Bellefonte, Pa., July 16, 1897. THE COUNTRY ROAD. From the busy haunts of farmer-folk It starts on its winding way, Goes over the hill, and across the brook, Where the minnows love to play; Beside the mill with its water-wheel, And the pond so dark and deep, Then up to the tavern and village store, And the church, where the dead lie asleep. You would never think that the country road, From the hill to the store, could be So long to a boy with an errand to do And another boy to see. You ean never dream how short it is From the farm to the frozen pond, Nor how very much farther it always is To the schoolhouse just beyond. Oh, the country road! at the farther end It runs up hill and down, Away from the woods and the rippling brook, To the toiling, rushing town, But, best of it all, when you'r tired and sick Of the weary haunts of men, If you follow it back, it will lead you home To the woods and fields again. —ASt. Nicholas. THE MOTHER-IN-LAW. When one is old, one awakens early ; and when the joints are stiff, it is hard to lie. So old Elizabeth Bain arose at dawn, and wandered about the house with cautious step, faint for her breakfast, and angry at the houseful of hearty sleepers. She seldom removed her night-cap till breakfast was announced, for reasons only known to herself ; and the drowsing chil- dren, hearing a noise in their room, would open languid eyes to see ‘‘grandma’s’’ thin parchmentlike face staring at them resent- fully from the white cap that belted it in like a gravecloth. “Go away, grandma,’’ they would say, crossly ; ‘‘we want to sleep.” Then Elizabeth Bain would toss her proud old head in the air and go out, mut- tering. When breakfast did come at last, and the easy-going servant had got the children up to their places, the old lady ate ravenously for a few moments, and then, with a sud- den disgust at food, would sit watching the others enviously while they leisurely consumed the breadkfast. Sometimes Elizabeth Bain was angry that no one spoke to her ; at other times she was angry if they did : for she was so dull of hearing, and suffered such chagrin at her inability to understand and consequently to make a fitting answer, that she said to herself that in very pity they might leave her alone. Their way of eating annoyed her too—the slow dragging out of a meal, which at best she did not consider a very hearty one. Orange juice did not, for example, seem a very sensible thing to give growing chil- dren ; and the idea of a big family sitting down to quaff such a heverage was amusing indeed to her—z0 amusing that she could never conceal a sniff of disdain. That sniff brought a passing frown to her daughter-in law’s brow. But what of that ? Not that she objected to her daughter- in-law. Indeed, she often said to herself that she had nothing of which to complain. There were more clothes in her closet than she could wear out in her lifetime. She had the largest bedroom in the house, and it was filled with the pictures and books and furniture which she liked best. No one entered there without her permission. Every morning the papers were brought to her. If she was indisposed, her meals were served there. When visitors called who knew her, they were brought to her, or she was taken to the parlor to meet them. Her stove, her reading-lamp, her day couch, her chair and stool, her clock and medicine-chest, were all where she wished them to be, and of the sort she pre- ferred. There was no fault to be found with the provision her daughter-in-law had made for her. There was certainly every reason to be grateful for the care she gave her when she was ill. And yet— “I'll get the lunch, Ella,” said the old soul, hungry for a few domestic tasks. “You'll be havin’ somethin’ else to do. Let me get the lunch.” ‘No, thank you, mother. I would much rather get it myself. You go to your room and keep quiet to-day. The old woman flung out of the room slamming the door behind her. The daughter-in-law smiled, and went on set- ting the table. She considered herself very patient. A few hours later the gaunt old exile crept back to her daughter's room again. ‘‘Hain’t you got nothin’ fur me to do, Ella? Some sewin’ or somethin’?’" ‘‘Have you got that quilt all finished, mother ?*’ ‘Yes ; I sewed the last block three days ago. If you'll git some cotton and baste it on. I'll make that up.” “All right. Ina few days. I haven't the time just now. And there’s nothing else for you to do—thank you mother.’’ Back again down the long hall. Back again to idleness. Back again to the stupor of the senses, to the dim, crowding memories, to the apprehension. For if there was any one thing by which Elizabeth Bain’s life was rendered miser- able, it was by her apprehensions, and these she could in no way control. If the bell rang quickly, she started to her old feet with a trembling hand upon her heart. It was surely her son brought home dead ! If the children cried out from some hurt at play, they had certainly broken a limb, or injured their skulls, or dislocated their spies ! A telegram-—and many came to the house-——meant death, to her ; and the often-recurring experience of finding them only invitations to dinner, or regrets for an evening festivity, or of a business nature, could not subdue the awful fear. The old woman would run in, wild-eved, crying: ** What is it—what is it, Ella? Who is dead ?” ‘* No one is dead, mother,”’ the daugh- ter-in-law would say politely, but rather | coldly. ‘‘The message is from the Crock- | ers, and they say they will go to the thea- tre with us to-night..” Then the old soul, shamed again, would i tottering out, and slam the door after her. And the bedguilts ? How the daughter- in-law did loathe them ! How inexpressi- bly ugly they were ! And how many, ma- ny hours she had spent cutting out those senseless blocks, that the trembling old fingers might sew them together again! How Elizabeth Bain hated them herself ! And yet, were they not better than the droning, droning hours? To be sure, there was the paper, and the Bible, and the met- rical psalms, and the endless other hooks, had she wanted them, but one cannot read forever when one’s eyes water and blur. The children brought her in the art hooks to look at, but she could see no sense in most of the pictures. She could not under- stand what the magazines meant half the | time—the stories had such curious end- | ings. If only she could have stopped worrying, life might not have been so bad. But it was never possible for her to do that. She knew the hour at which the children were due at home after school-hours, and if they were not there at the moment, she was dis- tressed until they came. She knew the ! hour at which the milkman ought to call, | and if he was not on time she worried for fear the children would have no milk for their porridge. Above all, she knew the hours of her son’s goings and comings, and a deeper feeling than worry oppressed her when he was not prompt. She was always wanting the children to come in, though she could not have told why, and some- times she walked the floor in misery of mind merely because they were out. ‘‘ Don’t you think the children ought to come in?” she would say to her daughter- in-law. ‘‘No,”” would be the cold reply, “I do not.” Back to her room would fly the old crea- ture, and when she had stood the condition as long as she could, she would open the window and shrill out an unearthly call in her frantic old voice to the children, who only answered : ‘“That will do, grandma. in when mamma calls us.”’ At night she wondered why they did not come to talk to her ; and sometimes they did, bringing in their dolls to play beside her, or sharing their candy with her, or laughing with her at the wild old stories that she brought out of her own dim girl- hood. But they would not let her undress them, because her hands fumbled so, and then she wept herself to sleep, saying they did not love her. She wept, too, because, according to her idea, they were not dress- ed warm enough. She would have swath- ed them in mufflers and veils every day had she had her way, and done up their hands in mittens and their feet in arctics. It always seemed to be cold weather to her the fires of her body burned so low. “I want you to stay in with me to-day,” she said once, authoritatively, to the chil- dren. It was a beautiful day, made for out-of-door living, and the children only laughed. “Kiss us good-by, grandma,’ they said : “we are going out.” A hot fire came in her faded old eyes. She stamped her foot. “But I tell you I want you ali to stay in ! It is much too cold to go out—hain’t it, Ella? Why don’t you teach your chil- der to mind me ?’> She began to whimper piteously. * Run along, children,’’ said their moth- er, in a low voice, and the little ones secur- ried out. ‘‘It is really a beautiful day,” said the daughter-in-law ; ‘‘but perhaps you are chilly. I will light your fire for you, mother.”’ She put the old creature down in her easy chair before the fire, and set a match to the kindlings. Then she drew the cur- tain high to let in as much sunshine as pos- sibls, and left her. The old woman sat staring, staring. “The childer must come in,”’ she said. And still she stared and stared. ‘‘Come in, childer—come in!’ The voice was fearfully querulous. And presently, from every corner of the room, little children be- ean to come. But they were not her dis- obedient grandchildren ; not those way- ward, laughing, hard-hearted children. No, no! They were her own—her own little boys and girls. Then James did not die in Texas, and Conway was not shot, and poor Mary did not perish of homesickness and privation up in the mining-camp, and Olive had not been dead since she was a child! And there was Samuel—her dearest little boy, her youngest—and he was not married to that woman with the cold smile who would not teach her children respect for age! And there were the three others whom she had thought died in their babyhood ! But no. no! They were all there! The pretty things—the pretty things! They came running to her. Their arms were about her neck. She smoothed their hair—brown yellow, black. She braided up Olive’s tresses, which were loose. She pulled up Samuel’s stockings—he never would keep his stockings up. They took the things out of their pockets tc show her. She looked at them all. She laughed and cried over the trampery—the marbles and stones, the string and orange-peel and bits of paper and tattered pictures! She wor- ried over the holes in the knees of their stockings, and said to herself that she must set at once to the knitting of some more ; and she sighed at the patches on their clothes. It was work, work, work! And yet how sweet! Ah, how fragrant was their breath—the breath of the chil- dren—like that of the little calves who have fed only on mother’s milk! How strong were their arms and legs! And they were all hers—all her own, her own! Perhaps they were hangry. She must go to the patch for potatoes. It must be nearly time for the men to come in from the field. And the baby, as like as not, was hungry too! She sat still, musing, dreaming, back again in the long ago, when she was young and life was full of joy and grief too, and people needed her. Nobody. nobody had any need of her now. *‘Mother,’’ said the cold clear voice she | knew. ‘“‘what are you doing? Why are | you staring like that ? Here's a cup of | hot tea for you.” The old creature struggled to her feet | and pointed a bony finger at her. “Then you married Samuel !’’ she cried. ‘¢ After all, you married Samuel !”” She burst into angry sobs. The daughter-in-law undressed her and put her in bed. “I think,’’ she said that night to her husband, *‘that we will really have to get a nurse for mother. She is very trouble- some. I think she must be losing her mind.”’ *“*You are an angel of patience to put up with what you do,” said her husband. The wife did not answer ; indeed, she | looked confused. Something strange seem- ed struggling within her heart. But she did not speak.—EL1A W. PEATTIE, in Harper's Bazar. We’ll come | | | State Teachers’ Officers. Will Meet Next Year in Bellefonte. Burned Portraits to Be Replaced in the Capitol. The State Teachers’ association decided at their last meeting to hold their next meet- ing in Bellefonte. The following officers were elected : President Dr. M. G. Brum- baugh, of the University of Pennsylvania ; vice presidents, Supt. Collons, of Cameron county ; Prof. E. Mackey, of Reading, and Prof. L. S. Shimmell, of Harrisburg ; secretary, J. P. McCaskey, of Lancaster ; treasurer, D. S. Keck, of Kurtztown ; ex- ecutive committee, Supt. Miller, of Brad- ford ; Supt. Burns, of Erie ; Prof. Richey, of New Brighton ; D. Fortney, of Belle- fonte ; Supt. J. W. Canon, of New Castle ; Prof. Lose, of Williamsport, and Prof. Messimer, of Erie. | | ——Subscribe for the WATCHMAN. Compared With London. What America Has Done in the Sixty VYears of the Queen's Long Reign. Englishmen are pointing with a good deal of pride to the remarkable growth of Lon- don from the time of Queen Victoria's ac- cession to the throne. They have reason to feel gratified by the development of their metropolis for in the three score years it has risen from a cluster of houses and shops shel- tering 1,000.000 people to a well built city of four times that many inhabitants. But while London has grown 300 per cent. in 60 years, it is interesting to note what has been done here with 12,000,000 souls. It has increased 600 per cent in GO years, or twice as rapidly as the one rapidly growing English city. With us the whole nation has made unprecedented growth, not merely one favored section of it. In 1830 the entire population of all the American cities was less than 2,000,000. Now we have four cities with more than a million each, while England has but one, and but one that exceeds 500,000 inhabi- tants very much. Then there was one city in the country. New York with a popula- tion exceeding 100,000. Philadelphia and Baltimore had 80,000, Boston 61,000 and Charleston, which ranked fifth, contained 30,000. New York has increased three times as fast as