SHAG Deora Wadpan Bellefonte, Pa., June 6, 1890. SLEEP. While childrensleep ; * They know not that their father toils ; They know not that their mather prays— Bending in blessing o'er their beds, Imploring grace for after days. While children sleep They never dream that others work That they may have their daily bread ; When morning comes they rise and eat, And never ask how they are fed. While children sleep They do not see the shining sun— They do not see the gracious dew, In daily miracle of love Is ever making all things new’. Do we not sleep ? And know not that our Father works With watchful care about our way ; He bends in blessings from above— His love broods o'er us day by day. Do we not sleep? And never dream that others work, Reaping the sheaves that might be ours : We see not how the shadows fall, Which mark the swift departing hours. Ah, still we sleep Our drowsy eyes see not the light, See not the hands stretched out to bless, See not that waiting for us stands God's kingdom and His righteousness. —Good Words. I a —————————————— FREDDIE'S FORTUNE. I was a young doctor, not over-bur- denened with practice, when I sat half dozing in my surgery one stitling Au- gust afternoon, and was roused by a bustle in the street and a cry, “Here's a doctor! Ring the bell! By the time the ring was answered I was wide awake and had my “profes- sional expression” on. Two men came in, and one held in his arms a limp, senseless figure, a boy, about 3 years old, covered with blood flowing from a gash in his head. I took the little fel- low in my own arms and carried him to a sofa, while the men brought me water and seemed deeply interested in all my movements. A broken arm and the deep cut on the head kept me busy some time, but at last my little patient was made as comfortable as possible, and was moan- ing with recovered consciousness. “Have you far to carry him?’ I asked one of the men. “We don’t own him,” was the an- swer. “He was a-running across the street and a horse kicked him over. Jim, here,” indicating his companion, “he picked him up, and I come along to help find a doctor, ‘cause Jim can’t read.” “Needn’t a-shoved that in I" growled Jim turning red. “Poor little chap, how he groans!” “I will give him something to' quiet him presently,” I said, “and wil] send word to the station house it bis name is not on his clothes.” The men departed and I lifted my charge once more and went upstairs to my mother’s room, over the surgery. It did not take many minutes to en- list her sympathies, and we undressed the child and put him in her wide bed, hoping to find some mark upon his clothing. There was none, and when I saw this I spoke frankly, “Mother, there is just one chance for the little fellow’s life, and that is perfect quiet. He will have fever, probably be de- lirious, and to carry him to a hospital, or even to his own home, may be fatal. I will send to the station house and then——" “You know I will nurse him, John," my mother said. “If his mother comes she must do as she thinks best, but, until she does come, leave him to me.” I wrote a description of the child's long brown curls and brown eyes,of the delicate suit of clothes in which he was dressed, and sent it to thestation house. No call being made in three days I ad- vertised him for a week, and still he was not claimed. It was very strange, for the child's pure, delicate skin and dainty clothing seemed to mark him as the child of wealth. But while he lay unknown, my little patient was strugghng hard for life against fever and injuries. He was delirious for many days, calling pitiful- ly for “Mamma—pretty mamma, !” begging her not to go away, and mak- ing our hearts ache by often crying, “Oh, Aunt Lucy ; don’t beat Freddie! Freddie will be good!” or, “Grand- ma, grandma, don’t!” in cries of ex- treme terror. Mother would get so excited with in- dignation over those cries, that I saw the child had won a fond place in her warm heart. “He has been ill-treated, John, the pretty darling!” she would say. “I hope the cruel people who could hurt such a baby will never find him again.” The second week of his stay with us was closing and Freddie bad regained his reason and was on the road to re- covery, when one morning a carriage dashed up to my door and two ladies alighted. They wore rustling silks of the latest fashion and were evidently mother and daughter. The younger lady was very beautiful, a perfect blonde and dressed in exquisite taste. “Dr. Morrill?" inquired the elder lady. I bowed. “We called inanswer to an advertise- ment regarding a child, my grandson. You will probably think it strange we have not been here before, but we were obliged to leave town the day before he was lost and have just returned. The nurse who had himin charge ran away, and while we supposed him safe at home he has been lying in a hospital, perhaps dying.” “We were nearly distracted on our return,” said the young lady, “when we missed