* 852% Bellefonte, Pa., May 8,489l. rm BRAVE LOVE. He'd nothing but his violin, P’d nothing but my song, But we were wed when skies were blue And summer days were long. And when we rested by the hedge The robina came and told How they had dared to woe:and win When early spring was cold. : ‘We sometimes supped on dewberries, Or slept among the hay, But oft the farmers’ wives at.eve Came out to hear us play The rare old tunes, the dear old tunes, We could not starve for long, While oy man had his violin, And T my sweet love song. The world has aye gone well with us, Qld man, since we were one; Our homeless wandering down the lanes Itlong ago was done. °° But those who wait for gold-or gear, For houses and for kine, : Till youth’s sweet spring grows ‘brown and -sere And love and beaty tine. ‘Will never know the joy of thearts That met without a fear, When you had but your ‘vielin And I a song, my dear. ; — Fankee Blade. —————— “NEVER FAILETH.” A:young woman stood on the for- ward deck of a crowded ferry boat, as it forged its heavy way through the water, making swells whieh rocked the smaller boats near by and washed high up on the piles at the dook. The young woman did mot notice the shipping, the tall buildings, the noisy landing or the pushing .orowd behind. She:was thinking; and as the beat jar- red against the burfers she said in a low tone to herselt, “Live is the great- est thing in the world.” No-one heard or heeded her but one pale-faged little woman in a black shawl, who stood crowded almost against her. - She heard the words,and a look. of avonder came into her hun- gry eyes. But the bea: was .docked, and the. crowd pushed whem on, and each went her separate way. The. pale-taced little woman in the black shawl hurried from place to place but:all the time she was turning over in her mind the words, “Love is the greatest thing in the world—in all the world.” Love of.what—love from whom? It made no difference. Lowe was not for her. "Youthwas gone, hope was gone, thereswas nothing for her but work. Her hushaud lived to work, and desir- ed that she should live to works and love, 6he could not remember to have heard the .work for years—no, nor thought it. The little children she used to think some day might be hers had mever come, and her husband said it was a good thing, for children took time and money, and she had waited and griev- ed and worked in silence, uatil mow she never thought of it, exeept to whink that it was bewter:so. Was love the greatest thing in the world? Then she must miss the great- est thing as she had missed all lesser things. But the hungry eyes looked out of a hungry heart, and the words said themselves over and over, not .en- ly that day, but through all the next weeks in a trip which she and her hus- band made to the West. They had boughteome land in Ken- sas, with a little one-roomed house on it, and there the work.of living began again with ten<old push. There was' not a house in-sight,.ard the sun seem- ed to rise so early and set so late— those long, long days, when she work- ed till the very grave would have seem- ed a pleasant place to rest in. But all through that summer, as she looked back .on.ii, she. could see how! the weight that bore ber down grew lighter. She seldom saw any.ene but her husband. They hsd no books, and thore few words, ‘Love iscthe greatest thing in the world,” began.to fill for her the place of books and friends. When the sunlight was. bright, and there were fleecy little clouds in the : blue sky, and the prairie was blazing . with flowers, and the ane cottonwood siree rustled its leaves .in the light ~breeze, there came new, meaniag into those words. Finally, though she could net have itold when or how, she came to; feel the love of God very close to her, and she knew that in some way God must, mean that she should give out a little love to other things—love the cattle, and the horses, and the pigs,and the chickens ; for che was a simple little woman. She loved them all; the work seemed eaci- er and the living things throye. ‘“She’s,got a wonderful knack,” said her husband to a passing neighbor. But as the capacity grew the hunger grew, and then one day there seemed | to hier to come a very gift from God. A little sebbing boy came dragging up to the open door—a little boy with dark eyes, with brown hair just long enough to show a tendency to: curl, with dirty hands and dirty face, and shoes cut with stones. Such a little boy! ' About eight years old, she thought. He cried and reached up his hands to her. : With a hasty look at the milk she was skimming to churn, she picked him up in her arms and held him close. She felt his lot little face against hers, felt the little arm around her neck, and the little heaving chest and beating heart against her own; ghe held. him