Bellefonte, Pa., November 29, 1889. THE QUIET HOUR. A little rest in the twilight After my work is done, A lttle time with my Master At the setting of the sun. The day has been one of trial, Of failure oft and tears; But Jesus knows all my weakness, He knows my doubts and fears. All sordid thoughts I can banish, And let my spirit fly Above the earth and its sorrows, To God's white throne on high. The door of a place of refuge, A place of quiet rest Is near, and my soul is longing To find the portal blest. I come with my heavy burden, I come with all my sin, I knock, and the door swings open, And Jesus lets me 1n. My sin departs. and my trouble Is lost in a blissful calm ; This quiet hour with my Saviour Has soothed my heart like balm. WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN DONE. What might be done if men were wise, What glorious deeds, my suffering brother, Would they unite In love and right, And cease their scorn of one another. Oppression’s heart might be imbued With kindling drops of loving kindness, And knowledge for From shore to shore, Light on the eyes of mental blindness. All slavery, warfare, lies and wrongs, All vice and crime might die together, And fruit and corn, To each man born. Be free as warmth in summer weather. The saddest wretch that ever trod, The deepest sunk in guilt and sorrow, Might stand erect, In self-respect, And share the teeming world to-morrow. What might be done ? This might’be done, And more than this, my suffering brother ; More than the tongue E’er said or sung, If men were wise and toved each other. PRISONER 411. The State prison at C was a gloomy place at the best, but this June morning the sun streamed over its high, bleak walls, flooded the cheerless yard and even lit the dismal corridor with an unwonted glow. Never had the outside world seemed brighter and lib- erty sweeter to a young man, scarcely more than a youth, who stood peering through the bars of a narrow window at the little of the outside world includ- ed in his vision. His reverie was brok- en by the stern words of a turnkey who came upon him unnoticed. “Loafin’, eh!” said the official. “You'll be with us a day longer for that. Get to work, d you, and fin- ish your job!” The convict glanced at the official half defiantiy, but made no reply, and picking up the iong handled mop that had fallen at his feet proceeded with the washing of the corridor floor. The turnkey eyed him for a moment and then passed on to the rotunda, so con- structed as to command an almost un- obstructed view of every nook and cor- ner of the prison. Stepping from the corridor he.met the warden and a bevy of lady visitors. “What is the matter with 411!” ask- ed the warden. “Loafin’, as usual. He's a lazy cur, and ought to be put at hard labor.” “It’s only a week since he left the hospital.” “He shammed to get there. He may fool the doctor but he can’t me. Sick? Not much! he's as well as I am,” and the turnkey cast a malignant look at the prisoner, who was now pur- suing his task with the measured, mon- otonous effort characteristic of prison labor. “Bring him here,” said the warden, not displeased at an opportunity to show his authority before the ladies by reprimanding a prisoner. The con- vict came down the corridor with his gaze upon the stone floor. When he reached the rotunda he removed his cap and looked up squarely in the war- den’s eye. “McDonald caught you idling, didn’t he?” asked the warden, harshly, irri- tated by the indefinable resistance im- plied rather than expressed in the pris- oner’s manuer. “Yes,” answered 411, quietly. “What's your excuse ?”’ “I looked from the window, and the day seemed so fair that I forzot my- self—where I was and every thing.” “Thought you'd like to be outside in the sunshine, I suppose ?” “Yes, sir. “Well you shall be. I'll have you put to work in the stone quarry to-mor- row, and then you'll get more air—ex- ercise,” and the warden smiled grimly. The prisoner made no answer, but drew his hand wearily across his brow. It was a simple movement, but so fraught with patience, and perhaps dignity, as to be pathetic. “You can go now,” said the prison despot. “Please, warden, can’t I speak to him ?” entreated a feminine voice be- bind the official. He turned and re- plied with all the courtliness a marti- net could command : “Certainly.” “What is your name, sir?’ asked the lady of the prisoner. “Terrance Moore, miss.” “Would you mind telling me why you are confined here 2” “For forgery.” “Were you innocent 2” “No, I was guilty.” “Aud you are sorry for your crime?’ she continued, breaking off’ a rose from her corsage bouquet. This question was disconcerting to the prisoner and annoying to the warden. The former dropped his: eyes in embarrassment and the latter fid eted in disgust. “Yes,” said the convict, “I am sor- ry.” “For being caught,” added the war- den. “How much longer will you be here?” she asked. “Six months.” i “You will need friends when you leave,no doubt. Come and see me then, perhaps I can assist you,” and she ex- tended a card and the rose as she spoke. When he passed the turnkey on his way back to work that *eeper saw him wipe a tear from his cheek. “Snivelin’,” said the official, taunt ingly. “Yes,” replied 411, “for the first time in my life.” “Moore is one of the most refractory men in the prison,” explained the war- den to the ladies. “He doesn't often break the rules and never offers open resistance. But there is something ominous in his manner irritating to a degree, and marking him, according to my experience, as a dangerous man. If I mistake not he is as desperate a criminal as was ever within these walls.” “But he doesn’t look like an evil peeson,”’ interposed the young lady. “Looks are not always a correct criterion,” replied the warden ao tes- tily that the ladies took the hint and 411 escaped further comment. That night when McDonald peered into cell 411 he saw th2 occupant stretched at full length on the floor and the cot over turned. Repeated commands elicited no response, ana unlocking the door he entered. “Come now, that bluff won't go,” and the exasperated turnkey brutally kicked the prostrate form. “Rouse up and get into your bunk or I'll have you put in solitary.” But the prisoner gave no sign. Look- ing closer the turnkey saw that his tongue protroked and that his open eyes were as vacant in expression as the staring orbs of a corpse. He drop- ped upon his knee and bent forward for a closer view. As he did so the convict clutched his throat with one hand by a movement as stealthy and sudden as the uncoiling of a snake, and drawing the other from beneath the bed, struck him with some blunt instrument such a vicious blow upon the head that the unfortunate keeper sank senseless without a moan. In an instant Moore was on his feet, and rapid- ly replacing his cot in position and laying the turnkey upon it, fairly tore the clothing from the lifeless figure in his haste. Scarcely two minutes had elapsed from the time McDonald entered the cell before another man, similarly garb- ed, stepped forth, and locking the door proceeded on the usual rounds in the habitual manner. Passing through the rotunda he averted his face by an apparent scrutiny of the wick of his lantern, which, 1t was afterwards re- membered, was not lighted. How he finally gained the street was never known. The guards all averred he did not pass either of the gates and it seemed incredible that he could have scaled|the wall from the yard unnoticed. But escape he did, and, though large rewards were offered, was never appre- hendea. McDonald lingered for weeks and died. ® Timi Five years later Miss Mable Wess- ling was visiting friends in a’ fashion- able suburb of Philadelphia. She had been suffering from neuralgia, and, be- irg somewhat restless in consequence. lett the gas burning at the lowest glim- mer when she retired. Shortly after three o'clock in the morning she was awakened from slumber, so light that it might be termed the twilight ofsleep, by a seeming noise in her room. She listened until certain that her quickened senses had verified the im- pression, and then, arising as noiseless- ly as possible, stepped to the faint spark against the wall locating the gas fix- ture and in a second turning the light on full force. A heavy hand was in- stantly pressed over her lips and she was pinioned against the mantel. Her arms were free and, obeying an erratic impulse, she tore the mask from the face of the intruder. The countenance revealed was rather prepossessing and would have been decidedly so butgtor the shading of certain lines traced by evil courses. She stared into cold gray eyes, reflective rather than fierce in ex- pression, and felt that she had seen the face before. She was not frightened, strange though it may seem, and re- mained much calmer in the grasp of this marauder than some hours later when the reaction came. If you attempt to move or utter a word above a whisper I shall kill you,” he breathed in her ear. "A pencil ly- ing on the mantle chanced to meet her eye. She reached it with difficulty and wrote upon the smooth white sur- tace: “You are Terrance Moore and were confined in the penitentiary at C in 1881.” * As he read the words his grasp tightened involuntarily, but almost instantly relaxed under the im- pulse of a recognition now mutual. He withdrew his hand from her lips and etepping back a pace rested his elbow on the mantel. “Don’t speak loud,” he whispered. “You are perfectly safe with me. If I had known you were in the house I should never have entered it. 1 would die ten times over before I would harm a hair of your head.” “You must go—at once,” she said. The door of the chamber, already ajar, was pushed open at this juncture and another man, also masked, enter- ed with foot-falls felipe in lightness. “Well, I'll be blanked!” ejaculated the new-comer under his breath. “Who'd of thought, cull, you'd run agin a mash in this plant?” “Then—" and the second burglar drew his finger across his throat with a gesture of horrible significance. Moore shook his head with vehemence. Turning to Miss ling, he asked : “If we quit now and leave every- thing, will you promise not to disclose my identity!” “I promise—for God's sake go!” she pleaded, the mental strain begin- ning to play havoe with her nerves, The other burglar suddenly emptied a vial upon the sponge with which he had been fumbling, and, springing for- ward, applied it to her nose before Moore could interpose. Moore threw * * * fierce Wesg- himself savagely upon his partner in! crime. “Alarm the house!” he shout- | ed, seeing that she was already affact- ed by the pungent fumes of the chloro- form. With a shriek she threw her- self against the window, breaking the pane she knew not how. “Curse you!” howled Moore's pal, thinking now only of safety in flight. “Let me go, blank your soul !”’ Rendered desperate by the sounds of the awakened household he broke away by a mighty effort and sprang for the stairs. Moore followed, but whether to effect his own escape or de- tain the other burglar cannot be told. His confederate must have regarded his intentions in the latter light, for he turned and fired two shots in rapid succession, at point blank range, both bullets finding billets in Moore's breast, and gained the open air through the door, which in burglar fashion had been left open to facilitate & sudden de- parture. They dragged Moore back “into Miss Wessling's room and it re- quired no physician to inform the startled group that gathered around the dying criminal that his moments were few. He motioned to Miss Wess- ling and she knelt beside him. “You—spoke—the—only — kind — words—I've heari—for years. I lov- ed—yon for—them. Look—here,” and he touched his breast, gasped and went before the Eternal bar for his last s'ntence. In a chamois skin they found the wtibered remnants of a rose anda card inscribed: “Mable Wess- ling, 1741 LL avenue, C 2: On the other side was written in a bold hand. “The slightest kindness may leave an indelible impression on the human heart, and those who sow in charity have sown a single seed on the ston- iest ground to bear rich fruit.” Household Affairs. The value of petty savings can not be too highly estimated. The conscien- tious habit of saving everything that can be turned to any account, fitting the object, however small, into its right place, is a habit in iiself enough to in- sure thrift. There are so many things in the household which are thrown aside which by careful thought may be turned to use. Wise providers buy only gocds of genuine value which may be used to the last shred. This is true of market buy- ing, of shopping, of everything that may be purchased. There isa good brand of flour and a make-shift brand; a cloth firm and well made of wool, and a cloth to take its place, cheap and flimsy, of cotton wool. In all these cases the gen- uine cloth is the cheapest in the end ; the good brand of flour will give the best and most nourishing food. The well-made cloth may be washed or clean- sed again and again, and be made over until nothing is left of it. A great deal may be saved even in buttons, thread and needles, little minutiae of which we seldom think. It is in the sedulous care that every little article shall be used, that every piece of cloth shall be turned and made over until it is past usetulness, that consists the chance of the average family foran orderly wells fed, well-clothed home. Lavishness is the worst of providers. Tt is the system- atic, steady hand, careful of minutiae, that provides a home and table where genuine comfort and good cheer prevail. Simple spending of money cannot ac- complish the same result care can. The children of the poor men, brought up to the habit of thrift, usually enjoy more actual luxury than the children of a spendthrift, who varies from feast to famine, from rags to velvet with the reg- ularity ofa clock pendulum. Extrava- gance should be looked upon as a sin, a trust to use honestly the goods God has given us, not considered in the light, trivial way it is, as something the indi- vidual alone would suffer from.— New York Tribune. Where Colors Come From. The cochineal insects furnish a great many of the very fine colors. Among them are the crimson, scarlet, carmine and purple lakes. The cuttlefish gives the sepia. It is the inky fluid which the fish dis charges in order to render the water opaque when attacked. Indian yellow comes from the camel. Ivory chips produce the ivory black and bone black. The exquisit Prussian blue is made by fusing horses’ hoofs and other refuse an- imal matter with impure potassium car- bonate. This color was discovered acci- dentally. . Various lakes are derived from roots, barks and gums. Blue black comes from the charcoal of the vine stalk. Lamp black is the soot from certain resincus substances. Turkey red is made from the madder plant, which came from Hindostan. The yellow sap of a tree in Siam pro- duces gamboge . The natives catch the sap in cocoanut shells. Raw sienna is the natural earth near Sienna, Italy. Raw umber 1s also earth found near Grains of Gold. Most great works are accomplished slowly. The one prudence in life is concen- tration; the one evil is dissipation ; and it makes no difference whether our dissipations are coarse or fine. The best instruction is to practice what you teach. More is accomplished by doing each day’s work faithfully than by crowd- ing two days’ work into one. * The lessons of life ma -e deeper im- pressions than the lessons of hooks, because they touch the heart before they reach the head. Beware of prejudices ; they are rats, and men’s minds are like traps. Pre- judices creep in easily, but it is doubt- ful if they ever get out. No one was ever corrected by a sarcasm, but often driven further in the wrong way. In teaching always be kind and patient. There is no surer mark of the ab- sence of the highest moral and intel lectual qualities than a cold reception of excellence. A ——————E