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j O TO M. C. STRASBURQER’S COMBINATION STORE. If you know what is good for your pock book, and want to save money, then come and examine our stock of goods, which con sists of SUGARS, COFFEES, TEAS, SPICES, CANNED GOODS, N. O. MOLASSES, SYRUP, RAISINS, CURRANTS, CITRON, CRANBERRIES, DATES, FIGS, ORANGES, LEMONS, BANANAS, COCOANUTS, CAKES, CRACKERS, CHEESE, FISH, BACON, LARD, BOLOGNA SAUSAGE, COAL OIL, FLOUR, CORNMEAL, BUCKWHEAT. A full Stock of pure Confectionery, which cannot be surpassed in quality or price. Nuts of all kinds. A large assortment of Boots and Shoes. Come and see our $3.00 Waterproof Boot. Tinware, Glass and Qneensware, Wooden ware and Notions of all kinds. vOur 5 cent Counter is now in full bloom and well worth looking at. A FINE STOCK OF LIQUORS OF ALL KINDS. OUR STOCK IS COMPLETE In all its branches, and too numerous to men tion every article. You can find almost any kind of goods, and need not run from store to store P supply your wants. Call and see be- At the store lately occupied by Theodore Derr, ,j ec o Westminster, Md. Buy your hardware and STOVES or M. SCHAEFFER & CO., WESTMINSTER, MD.. NEAR RAILROAD. We are receiving an elegant line of fine heating Stoves, economical in fuel, ornamen tal in design, easy to manage and reasonable in price. ... , Cook Stoves and Ranges in the latest ana most approved patterns guaranteed. Sole agents lor the celebrated New Light- House Cook and Excelsior Penn, Othello and New Record Ranges, also the New Golden Sun and Boynton 1882 Fire Place Heaters, the very best in the market. Keep on hand always a full line of HARDWARE. WOODENWARE, PAINTS, , OILS, GLASS, .PLUMBERS’ AND .GAS-FITTERS’ SUPPLIES. "Manufacturer*of all kinds of Tinware. Root ling and Spouting promptly attended to. Call and examine stock and learn prices, sept 9-tf __ ESTMINSTER FLOURING MILLS. ~W. S. MYEE j& BRiO.. Pkofbietobs. ■ Marrufaetwe and have on hand and for sale Flour, Feed; also, Seeds, Salt, Kainit, S. C. Rock, Plaster, and all kiwis of Standard Brands of Fertilizers at manufacturers’ prices. Highest Cash Prices Paid for Grain. Grain of all kind taken on storage. r2l,tf Y H - HUBER, NO. 3 CARROLL HALL, . DEALER IX DRUGS, CHEMICALS, PATENT MEDICINES, AND PERFUMERY. ESPECIAL ATTENTION PAID TO PHY SICIANS’ ORDERS AND PRE SCRIPTIONS. april 25-tf AND STATIONERY. WHOLESALE AND RETAIL. BeiT Country Orders filled Promptly for MISCELLANEOUS, SCHOOL, LAW AND MEDICAL BOOKS, WHITING DESKS, POCKET BOOKS. GOLD PENS AND PENCILS, Work Boxes, Pine Stationery. BLANK BOOKS. AND CHECK BOOKS MADE TO ORDER. WM. J. C. DULANY & CO., "332 and 334 W. Baltimore St., Baltimore, Md. apr 26 FOUTZ’S HORSE AND CATTLE POWDERS. No horse will die of Colic, Bots or Lung Fever, if Foutz’s ,, ders are used in time. \ Fontz’s Powders will / Jil care and prevent Hog " stWL Cholera. Foutz’s Powders will prevent Gapes in Fowls. Foatz’s Powders will increase the quantity .of milk and cream twenty per cent., and make the butter firm and sweet. Foutz’s Powders will cure or prevent al most every disease to which horses and cattle are subject. Foutz’s Powders will give satisfaction. Sold everywhere. DAVID E. FOUTZ, Proprietor, aug 16:tf Baltimore, Md. CJUITS, Astonishingly low. Only a few 40 left at BINKER’S. Umocratit A&fiocdtc. QLOSING-OUT SALE OF 8888 00 00 K K q SSS q B BOOOOKK 2 8888 O O O O KK "SSS S B BOOOOKK o S 8888 00 00 K K SSS‘ STATIONERY, &c. The undersigned, as trustees of James M. Shellman, will sell in the store formerly oc cupied by him, in the Advocate Building, corner Main and Centre streets, Westminster, Maryland, all the stock in said store, AT GREATLY REDUCED PRICES to close out. The stock embraces EVERY THING found in the retail book and station ery line, viz: Works of popular and standard authors, poets, historians and novelists, juvenile and toy bocks, ranging in price from 1 cent to $5; Chatterbox, American and English editions; Seaside, Munroe, Franklin Square and Lovell Libraries; scrap books and pass books, large assortment of blank books for single and double entry, photograph and autograph al bums, bibles and hymn books, hand mirrors, fancy perfumery, hair brushes and whisks, plain and fancy paper weights, thermometers and barometers, bronze and library inkstands, blotters, writing desks, portfolios, lead pen cils, crayons, pocketbooks, purses, card and cigar cases, diaries, dressing cases, ladies' work boxes, fancy paper, envelopes, corres. pondence and visiting cards, paper fly brushes- | Roller Skates in Great Variety IF YOU WISH TO MAKE GIFTS of a substantial and permanent value, at the same time ornamental and useful, call and examine the stock, purchase and lay aside until the holiday season. School Globes, Satchels, Lunch Baskets, Stereoscopes And views, majolica ware, terracotta, bisque figures, marble busts, kaleidoscopes, magic lanterns, cigar holders; a large assortment of Picture Frames, Cord and Easels; Engravings, chromos, baskets, trays, salad sets, call bells; large assortment of j CHRISTMAS CARDS, of new designs. Sewing Machine Oil and Needles. Christmas Souvenirs, containing extracts from all the popular poets; tree ornaments, silver, gold and colored papers, French tissue paper for artificial (lowers, scrap pictures, mucilage, MUSIC AND MUSIC BOOKS. TTTTT 00 Y Y q SBS q T 0 O Y Y 2 8 T 0 0 YY b SSS s TOO Y o S T 00 Y B SSS B ::: Toys in tin, papier-mache and wood; Cran dall and Reed’s blocks, building blocks, toy theatres, encampments, panoramas, tool chests, saws and bucks, ten pins, drums, trumpets, wheelbarrows, wagons, velocipedes, tricycles, hobby horses, shoo flys, engines, gum toys, rattles, wooden wash sets, wire goods, electric toys, baskets, Ac. DDD n 00 L L qSSS s dSool L 2 8 D S 0 0 L L h SSS s D n oo L L q q DDD D 00 LLLL LLLL B SSS B Carriages, furniture, trunks and dishes, lan terns, fire crackers, base balls, bats and belts, checkers, backgammon, cards. GAMES OP ALL KINDS, DICE, CARPET PAPER, umbrellas and games, a large assortment, CIGARS; every thing, in fact, that make up a choice assort ment. The store is packed. If you do not see what you want ask for it, as we have it in stock. gSaTThe trustees will sell the entire stock to any one wishing to go into the business at private sale, it being the only establishment j of the kind in the county, and offers a rare j chance. ISAAC PEARSON, JAS. A. C. BOND, | july 11,3 t Trustees. JgXAMINERS’ NOTICE. i The undersigned, examiners