tight and leved him, and the tears came into her eyes. Bat that could only last a minute; there was the milk. Thea she gave him water with which te wash his hands and face outside the door, and after that she gave him a slice of bread and a tin cup of milk, He gat there as if he owned the house, his tears dried, and his quick eyes glanced around. When his mouth was empty enough so that he could talk, he told his story. ““My name is Charlie,” he said. “I was in‘the prairie schooner, and the woman ‘and the man got very mad at me and put me off and shoolk the whip’ at me, and I ran across the prairie till I saw this house, and now I'm going to stay here.” “Were the man:ead woman your fa ther and mother?” “Oh no; my:mother is in a coffin in the ground. She caught a fever, and this man and woman brought me | along. Oh; I'm glad they're gone: I'd | rather stay with you.” : She churned fast and thought faster. Her husband would not let him stay ; he didn’t like boys, and the boy would eat a half more. Then there were the ‘| clothes. No; he would have to go. Her heart throbbed; had it ever throbbed like that before ? “Iwant to do that,” said Charlie, -eying thechurndasher enviously. A brawe thought; perhaps he could ‘work! She looked hastily down the hill. There was her husband’s hat coming around the stack. “Here, quick!” she said, and as the boy grasped the dasher, she took her sutthbonnet and went out with the chick- en-feed. Her husband came up the slope. “Hello, there, Jayhawker,” the boy called out, “look at me shove this -shover |” ‘Charlie with his legs apart, his cheeks red, his eyes shining, drove the churn-handle furiously. The pale face under the sunbonnet was 80 eager that the man coming up the slope would hardly have recogniz- ed it. He smiled in spite of himself at the little figure at the churn. When had his wife geen him smile before ? ‘She came forward with the empty pan, the eagerness schooled out of face and voice. She told what she knew about the boy, and added, “Perhaps he can work.” 3 gleam came into her husband's eyes. He was beginning to feel his constant labor. His head had ached lately, and his back ached, and he felt stiff in the mornings. He tried the muscle in the boy's proudly extended arm, and felt his legs. “We'll keep him,” he said, briefly; “he can do a sight of chores.” That night, when that pale-faced lit- tle woman could hear the sound of the little feilow’s breathing over there in his quilt in the corner, and could hear ‘Lim turn in his sleep and mutter some- thing now and then, her heart beat fast, and all the sounds of the night weat to the music of “Loves the great- est thing in the world,” Bo the boy stayed, and for a time there was peace. “You're looking so spry, Malviny, and put more heft into your house work. Kansas agrees with you bet: ter'n with me,” said her husband, one day. &he did feel a difference. The times she could take to sew a button on ‘Charlie's little ragged clothes, the mo- ment when she coubd bind up one of the little dirty, stubby, cut fingers, the time she could spend knitting little stockings for cold weather, or making coarse little shirts, or cutting down Isaac's worn-out overalls, the times when she could steal out of bed in the dark night, and kneel down by his quilt, and kiss the soft little cheek, and pray with Ler whole soul that God would bless him and help her love him well, were a very elixir of lite to her. At first.Charlie thought that chores some new sort of play, but that did not last long, By the time he was ten years old he was known by all the neighbors:as that good-for-nothing boy of Holt’s. He was a “bad hoy-” “Charlie, have you fed the calves?” Isaac would eay in the morning. “Yep,” came very glibly. And at night, “Charlie, now feed the calves,” with the same reply. But perhaps by the time the milking was done Charlie would say, “I ain’t fed the calves to- day!” “You said you had I” ‘I was thinking I had, Lut I hain’ fed 'em nor watered 'em.” Then Isaac, with a kick at the boy, which was skillfully evaded, would tramp wearily out into the darkness to 0 the neglected work. Charlie would take a horse at four o’elock in the afternoon to go for the cattle off on the prairie, and would drive the.cows galloping home long af- ter dark, with his horse foaming with long and heavy riding. He would dis- appear fora svhole day, and when he came home, Isaac, worn out with rage, would try to whip him; but even if the boy were soundly thrashed,in some way he still seemed to have the best of it. When Isaac would vow, as he often did, that Charlie should never stay un- der his roof another night, the boy would suddenly work so well, doing al- most a maa’s work, that Isaac’s wrath was gure to cool. For Charlie was really skillful with the cattle, and so strong that leaac