London, Brooklyn has increased more than 1,000 per cent. against London’s 300 in the same time, while Chicago has grown from nothing at all to a place nearly half as large as London. In 1830 Cleveland was a town of 1,076 per- sons. Pittsburg had grown as large as Butler is now. Besides Chicago, other towns then not in existence are Milwau- kee, Minneapolis, Kansas City, Omaha, St. Paul, Jersey City, Denver and Indianap- olis, all of them now having a popula- tion of more than 100,000. In 1830 Ohio was out west and the north- west corner of the State was still unsettled. Illinois had fewer than two inhabitants to the square mile in fully half her territory, and not more than ten or twelve in the most populous portion. The Pottawatomie In- dians lived on the south end of Lake Mich- igan, and nobody cared enough for the swamp lands to dispute them their posses- sion. Where then the country had a settled area of 632,000 square miles it has now a set- tled area of almost 2,000,000, or a greater rate of progress, than the marvelous growth of London’s population which excites the ad- miration of Britisher. Since 1850, whichisas as far the census figures go back, the number of farms have increased from 1,445,000 to 4,564,000, or fully as rapidly as the increase of London in the longer period. Since 1840 the cereal production has jumped up from 615,000,000 bushels to 3,518,000,000 or 600 per cent. Horses increased in numbers from 1850 4,336,000 to 15,000,000, and cat- tle in the same time from 17,000,000 to 51,- 000,000. In 1830 there were not quite 40 miles of railroad in the United States. At present the steam and street railroads run close to 200,000 miles employing an army of more than three quarters of a million people, and paying in wages annually directly or indirectly, fully $700,000. The railroads not in existence when Victoria was a girl, pay now in interest and taxes half as much as the cost of running the Federal govern- ment annually, and their debt is five times as much as that of the United States. It is apparent that in manufacturing and mining the development has been more rapid than in other lines, for these are comparatively new industries in a new country, when in its early days depended more on the farm than on the factory for a livelihood for its people. Yet so pronounced has heen the growth of the manufacturing interests that from nothing at all the United States have come to occupy the first place among the nations of the world, as well as in the production of minerals. In iron, petroleum, copper, gold, silver, hard coal and (except England alone, to which we are a close second) soft coal, and in many other things not of so much impor- tance, this country ranks at the head. In nothing can the British Empire show such marvelous development as in the iron and steel manufacture of this country, which taking up the thread where the old world would permit, has climbed to a first place, and is now disputing with the nations of Europe the actual dominations of the mar- kets of the world. The precious metals of the West have made a history for the United States in the way of gold, silver and copper production that stands alone. The $1,000, 000,000 worth of oil produced by the wells of this country reads like a story of Aladdin and his lamp to those not familiar with the romantic business, and is unpar- alleled by anything England has to show. When it comes to fine streets, comforts of city life, public or private buildings, or any of those things that go to moderize or improve either town or country, the old world is sadly behind the progressive and | audacious hustler of the Western hemi- sphere. London has some fine buildings, though they date farther back than the Queen’s reign. But London has nothing to surpass the buildings of this country. Our national capitol, built and rebuilt largely since the accession of the Queen, is the superior of anything built in London in the same time, if the same is not also true of the City hall in Philadelphia, the capitol at Albany, and that in Austin, Tex. And so far as business places and the the homes of the people are concerned, no city in Europe has anything like so many comfortable, commodious and modern buildings as nearly any prominent city of the United States. London, with its nar- | row, crooked streets, must depend on the one-horse cabs for her rapid transit. A crowd that travels on Pittsburg’s trolly roads at 5 o’clock in the evening would fill London, if put in cabs, in a jam from Tra- falgar square to the Bank of England. The dingy stores, the crooked and narrow lanes, the ill-lighted hallways and the stuffy lit- tle rooms in which the men have offices | would not be tolerated in any American city of 10,000 people, let alone a big place that prides itself on its sky-scrapers, with elevators and all sorts of Yankee moderr convenience. Of course America can lay no credit to augmenting the growth of London through supplying any perceptible number of the added inhabitants. For the tide of immi- grations has been generally the same way. Many of our best alien population have come from London as well as from other parts of the British empire. But to the in- ventive genius of the American, which has made progress possible wherever civiliza- tion has obtained a foothold, Loudon owes her share. American products have heen gradually increasing in the British capital, but they are there now in abundance. The Londoner eats American wheat, Amer- ican beef, American fruit, rides an Amer- ican cycle, uses American typewriters, American sewing machines, and even in building machines of any sort for himself he has commenced to come to the United throne, but when it is compared to real growth like that which has characterized the foremost nation of the world, London or any other place cannot stand up and be counted. Brox H. BUTLER. A Synopsis of the New Road Law. The Features of the Hamilton Road Law that Will Effect Our Farmers.—The Measure has been Sign- ed by the Governor and is now a Law. Following is a synopsis of the Hamilton road law, a measure which passed the re- cent session of the Legislature and has been signed by the Governor. First. That at the February election in 1898 three supervisors shall be elected, one for three years. and one for two years and one for one year and one shall be elected for three years each succeeding year there- after. Second. These supervisors shall levy the shall not exceed ten mills. Third. Not less than one-fourth nor more than one-half shall be paid in money ; bal- ance in work. Fourth. Townships must be divided in- to road districts of not less than five miles to the district. A road master shall have charge of each district. He must give bond for performance of duties. Board of supervisors shall fix wages paid road master and laborer. purchase all materials and let all contracts. Notice of contract lettings to be published in town newspapers, or by twenty hand bills posted up. Sixth. Stone crushers and other road | machinery may be owued jointly by town- | ships. give sufficient surety. Eighth. payment of tax. Penalties for non-pay- ment after a certain date. Treasurer's salary fixed by board of supervisors. Ninth. Five days’ notice to be given all who may wish to work part of their tax. Tenth. Failure to respond after five days’ notice forfeits the right to work out the tax. The whole amount then to be collected in cash. $1.50 per day each, for attending meetings of the board. Thirteenth. Vacancies in boards to be of quarter sessions. Fourteenth. Reports to be made hy hoard of supervisors in March each year to ture, of tax levied and money expended. curate minutes of the proceedings. Seventeenth. interested financially in any contracts let, work done or purchase made. Heavy pen- alties upon conviction. Eighteenth. Penalties for violations of any of the provisions of this act. Nineteenth. Existing laws to govern supervisors and road masters. into effect until a state appropriation of $1,000,000 has heen made to be expended apportioned among the townships in pro- portion to the number of miles in each township. No township will receive more of said appropriation than is raised in the township hy local taxation, including mon- ey and work tax. Cold Beverages are Injurious in Hot ‘Weather. “A word should. perhaps, be said as to the unwholesomeness of the extremely cold water lemonade, and other liquids, which are so extensively used throughout the United States,” writes Mrs. R. T. Rorer in the July Ladies’ Home Journal. | These cold drinks reduce the temperature ' of the stomach, thereby checking digestion, "and for this reason must be avoided during or immediately after meals. It cannot be denied that one may become a toper on non-intoxicants as well as intoxicants, and that it is very easy to create a strong freely the effect 1s less serious, but in most cases the free use of cold draughts disturb the stomach, and it would be much better sweet drinks taken. In the evening and now and then in a glass of lemonade, orangeade or currant punch. For a tennis punches will appease the thirst, and iced chocolate served at luncheon is certainly an agreeable food, as well as a pleasant drink. Cafe frappe comes under the same head.” How Sugar is Whitened. The way in which sugar is made perfect- ly white, it is said, was found out in a curious way. A hen that had gone through a clay mud puddle