our darling ; nn an inquiry at the station honse sent us here, The officer also showed us your advertise- ment. Where is our dear child ?” “He is here,” I answered, “under my mother’s care, and, I am happy to say, doing well.” An unmistakable look of disappoint. ment crossed the faces of my visitors, but the older one said, “can we see him ?” I asked permission to announce their coming to my mother, and left the ladies alone, When I returned, after some five minutes’ absence, I was struck by the change in their faces. The younger one was pale as ashes,and the elder one had a set, hard look of determination, as if nerved by some sudden resolution. I led the way to my mother’s bed- room, where Freddie was in a profound gslamber. The younger lady shrank back in the shadow of the bed curtains, but the mother advanced and bent over the child. There was a moment of profound silence, then, in a hard voice the old lady said, “I am sorry to put you to so much trouble, Doctor Morrill. This is not the child we lost.” A heavy fall started us,and I turned to see the young stranger senseless on the floor. Her mother spoke quick- ly. “The disappointment is too much for her. We so hoped to find my grand- son.” I did not reply. The delirious rav- ings of the child were still ringing’ in my ears as he pleaded with the harsh grandmother and aunt. Tdid not be- lieve the old lady’s statement, but, having no proof to the contrary, was forced to accept it. Long after my visitors had departed, the beautiful blonde still trembling and white, mother and I talked oftheir strange conduct. “It is evident they want to deny the child,” 1 said. “I am glad of it,” mother replied. “We will keep him, John. He shall have a grandma to love, not one to fear.” So the Summer and early Autumn wore away and Freddie was dear to us as if he had claim of kinship. His rare beauty, his precocious intellect, and his loving heart had completed the fascination commenced by our pity for his suffering, weakness and loneli- ness. He called us “Grandma and “Uncle John,” and clung to us with the most affectionate caresses. Being blessed with ample means, mother and I had quite decided to for- mally adopt pretty Freddie when he had been a little longer unclaimed in our house. Dennis, my coachman, was very fond of Freddie, and careful ; so I was not afraid to leave my little charge with him while I was indoors, and he was very happy chatting with the good natured Irishman and waiting my coming. It was early in November, and moth- er had dressed Freddie for the first time in a jaunty suit of velvet, with a dainty velvet cap over his brown curls, when one morning I gent him ont with Dennis until I was ready to start. I was making my final preparation for departure when I heard a piercing | scream under my window and Dennis saying, “By jabers, she's fainted, the crather 1” While Freddie cried, “Mamma— pretty mamma !”’ I ran out hastily to see an odd tab- leau. Dennis was supporting in his strong arms a slender figure in mourn- ing, half leaning <n the shafts, while Freddie clung to her skirts, sobbing, “Mamma—mamma,’ “Bring her in, Dennis,” I said. “I'll do that same, sur,” was the re- ply, as Dennis lifted the liftle figure like a feather weight, and crossing the pavement came into the surgery. I shut out the curious people who fol- lowed, and Freddie clung fast to the black dress, never ceasing his load cries of “Oh, mamma! Itis my mam- ma 1" The sound rang through the house, reaching my mother’s ears as she sat in her room. She came hurrying down the stairs and entered the surgery just as Dennis deposited his burden in an arm chair. Comprehending the situa- tion at a glance, mother tenderly re- moved the heavy crape veil and bon- net, loosening a shower of brown curls round a marble-white face, still insen- sible. At that moment the stranger opened a pair of large brown eyes, as brown and as soft as Freddie's own, and mur- mured, in a faint voice: “Freddie! Did I see my boy 2” Then her eyes fell upon the child and in a moment she was on her knees before him clasping him to her heart, kissing him, sobbing over him till mother broke out crying too, and I was obliged to assume my “professional ex- pression” by sheer force of will. “Come, come,” I said gently, “Fred- die has been very ill, and can not bear so much excitement.” This quieted the mother in an in- stant, and she rose, still holding the child’s hand in her own. “It is my boy!" she said, looking in- to my face. “Freddie,” I asked, ‘is this mam- ms?’ “Yes,” said the little fellow, decided- ly; “of course it is, My own pretty mamma come from heaven !" “Come from heaven!" she repeated with ashy lips and gasping breath. “They told me he was dead, my boy, my Freddie—that he was run over and killed! The nurse saw him fall under the horse's feet.” “But you see he was not killed,” mother said in a gentle tone; “but is well and strong again. And then motioning ms to keep si- lent, mother told the widow of the child’s injuries and recovery, of his winning ways, and our love for him. “I must tell you first who I am,” our visitor said. “I am the widow of Carroll West, who died of cholera in Liverpool oaly two weeks ago. “When I heard he was ill I went to him at once, leaving my boy with my husband's mother and sister. I knew they were not very found of him, but I had no choice. I found my husband very ill, but he was recovering, when he had a relapse. During all his ill- ness I heard only twice of Freddie— { once that he was well, once that he had been killed in the street. “I came home only two days ago, and they would tell me nothing of where my boy was buried—nothing but the bare fact of his death I—I—oh, do not blame me !—I was on my way to the river to end it all, when I met Freddie.” 1t would be tedious to tell in detail all the long coaversation that followed, but, authorized by Mrs. West, I called upon her husband's lawyer, and there heard her story. “I think,” said the lawyer, confiden- tially, “that the Wests are the proud- est people I ever knew—proud of their family, their money and their beanty. Carroll West was the only son, Lucy the only danghter when the old man died. He left a considerable fortune, but Carroll has increased his share of it to immense wealth. His mother was very desirous of having him make a great match, and proportionately furi- ous when he married a dark-eved seamstress, of no family in particular, and working for a living. “Carroll,” continued the lawyer, “had sufficient good sense to keep up his own establishment until he went into a heavy cotton speculation that called him to Taverpool. Then he left his wife and child under his moth- er’s care, and before he went he made his will. Now, doctor,” said the law- yer, speaking very slowly, and with marked emphasis, ‘that will leaves half his fortune to his wife, half to his child, but in case of the death of the child, the half that is his goes to Mrs. West and ber daughter Lucy. If the mother dies all goes to the child, to re- vert again to the Wests, if he dies with- out direct heirs.” We could never tell whether the un- natural grandmother and aunt would have risked a legal investigation. The recognition between mother and child was complete, and the clothing we had carefully preseryed was fully identified. Mrs. West did not return to her moth- er-in-law. For some weeks she was my mother’s guest and my patient, be- ing prostrated with low nervous fever, and then she took the house next to our own, ber own claim and Freddie's to Carroll West's property being undis- puted. We were warm friends for two years, and Mrs. West, senior, with the beautiful blonde, were occasional vigitors at the widow's house; but when the violet and white took the place of crape and bombazine, I ventured to ask Adelaide West if a second lover could comfort her for the one she had lost, and my mother became Freddie's grandmother in truth, when his “pret- ty mamma’’ became my wife. Mrs. West is dead, and Lucy mar: ried to a titled Italian, who admired Ler blonde beauty, but unlike many of his compatriots, finds the lovely lady fully able to take care of her own in- terests and guard her money against too profuse expenditure. — Evening World Secretary Rusk’s Seeds. Where They Come From, and How They Are Stored. A Washington letter to the Chicago Times says of Secretery Rusk’s method of handling the Government seed busi- nezs . All the seeds now being distribut- ed are exceedingly fine, and the depart- ment represents a certain potato that it is sending out as probably the most ex- cellent article in the shape of a Hiber- nian tuber ever obtained by cultivation, It never offered potatoes before the sea- son, by the way. The germs of this wonderful vegetable will be sent to you, if you make the request—twenty-five “eyes” in a wooden box—all cut up and ready to plant. Of course, the notion is that the farmer, observing that the po- tatoes grown from the twenty-five eyes are superior to any others of his crop, will keep them for seed, and other agri- cultural persons in his neighborhood will obtain from him specimens of the vegetu- ble for planting, the product of all that particnlar district being in this way im- roved. Such, indeed, is the whole idea and purpose of the seed distribution —that the vegetables and flowers grown in this country shall be as a and pretty of their kinds as possible. The seeds bought of the farmers by the agent aresent to Washington in bags and in thisshape are piled in the storage department of Uncle Sam’s barn, which is a big brick building just back of the main structure of the Department of Agriculture An enormous room ad- joining is filled with pretty women sit- ting at little tables and measuring out seeds from sacks into brown paper en- velopes, Some of them use quart-pots, others pints, and so on down to a mere thimble with long handles