 'hiding' him, and remark 'that Johnson must have been devilesli fond of cliildren to raise that boy.' Johnson isn't the only man that raised that boy. He lias 1HM?II raised by nearly every citizen from the Hackeiisack to the Hudson. The other day a poor old decrpit native drove into town. He drove a crowbait horse, and a wagon us old and stale as last year's pie. The native drew up in front of the hotel,let himself down out of the wagon, and went iu to get a a 'drap uv apple jack.' He had just loaded the glass up to the French roof when the train came along. When the whistle shrieked the horse summoned all its latent strength, and by an almost superhuman effort pricked up its ears. Then it started off. The native dropped the contents of the glass —down his throat, and started after the animal. The horse was alxmt one hundred yards ahead when he passed Johnson's stable. George took in the situation at a glance. He rushed out, yelled 'whoa,' started after the animal, changed lis miud, turned around and caught tin* < Id man. 'Lemme go,' yelled the native, 'I want to ketch that horse.' George said, 'Oh,' let the man go, and started after the horse again. Then he again changed his mind,came back and caught the citizen again, re. marking ; "By Jimmy, I can't stand idle an' see this thing going on. I must ketch sum think, I'll hold you,' and he did. At the junction is a drug store. The horse didn't know which road to take, SJld ch<X>sill2 .a hftPUV medium went through the window. Johnson says that the boy must save up and pay for damages. We think he will, for we saw him playing pool recent ly, and every time he won a game he said : 'There'sanother round saved.' Land Without an Owner. Out in Butler county, Pa., two miles from Bakerstown, lies seventy acres of land for which no owner can be found. Forty-five years ago, in 18136, Richard Gibson and bis wife liouglit the languid there they lived until death claimed them. Those days, from all accounts were not days of peace and happiness. Of worldly goods they had enough and to spare, but Ixith were of a taciturn disposition, gruff and unsociable. Their neighlxirs shunned them, and isolated from the world Ihey lived and quarreled until 1870, when Richard Gibson laid down the burden and passed across the dark river. After his death Mrs Gibson shut herself up more closely than ever. Alone in the farm-house she managed to exist until the people in the vicinity came to look upon it as the most natural thing in the world. Finally, a time came in March, 1880, when she was missed. No one had seen her for several days and the house was forced. Lying on the floor they found Mrs. Gibson suffering from a fit. She never rallied, but died in two days. The Gibsons hail no children, no known relative, no friends. The people who had closed Mrs. Gibson's eyes iu death searched the house. About her clothing and in various nooks aud crevices $758 were found, but no papers which would reveal who she and lier husband were. The money was turned into the Butler county courts, and two men named Sliepard and Ferguson were appointed administrators. Naturally each went to his attorney for instruction, and each attorney immediately notified the Attor ney General of the State that ail estate without heirs was lying in Butler county. A search was instituted to discover the past history of the deceased. It was found that in 1826 he had owned a sad dlery shop in Leeds, England, before he came to the United States. In 1840 a brother had lived with him in Butler county, got in debt to the amount of three hundred pounds sterling, and left, going down the river, from which time nothing has been heard of him. About the same time Gibson had a brother-in law, named Gill, in that city. He was engaged in the livery business, the firm's name being Gill & Whiteley, but no VlOVd Gftli l_f-ur ' 1,1 *" " ners. So the case stands. The property is worth SIOO an acre, and if at the end of seven years no heirs come forward, it goes to the State. One-fifth of its value will be the reward of the person who first informed the Attorney General that the property had no claimant, and the question is which of the lawyers got his work la first. The Prehistoric American. The high bluffs and banks of the Mis sissippi River near Chicago are dotted with Indian mounds, and large numbers of these wonderful sepulchres of the pre historic age have been thoroughly ex plored, yet nothing has been discovered by which the scientist can, with any degree of certainty, arrive at the date of their erection or the history of the mys terious people who engaged in their structure. These mounds are symme trically built, and range from three to six feet in height and from eight to six teen ieet in breadth at the base. Your correspondent has assisted in exploring a dozen or more mounds in this neigh borhood, and in almost every instance a pit, parallelogram in shape, has been found, dug evidently about two and a half feet below the original surface of the ground, about six feet long, and four feet wide, with the bottom and sides of hard baked clay. These pits are filled with human bones, representing al ages, buried in most cases in a sitting posture against the sides with legs ex tending to the centre. Over these bones are found layers of anhydrous earth of dark color, hard from pressure, but which easily crumbled into fine powder. Al>ove this is a stratum of hard baked clay or cement, oh the top of wliich is found a layer of ashes mingled with burnt shells and liones. In several in stances the first thing struck after re moving the earth from the tope of the mounds were flat pieces of limestone joined together as tightly as though fitt<*d by nature. In one mound un earthed on what is called the Portage, a short distance west of Chicago, were found "bones indicating a race of gigan tic stature. One immense skull was se cured which measured fifteen inches from the occipital to the frontal bone. The largest mound in the Portage group which was explored was found to be literally filled with bones, and sixteen skulls, all in a good state of preserva tion, were removed from the mess. In every one was a deep indentation on the left side, a little above and behind the orifice of the ear, as though crushed in with a blunt instrument. Relics were found in the shape of copper bodkins, cliisels and wedges, all finely wrought ; axes, arrows and spear heads, made of a species of flint not found in this region ; a singular and finely finished pear-shaped implement of stone, probably used for skinning animals ; great numbers of the large teeth of some carnivorous animal, supposed to be the bear ; in some in stance*, large pearls, some of exquisite lustre, perforated to be strung, and a piece of pottery about twelve inches in height, urn shaped, round on the bottom and ornamented. On top of one of the most romantic bluffs in the Upper Mississippi country, about eight miles from Chicago, over looking what is called the Sand Prairie, are no less than 100 prehistoric mounds, uniform in size, and ranged in rows of from eight to ten. They are located near the edge of the bluff", and one large mound stands like a sentinel on the very point of the eminence. Behind this, and about twenty feet away is a deep ditch, resembling somewhat the western sink hole, yet scooped out, undoubtedly, by the same mysterious hands which reared the mounds adjacent. Your cor respondent assisted in opening a half dozen of these mounds, which contained nothing but flat stones, with bones un derneath. In the township of West Galena, on the Nickol farm, are to be found lines of fortifications, built evidently for pur loses of defence. They extend along the brow of a high elevation, skirting the north side of it completely. Behind these embankments or fortifications is a fine level conntry. A short distance to the rear and at the middle of the outer line of the works is a mound in the shape of a house, and at the northwest extremity of the same line, and about an equal distance behind it, is another mound in the shape of a reptile. The fortifications are about 2 feet in height, about 8 feet wide at the base, and fully 30 feet long. One or two of them have been thoroughly explored, but nothing has been found, not even bones. Eight Times Their Weight in Gold. The cut-flower business, another phase of horticulture, is perhaps greater in the United States than in any other part of the world. Certainly the use of cut flowers in New York for bouquets, bas kets, and other designs, is far greater than in either London or Paris, and the taste shown in their arrangement here is vastly superior. It is estimated that three million of dollars were paid for cut flowers in "New York in 1880, one-third of which was for rose buds. Immense glass structures are erected in the sub urbs for the special purpose of growing cut flowers to supply the bouquet makers of the city. Not less than twen ty acres of glass surface i s devoted to the purpose of forcing roses alone, dur ing the winter months. At some sea sons the prices paid for these forced rose buds are perfectly astounding. One grower, of Madison, N. J., took into New York three hundred buds of the crimson rose known as " General Jac ' wholesale, 1 three hundred dollars, and which, nc doubt, were re tailed at a dollar and fifty cents to two dollars each. A flower dealer in Four teenth street, a few days before Christ mas, received the only four of this same variety of rose that were offered in the citv and found a customer for them at sixty dollars, or fifteen dollars apiece, or eight times the value of their weight iq gold. NO. 3!.