never could make up ‘his mind to do without him. There was ene person, and only one who never said he was a bad boy. At pizht he had more than once waked up to.catch a glimpse of a white face, quite near him in the mocnlight, and to feel hot tears drop on his face. Us- ually he turned over and tried to ap- pear very sound asleep; once he chok- and gave her a great boyish hug and kiss that she neyer forgot. But the next day he was worse than he had ever been before, and was whip- ped thicc times by Isaac, Meantime Isaac was failing. “I’m breaking, Malviny,”” he said one after- noon, coming in earlier than usual. He sat by the table, his head in his arms, never heeding milking time, | never looking up to growl at Charlie | when he entered. In the morning he started out to milk, but came back and sat again with his head in kis arms; and then, not knowing what she could do so, but with a love and pity in her heart that must find expression, his wife coaxed him in timid words to go to bed; and when he was there, the womanly in- stinct came uppermost, and she tidied the room, and darkened it, and moved quietly and smoothed Tsuae's forehead, though iv almost frightened ber to do it. She tried to encourage him, and as she walled around she sang in a low - ed, and put his arms around her neck, | voice her only song, “Love isthe great- est thing in the world.” He heard the words, and roused himself to listen. ; “Come here, Malviny,” he said. As she sat beside him he took her small, bony, twisted, hard-worked hand in his large one, and said brokenly : “I’m sorry I ain’t been lovin’er to you, Malviny, No man ever bad so good a wife as Iv’e hed.” There was a long pause, while the chickens could be heard scratching outside the door. “We ain’t made much of life,” he went on. “This day, lying here, watching you and your quiet ways,and feeling your hand, is the sweetest day I ever hed, Malviny.” He said no more. He held her hand and died at sunset. The neighbors virtuously hoped that now Widow Holt was left alone, Charlie would do better, especially as he was getting so well-grown. He was sixteen now. But he did not do better; he did worse, He stayed away whole days from the farm. The milking, and all the hard chores, fell upon one little sorrowing woman. She tried to have nice meals, but Charlie was seldom at home to eat them, and the things were put away untasted. Soon she would have nothing to eat, she knew, if Charlie did not help. Many rumors were afloat about Charlie. Some of the neighbors’ boys were becoming reckless and unman- ageable. It was all due to Charlie, the neighbors said, and there was tal of driving him out of the country. One night Charlie came dashing up on his horse, pale and breathless, and there was a great welt from a whiplash on his neek and cheek. He broke in- to the little room and said : “I'm going. Barnes and Clack and Hall met me on horesback at the Cor- ners, and Nat Hall's run away. and they say it's my fault. Barnes cut me with his whip, and they say they're coming up here by midnight, and if I'm not gone they'll horsewhip me out of the county 1’ The boy's eyes were like sparks of fire, and bis face was white with rage, but not so white as the little woman's who grasped the chair-back. “I've loved you so—Charlie!” she said, in a voice like a cry. The boy's throat worked ; the color came into his face and left it; his hands clenched, and then, with a groan, he threw himself on the bed. His strong young shoulders shook, and he sobbed in a storm of tears. She knelt down beside him, All she could say was, ‘“Charlie—my little Charlie!” She did not know how to | talk, “I won't go,” he said, after an hour. “They can horsewhip all they like, but I can’t leave you. I'll be good; oh, I'm so bad—so bad! I—,, He put his Lead in her lap, and she smoothed it as she did at night when she thought he was assleep. “I want—to take care of you—but I'm so bad!” She sat there and soothed him until he fell asleep. She waited until twelve o'clock, but no one came. Then she looked and looked on the face she loved so much—the square forehead, the tanned, fresh.colored cheeks—on that dreadful welt, the firm chin, the mouth she thought sc beautifu!, the brown hair with the wave in it, the long lashes on the cheek. It was a reckless face, but it looked like such a good face to her— it always had looked good to her, no matter what he did! His brows drew together, and he murmured in his sleep just as he did the first night he came. He was only a boy after all; he said he would be good ! “Is love the greatest thing in the world? Can my love for him, and his love for me, and God's love for both, make him a good boy ? Ifit can, love is the greatest thing in the world.” In the morning, when he awoke, she was sitting beside him, halfafraid to have him waken ; for he was a good boy when he was asleep He seemed dazed at first. Then he flushed, and looking square into her eyes said, with a new tone in his boy- ish voice, “You love me; don’t you? Well, I'll show I love you—you see!” She did see. He was as good a worker as any man around, and he knew it. He began his farming on a small scale, so that he could do every- thing himself—so “she” could live “comfortable like.” : The little woman eould not under- stand the summer that followed. A different look came into her eyes, and Charlie said there was color in her cheeks. Perhaps it was true, for it was a wonderful thing to have a hap- py voice asking what she wanted, and telling her not to do this or that, but rest. Charlie found time to do so many new things! They had a garden with lettuce and tomatoes and sweet peas— things they fever had before, He said that the one room with its shed kitchen was not fit for her to live in, and he worked early and late, and { made {rade with carpenters, until he ladded a kitchen and porch and two rooms for bedrooms. Then came that wonderful day, the most frivolous day in all that littie wo- | man’s life, when they took the horses and wagon and started before sunrise for Topeka, and came back by moon- light with a bed, a great rocking-chair, | a looking-glass, a carpet, and some , dishes. At night, when everything was all | done, and Charlie could hardly contain | himself for pleasure, the little woman felt a tickling in her throat, and won- | dered if she was going to cry while she | was frying eggs in the new frying pan. Such a night as that was, and such a { supper—ijust they two; Charlie was | happy, and looked lovingly at the little i woman opposite him. He was very solemn toward bedtime. - He hung over her chair, and held her face in his two big hands, and kissed i her, and said : “You think I love you now, don't you, mother? And we think what you sing—don’t we—that love is the greatest thing in the world! "— Youth's Companion. Beecher and Ingersoll. : Fp ENT Mr. Beécher has gone to rest. The way was long for, him and often very rough, buthe trod his pathway with a buoyant step and far looking eyes. Great, natural, faulty, beloved, he has gone now ; but his words remain. Per- haps Colonel Ingersoll and those who were with him will long remember the following selected incident : Colonel Ingersoll was thrown one day into the society of Henry Ward Beecher. There were other gentlemen present, all of whom were prominent in the world of brains. A variety of topics were discussed with decided brilliancy, but no allusion was made to religion. The distinguished infidel was of course too polite to introduce the subject him- self, but one of'the party finally, desir- ing to see atilt between Bob and Beech- er, made a playtul remark about Inger- soll’s idiosyncrasy, as he termed it. The Colonel av once defended his views in his usual apt rhetoric; in fact, he waxed eloquent. He was replied to by several gentlemen in very effective repartee. Contrary to the expectations of all, Mr. Beecher remained an abstracted listener and said not a word. The gentleman who introduced the topic with the hope that Mr. Beecher would answer Colonel Ingersoll, at last remarked : “Mr. Beech- er, have you nothing to say on this sub- ject 2” The old man slowly lifted himself from his attitude and replied, “Noth- ing; mm fact, if you will excuse me for changing the conversation, I will say that while you gentiemen were talk- ing my mind was bent on a most de- plorable spectacle which I witnessed to-day. “Why,” said Mr. Beecher, ‘as I was walking down town to-day I saw a poor blind man on crutches, slowly and care- fully picking his way through a cess- pool of mud in the endeavor to cross the street. He had just reached the middle of the filth when a big, burly ruffian, himself all bespattered, rushed up to him, jerked the crutches from under the unfortunate man and left him sprawling and helpless in the pool of dirt which had almost engulfed him.” “What a brute I’ said the Colonel. “What a brute he was!” they all echoed. “Yes,” said the old man, rising from his chair and brushing back his long white hair, while his eyes glittered with his old-time fire, as he bent them on In- gersoll—“Yes. Colonel Ingersoll, and you are the man. The human soul is lame, but Christianity gives its crutches to enable it to pass the highway of life. It is your teaching that knocks the crutches from under it and leaves it a belpless and rudderless wreck in the slough of despond. If robbing the hu- man soul of its only support on this earth—religion—be your profession, why,ply it to your heart’s content. It re- quires an architect to erect a building ; an incendiary may reduce it to ashes.” The old man sat down and silence brooded over the scene. Colonel In- gersoll found he had a master in hisown power of illustration and said nothing. The company took their hats and part- ed. On Being a Girl. So you wish you were a boy, do you, my dear? You “realize that brain-pow- er, always honored in man, is often de- pised in a woman,” you are ‘conscious of forces within that the ordinary course of a woman’s life will never call into play? My child, honestly and earn- estly, you ought to be ashamed of your- self! If you were a Chinese girl, doomed to be the slave of your husband’s parents ; if you were a H'ndoo maiden already married to a man whom you had never seen until your wedding day, there would be some reason in your sorrowful wail. But for you, with avenues of usefulness and honor opening before you on every side, to utter such a wail—ves, you certainly ought to be ashamed of yourself! It is a glorious thing to be a girl, and to hold the hope of being a woman a lit- tle later on. It is true, as the orators like to say, that “the age needs men.” But the age also needs women. Don’t be afraid that your talents must be wasted, merely be- cause you can’t sing bass, or drive a nail properly. There are scores of things Just as good and useful that you can do if you will. Don’t be afraid to use and develop ’all the brain power that you possess. Strong mindedness is not nearly so ob- jectionable as weakmindedness, To be sure, the world wants you to be manly ; but weakness is no mor: essential to womanliness than coarseness is to man- liness. If those “forces within,” of whose presence you are conscious, will not be called into play “in the ordinary course of a woman's life,”” why, then, you will have to make the course of your life ex- traordinarily good, extraordinarily true and hopeful. Brain power, in either sex, needs the accompaniment of heat power. Thousands of Dollars for a Drink, A resident of Beauharnois was on Tuesday morning ealled by telegram to St. Jerome, where a near relative was dangerously ill, He got as far as Mon- treal, but on coming out of the Bona- venture station he met a convival ac- quaintance. The pair started to ‘liquor up’ at a saloon bard by. They con- tinued at it until it was too late for the man from Beauharnois to catch the 5 o/clock train from Dalhousie Square Sta- tion, and they decided to “make a night of 1t.”” Yesterday the man from Beau- harnois received another telegram stat- ing that his relative had just died intes- tate, leaving about $12,000 to be divided up among about fifty collateral rela- tives, the Beauharnois man taking his moiety among the rest, but that had he reached St. Jerome in time he was to have been left the bulk of the property. His tears at that funeral are likely to be genuine. IR ST T———— An Indian father drew the body of his dead child on a hand-sled thirty- | six miles across the upper end of Lake | might be Michigan in order that it buried from the Catholic Church. ine. RP see RS 1.43 PTR The War Scare. “Say, Chimmie,” said” Gusty as he lighted a half smoked cigarette he had picked up, and leaned his elbows on that step of the city hall which happen- ed to be above the one he was sitting on, “what's dis place, Italy, the papers says is goin’ ter fight wid us ?” ~ “Italy,” replied Chimmie, who was better read than Gusty, “why dat’s de place all de dagos comes from, If it wasn’t fer Italy we wouldn’t have no bananas or peanuts or grind organs.” “Where is it? Is it furder away dan Coney Island ?” “Coney Islan’ ? Well, IT guess yes. It’s furder away dan Chicago—so fur away haf to go dere in a boat.” “Well, how’s dey goin’ to fight us den Ifdeysen’ any boats over here dem big cannons down on Guvnor's Islan’ would fill ‘em full o’ holes and sink ’em,” “Dat shows all you know about it. Dem cannons ain’t to fire oft. Dey're jus’ for show. If'dey fired ‘em off dey’d bust. Besides, dem boats what dey fight wid is coyered all over wid iron ticker dan me fist. Dem cannons could’t do nothin’ against em.” Gusty was getting interested. ‘What's to keep de dagos from comin’ over here and doin’ jus’ what dey want to do den ?’’ he asked. “Nothin’,” replied Chimmie, whose powers of explanation always increased with Gusty’s interest. “Dey’d come over in dose boats an’ fire a cannon at city hall ‘an kill Mayor Grant. Den dey’d kill ail de coppers. Den de dago ginerals would come on shore and help demselves to whatever dey wanted. Dey’d go inter de candy stores and take all de candy dey wanted an’ not pay fer it. Dey’d go to de teater and take de bes’ seats, becauze dere wouldn't be no coppers to stop ‘em. See? Dey’d be de bosses o° New York, an’ dey’d k'll anybody dey wanted to ex- ceptde dagos what sells bananas an’ peanuts.” Guasty began to look disturbed. “Say, Chimmie,” he said, “you know de lame dago wot I swiped a banana off of yes- terday ?”’ “Yes,” replied Chimmie. “D’you suppose he'd tell de dago gin- erals about dat ?” “I dunno,” said Chimmie. ¢Mebbe he would.” “I’you suppose dey’d kill me ?”’ “I dunno. You're only a newsie, an mebbe dey’d be so busy killin’ coppers an’ detectives dey wouldn’t have time to kill you. But dere’s de extry out— come on, Gusty,” and the two boys raced off to The Sun office.— Life. Florida's Labyrinthian Waterways, “Where have you been ?” said a guest at one of the hotels as a friend walked up the steps, well laden with souvenirs from South Florida. “Oh!” was the reply, “I’ve been down to Charlotte Harbor and up that river with the unmentionable name.” “Caloosahatchee ?”’ “Yes, that’s it. Ispent six days try- ing to pronounce it aud haven't suc- ceeded yet. These Indian names are beautiful names, but they are deucedly hard to pronounce. By the way, where have you been ?” “Well, I went over tothe Suwanee River, cut over the country, and shot ‘gators on the Withlapochee, fished for bass in Tsala Apopka, sailed on Thou- otosassa, skipped over to Okanlockhat- chee, walked by the shores of the Weo. kyakapka, plucked flowers by Hickpo- chee’s limip waters, visited the sugar fields on Tohopekaliga, saiied on the tortuous Kissimme, was buffetted by the waves of Okeechobee, and have also captured tarpon on the Caloosahatchee. I expeet to visit Istodpogayoxie, Locka- pepka, Hascheneeha and Ecautock- hatchee before I leave the State.” “Gosh!” ejaculated his companion, as he stepped into the hotel. We Eat Too Much. Nearly everybody eats far more than is necessary, said a New York doctor. Among my patients those who eat the least get over their mollygrabs the quickest, while those who eat the heaviest are ill the oftenest. My expe- rience shows that half the ailments of life are ‘brought about by overeating or drinking. I mvself takea light break- fast, perhaps eggs with toast, or fish with potatoes, or a bit of cold chicken, or something ofthe kind and a cup of coffee. At noon I take milk,with a few crackers, or else some California fruits. At 6 [ have a hearty, but not a heavy dinner, with soup, fish, meat, vegetables and bread. I do not eat over a pound and a half of solid food a day, though I am more robust than most men, and am never troubled with any of the hundred complaints that are the result of overeating. I advise you to eat lightly, be careful of what you eat, and take your time in eating. Tbis looks like commonplace advice, but my fee for it, without any pills, is $10. Scarlet the Sacred Color. In Italy, Turkey,Greece, Asia Minor, Egypt and many of the Oriental coun- tries, the archaic images of the deities were painted red, ‘and it has been said that the traditional practice was intend. ed to pleas2 the “color sense,” by which he meant that these images were regard- ed as pretty gew-gaws. This 18 not likely, and the true explanation is that the color of red was sacred. All pres- tine creeds can, with probability, be traced ultimately to two origins. They are, in differant disguises, the worship of the sun and the worship of humanity. Red became, therefore, an exceptionally odious color when the ascetic temper gained possession of religion. The author of “The Wisdom of Solomon” betrays a profound antipathy to the color in the following: “Or make it like some wild beast, laying it over with vermillion, and with paitt color- ing it red, and covering every spot therein.” AT THE MASQUERADE. — Miss Sharp -—Ah, Mr. Dullard, you are looking the part ot Black Prince to pe; fection. Mr. Dullard—Ye-es, but do you kpow, Miss Sharp, T feel like a perfect idiot. Miss Sharp (earnestly) —Now, that will never do, Mr. Dullard. At a mas- querade, as on the stage, one must for- get lits real character entirely. WT Utilizing ‘the Old Umbrella, A Pretty Piece of Ornamental Gar- dening. A very pretty piece of ornamental gardening, not too difficult for begin- ners, can be done with an old umbrella or parasol and some plants of cypress vine. maurandia, sweet-pea, or anything that is not of too aspiring a nature Such climbers as the morning-glory, canary- bird vine, and other twenty-footers, are better left tor unsighly fences and build- ings. Plants are better than seeds, be- cause more certain, and they do not take so long to catch the knack of twining and spreading. Umbrella ribs are not decorative, and to see such an object standing there week after week, waiting for its clothes, does not give people a pleasant impression of a garden. But first find your unibrella ; and this may not be so easy, for “retired” um- brellas that are no longer fit for use are seldom seen. Some members of the family, however, may be able to pro- duce one ; and then it should be imme- diately stripped of the few tatters left to it. The next step is to paint the frame and handle brown, and when quite dry, plant the end of the handle firmly in the ground, with the frame fully opened. Lf the handle is rather short, it will be an improvement to add a piece of wood to it. It is now ready for the vines, which should have made some progress in grow- ing ; and when they once begin to do their best, the old umbrella frame makes such a lovely green bower studded with blossoms of red or purple or white—or all together if the vines are mixed—that every one exclaims over its beauty. A parasol with the same treatment is equally pretty on a smaller scale, and it would be very ornamental in the center of around bed edged with bright-color- ed phlox or candy-tuft. With a long- spouted watering-pot the vines could have a daily drenching in warm weather, when the sun is not shining on them, from their roots to their highest green tips, and this would keep them fresh, —— Learning to Walk. People sometimes ask: At what age can we set a child in a chair; when put him on his legs; how old must he be before we teach him to. walk ? The an- swers are easy. He must not be made to sit till he has spontaneously sat u in his bed and has been able to hold his seat. This sometimes happens in the sixth or seventh month, sometimes later. The sitting position is not without dan- ger, even when he takes to it himself; imposed prematurely upon him, 1t tries the back-bone and may interfere with the growth, so the child should never be taught to stand or to walk. This is his affair, not ours. Place him on a carpet in a healthy room or in the open air, and let him play in freedom—roll, try to go ahead on his hands and feet, or go backward, which he will do more suc- cessfully at first; it all strengthens and hardens him. Some day he wild manage to get upon his knees, another day to go forward upon them, and then to raise himself up against the chairs. Hs thus learns to do all he can as fast as he can, and no more. But, they say, he will be longer in learning to walk if he is let go on his knees or his hands and feet indefinitely. What difference does it make if, explor- ing the world in this, he becomes ac— quainted with things, learns to estimate distances, strengthens his legs and back, prepares bimself, in short, to walk bet- ter when he gets to walking? The im- portant thing 1s, not whether he walks now or then ; but that he learn to guide himself, and to have confidence in him. self. TI hold, without exaggeration, that education of the character is going on at the same time with training in loco- motion, and that the way one learns to walk is not without moral importance. ——Popular Science Monthly. ——— Children and Trade. “Don’t the children bother us ?”’ said a Felix street merchant in response to a question. ‘Oh, a little, of course, but it pays to have patience with them. Once enlist the children’s trade and you have that of their parents. You remember that school-master who said that he rul- ed the village because he ruled the chil- dren, arguing that they ruled their mothers, who in turn ruled their hus- bands ? Well, there is a great. deal of truth in that. A great many good re- tail businesses have been built up by attention to what you might eall the children trade. They make free with every thing about the store, to be sure, and get in your way, or romp, but I tell you it pays to humor them. If you treat them roughly you can reconcite yeur- self to the fact that you lose that fam- ily’s trade. The youngsters never for- got that sort of thing. If you want to ruin a good business the safest way is to let the boys understand that they are tolerated only when they have business and no longer, More than one house has queered itself in that way. Give me a store where the children come in and just act as if they owned it, and 1’ bet that place is making money.”’—S%. Joseph News. rn a ern When They Were New. First jury, 907 Pins made, 1450. Needles used, 1544. Matches made, 1829. First cast iron, 1544. Coal used as fuel, 1434. Surnames used in 1162 First gold coin, B. C. 206. Tobacco introduced, 1583. _ First steam railroad, 1830. Lead pencils used in 1564. Window glass used in 694. First postage stamps, 1840. Kerosene introduced, 1826. First illuminating ges, 1792. Iron found in America, 1585. Electric light invented, 1874. First insurance, marine, 533. First American express, 1821. First wheeled-carriages, 1559. Latin ceased to be spoken, 580. Musical notes introduced, 1328. Bible translated into Saxon, 637. Gunpowder used by Chinese, 80. Bible translated into Gothic, 872. Photographs first produced, 1802, Old Testament finished, B. C. 220. Emancipation proclamation, 1863, Paper made by Chinese, B. C. 220. Bible translated into English, 1534. gradually v
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers