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THE MILLHEIM JOURNAL,
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY BY Deininger & Bumiller. Office in the New Journal Building, Penn St., near Hart man's foundry. SI.OO PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE, OR $1 26 IF NOT PAID IN ADVANCE. Acceptable Corresponfleiice Solicited Address letters to MIUJIEIM .IOI'RNAI.. GRANDMOTHER'S ADVICE. ''Tell youi - sorrows to your pillow." The world is bright enough, my pet; Young hearts are light and free from care: And long, long u ay your journey yet Ere life for you is hard to bear. But, when it comes, as come It will, The slow decay or sudden blow. Take up your burden and be still, Nor let the world your sorrow know. Nigh three-score years and ten have laid Their pagres opeii to my view; I've journeved on throung light and shade, And tins I've learned and proved it true- That he w ho sends us grief to boar Is near us In our deepest woe; We never are so much his care As when his hand hath laid us low. And so. whenever griefs befall, Still hold them sacred, all your own; No heart but one can feel for all The burdens on our shoulders thrown. So, when the friendly darkness falls And watchful eves are voile I in sleep, Bring forth each care with silent pray'r Aud give them all to God to keep. The Troubles of Ae. Yes! lam pretty old—Just eighty-three. I think, or four. But,l have packed my traps to leave,when Death Knocks at my dcor; For life, you know, when you grow very old. Becomes a bore. It seems that I am punished every day For all my sins— Snarler is cross, and often snaps at me And bites my shins, * While Rover runs between my legs, and knocks Me off my pins. Ah! once I loved to watch the merry sports Of boisterous boys; I seemed once more to fee! mv youth again With all ifs joys. But now boys are a nuisance—for they make Such horrid noise. Once I delighted in my rod or gun And blooded dogs; I wandered often over rugged hills And marshy bogs. And heard the sweet notes of the nightingale And of the frogs. Now, aching pains in every weary limb. My bones harass; I can no longer ciimb a hill, or wane Adeeo moras. Anil I should die if I would wander now In the wet grass. I love within the limpid spring to watch The spotted trout. As they plav hide and seek along the bank. 'And daM about,— But then they always steal my bait, before I pull them out. And all the books that I once loved to read. Have got so tame. And do not seem to me as if they were At all the same; But maybe it is my poor aged head That is to blame. I alwavs fall asleep when I would read. So—'tis no use! My brain, which once was bright, it seems, has Grown dull and obtuse; Yes! I have made the circle and returned To Mother Goose. All the sweet pleasures of my youthful days, Like dreams have fl*d ; My boon coninauions.maidens whoinl loved, — Tliey all arc dead; And I feel weary now—l'll sip my tea. And then—to bed. LIFE IN DEATH. A STRANGE EXPERIENCE. "She is dead !" These three words, proceeding from the lips of an eminent physician, and spoken in the low, solemn tone so gen erally used to convey sad tidings, an nounced to my weeping friends that I had ceased to be. But the doctor, as doctors often are, was mistaken. I was not dead. I was not even asleep. I heard, as distinctly as I can now hear, eyery word he said. I felt precept ibly as I can now feel, the clasp of his fingers upon my wrist and pulse. But the power of motion had ceased—the motion of will, the motion of lungs, the motion of the heart. All was still throughout the body—as still as if death reigned there. Yet every sense seemed alive—acutely alive. I could hear, I ceuld see, I could feel—l know not that I could not have smelled and tasted. There was a strangeness about these senses, though. I seemed to be in the body, and yet out of it. I seemed to hear with my ears, see with my eyes, feel with my nerves, and at the same time be so independent of my mortal form as to have a complete identity without it. Where my actual, living self was, I could not clearly compre hend. My body I knew was there, on the bed-stretched out as if in death pale, still, lifeless—and around this body were collected my weeping fam ily—my mother, my husband, my two children—together with the doctor, a black nurse and servant, and some two or three sympathizing females, straugers to me, who had come in to inquire a bout my condition and bad remained to see me die. I was at a hotel in an interior town in Virginia, and had been traveling for more than a month for the benefit of my health, which had been on the de cline for a year. We had left our home in New York,stopping at Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington, and we were at last on our way to the famous White Sulphur Springs, of Greenbrier county, Virginia, traveling slowly through a mountainous region, when X had gradually become so ill a9 to be unable to proceed. A week's sickness —during which I had the best medical skill of that region, and the most de voted care and attention—had resulted, as was believed in my decease. It was about ten o'clock in the morn ing of a beautiful day in mid-summer. The windows of my apartment were o pen ; and the clear, delightful air of that mountainous region came gently in, bringing the sweet perfume of flow ers, the soft rustle of leaves, playing with the curtains, and lightly kissing the tytow of the otfdurtftfrd. DEININGER & BUMILLER, Editors and Proprietors. VOL. 58. And thev were mourners indeed— that group of four of my nearest and dearest Kin that were gathered around my bed. There stood my gray-haired mother, silently gazing upon my inan imate from through great, scalding tears that were following each other down her furrowed cheeks. There stood the beloved partner of my bo som,speechless and tearless in his heav ing agony, slowly rubbing one hand oyer the other, with no power to give vent to feeliugs that were internally rending ids manly frame. There stood my two children— mv bright-eyed buy of ten, and my sweet little girl of eight —both were crying and sobbing as if their little hearts would break. Oh, how 1 longed and stiuggled to force my lips to move and say that I was not dead ! -that a loving daughter, wife and mother was still with them in the earthly land. Slowly, with respectful steps, the doctor withdrew, and one by one tlie other strangers followed him till only the black nurse and my own family re mained. "Oh. mamma ! mv dear, dear mam ma !" now burst from my little fair haired Ada, as impulsively she seized and pressed to her bosom the same hand the doetor had left fall—"won't you speak to me again ? won't you speak to me again ? if only just once, dear mamma ! if only just once ! Speak once more to your dear little Ada, mamma ! won't you ? won't you ?'' Oh, how I struggled to comply with her passionate prayer ! and what a strange thrill of agony went through my whole being when I f >und myself powerless to move a single muscle of my lifeless form ! "Your poor mamma is dead, my dear child !" said mv own mother, in a choking voice ; "she will never speak to any of us again !" "No ! no !" cried Ada, with child like eagerness ; "dear mamma's not dead 1 I won't have her dead !—will you, Edgar ?—will you, papa ?" and she passionately kissed my hand, again and again, and fairly bathed it with her tears. "Oh, my God 'my God ! this blow will kill me !" groaned my husband, wringing his hands and beginning to pa:e to and fro. "Henry, my son," said my mother, affectionately laying her grief-trembling hand upon his shoulder, "you must not give too much way to tour grief ! but, while thinking of your great loss, bless the Lord that He has left you your two dear children for a comfort and consolation. Tho Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord ! Mary was a good daughter—a true, affectionate wife and mother—and I would that heaven had spaied her and taken me instead ; out 1 feel to say, the Lord has done it and it is for the best ! She suffered a great deal while she was with us ; and, now that she is at rest, I feel it is almost sinful to wish her back again in this world of pain and trouble. Let us re sign her into the hands of Ilim who has taken her for Ilis own wise pur pose. and endeavor to be prepared to meet her in that blessed world where there will be no more sorrow—uo more patting !" "Oh,mother ! mother !" groaned my poor husband, with heaving breast and tearless eyes—"l cannot, cannot giye her up—it will break my heart !" "And mine, dear papa !" cried Ada, again kissing my hand ; "it would break my heart to have her dead ; and I can't have her dead—l won't have her uead ; sin must come back again to life, and speak to her little Ada like she used to do I Oh, won't you, dear mamma ? won't you, my dear, dear mamma ?" I would have given the world then, had it been mine, to have been able to say yes *, but though I tried in my great agony, till it seemed as if my soul would burst, yet the lips remaii.ed as motionless as if the seal of death had indeed been upon them. Heavenly Father 1 was this indeed death ? had my life really departed forever from the body ? and did my consciousness truly belong to the mysteries of anoth er world ? "Henry," said my mother to my husband,gently taking linn by the arm, "had you not better retire into anoth er apartment V We can no longer do any good here, and the sight of poor Jfary is too great a trial for you." With a deep, heavy groan, he suffer ed her to lead him away ; and then she came back and led off the children, both crying and sobbing fearfully. After this the black nurse came up and closed my eyes, by carefully press ing down the lids with her fingers ; and then, somehow. I seemed gradually to lose consciousness, as if sinking into a calm, deep sleep. For a time there was a iO\v, confus ed Found, as of persons moving about and talking at a great distance—and once or twice I fancied myself being lifted and turned—and then all seemed MILLIIEIM, PA., THURSDAY, MARCH 13., 1884. to close up in a calm and sweet obliv ion. My next, remembered sensation is of being in some close, confined place, where all was dark and still. At first I could not recall what had happened, nor imagine where 1 was ; but by de grees the scene of my supposed death came hack to idp, and then a feaiftil horror thrilled meat the thought that I might already be in my coffin and perhaps bin it d alive ! Oh, heaven ! the agony of that thought ! what lan guage can describe it ? I tried to speak, but my lips WHO sealed ; 1 tried to turn, to raise my hand, but not a muscle could I stir ; I tritd to open my eyes, but the lids were fast ; 1 lis tened intently, but not a sound broke the awful silence. My soul was alive though, and mentally I prayed: "Oh, my tied, deliver me ! Oh, mer ciful God, deliver me !" Some time after this, as if in answer to my prayer, I heard the sound of moving feet, as if some one were step ping slowly, solemnly, and lightly a cross a floor. The steps drew nearer and nearer, and seemed to halt beside me. Then there was a slight noise, as of something being moved above my head.and a sensation as of a light shin ing suddenly out of darkness up in clos ed eyelids. This was followed by the sound of a long, deep sigh, ending in a suppressed and mournful groan, and then by a loiig, heavy pressure of the human lips upon my own. Oh, the unspeakable agony of not being able to respond to the devotion of him who was more to me than life ! for my very inmost soul acknowledged ii to be my loving and belovel husb.tml who was with me, in the lone w itches of the night, mourning me as if gone forever from the leahn of time. "Oh, my dear, dear 3/ary, why did you leave me thus V*" he said, in a low, tremulous, sobbing tone ; "why did you leave me thus, to struggle on alone in the woild that will henceforth be a dark and dreary one to me V Uo.God, why could she not have been spared to me,and to her children, a little longerV Oh, merciful God ! I know it is sinful in me, a poor mortal, to repine at Thy wise decree ! and theref >re I beseech Thee to give me strength to bear up un der this great affliction : Oh, Heaven ly Father ! support *nd sustain me, that Ibe not utterly crushed with the w eight of this great sorrow !" These words I heard and telt through all my being, and yet could not move could not respond. Was the misery of Tantalus equal to mine V Again I felt the warm, holy pressure of my husband's lips upon mine ; and as he drew back, with nnoth°r heavy groan, I heard him murmur : "Oh, how beautiful is mv dear Mary even in death ! Ilo.v like is her death to a calm and peaceful sleep ! Ila ! what do 1 behold ? moisture upon those lips ! and a color upon th se cheeks ! Gracious God 1 p rhaus she is not dead !" lie rushed from the roun, and for the first time my soul trembled with hope. Might I not be saved at last ? In a rair.u e I heard quick steps returning,"and the voices of my nio'h er and husband s.>e iking ex lite 11 v. "There ! there !" he exclaimed, as he came up to my side : "Look ! bok ! —is that death "It seems like life—it really seems like life !" exclaimed my mother, in a wild, agitated tone. "Oh, I Haven ! if it shoull be '. if it should he ! But do not hope too much, Henry—do not hope too much ! —it may be a cruel de ception after all !*' "Quick !" he cried ; "let us take her from the coflin, roll her in blankets, rub her, and try eve.y restorative ! Quick ! your spirits of hartshorn ! quick ! -quick !" A moment after, a sheck seemed to pass through my system—my eyes un closed—my breath came—my toungue was loosed -and—"Dear mother ! dear husband ! " issued from my lips. A wild shriek of joy greeted my re turned animation ; wild confusion fol lowed ; the coffin lid was torn olf ; I was lifted out and carried to a bed ; the house was aroused ; the doctoi was sent for ; and before morning my dear children were led to the bed of their living mother. I need add but little more. I recov ed rapidly—disease left me—and in three weeks I ivas able to resume my I journey homeward— a living wonder, if not a miracle. It was the second night after my sup posed decease that I was restored io life. I had been placed in a coflin, which was to have been sealed up the next day, for the long, homeward journey of the dead . The devotion of my husband, under the providence of God, saved me. I am now in the bosom of my happy family, alive and well ; and in my dab ly prayer of thanksgiviug for my won derful deliverance, I earnestly pray to be long spared to those who so devot edly loye me. \ PAPER FOR THE HOME CIRCLE A SCHOOLBOY FINANCIER. Ho Takos a Whipping and Pookots the Fino. "Pa, I don't like to tell yon, hut tho teacher and I had trouble." "What's the matter now?" " Well, I cut one of Ids desks a little with my knife, an ! the teacher says I've got to pay a dollar or take a lick in'." "Well, why don't you take the lick ing ami say no more about it? I can stand considerable physical pain, so long as it visits our family in that form. Of course, it is not pleasant to be dog ged, but you have broken a rule of the school, aud 1 guess you'll have to stand it. I presume that the teacher will in wrath remember mercy, and avoid dis abling you so that you can't get your coat on any more." "Hut, pa, I feel mighty bad about it already, and if you would pay my line I'd never do it again. A dullar ain't much to you, pa. but it's a heap to a boy who hasn't a cent. If I could make a dollar as easy as you can. pa, I'd nev er let my little boy get flogged that way just to save a dollar. If I had a little feller that got licked bekuz I didn't put up fer liiin, I'd hate the sight of mon ey always. I'd feel as if every dollar 1 had in my pocket had been taken out of mv little kid's back." "Well, now, I'll tell you what I'il do. I'll give you a.dollar to save yon from punishment this time, but if anything of this kind occurs again, I'll hold yon while the teacher licks you, and then I'll get the teacher to hold you while I lick you. That's the way I feel about that. If you want to go around whit tling up our educational institutions you can do so; but you will have to pur chase them afterward yourself. 1 don't piopose to buy any more damaged school furniture; you probably grasp my meaning, do you not? I send you to school to acquire an education, not to acquire liabilities so that you can come around and make an assessment on me. I feel a great interest in jou, Willie, but I do not feel as though it stiould be an assessable interest. I want to go on, of course,and improve the property; but when I pay up my dues on it 1 wont know that it goes toward devel opment work. I don't want my assess ment to go toward the purchase of a school-desk with American hieroglyph ics caryed on it. "I hope you will hear thic in your mind, my son, and beware. It will be greatly to your interest to beware. If I were in your place I would put in a large portion of my time in the beware business." The boy took the dollar and went thoughtfully away to school, and 110 more was said about the matter until Mr. Taylor learned casually several months later that the Spartar- youth had received the walloping and filed a way the dollar for future reference. The boy was afterward heard to say that he tayored a much heavier fine in cases of that kind. One whipping was sufficient he said, but he favored aline of five dol lars. Wonderful Automatons. Very many of the tiny 3crews used in this country in watch-making are turned out 011 three little automatic machines in Panbury, Conn. One of them.while turning out a peifect screw at a fair rate of speed, is considerably improved 011 by its companions. The machine takes up but little room. A man could carry it under his arm with out mujh difficulty. A wire is fed through a tube into the machine. It i* carried forward by revolving teeth. As it appears a knife cuts away the surplus metal to mike the stem for the thread, just as the chisel operates at the lathe of the woodturner. As this is finished a small tube, in which the thread is formed, advances and clasps the stem, forms the thread at lightning speed and falls back. As this is done two knives cut that por tion of the wire off, and the completed screw falls down. The wire again ad vances and the process is repeated. The marvel of the machine is best grasped when the SIZJ of the screw formed is understood. They aie an eighth of an inch in length and it would require 2'M) of them to weigh an ounce. The thread on the stem is so that it is scarcely discernible to the na ked eye. Each machine will make 5,- 00 > screws a day. The machines have been at work but little more than a month and are the lesult of years of patient investigation. A short time ago a London pawn broker was aroused about 1 a. in. by a vigorous pounding at his street door. Hastily throwing on a dressing gown, he rushed to the window and demanded "Who's there?" "i want to know the time," came the response from the pave ment in the familiar tones of a frequent customer. "What do you mean by calling me up at this time o'night to ask such a question as that?" lepliid the irate pawobroker. "Well, and to whom else should I come?" was thejre joinder, in husky accents; "you've got my watch!" A Good Natured Prince Kirifj William tho Fourth in Hie Youth. Prince William Henry—Duke of Clarence, afterward William IV. —was the third son of (.Yorge 111., and he was doubtless sent to sea by his royal father in a spirit of spite. The Duke of Cumberland, younger brother of George 111., had fixed his hopes upon the office of Lord High Admiral of England; nut on a certain occasion, when Admiral Keppel was on trial, Cumnerland behaved in such a manner that the king was bitterly incensed,and lie declared, in his own thought, that his brother shauld never hold the high est office in a navy one of the grandest veterans of which he had outraged. 8o he sent his son William Henry—then in his tenth year—to become a midship man m the navy, bidding him that he should study hard and strive to excel. •'Make of thyself a complete sailor, my son, and thine uncle of Cumberland shall yet look up to thee!" Very likely the boy-prince donned his sea-going garb in high glee and glowing anticipations, but when he had become rated as a midshipman on board a fine frigate, and found himself the youngest middy in his mess, he dis covered in a very short time, that no body cared anything about his title. He must rough it with the rest, and look out for Ntmber One. lie had not been at sea a week before he contrived to get into trouble. He unfortunately put on airs at mess, and really insulted one of his mates. This mate was another midshipman, only a year older, but not a whit larger than the prince. He call ed the prince aside, and gave hiui a sound drubbing, exclaiming, as his an tagonist cried aloud for mercy: "There! I don't think you'll wag your impudent tongue at me any more!" The prince blubbered, and said he would tell his father. "I'll tell my father, and you'll catch it! Now, see if von don't !" Said the mate in answer, "Let your father come and act as .unlike a gentle man as you did, and I'll serve him as I have seryed yon! Just you remember that!" This mate's name was Dadmtin. When Prince William, as D ike of Clar ence had become Lord High Admiral, he heard of Dadmtin as having just c >ine in from the West Indies on board a sloop-of-war, with only the grade of past mi Ishipm in. Ileat once summon ed his old shipmate to come tip to town and call upon him. Dadmun came; and as he entered the Lord High An miral's presence, he was stricken with a great fear. "Oh, your royal highness!" he ex claimed, putting out his hand, "1 hope you havn't laid up a grudge against me. I am very sorry for what I did!'* "Oho! You are the man, then, who gave me that drubbing?" "Yes, my lord, but " "Pshaw!'' broke in the duke, with a kindly smile and fervent hand-grasp, "You need be sorry 110 more,for 1 have never been sorry since I came to know how much good it did me. It opened my eyes, dear friend, and gave me my first valuable lesson in the real life of a man-of-war." Dadmun took lunch with the duke, and returned to Portsmouth with a lieutenant's epaulette on his shoulder. A few years later Lieutenant Dad mun was sent for to come to London again this time by the king—William IV.—and once more the two messmates sat at the table together; and, when Plvmton Dadmun next went to sea, it was a post captain, and in command of a fine frigate. Such things are worth telling and worth preserving. They are as gleams of cherry, happifying light falling on the highway of life—always pleasant and healthful to look upon. A Little Story of Ganeral Thomas and his Efforts to Hold the Position by Order of the Provident. In his war anecdote, General Town send relates the story of General Thomas's appointment bv President Johnson as Secretary of war ad inter im ? General Townsend's connection with the Adjutant-General's office contin ued long after the suppression of the rebellion, but his reminiscences relat ing to the subsequent period an'natur ally less interesting than those associ ated with the civil war. One of them however, is worth quoting. We refer to the account of the interview be tween General L. Thomas and Mr. Stanton. On February 22d, 18t'>8, when the former undertook to obtain a posses sion of the War Department,to which he had been appointed ad interim by President Johnson, the author was an ear witness of the colloquy that ensu ed. 'I am/ said General Thomas, 'Sec retary of War ad interim, and am or dered by the President of the United States to take charge of this office.' Terms, SI.OO per Year, in Advance. 'I order you,' rejoined Mr. Stanton, 'to repair to yot.r room and cxcrci.sc your office as Adjutant-Generul.' I am,' rc|mated General Thomas, 'Secretary of War ad interim, and I sluill not oliev your orders; hut I shall obey the tirder of the President to take charge of this office." 'As Secretary of War,' said Mr. Stanton a second time,'l order you to repair to your office JIS Adjutant-Gen eral.' "I shall not do so,'returned General Thomas. 'Then,' pcrsuod Mr. Stanton, 'you may stand there if you please,but you attempt to act as Secretary of War at your peril.' To which General Thomas replied,'l shall act as Secretary of War,' and there the official interview ended. Presently, however, General Thom as crossed the hull to General Schriv et's room, and Mr. Stanton, followed onlv by the stenographer, came in af ter him. Resuming the colloquy,Mr Stanton said in a laughing tone to General Thomas: 'So you claim to be here as Secre tary of War, and refuse to obey m v orders, do you?" General Thomas replied seriously: 'I do so claim. I shall require the mails of the War Department to be delivered to me, and shall transact all the business of the department.' Seeing that the General looked as if had no rest the night before, Mr. Stan ton, playfully running his fingers up through the General's hair as he wear ily leaned back in his chair, said: 'Well, old fellow, have yo.i had any breakfast this morning?' 'No,' said Thomas, good naturedlv. 'Then you are us badly off as 1 am for I have had none.' Mr. Stanton then sent out for some refreshments, and while the two were sharing the refection they engaged in very pleasant conversation, in the course of which, however, Mr. Stanton suddenly and withjseeming carlessness inquired when General Thomas was going to give him the report of an in spection of the national cemeteries which he had lately made. Mr. Stan ton said if it was not soon rendered it would be too late for the printers, and he was anxious to have it go forth as a creditable work of the department. The question had apparently no espec ial point, and General Thomas evident ly saw none, for he answered, pleas antly, that he would work at the re port that night and give it to the Sec retary. 'This struck me,' said Gener al Townscud, 'as a lawyer's ruse to make Thomas acknowledge Stanton's authority as Secretary of War. and that Thomas wascaught by it. 1 some time after asked Mr. Stanton if that was his design. He made no reply,but looked at me with a marked express ion of surprise at my conceiving such a thing.' We are further told that, before General Thomas left the depart ment that morning, Mr. Stanton hand ed him a letter forbidding him to give any orders as Secretary of War. The General read and endorsed it as re ceived on that date, signing the en dorsement as Secretary ad interim, which Mr. Stanton seeing, he remark ed, laughing: 'Here you have com mitted another offense.' To this the General assented.and soon after went away for the day. The incidents here related unquestionably indicate, as General rownsend surmised, that all the steps taken by Mr. Stanton were intended to place the whole matter in a form suitable for testing before the highest tribunal, the constitutionality of the tenbre of office act. Doctor—"And how do you feel this morning, my poor fellow ?" Sufferer—"Much lie tier in most ways, but I'm afraid I won't mend very fast; I worry too much." Doctor—"You have nothing to wor rv about. You will not lose any of your limbs and the railroad company can be made to pay heavy damages." Sufferer—"l know that ; but just think of the humiliation!" Doctor—"The humiliation ?" Sufferer—Yes; I was always con sidered a man of energy and activity, but now my reputation is ruined. No one will want to employ a mau who was so lazy as to get run over bv an accomodation train " The best rule for good looks is to keep happy aud cultivate a kind dis position. no. 11. NEWSPAPER LAWS. If subscribers order the discontinuation of newspapers the juiMishers mav continue to •wjiiil tliein until all arrearages are paid. It subscribers refuse or neglect to take tl cir newspapers from the office to which they arcset t they arc held responsible until they have settled the bills and ordered them discontinued. li subscribers move toother places without In* forming the publisher, and the newspapers r sent to the former place, thevare resinnj>ible. ADVEhTISINO HATES. 1 wk. 1 mo. |3mos. fimos. 1 yea 1 square Y_• INI 400 I * 5 <lO *fi 00 $8 00 Ueoiumn t(*i nno in no 15 no is 00 \i /' < ni l" on 1.100 rmoo 4000 1 " in no 16 00 25 00 45 00 76 00 One inch makes a square. Administrators' and Kxecutors' Notices #J.SO. Transient adver. tisemeiitsnnd locals 10 cents per line for first insertion and > cents p#r line for each addition al insertion. JGROUKERHOFF HOUSE, ALLEGHENY ST., RKLLEFONTE, PA. C. G. McMILLEN, PROPRIETOR. Good Sample Room on First Floor. Free HUMS to and from all trains. Special rates to witnesses and Jurors. Q CMMIXS HOUSE, HIKIIOP STREET, BEI.LEFONTE, PA., T| EMANUEL BROWN,' - ™ PROPRIETOR. House newly refitted and refurnished. Ev erythlug doue to make guest* comfortable. Rates moderate. Patronage respectfully solid ted. 5-1 y JRVIN HOUSE, (Most Central Hotel in the city.) CORNER OF MAIN AND JAY STREETS, LOCK HAVEN, PA. S.WOODS CALDWELL PROPRIETOR. Good Sample Rooms for Commercial Travel ers on first floor. -SSS-—-s-w HUMOROUS. WANTED HIM TWICE. A Nebiaska sheriff who was on a train coming east from Omaha tho other day fell into conversation with n New Yorker, and finally admitted that he was in pursuit of a broker. "A broker—for what ?" "Oh, one of our smart towns was getting ahead so fast that it must needs send to Chicago for a broker. It wanted him had and he came. He opened an office, put in a ticker, dis played quotations, and made about $20,000 in six weeks." "How ?" "Well, that's what they want him the second time for—they want to ask how." Dying of Thirst. 'Did you ever suffer extreme hunger or thirst?' was asked of a Kentucky colonel who had been relating some solid stories about himself. •Well,* he replied, I never suffered what might be called extreme hunger, but no man knows how to endure a gonies of thirst better than I do. 4 I remember the time well,' he con tinued, retrospectively. 'I was on a fishing excursion and became lost in the woods. For three days not a drop passed my lips. My lengthened absence finally caused alarm and a party was sent out in search of me. They found ine lying 111 an unconscious condition on the hanks of a little trout stream, and it was hours before any hopes of sa/ing me were entertained.' * Was the trout stream dry?' asked one of the interested listeners?' 'Dry? Certainly not. llow could I catch fish if the stream was dry?' •Well, 1 don't see how you could suf fer from thirst with a stream of water close at hand,' •Water close at hand?' repeated the Kentucky Colonel. 'And what has water got to do with a mail's being thirsty?" Worth a Licking. Some years ago, in Georgia,that band of Christians known as Ascensionists were haying a grand reyival. One day when the meeting was in lull force a storm cam 3 up, and a young gentleman being out hunting with his servant took refuge in the church door. Being cu rious to see the service these two hun ters crept lip into the g v'lery, and there hid in a place where they could observe without being observed. "Come, Lord, come; our robes are ready. Come, Lord, come," cried the preacher, while all present gave a loud "Amen." "Marsa Gabe," whispered Cuffy, lifting his hunting-horn to his mouth, "let me gib dera just one toot." "Put that horn down, or I'll break your head," replied the master in a whisper. The horn dropped by Cuffy's side, and again the minister cried; "Come, Lord, come; we are all ready for Thy coming. Come, Lord, come." "Do, Marsa Gabe—do jist lemme gib 'em jist one little toot," pleaded Cuffy, wetting his lips and raising the horn. "If you don't drop that horn, Cuffy, I'll whip you within an inch of your life," whispered the exasparated mas ter. "Blow, Gabriel, blow; we are ready for Ilis comming. Blow,Gabriel,blow," pie ided the minister. Cuffy could 110 longer resist the temp ta ion, and sent a wild peal ringing from end to end of the church; but long before its last echo died away his mastey and himself were the only occu pants of the building. "I'se ready fur de licking, Marsa Gabe," said Cuffy, showing eyery tooth in his head,"for I 'elare to gracious it's worf two lickings to see de way com mon farm cattle kin git ober de ground wid sktared 'Scensionists behind dem,"