for such lit- tle seeds as carrots. Obviously, too, the envelopes differ in size. Each envelope having received its measure full, is seal- ed up and a label is pasted on it, telling what seed it contains, giving directions for planting them, and saying at the bottom : “Please report results.” It is desired to know, you see, how the seeds turn out. Finally the pak- ets are put in bundles of fives and tens, and after being addressed they are sent off in this shape. Ifyou ask simply for “some vegetable and flower seeds’ you will probably receive ten envelopes of the former and five of the latter. Asam- ple bundle of ten vegetables would very likely contain a quart of corn, half a pint of beans, half a pint of peas and som? small envelopes ot cabbage, pump- kin, tomato, pepper, radish, cucumber, and beet, Quarts are also given of buckwheat and lawn-grass. Separate room in the barn is devoted to the put- ting up of flower-seeds, which are pur- chased from the big seed houses. Vitriol-Throwing Fiends. Erg, May 26.—A fow weeks ago vit- riol fiends visited the home of John Fischer, and, when Miss Anna Fischer responded to the bell, she received a quantity of oil of vitriol on her face, neck and breast. The young lady was badly disfigured, but her affianced hus- band was shot the same night by the fiends, whom he was running down. The young lady’s father has been warn- ed by the “White Caps” thut the vitriol was intended for him and that he must leave the country. The affair has created a great deal of | excitement and the authorities have tak- en the matter in hand. Back to Her Side. An old, dilapidated prairie schoorer or camper’s wagon came crackin through the December wind, boun westward. As it came nearer in its slow course across the plain I saw that the horses were thin and spiritless, and the driver, who sat on the rough board seat beneath the faded and torn canvas cover, was as woe-begone as they. He had once been a good-looking man, but his sad face and unkept, cloth- ing told too well the tale of sorrow or disappointment. “How far is it to the next town ?” he asked as he came opposite me. “About five miles.” “How isthe road ? Can I get there before night 2’ “I am afraid not, without hurrying.” The clouds were skimming across the sky and a storm seemed riding on the back of the north wind that blew fierce- ly over the prairie. “Guess I'll go on, though’ he ejacu- lated after having considered a moment. Then he alighted from the wagon and commenced fixing a broken strap of the harness with some cord he drew from the wagon box. “What's your hurry ? Where are you going ?” were my inquiries. “I'm goin’ to Smith county,” he re- plied, wearily, as he thought of the long trip, almost to the foot of the Rockies, “an’ I must get there before the first of the month.” “Why, got some land there ?’’ “No, not exactly, but something bet- ter. I lived there two years ago—Mary and I. The hot winds came and the times were hard for us, We worked night and day, but there wasn’t no use ~the sun dried up the ground and we al- most gave up. Then Mary died, she wis my wife, you know,” he said, in halt apologetic words. “She helped all she could but her strength wouldn’t hold out.” “And you were left alone ?”’ *“Yes,so much alone that I buried her all myself on our little claim an’ then started for the old home back east to try an’ make a livin’. I lost my right to the claim,” he went on wearily after a pause, “butI didn’tcare much, except that she was there.” “Now I must go through and see to it.” “Do you expect to get it back ?”’ “Not all of'it ; I don’t want it. But they tell me the land is all bein’ plowed up in that neighborhood, an’ I’m afraid they’ll plow over her grave.” “And so you'll buy the land ?’ “A little of it —that—that holds her. I kin make a livin’ I know, an’ I'll stay by herside till the end. It seemed like the sun went out when she left me there.” He resisted all my efforts to induce him to remain for the night. He must hurry, be said. And the last I saw of him he was urg- on the tired horses toward the angry western sky, eager to reach the grave of the one he loved so well. Humble in station though he, was crude though his surroundings, his lone- ly vigil on the far western prairies, with the wide spreading sea of grass around and only the tiny mound of earth to at- tract his lonely heart, has often seemed a picture worthy of a true artist’s touch. —Detroit Free Press. How Contests are Determined. The officers of the Democratic State Committee complain that proper atten- tion has not been paid to the rules regu- lating the making out of credentials and notices of contest. ‘We publish rule 12 at their request and would advise all other Democratic paper to do the same. Section 1.—Each person, elected a dele- gate to the State Convention, shall, ob- tain, in duplicate, a certificate of his election, signed by the officers (or a ma- jority of them) of the County Conven- tion, County Committee, Representative Convention, or other body duly author- ized and recognized as having jurisdic- tion of the election of delegates of the State Convention, certify that they were the officers of the Convention, Committee, or other duly authorized body ; to the time and place of the elec- tion; and that the person named there- in as delegate was fairly, regularly and duly elected. Such certificate shall be duly executed and sworn to by said of- ficers before a notary public, magistrate or justice of the peace, and certified to under his official seal in the presence of the Convention, Committee, or other duly authorized body. Section 2.— When a delegate is select- ed by any other duly authorized body than the County Committee, it shall be necessary for him to procure, inaddition to the foregoing and it shall be the duty of the County Committee to furnish a certificate, in duplicate, executed and sworn to by the officers (or a majority of them) of the County Committee, be- fore a notary public, magistrate or jus- tice of the peace, certifying that to the best of their information, knowledge and belief, such delegate was fairly, regularly, and duly elected according to the rules of the Democratic Party, and that he was elected by the County Con- vention,Representative Convention, or other duly authorized body which is recognized as legal and regular by the State Central Committee of the Demo- cratic party in Pennsylvania. When such delegate is celected by the County Committee, the certificate of election must also state that the delegate was se- lected by the County Committee, which is recognized as legal and regular by the State Central Committee. Section 8.—It shall be the duty of each person elected a delegate to file such certificate with the Chairman of the State Central Committee as soon as practicable after his election retaining the duplicate as his credentials as a mem- ber of the Convention. Tue Chairman of the State Central Committee shall not piace the name of any person upon the roll of delegates until furnished with such certificate ; and no certificate shall be received, filed or recognized, except those duly executed and sworn to by the officers of the County Committees | which is recognized as legal and rezular by the State Central Committee. Section 1.—Any person desiring to contest the seat of a delegate, shall be required to give notice, in writing, of such intention, together with the grounds of contest, to the Chairman of the State Central Committee, within ten days of the date upon which the election was held ; and such person shall, upon giving such notice, be accorded an op- portunity of having his claims heard by the Committee on Credentials when ap- pointed by the Convention, which Com- mittee, after hearing the statements and evidence offered on behalf of the dele- gate and contestant, shall make report to the Convention for its consideration and action. Hach person furnishing a certificate of election attested by the County Committee which is recognized as legal and regular by the State Central Committee, shail be entitied to all the rights and privileges of a delegate to or member of the Convention until he shall have been unseated by the action of the Convention upon the report of the Committee on Credentials, Provided, however, that no delegate shall be per- mitted to vote upon the report of the Committee on Credentials or any ques- | tion directly affecting the title to his own seat to the Convention. Contest- ants shall not be permitted to participate in the proceedings of the Convention, unless declared elected or seated by the action of the Convention upon the re- port of the Committee on Credentials.— Hazelton Plain Speaker, May 20. 1890. Habits of the Oyster, How He Lives and Breathes— Yu thful Wanderings and Destiny. A very able paper was read recently by Professor Bashtord, dean of the Col- lege of the City of New York, before the Microscopical Society, on the Long Is- land oyster. The Professor illustrated his lectnre by a series of blackboard sketches, showing the ‘festive bivalve’ in its various stages of evolution, as well as the numerous ills to which he is heir, incuding starfish, drills, boring sponges, crabs and the like. The society also had an exhibition of oysters in great variety from various quarters of the globe. An oyster from Calcutta was shown nreasuring two feet in length. There was also shown a fish- erman’s rubber boot, to which there were attached some five hundred small oysters in various stages of developement. The oyster, according to Professor Bashford, is provided with a heart, stomach, muscles and a breathing ap- paratus. Itis an incessant feeder, ab- sorbing its food constantly day and night. In its infancy the frolicsome bivalve is unsettled and giddy, floating about in an uncertain way until it finds some congenial spot in the way of a rock or a water-logged boat on whieh to fast- en. It then settles down and passes the remainder of its days in reflection and the gratification of its abnormal appetite. Oysters that are dipped in fresh water after being taken from their beds are prone to dropsy. They are fat and juicy and command high prices. But this is a delusion and a snare, as they have merely absorbed a lot of water in thelr fresh water bath. In France oysters are ted on a green plant which causes them to assume a greenish tint. These oys- ters are highly prized by the Parisians. The oysters of the Great South Bay, Long Island, the “Blue Points,” age the prize winners in the way of quality. This is owing to certain conditions which only a thorough scientist could ever hope to understand. One reason is that South Bay water has the correct proportion of salt for the propagation of of oyster food. ‘When an oyster becomes stuck in the mud it becomes disgusted with life, and after several days of a mud diet it final- ly shuffles off this mortal coil and lays the foundation of an “ancient oyster bed.” The lot of the oyster is not a happy one. It is not spiteful and is always be- ing imposed upon. The starfish doses it. with poisonous acid, the boring sponges fill its shell full of holes : small crabs crawl into its shell and make themselves at home ; other denizens of the deep smoother it, and finally man comes along, jabs a fork into its live and unresisting body and swallows it whole. The Connemara Girl. Her Dress, Her Food, Her Charms and Her One Dream in Life. The Connemara girl! She weighs about 180 pounds. She wears two wool- en petticoats woven by herself, and over her head and serving the purpose of both as shawl and bood, is a white petticoat, held in place with her left hand under her chin. The red. petti- coat reachs only balf way down her calves. The stride of this child of the bog is amazonian, yet very graceful. Her days are spent in carrying seaweed for manure, turf for the fire, and water. Sometimes she carries the turf a distance of two miles on her back in a wicker basket. Her load usually weighs about 100 pounds. Her stockings have no soles and she is too poor to buy. shoes. But she wears the legs to protect her calves when the edge of the heavy petti- coat, wet with sea water, slaps against them. Her hand resemble tanned leath- er, they are so hardened by toil. The brown cow that browses in the bog is no more innocent than this maid of the crag and bog land. Such a wealth of color, such satiny skin and such vigorous health are not seen in America. Tn the evening after this maiden has worken like a donkey, she goes home and eats a supper of potatoes ong potatoes), nothing else. Her ather and mother may drink a cup of tea, but this luxury is denied the girl. The tea costs too much. When the po- tato skins have Leen feed to the pig the Connemara girl heaps on the turf, for there is plenty of it there, and nods her- self to sleep in the chimney nook. Or, it may be, if there are visitors or neigh- bors in the house, she will lilt or hum for them to dance by on the hearthstone. This lilt is one of the quaintest things heard in Ireland. The sounds resemble clesely those of an Irish pipe. They are produced by the vocal organs in con- : junction with the tongue. They are us- urlly very rapid, and the lilter catches ber breath frequently. And what do you suppose the Conne- mara girl’s dream by night and by day is? ‘Tis that she may gather $20 to- gether so that shecan go to America, the land of catarrh and pneumonia; of indoor work, where she will lose her satiny skin and splendid vigor; where here eyes will ache for a sight of the Twelve Pinns of Connemara; where— but, pshaw ! she’ll cross the sea when she gets her passage money.—New York Sun. TERED Tle Summer at Atlantic Ciiy. The prospect for a brilliant summer season at Atlantic City were never so bright as at the present time. The ex- traordinarily liberal patronage which it has gained during the winter and spring season, largely due to the magnificent transportation facilities maintained by the Pennsylvania Railroad, is still man- ifesting itself in the well-filled hotels, which bid fair to hold their visitors well through the early summer season. The city by theseais in better condi- tion to entertain and amuse its friends than ever before. New hotels have been built, and older ones remodeled and enlarged. The great ocean boulevard has been com- pleted, so that Atlantic City now pos- sesses the handsomest and most atirac- tive ocean front of any seaside resort in America. All indications point to the Jargest summer season 1n the history of the place. The Pennsylvania Railroad Company has kept well in line with the spirit of improvement which has pervaded the seashore. Its facilities for promptly and comfortably handling lar.e numbers of people have been increased so as to sup- ply any possible demand ; the road-bed of its double line hus been improved greatly, and the terminal facilities both at Philadelphia and Atlantic City have been enlarged and improved. The bet- terment of the tracks will enable the management to materially reduce the time between the Delaware River and the sea, and the summer schzdule will present the quickest, best equipped, saf- est, and most satisfactory service of trains for everybody, ever enjoyed by the host of Atlantic City’s summer pa- trons. The comprehensive system of excursion tickets leading from all points on the Pennsylvania System will be available, as in the past years, at the exceptionally low rates that have here- tofore prevailed. It would be well for our readers to remember that a summer trip that does not include Atlantic City lacks the spice that would make it mem- orable. : EE T———— Remedy For Sour Stomach. The domestic remedy for “sour stom- ach’ is soda or saleratus. These agents are considered harmless, and oftentimes quite large doses are taken. The habit of taking them or other alkalies after eat ing is a questionableone. The digestive ingredient of the gastric juice is active only in the presence of an acid. If al- "kalies are taken into the stomazh in con- siderable quantities the acid fluids there- in are nutralized and the natural conse- quence is, digestion stops for a time. Experiments made by Dr. Bourget, of France, has shown that the use of pepsin, the once popular remedy for digestive disturbances,is of little val- ue. Instead of using soda or other al- kalies in sour stotnach, it is best to drink hot water, or to take five or ten drops of diluted hydrochloric acid in =a glass of water. Both of these stimulate the mucus membrane of the stomach and prevent the formation of trouble- some acids. : nC TET —— The Census Inquisition. Philadelphia Record. Before many days the census-takers will make their rounds and ask the peo- ple the names of the acute or chronic diseases with which they may be afflicted; whether they be defective in mind sight, hearing or speech; whether crippled, maimed or deformed, with the name of the defect ; whether a prisoner, convict, homeless child or pauper; and if their lands and homes be mortgaged, for what purpose the money obtained on mortgage was spent. It may be ‘aken for grant- ed that multitudes of persons of both sexes will flatly refuse, for various rea- sons, to answer these impertinent ques- tions ; and, therefore, the statistics that will have been gathered with so much pains will be absolutely worthless for any good purpose. Imagine a delicate and sensitive maiden revealing, under penalty of the inquisition, the nature of some secret and malignantdisease which she has sought to hide from all the world ! What answer could an idiot make to anidiotic questionas to his mental san- ity ? Who is going to tell whether he h: # some secret deformity of person, with its nature and cause? In nine cases out of ten in which such mental and physical defects may exist the answer, if given, would be talse ; and the census would be a vast monument of misleading statistics, far worse than no statistics at all. There is no doubt that most American people might answer all these questions without hesitation and without shame. But there are many who could not, and who will not; and it is these who are entitled to protection from the Paul Pry methods of the Census Bureau. If they do not want to tell the census enumer- ator the number of their chronic debts and diseases there is no legitimate power in this Goverment to wring from them their secrets or to punish them for not furnishing an inventory of their financi- al obligations and physical or mental infirmities. Even if everybody should be perfectly willing to answer these questions, they are not such as a good Goverment ought to ask. They belong to that system of “regimentation’’ (to use Mr. Hurley's word) which is encroaching more and more upon the private affairs of the people. Should the public submit to this inquisition into the most personal secrets there is no predicting to what lengths it might not be deemed proper to go in succeeding censusenurmerations. Instead of merely asking prying qurs- tions, it might be considered expedient to subject the people to personal inspec- tion in order to ascertain the precise nature of the diseases with which they might be fllaicted. The personal habits of the citizen, the kind and amount of food which he consumes in his family, the quanity of beer he drinks, where he spends his evenings, and what the average cost of his breeches, might all be treated as legitimate objects of census investigation. Many of the questions in the coming census exceeds this ex- treme in their inquisitorial epirit. Power and the abuse of power grow with what they feed upon; and if the people should tamely submit to this inquisition other and worse intrusions of officialism into their private affairs might follow.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers