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.