appointed by i virtue of a commission issued to them by the i County Commissioners of Carroll county, to j open and locate a public road in said county, I commencing at an old road about three parches distant from the north-west corner of David Raije’s mill (in election district No. jll), apd rapping thence through David Baile’s land, on o". uepr the bed of said old road as now used until it intersects the old road, now in use, along the eastern *i4e pf E, S. Baile’s land; then on or near the bed or said last-mentioned road, and on the lands of • E. 8. Baile, David Raile, Nathan Shipley and the heirs of Nathan Nicodemus, deceased, until it intersects the road leading from the ; Chapel to the Brick Meeting House; j then o# #r near the bed of said last-mentioned road and op the land of Wm. M. Englar and the said heirs ,of tfatjian Nicodemus, dec d., to a corner between the lanJs.qf said >V ra. M. i Englar and said heirs; then ruuoiflg .on or i near the bed of the old road now in use p- I tweep the lands of Wm. M. Englar, H. S. ’ Roberts and the heirs of Nathan Nicodemus, dete a*e4, to a point near said H. S. Roberts’ residence; Rfep continuing on or near the bed of said !ast-jeptioned old road, on the lands of H. S, Robeiis, Elizabeth Englar, Daniel H. Englar and David Nicodemus, until it intersects the public road leafijng from Wakefield to the Washington road, near ' Medford Station, W. M. R. R. 1 ,4.11 persons whom it may concern are 1 hereby notified that we will meet at David Baile’"s Mil), on July 30, 1885, at 9 o’clock, | a. ra., to the trust reposed in us by the aforesaid commission. „ FRANCIS R. ORENDORFF, DAVID FOWBLE, . JOHN T. LYNCH, j june27:st Examiner., | business increases. I IAM PROUD TO SAY THE HEADING | OF THIS ADVERTISEMENT IS TRUE, | AND THE ONLY WAY TO KEEP UP THIS HONEST BRAG IS TO KEEP DOWN PRICES. I AM NOT SELLING GOLD DOLLARS FOR EIGHTY CENTS, • BUT IAM SELLING GOODS AT ROCK BOTTOM PRICES. THE ONLY WAY TO FIND THIS OUT IS TO GIVE ME A CALL. MY STORE-ROOM HAS IN THE LAST FEW DAYS BEEN VERY MUCH EN • LARGED, AND THIS ADDITIONAL CA pacity in room has enabled me to increase . both variety and quantity of s.uch goods as I have heretofore been unable to handle satis factorily, which, added to my usual line pi 3 merchandise, presents to the purchaser rare opportunities for choice and cheap goods. E. M. MELLOR, a; jun27,4mos Sykesville, Md. ! n otice to creditobs ‘ - This is to give notice that the subscribers have obtained from the Orphans’ Court ol a Carroll county, in Maryland, letters of admin istration on the Personal Estate of y AMON SHIPLEY, e late of Carroll county, deceased. All per sons having claims against the deceased an • warned to exhibit the same, with the vouch e ers thereof legally authenticated, to th< subscribers,on or before the 27th <jay ofjapua ry, 1886; they may otherwise by law be ex, eluded from all benefit of said estate. Given under our hands this 22nd of da} June, 1885. PHINBAS W. SHIPLEY, v ELIAS B. ARNOLD, jane 27:4t Administrators W. A. WESTMINSTER, MD, SATURDAY, JULY 25, 1885. ®rit)ina! foehn. Written for the Democratic Advocate. To the Author of “Change After Change.” See Advocate of June 20, 1885. "Into each life some rain must fall. So also some days must be dark and dreary.’’ — Langfeilov.'. “We do not know it, but there lies Somewhere, veiled under evening skies, A garden ail must some time see, Somewhere his own fJcthsemane; All paths that have len or shall be. I‘as* somewhere through Gethsemane." —KUa Wheeler. O, lone bard, cease tliy wayward pining. Thy mission fill; Hay “Father, who art me refining. Do all thy gracious will!" And though fearfully He may prove thee, O tread the way, Vet never doubt He sweetly lo\ thee, Will guide thee e’er and aye. Hast thou not heard at twlligh ’s vesper Sweet voices call From o’er the tide, in gentle w isper ? Then wherefore faint or fall ? O say not that thou art aweary, That earth is vain; * Nor say that life is but a dreary, Barren wilderness of pain. Soon its twilight, cold, uncertain. Shall fade away ; Into radiance—death’s bu. the curtain That veils it from our eyes to-day— ! And the lightahall flood thy being, The storms all o’er; Bounded the cape! O, what must be the seeing, The glory of that shore ! And yet the human heart is yearning For sympathy; And memory is ever backward turning, The present will not see. O, fellow bard ! the fount of feeling Opens for thee As here I write—my name concealing— “ God help thee through Gcthsemane.” Lisbon, July, 1885. 3>torit. LOVE AT SECOND SIGHT. “How do you feel now, mother dear ?” asked a tender young voice. “Is your head any better?” “No, Mable. It aches and aches, until I almost wish I could die. Lay your hand I here.” Mabel’s cheek paled as her mother took her hand and pressed it against her temple. Such fire would soon burn out life’s fliek- I eying taper. She wet a cloth and bound it round the fevered head. As she did so the sick wo man gave a sigh of relief. She opened her 1 eyes and turned a grateful look upon the ! girl. | “Do you know, Mabel,” she said feebly, “I dreamed last night of the dear old home where we lived before your father died. You were a wee toddling baby then. It seems to me, if I could have some of the flowers that grew in the garden in front of the house, the very smell of them would cure me." Tears rushed to Mabel’s eyes. They lived in the great crowded city, and they were poor. Mabel could not spare from her scanty hoard even the trifling sum for which she could buy a bunch of flowers from the vendors who were stationed at so many different places along the street. How could she get some of the fragrant flowers for her mother ? _ Suddenly came a thought of an old-fash . ioned mansion a little way out of the city, i It was embowered in a wilderness of bloom. Surely it would be no harm to go and j ask for some flowers, they could but refuse | them. ‘ She bent over the invalid and kissed her. “Mother,” she said softly, “if you will be content to stay alone for a few hours I think I can gratify your longing if not for the blossoms that grew about your old home for some just like them. I will ask Mrs. | Gray to come in and give you your medi ’ cine regularly.” ’ Mrs. Gray was a kind-hearted woman ’ who occupied a part of the house in which [ they lived, and she readily consented to f minister to the invalid’s comfort in any way ■ she could during Mabel's absence. I It was not without a tremor that Mabel I at last found herself in a broad, neatly kept path which led to the Gwinne mansion. \ ■ huge mastiff sprang toward her as she f neared the house, I “Down, Nero! Down !” ’ The speaker was an old gentleman, who J evidently feared that the approach of the I dog would intimidate Mabel. But Nero I contented himself with a good-natured sniff, ’ reserving the fiercer side for a more sus- J. picious party. . His master looked pleased to see Mabel . pat bis bsa<j fearlessly. The truth was, now ; that she was in the pj-esepco of the stately old master of the place, her heart faijetj her, ; and she was glad of an excuse to defer aski ’ ing for the flowers. , “Well, Miss,” he said courteously, “can I I J flo anything to put you in the way of r ; finding tfie person you are seeking?” . I “It is you, sir, J came to ask you for 1 flowers for my sick mother,” , “Pick all you want. The more the bet r ter. You are welcome to all you can carry, Just then Mabel heard a clear, ringing voice shout: “Grandfather!” and out of the cool, tiled hall, of which an enchanting glimpse was visible through the open door, came a youth who kqked to her like some prince from a fairy land, } She was not accustomed to the luxurious habits of the rich, and his dark blue velvet i dressing-gown, fastened by its cord of shim _ mering, woven gold, and the richly em byoideraj smoking cap which rested on his 5 curly head, ucpfftcii to her altogether too gorgeous a toilet for a mortal )jke herself. I But the illusion only lasted lor u mo. iqent, A pair of brown eyes, just the color ’ of a rip e chestnut, glanced at her curiously i as their owner came down the walk, “You are just the one I want, Ohaqncey. Get my prunJng-shears and abasketoff thp table in the lower hall, and bring them bo me.” f Chauncey soon returned with the desired articles, and Mabel found herself following ’ Mr. Gwinne into the garden. She was soon laden with fragrant spoils, and was sent homeward rejoicing with a kindly: e “Come again when these are faded,” from Mr. Gwinne. , When Mabel reached home and her mother saw the flowers, she put out her e hands with a delighted exclamation. “Give them to ijje, child, quick ! The very sight of them gives me new strength!” And when Mabel put the fragrant cl us, ter in her hands, she held them to her face in a mute caress. •s After a while she turned her eyes upon J Mabel, with a look in them which startled *" the girl by its intensity. She was not like Mabel, who was slight r- and pale, and who looked even more child •e ish than her years, with only her heavy ** mass of rippling curls and her dark, ap -16 pealing eyes to redeem her face from abso c. lute plainness. She had evidently once beep a woman of queenly form and magnif iy jeent beauty, Even now her great fever brigbt eyes and hollow cheeks bore a weird, spectre-like semblance of health, but it was delusive. “My darling,” she whispered, “you have brought me a blessing and you shall be rewarded. To-morrow I will throw pride to the winds and dictate a letter to my father which shall restore my child to her rights. Oh, Mabel, nature is an unerring teacher, and in your love and obedience to me I have, at this late day, learned a les son of duty. I was, when young, carefully educated in all but that most important of lessons to a child, filial obedience. I was brought up to think that my own wishes must he gratified at any cost; and when I met and loved your father, instead of wait ing patiently to gain a consent which my indulgent parents could not long have with held to our union, we were married clan destinely. My one effort at reconciliation was not successful —and—and—but, darl ing, I am too weary to say any more. Another day I will finish my story.” But when the morrow’s sun shone into the room, it was to rest, like a voiceless benediction, upon a clay-clad form,and upon a motherless girl alone with it and her sorrow. At first the desolute child—for Mabel was but fourteen—was conscious only of her bereavement. But soon came a thought which brought with it such keen pain that it aroused her to instant action. Her darling mother must not be laid away to rest in the Potter’s Field. She would go to the kind old gentleman who had given her the flowers, and ask him for help in this trying hour which had come to her young life. She found him at home. “Oh, sir,” she said piteously, “mother is lying cold and still, with all the sweet life gone out of her beautiful body ! You are kind and rich. I know it is a great deal to ask, but if you keep them from laying her in a charity grave I will pay back every penny you spend.” The pleading, tear-stained face, the child ish yet womanly ways of the self-reliant little creature, thus pledged to fulfil a duty which would entail long hours of labor and days of anchorite abstinence before it could be accomplished, touched a chord in Ran dolph Gwinne’s heart. , “Go home, little one,” he said gently, “and mourn for your dead. Do not fear; I will see that all needful arrangements are attended to.” After all was over, Mable settled down again to her monotonous routine of work. Every week she scrupulously laid aside a portion of her earnings and carried them to j Mr. Gwinne, who took them from her with 1 apparent indiffence. The child had made a contract with him, | and out of respect to her the man of busi- ; ness carried it out to the letter. At last the final payment was made. As Mabel turned to go, after thanking her benefactor, his voice recalled her to his | side. “Little Mabel,” he said, “I have been j an interested spectator of your manner of life since you and I made our bargain. I have seen your cheeks grow pale for want •of the food you persisted in denying your self, that you might bring your weekly hoard to me, and I wondered if one so young would be able to carry out so high a resolve. You have succeeded and all | your life long you will have it to remember. Now, your part is done, and mine begins. Give me your hand, my child, for Randolph Gwinne respects you, More than that, he loves you well enough to ask you to be- | come his adopted daughter. Come and make your home with me. You shall have every advantage that bountiful means can provide. You will have no objections, Chauncey, my boy, will you ?” as his grand son came into the room. A few words explained his meaning, and Chauncey turned his handsome eyes indif ferently toward the hesitating girl. It was not the first time they had met —as Mabel was conscious in every fibre of her sensi tive being, but Chauncey did not remember her. So the careless but good-natured “of course, grandfather, one more or less does not matter in this great house,” sank deep into Mabel’s memory, to rise again to the surface and influence her future long after Chauncey had forgotten them. So it was that Mabel was domiciled at j the Gwinnes. A governess was engaged , for her, and music and painting lessons soon occupied the time not engaged in her studies. Thus a year passed on. One morning the daily paper was brought as usual to Mr. Gwinne, as he was sitting },be breakfast table, sipping coffee. Suddenly an exclamation from him ar ~ rested Mabel’s attention, He had read a notice asking for the knowledge of the whereabouts of one Ra chel Freeland, whose married name was Wynne. Her only surviving parent had died, and she, if living, was sole heiress to a large fortune; if dead, her children would inherit. “Well I remember poor Rachel, said Mr- IJ%inno musingly. “She was the handsomest girl'l ever saw, She gave I|P all for love, and made a clandestine mar- ! riage with a man of whom her parents dis- j approved. Poor Rachel! I wonder if she is alive!” Mabel rose from the table, and went to Mr- Gwinne. She was very pale, but her eyes shone wlldl excitement. “Rachel Freeland wasmyrnotlici afimm' ' en name. Oh, my kind benefactor, how little you knew whose child it was you were befriending! But for you she would be sleeping in a nameless grave !’ “Truly, the ways of God are mysterious!” said the !4n f l-boajtod old gentleman, taking off bis spectacles to wipe away ih® mist that blurred them- Mabel had no difficulty In proving her claim, as her parent's marriage certificate was found among some papers stowed away in an old chest. So the orphan wait adopted by Randolph was now indepen -1 dently wealthy in her own right. Mabel was now fifteen. She had not changed much in personal appearance du. ring the year of her stay at the Gwinnes . She was at Jll slight and rather undersized i Her complexion Was ratfier sajiow, and thmiglt her features were regular, she was undeniably plain.- Her liuairiant shimng hair and lustrous eyes, were, however, sqr -1 ficlent to redeem her from positive ugh i ness, Chauncey was still a student, coming home only for his college vacations, and then burying himself in his beloved books, • so that he was only visible at meal times. Suddenly Mr. Gwinne’s health failed, and he was ordered abroad. Mabel and ; Miss Clay, her governess, accompanied ’ hi lll - They remained away fforp hom e , three years, ) Then word came to Chauncey that they were coming home. They were tired of j travel, and Mr. Gwinne had quite recover -1 ed his health. Chauncey met them at the station. Ho t was handsome and indifferent-looking as - ever, but was truly, in his appearance, a f king among men to Mabel’s partial eyes. As the little party he had come to meet - drew near, he gave his grandfather a cord -2 ial shake of the hand, and turned towards Mabel, to find himself confronted by a tall, - stately girl, with flashing dark eyes, set in , a face of such loveliness that he was, for a s m on l^ dazzle(|. “X beg your pardon, I thought is was my cousin,” he said, turning to the other lady. But when Miss Clay's familiar features met his eyes, he asked : I “Where is Mabel, have yon left her be hind?” “Don’t you know me, Cousin Chaun cey ?” asked a merry voice beside him, and the beautiful apparition he had mistaken for a stranger put out her gloved hand in a half-playful, half-friendly way. From that time the young student’s tor ture commenced. Mabel, who had left home a half-grown girl, had gained with maturity the rounded suppleness of form as well as the queenly dignity of a young Diana; and with the rich color, which had chased away the pallor of her cheeks, had come that delic ious, delicate complexion so rarely seen with dark hair. An older and more experienced judge of beauty would, years before, have seen its promise in those regular features, and straight, though at that time, angular out lines —but to her adopted cousin it was a surprise. He looked upon it as upon a miracle, and every new glimpse of her bewitching ‘face served but to deepen the impression. But Mabel had changed in other things beside beauty. She was incomprehensible to him in her varied moods. Now grave —now gay—now majestic as a princess—now gentle and simple as a child. Chauncey knew not what to make of her. But he was fully conscious of one truth; that he loved the very ground her tiny feet had pressed. He was her shadow. At last he grew desperate. She should not thus hold him aloof and play with his feelings any longer. It might be amusement to her, but it was making his life a torture. So he captured her in the library one morning, before the rest of the family had made their appearance, and pressed his suit with an earnestness which would have moved a heart of stone. But to all appearance it had no effect upon Mabel. She answered with a care less smile: “In a house, like this, where ‘one or more doesn’t matter,’ it would be well for you to think twice before offering yourself to me;” and she swept from the room, leav ing Chauncey lost in a maze of bewilder ment and anger. Her debt was paid ? But was Mabel i happy ? It was hard to tell from her ap j pearance in society. Chauncey made no attempt at reconcilia tion; and the two young hearts daily drifted i farther apart, until one day it happened ! that the same spirit stirred within them both—a longing for a walk in the garden. Winter had passed, and summer had come, and so had the flowers. They met beside the same luxuriantly laden bushes from which Mabel had carried \ the clusters to her sick mother. Their eyes met involuntarily. In spite of his wounded pride, Chauncey’s wild love sprang into renewed life, and he held out his arm entreatingly. “O, Mabel, forgive me! I was but a careless, thoughtless boy. It is the man who now appreciates you, and loves you ' better than his own life.” Another moment and Mabel’s queenly head was resting on his breast. “It was because I loved you even then that your words had power to sting me so I cruelly. They rankled all through the years that followed them. But the pain is gone now.” So amid the flowers was told another one of those stories as old as the first love tale in Eden, and yet as young as the morn ing which ushers in a new day. THE BAD LANDS. Correspondence Philadelphia Times. Some of the strangest and most inter esting scenes on the North American con tinent are to be found in.the wonderful Bad Lands of Dakota. I question whether the marvels of the Yellowstone National Park are equal, and they certainly are not superior, to the wonders of this romantic region of the peculiar butte formations. } Here for ages past the mighty forces of ; water and fire, fiercely battling, have I wrought a scene of strange confusion. I This chaos of buttes, so curious and fan tastic in form, so beautiful and varied in color, lies almost entirely in Dakota, near the boundary line of Montana, on both sides of the Little Missouri river, which flows through it from south to north. The district is about twenty-five miles wide from east to west, but has a length in the opposite direction of nearly three times its width. The early French “voy ageurs," who came into the country during the last century on hunting or trapping expeditions to trade with the natives for furs, pelts and skins, described the region as “mauvaises terres.” With our happy go-lucky carelessness, Americans translated this to mean “Bad Lands,” and the North ern Pacjfie Rai|road Company have since named it pyramid JWV- ' Tlie name !‘Bad : Lands” is'certainly a misnomer, for Pyra mid Park is really one of the most fertile : spots in the Northwest, and was at one time the home of thousands of buffalo and other herbiverous game animals. There is a legend of the Bad Lands told by Red Bird, arj old chief of the Mandan Indians (whose' tribe, it is said, afterwards lived among the pile of wonderful buttes com posing this section), which has been handed I down from chief to chief, until we find it to-day a part of the unwritten history of this once powerful and great nation : THE LEGEND. (‘Many hundred years ago wbai P now the Rad Lands was a high plain op table land, covered with rich pastures and forests abounding in all kinds of game, j They were the favorite hunting grounds of all the tribes who annually came to par ticipate in the chase and procure the winter supply of meat —the calumet grounds, wbepe all could meet in common, and the blood hatchet was l)urioc|. qe ip the fatqoqs Pjpcstone Valley in Minnesota, where alj . nation? of the rod men could meet, with no i enemy to molest or make thorn afraid : Rut finally a fierce mountain tribe qf many thousands took possession of these famed hunting grounds, driving and keeping all other people out, Many futile attempts ; were made to dislodge them without avail. Many lives being lost in the numerous battles for their recovery, a grand council , of all the tribes on the plains was called, , and their medicine men ordered to invoke . the Great Spirit in their behalf. After I fasting many days aqd suffering sel'f-in ; fiicted tortures, as directed by the medicine men, the Great Spirit heard their cry and r shook the earth with his wrath. The earth P became darkened, smoke and fire belched • forth from the ground, vivid lightning flashed and terrible thunder rolled, the ! mountains sank and the valleys upheaved i to the sky. The earth rose and fell like i the heaving of a storm-tossed ocean, bury ing all in one common grave. Towering t buttes and desolation marked the spot - where once stood the fertile plains. Not s one buck, squaw or pappoose was left to , tell the tale of the haughty tribe of the i mountains who had incurred the anger of i tpe Gjreat Spirit, leaving these Bad Lands ip monument of His wrath. f There is little doubt but that the Bad Lands were, in remote ages, the bed of some great lake or pond that covered the country for miles round about, for among the fossil remains are oysters, clams and crustaceans. Before or afterwards a state ly forest grew in the bed of this lake. Mammoth tree trunks turned to stone crop out from the sides of the conglomerate mounds and appear all through the valleys. Petrifactions are to be found on all sides that are susceptible of a finer polish than marble, while others have the appearance of being made of heavy yellowish clay. Some hunters tell a story of finding in the depth of the Bad Lands an unexplored canyon, upon riding into which they saw a prairie dog village, and at the mouth of each mound one of the animals sitting‘on its haunches with paw folded across the breast in a perfectly natural manner. Con trary to their usual custom the dogs did not dive into their houses at the approach of their strange visitors. To the great sur prise of the latter they remained motion less. Investigation showed that every one of them was stone dead. The whole vill age of dogs had been evidently killed at the same moment by some unknown power ages ago and then petrified. Stranger still, the hunters found scattered among the dogs and in the same condition the owls and snakes which are known to share their home. The petrifactions found in the Bud Lands are marvelous. Sign of petrifactions can be seen hours before reaching the won derful place. When the rough lands be gin to break away from the prairie in small buttes and hillocks almost at every step small pieces of detached limbs and larger stumps of trees may be seen, and in fa3t whole trees, some of them four, five and ! even six feet in diameter, lying on their | sides turned into solid, heavy stone. These trees are partly as opaque as obsidian part ly as translucent as rock crystal. The butts themselves, varying in height from fifty to two hundred and fifty feet, are beautiful objects to contemplate either at a distance or at short range. When viewed from afar off they appear to be crowded closely together, and as Winser so happily remarks “in hazy distance seem like ocean billows stiffened and at rest.” ' Their tops are of variegated colors and their sides are striped with broad bands of different shapes, the coloring of which is very rich. The summits of the buttes are ! on a level with the general prairie, while the whole valley of the Bad Lands Is some hundreds of feet below. This fact corrob- I orates to some extent the geological idea that ’.he Bad Lands’ bottoms were at some remote period the bed of a great lake. When examined closely, the buttes present a most fantastic and gorgeous array of col or that is possitively dazzling to look at. : The spectator viewing these strange freaks of nature for the first time is almost struck dumb with awe and astonishment at the utter lavishness and waste of delicate shades and tints of all colors that are here so pro fusely distributed over miles and miles of nature’s canvass. In some cases the whole side of a butte , is plastered thick with a rich crimson that would be the delight of a painter’s heart could he but behold it. Others are striped with alternate black and brown, while again others are of blue or brown or gray or else vary from a dazzling white at their summit to a sober dark gray at their base. The i writer observed a number of buttes, the - tops of which were a fiery red, the inter ; j mediate being girdles of pure white and j the bases a distinct and positive yellow. ■ Some again were completely red, but of different shades from top to bottom. There • are a great many bare clay and sand buttes, and also a number that are composed of very hard vitreous or pottery-like slag, either a green or brown or else dark red dish color like iron stains. While the actual composition of the but ■ tes appear to be crumbling, volcanic scoria, • yet there is little doubt that their present I condition was brought about by fires which • raged through the country in days gone by. I In fact, some fires are still burning in the ; Bad Lands one of which, when seen at ; night from the Northern Pacific train . which passes near, has the appearance of a : volcano in active eruption, There la an i other fire farther back in the Band Lands . which has been smouldering ever since the • country was known to the whites, and ac i cording to Indian tradition from the time ■ when the Great Spirit upheaved the land i with an earthquake. The truth of the i matter is the Bad Lands are one vagt bed s of lignite coal Wfii c fi runs through the s buttes and hills in solid veins froin four tq i ten feet thick. This lignite was probably > ignited by fires that sometimes prevailed . over the plains set by Indians, and tho ; coal being in continuous veins, has been r j burning, no doubt, uninterruptedly beneath • the surface for years. Perhaps long ago i i dense forests existed in these Bad Lands which accounts for the extensive beds of I lignant found here. There are certainlv - evidences of a primeval growth in the epd : ! less petrifactions qf tree stumps, and Mr. i i lustier sneaks of fine specimens of fossil ! I leaves of rhePljocqnc age, changed by the ) heat of the burning lignite into a brilliant 3 | scarlet, but retaining their reticulations I J perfect. j [ The various round topped mounds made I up of ink black clay, argillaceous, lime s i stone, friable or pulverised sandstones, raw } ! and pottery oiay and veins of impure lig nites, the burning of which has fused and 1 mixed their materials in confused slag are t to be seen on every hand and in every con f ceivable form. Between the mounds are ravines, gulches and meadows, many of the latter carpeted with the rich nutritions i | buncll gl' a f>s so UiUclt sought out by the 3 bison when they dwelt among the buttes i ! and roamed oyer the valleys, The soil of . the Bad Lands possesses fertilizing prop s i erties in excess. As before remarked, the - ! name Bad Lands is a misnomer, for the r country is well watered by numerous i, i streams —although barren of trout and e | tainted with alkali —grows nqnjopoqs and s ■ Iqxqriapt gUSsPs (some thirty-three yarie- I) ; ties have been classified), and' is a veritable 3 paradise for stock-raising and shcep-gvow • ; nig. Cattlemen were not Jong in finding y i qqt tfie true worth of the Bad Lauda as a d grazing region- Soon after the conquest |1 of Sitting Bull and the opening up of the s country to tho whites, it began to dawn on . the minds of stockmen that a section once s sought by the buffalo as a favorite stamp il ing ground must be good pasture fields for I, herds of cattle and sheep. e The Marquis tie Mores, a young and r enterprising French nobleman, was the i- first to seize the opportunity by turning e loose thousands of cattle and sheep among d the multitude of buttes bordering the h Little Missouri, and his example aqd sue d gess lias caused many other wise and g learned stockmen to do likewise. The e cattle shifting for themselves have done d well (the alkali answering the purpose ol e salt), and without care or feeding have - come out each season in fine, fat condition g for market. Thus we see Pyramid Park. >t the grandest and sublimest spot oq the •t American continent, not excepting the o Yellowston.e Park, turned into a grazing ie field for the raising of cattle and herding if of sheep. Is It is a great pity that the government has never taken step. 4 to preserve this d regioq of natural wonders front destruction THE DEAD-LETTER OFFICE. P. L. Collins , in Harper's Weekly. After the White House and the Capitol there is perhaps no place in Washington as much visited by the ordinary sight-seer as the Head-Letter Office. A large pro portion of our fifty millions seem to have a general and indefinite idea that the great , machinery of the government is located here; that it is a huge motor, the throbs of whose pulsating engines is felt from the Lakes to the Gulf, and from the Atlantic to the Pacific. But beyond this all is vague and misty. The Treasury is a term for our bullion; the Patent Office shows • that we are not dullards in the matter of invention; the War, State and Navy De partments suggest that we have a foreign policy, a place among the powers of the world, and soldiers and sailors when re quired. But there is nothing personal in this : it awakens a national pride, and that is all. The casual visitor returns to his home a truer patriot than ever, and reads with a new gusto and enthusiasm all about the surrender of Cornwallis, following it up with the story of the cotton bales on that historic 15th of January, when, as a certain Fourth of July orator declared, “The bold and haughty lion crouched and quailed before our victorious eagle.' 1 However, as we said, the pivotal point of interest is the Dead-Letter Office. A letter has a peculiar interest to every indi vidual. A mysterious attraction belongs to that small sealed missive. Sometimes : it is clumsy and soiled, and the address smothered under innumerable postmarks; sometimes it is a dainty affair, with mono gram, coat of arms, or a soul-stirring motto; sometimes it is fresh from the hand of the writer, and again it is worn with long journeyings over land and sea. The Postoffice Department is a pile of glittering white marble, imposing enough to # be the headquarters of our immense mail | service; and it is somewhat strange that the ' proverbial American curiosity-hunter on a j tour of investigation docs not pry into its 1 ; contract offices, stamp division, supply bureau, &c. But whatever may be the cause, the tide of visitors ebbs and flows with unbroken regularity only through the departmental Valhalla. , For the first eleven years of the existence of this bureau the records of the office | were kept in a single small book, and I showed that 365 valuable letters were re ceived during that time. For the fiscal year ending July 1, 1882, 3,288,589 dead : letters were received, 563,620 unmailablc and 11,711 blanks, and more than 40,000 bearing requests were returned to the writers. | Dead letters proper are such as have been ! correctly addressed, forwarded to their des tination, there advertised, and unclaimed. The “unmailable” comprises several classes; Those that have some deficiency in the ad ' | dress, such as have been held for postage, entirely blank, insufficiently paid to foreign . countries not included in the Postal Union, those addressed to hotels, and unclaimed, fictitious and initial letters, amounting in all to an average of 60,000 per month. ' The blank letters, of which there are about ' j 1,000 per month, have proven upon inves j tigation to be the most valuable as a class that come to the office. They contain more money, checks, drafts and notes than any ' others. The majority of the short-paid ' I foreign letters belong to Australia. Since our international postal arrangements now j extend nearly all over the civilized world, and postage is not compulsory, this class does not greatly swell the number of the ’ I unmailable. Many people seem to imagine that the (• 1 duty of the clerks in this office is to open letters, leisurely inspect the contents, and return them to the writers. What a stu pendous mistake thu is will be readily dis cerned by a superficial glance at the actual < : state of affairs. The employes occupy, in j | addition to the main office, sixty feet long , ! by forty feet wide, a gallery extending en tirely around it, and furnished with a ; double row of desks, and half a dozen I smaller rooms. The work is divided sys , tematically, and a certain proportion of t clerks assigned to each subdivision; for . instance, the division of dead letters proper, s the money branch, the property branch, i and the unmaiiable, while to some is al lotted the task of simply returning letters. 3 About $50,000 per annqm finds its way j here, most of which is restored to its rightful ? owners; bqt, in ease pf utter failure to do j this, it is turned into the 'Treasury to the , credit of the Postofficc Department, i ; The property branch shows many curious ( | things; here, as in the money division, every 1 ; effort is made to place an article in the > hands of the owner, but this is often not i only a serious and perplexing matter, but i absolutely impossible. At intervals of two > | years a sale of the accumulation lakes 3 place. The catalogue of the last com f j prised several thousand articles, j \ The entrance to the Dead Letter Office is its museum, There are some things , j which nobody would buy, and some which I the office did not care' to sell; and glass ) oases around the walls contain the rejected t and despised, as well as those esteemed 3 above a monetary value. For instance, an immense saw is suspended ip juxtaposition ; to an array of bottles containing respec • tively cologne, salad oil, beer and poison. f There are huge plotters fit for Christmas - turkeys, and a beam of wood that might be 1 poetically suggestive of the Yule-log if it > were not keeping company with a skull, a - clothes-wringer, an alligator’s skin, a horned a frog, and serpents in a state of such beastly j intoxication that they will never wriggle s ftgalu, fop they live and move and have e their being in alcohol. There are boxes s of wedding cake tied with satin ribbon, f tl J U mbo" babies, birds’ nests, artificial 1.1 roses so exquisite one might fancy them a 0 | cluster freshly plucked, dolls enough to fill c | many a child-mother’s arms, and scrap al s j bums enough, when supplemented by pots J of paste, to make the same class supremely 1 happy, while driving the same number of :- tidy housewives to desperation. The array e of combs Js sufficient to represent every manufacturer, and to straighten all the r tangled hair in Christendom. There are a pots of cacti well fortified for any manner it of defense, which arrived at the office 0 brown, angry and bristling; but lo! when n they had been given of that which they e | love—brown earth, a sunny window and i- plentiful drink—-they burst into gorgeous r blossoms of tropical richness. A coat of more colors than Joseph’s, and much move J bizarre in design than any that could have e been constructed in those primitive times, g was a pnjslo eyen to the white-haired lady g who lives among these curiosities, until one e day a gentleman came in who, upon glanc ing at it, exclaimed : “How in the world 1 did that Sandwich Islander lose his coat ?” e He then explained that this garment, which ie is made of cotton cloth printed oyer with if cards, kings, aces, diamonds, hearts and e spades, .-is if they bad boeu thrown in pell n mell upon |u Surface, Is sought after by :, those people with much eagerness, and that ie they send to the United States and have iC them manufactured, the possession of one g being considered ou\te a distinction. \r Perhaps it will give a better idea of what beasts of burden’s poor Uncle Sant’s mail it boys are if, in addition to what has been is mentioned, we add that this m,useum also j. contains horned frogs received alive, a case VOL. XX.-NO. 37. of bees as full of sting, if not of honev, as if they were abroad in a clover field, two centipedes, a patent bitching post, Chinese MSS., samples of barbed wire fence, a sausage-grinder, a thermometer, a tidy, a tambourine, sets of false teeth without number, army badges, a washboard, an um brella, a ring set with amethysts and dia monds, a beautiful collection of minerals, and one of coins that would make any col lector perish with envy, a miniature cotton bale, and hundreds of other things for which, generally speaking, the mail would scarcely be considered the legitimate means of transportation. The Dead-Letter Office is sometimes facetiously called “Botany Bay," and asjaiu it is dubbed “Siberian Mines.” However appropriate or inappropriate these titles • may be, it bears the reputation of being one of the best conducted bureaus under the government, and if it is also one of the hardest worked, perhaps one implies the other. One branch of the work which .always seems to particularly interest outsiders is the “blind-reading,” or supplying addresses to misdirected letters. Only “live” letters, or such as have come directly from the mailing offices on account of this deficiency, are treated in this manner. All carrier offices make a daily return of sucli matter, but the bulk of this class of matter is re ceived from New York, Cincinnati, St. Louis, Atlanta, Washington and Chicago. Sometimes the errors or omissions occur from ignorance, but quite as often from carelessness, and not unfrequently the ad dress is wholly illegible, except to the eye of an expert. In this way 100,000 letters are annually sent forward to their proper destination with the seal unbroken. The difficulties that compass this branch of the service can scarcely be understood save by one who has made a study of it. For i instance, a letter addressed “Mr. Charles I Hall, No. 42 Gregory street, Newport, I Mon.” Where shall it be sent—north, | east, south or west ? Alas ! there is not 1 only a Newport by the sea, but “seas” of Newports, or there might as well be, for the Postal Guide gives twenty-three; but the numbered street narrows the matter considerably, since only two Newports are large enough for this distinction. But that “Mon.”—what does it mean? A dead letter lynx, if she bad time to stop, would tell you in a second; but she hasn’t. She silently adds to this superscription, “Mon mouth Co., England,” and sends the de layed missive on its long journey. “Mr. Thomas Kichards, corner Main and Eagle streets, City.” Doubtless Mr. Rich ards is very well known to his correspon dent, and his local habitation also; but sixty-four cities claim the honor of a Main street, and twenty-three wish to suggest tho unblinking upward look of the eagle; there fore this address is slightly ambiguous. But the ferret family are never discouraged; they run their fingers through their bangs while they momentarily meditate; they snatch down a big book, then a little one, then a middle-sized one. Not a cine. No! Oh, certainly; it is in the city of Buffalo that Eagle street swoops across Main, and makes a corner; where else should Mr. Thomas Richards reside ? When the fer rets went to school they must have been like the cute little froggies of classic story, that learned every lesson well and forgot never a one. Again, a heavy, cream-hued envelope, in a bold, handsome band, to “Mr. Herbert Coolidge, 77 Rock Street, Providence, R. * 1.,” arrives at the Dead-Letter Office direct from Providence, Rhode Island, whose careful postmaster has had stamped upon it, “No such street in Providence.” The “blind-reader” is not discouraged by so small a circumstance as this, nor by the knowledge that the entire State of Rhode Island repudiates Mr. Coolidge. That such i a person exists must be quite certain. Granting this, he Is to be found —that is | all. Let us see : this letter was posted at Springfield, Massachusetts. Perhaps the i writer has inadvertently written his own I number and street, which often happens; _ j but no, there is no Rock street in Spring i field. Twelve large cities have Rock j streets, but they do not belong to the Old Bay State. The ferrets never guess; they arc logical or nothing. Therefore they reason. The process is instantaneous, but it is none the less accurate and conclusive. [ This letter was written in Massachusetts; it belongs to Massachusetts, for Coolidge Is an old Boston name. Fly for the Boston Directory: “Herbert Coolidge, 78 Kilby Street.” Far-fetched but true was the inference that to this gentleman the letter belonged. When a risk is taken, as in this case, a printed slip is attached to the en velope requesting its return to the office after the delivery of its contents. I “Miss Lillie A , No. 450 Magazine 1 Street, between Ninth and Tenth.” Good so far as it goes, but fifty-six cities lay claim to a Ninth, and fifty-one to a Tenth street, while eleven rejoice in a thorough fare known as Magazine. Only two of the, latter, however, have a Ninth and 'fenth, Louisville and St. Louis, and the numbers in St. Louis do not run so high; hence the i conclusion is inevitable that Miss Lily I abides in Louisville. It is quite visible to ! these “blind-readers” that "Ramsey, Soutfy Co., 10a.,” means Ramsey. Kossuth county, in that state; that Senor Don Jose Miguc\ 1 i Rodrigo’s mail, addressed Podilla, shoujdj ; go to Mexico; that “Hermoso, S. M.,’ is • I intended for Sonora, Mexico; that “Des, ! Moines, Prairie Co., Nebr.,” should he in ! terpreted Belcher, Arkansas, since Nebraska has no Prairie county, but Arkansas is the : j only state that has, within which Deo 1 i Moines also exists, but has no office, its ‘ j mail being deliverable from Belcher. | j Sometimes the postmasters make queer work of these letters. A Kentucky post \ master returned one with this information ; “Sir i have made the Necessary' inquiry for the addresst person on this letter and i ’ have not found him nowhere in this county j. nor no such here as Win. Nickels. r i An Arkansas postmaster writes; “I have r never sent no Letters from this office all the [ letters that has Beein sent to this office has , Beein delivered to ther address there is no, r person of that naim IN this county I have , lived hear for 25 years and never saw this ' Letter tel Last Saturday nor heard of that naim Befour this the 11 of Feb. 1881. j It is impossible in a brief article, to do 3 justice to tho skillful, faithful work done f in this office. I have attempted only to, 3 call attention to certain salient points } which seem at a glance to attract the in terest of the ordinary visitor. f** * 3 Of the 413 species of trees found in the - United States, there are sixteen species 1 whose perfectly dry wood will sink in wa ’ ter. The heaviest of these is the black i ironwood ( C'ondalia ferred) of Southern i Florida, which is more than thirty per cent. 1 heavier than water. Of the others, the - best known are the ligaumvifte (Guaiit f cum sanctum) and mangrove ( liMxojthoru t ma,nyte). Another is a small oak ( Quercns. b giraised) found in the mountains of e Western Texas, Southern New Mexico and Arizona, and westward to the Colorado t Desert, at an elevation of 5000 to 10,000 - feet. All the species in which the wood a is heavier than water belong to semitropi ) cal Florida or the arid interior Pacific re -3 gion.