went with her muddy feet into a sugar house. It was ob- served by some that wherever the tracks were the sugar was whitened. This led to some experiments. The result was that wet clay came to be used in refining | sugar. It is used in this way : The sugar is put | into earthern jars, shaped as you see the | sugar loaves are. The larger ends are up- { ward. The smaller ends have a hole in | them. The jaris filled with sugar, the | clay is put over the top and kept wet. The drops from the hole in the smail end of | the jar. This makes the sugar perfectly white. Will Get Back Pay. Governor Hastings has approved and ighed an act authorizing and empower- of the several counties of the common- wealth to pay to the constables of their re- spective counties, for the services rendered by such constables in making returns to court of elections, attending special, bor- ough, township or ward elections, and traveling expenses incidental thereto, since the 1st of January, A. D. 1896, in all cases where the same remain unpaid. This is in accord with the act of April 2nd, 1868, which provides : For making returns to court $1.50, attending special township or ward elections $3, and for traveling ex- penses or mileage in all cases for each mile, circular, 6 cents. ——Charles A. Dana, editor of the New York Sun is critically ill with catarrh of the stomach. States to get tools to build them with. | London has made a marked and creditable | growth since Queen Victoria ascended the | road tax for their respective townships. It Fifth. The board of supervisors shall | Seventh. Treasurer of road fund shall | Rebates allowed for prompt Eleventh. No public road hereafter | made shall have a higher grade than three degrees. Twelfth. Board of supervisors to receive filled by appointment by the judge of court | the secretary of the department of agricul- | Sixteenth. The board shall keep ac- | Supervisor shall not be | convictions for dereliction of duties of | The provisions of the act are not to go | on the roads. Said appropriation to be | desire for frequent draughts of any pleas- | ant, cold drink. Where perspiration flows if they were entirely given up. Teach ! vour little ones, as well as yourself, to be | satisfied with water at a temperature of | fifty degrees, and to limit the amount of | possibly between meals, one might indulge | party the various mixtures like Oriential moisture goes down through the sugar and | ing and directing county commissioners | Flight of Gerome. The Lion Was There and Gerome Was Evidently in Hiding. came up from Chagrin Falls recently, and while strolling around found their way very much interested In a number of life modest enough from an artistic standpoint, and certainly unobjectionable, even in the most conservative person’s parlor. large canvass labeled ‘Lion after Gerome.”’ He looked at it very intently for five minutes, first from one standpoint and then another. He stood back ten or fifteen feet and gazed, and then he moved so that his nose almost touched the picture, and scruti- nized it, as if he were hunting for some- thing. “Well,” said Mr. Natt, after awhile, ‘‘that picture seems to strike your fancy.” ‘‘Yes”” the old gentleman replied, ‘‘I do sort of like it. That's a powerful ugly lookin’ heast thar,” and I swon I don’t know’s I blame Gerome very much for git- tin’ out o’ the way.’’ “Getting out of the way?’ repeated Natt. ‘‘What do you mean by that ?”’ ““Why,”” Mr. Bradish explained, ‘‘it says ‘Lion after Gerome,’ don’t it? Well, Ger- ome ain’t nowbar’ to be seen, so I spose he must be hidin’ behind one o’ them stuns.’”’ ‘‘Here,”’ said Natt, handing the old gen- tleman a pretty chromo, as he and his fond wife departed, ‘‘take this back home with you, and hang it in your parlor. I don’t want any pay for it. I feel that I owe it to you. Good-bye. The next time you come to town be sure to call on me, and in the | meantime I'll try to find out which rock Gerome is concealed behind.”’ Mr. Natt said : i every man who can say or do anything that will give me a new laugh. That’s the | reason he got the chromo.”’ Farmers’ Congress Delegates. | Gov. Hastings Appoints Representatives from Penn- sylvania. Gov. Hastings has appointed the follow- ing Pennsylvania delegates to the Farmers’ National congress, to be held in St. Paul August 31 to September 6 : E. A. Broadhead, Kittanning ; T. E. Orr, Pittsburg ; George A. McWilliams, Natrona ; Henry H. Morry, Upper St. Clair ; William Knederer, Dixmont ; Samuel S. Steel, Green Tree ; F. Leonard Reber, Shoemakersville; G. W. Oster; Christian P. Moyer, Blooming Glen ; John Hamilton, State College : Leonard Rhone, Hiram L. Buckwalter, Spring City ; Jo- seph C. Henderson, Titusville; Jacob Holtzopple, Geistown ; IL. B. Merkel, | Shiremanstown ; R. H. Thomas. Mechan- | iesherg 5 Thomas J. Edge, Harrisburg ; | 8. Cameron Young, Middletown ; harles | W. Matheus, Ward ; Thomas Calhoun, | Rockport ; James A. Moorhead, Moorhead; Sigel Ashman, Three Springs ; McCurdy | Hunter, Coal Glen ; A. L. Martin, Enos ! Valley : Samuel McCreary, New Castle ; Isaac S. Long. Richland : Walter Esley, Briggsville : J. Madison Rhodes, Elmhurst; 1A. J. Kahler. Hughesville : Wilson J. Hartzell. Allentown ; Christian L. Nissley, Mount Joy ; William H. Brosius, Fern Glen ; Levi Morrison, Greenville ; Jason Sexton, Springhouse ; H. H. Forterolf, | Collegeville ; John D. Miller, Newton Hamilton ; David W. Cooper, Sunbury ; B. B. McClure, Bath; Addison Rinker, Freemansburg ; W. A. Gardner, Andrews Settlement ; Lafayette Rowland, Rowland; Mrs. E. 8. Starr, Philadelphia ; William L. Elkin, Philadelphia ; J. Harry Scott, | Philadelphia ; John C. Grady, Philadel- | phia ; Charles B. Barton, Byberry ; John Sink, Philadelphia ; N. B. Critchfield, Jen- ner ; Dr. F. W. Boyer, Pittsburg ; Char- | les Wesley Smith, Mahanoy City ; Frank A. Spencer, Millerton ; Thomas C. Mad- den, Newfoundland ; Dr. M. E. Griffith, Manor Station, and Gerard C. Brown, | Yorkana. The Heart's Work. Daily It Pumps Quer Seven Tons of Blood. The human heart is practically a force | pump about 6 inches in length and 4 inches | in diameter. It beats 70 times per minute 4,200 times per hour, 100.800 times per day and 36,792,000 times per year, and 2.575,440,000 times in 70 years, which is ‘‘man’s appointed three score years and ten.”’ At each of these beats it forces 23 | ounces of bleed through the system, 175 ounces per minute, 656} pounds per hour, | or 7.03 tons per day. All the blood in the | body, which is about 30 pounds, passes through the heart every three minutes. { This little organ pumps every day what is . equal to lifting 122 tons 1 foot high or 1 ton | 122 feet high—that is 1 ton to the top of a | 40-yard mill chimney, or 16 persons 7 score | each to the same height. During the 70 | years of a man’s life this marvelous little | pump, without a single moment’s rest day | or night, discharges the enormous quantity | of 178,850 tons of human blood. The Peacock at Home. The real home of the peacock or peafowl (is in India. There they were and are hunt- ed, and their flesh is used for food. As | these birds live in the same region as the | tiger, peacock hunting is a very dangerous sport. The long train of the peacock is | not its tail, as many suppose, but is com- | posed of feathers which grow out just above | the tail, and are called the tail-coverts. | Peacocks have been known for many hun- dred years. They are mentioned in the *Bible : Job mentions them. and they are mentioned too in I. Kings, 10. Hundreds | of vears ago in Rome many thousand pea- | cocks were killed for the great feasts which the emperors made. The brains of the pea- l.cock were considered a great treat, and many had to be killed for a single feast. Bed His Funeral Pyre. William Morris Sets Fire to His Bed, Then Lies Upon Itand Burns to a Death. William A. Morris, aged 38 years, a junk dealer. of Williamsport, while quar- | reling with his wife, early this morning, | picked up a lighted lamp and threw it at | her. It broke and the oil spilled over the | bed, setting fire to it. He lay down on the | smouldering bed and refused to move. While his wife went for help his body | burned to a crisp. | Not Likely. | | ‘‘See here. That horse you sold me runs | away, kicks, strikes and tries to tear down the stable at night. You told me that if I | got him once I wouldn’t part with him for | $1,000.” | “Well, you won’t.”’—Detroit Free Press. Mr. Hiram Bradish and his good wife | into Natt’s art rooms. Mr. Bradish was | class sketches that Mr. Natt was kind | enough to show him, but the lady blushed | at the sight of the first and refused to look | at any of the others although they were all | Finally Mr. Bradish stopped before a | After the wondering couple had gone, | | “I always feel I owe something to | Centre Hall ; Thomas J. Phillips, Atglen ; | FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN. Mus. Cora Curran, of Concord, Ky., is a paper hanger of such skill that she has | won the praise of the township. Most of the expensive toilet luxuries will ' be found to contain cucumber juice. These hold a very important and expensive place, and just now is the time for the wise housekeeper to preserve their cooling | and healing powers, not only for her own i and children’s use, but for the comfort of | the pater also. | To make cucumber cream, which not only clears and cleanses the complexion, but is also very healing, proceed as follows : | Remove the soft part from two or three cu- cumbers, warm sufficiently to make it squeeze through a colander, then squeeze through a hair sieve ; to half a teacupful of this add a teaspoonful of glycerine and five drops of salicylic acid ; both the latter are preservatives, and if the glycerine does not agree with the skin the salicyliate alone will be sufficient. Add a few drops of any perfume liked, and the ointment is ready for use. While cucumbers ave plentiful it is well to have thick slices of the softest with the soap on the washstand, and to use after the former to rub face, hands and throat, rins- ing afterwards. The clean, soft feeling of the skin will answer for its future use. While tomatoes are ripe and plentiful, they are excellent to remove freckles and muddiness from the skin. A woman with a peach like bloom on her skin declares she has used nothing else besides soap from her girlhood. A thorough rubbing of the skin once or twice daily while the season lasts with a ripe tomato will work wonders, and if this be found to be the very thing for certain complexions, the canned may be used occasionally through the winter ; those canned nearly whole must be chosen, : as they are the least cooked. For the girl who travels, all sorts and con- ditions of gowns are in vogue to suit each | wearer’s taste. There is theseverely-tailor ‘made kind, with jacket and skirt suit, I shirt waist, standing collar, bow tie, sailor | hat, pique gloves and calf-skin shoes, and certainly this is very chic and much worn. Then, too, following the dictates of com- fort, linen duck and pique have been adopted these last two seasons. and when prettily made they make a most cool, pret- ty looking traveling suit. They are al- most always trimmed with noveity wash braid, and a short-backed sailor hat finishes the costume. When an entire woolen cos tume is desired a cheviot, in a small check, is exceedingly stylish. To make French dressing, put a half tea- spoonful of salt and a quarter of a teaspoon- ful of white pepper into a bowl ; add grad- | ually six tablespoonfuls of olive oil. Rub until the salt is dissolved, and then add one tablespoonful of vinegar or lemon juice. Beat well for a moment and it is ready to use. It is much better if used at once. Cream dressing is made by heating a gill of good cream. Moisten a table- spoonful of cornstarch with a little cold milk ; add it to the hot cream, cook a mo- ment, then stir in the well-beaten yolks of two eggs. Take from the fire ; add a half teaspoonful of salt, a dash of pepper and | a tablespoonful of vinegar or lemon juice. Put the uncooked yolks of two eggs into a clean, cold soup dish, then add a quarter of a teaspoonful of salt and a dash of cay- 'enne pepper ; work these well together, | and then add, drop by drop, half a pint or more of olive oil. You must stir rapidly and steadily while adding the oil. After adding one gill of oil, alternate occasional- ly with a few drops of lemon juice or vin- egar. The more oil you use the thicker the dressing. If too thick add a half tea- | spoonful or more of vinegar until the prop- | er consistency. More or less oil may be added according to the quantity of dress- ing desired. The faces of women one passes in the street form a curious story, says the ‘‘Fam- ily Doctor.”’ One woman purses up ber lips, another screws her eyes into unnatur- alness, while a third will wrinkle up her forehead and eyebrows until she looks ab- solutely ugly. The trick is an unconscious one, but is none the less a trick and a bad one. There is no reason why any woman should look forbidding and bad-tempered just because she is annoyed about some- thing. Deep-seated trouble has a way of writing itself upon the face whether we will or not. Sickness, too, has its hand- writing, and will not be concealed by art. But the frown caused by superficial trou- bles should not be entertained by the face for an instant. ‘We should strive to look as pleasant as possible for the sake of others; a corre- sponding cheerfulness of temperament will inevitably result, and always to the sweet- ening of our nature. We cannot afford to go about with gloomy faces To depress others is not for us ; our work is to cheer, to raise up, to comfort, but we shall never do this un- less we cultivate a pleasant demeanor, and the cheerful temper inseparable from it. This brings us to that question of worry. Can we put it more strongly than to say that it is a duty to put care, worry, fretful- ness behind one? The habit must be learned, or we shall not ‘‘grow straight in the strength of our spirit, and live out our life as the light,”” as Swinburne so well puts it. ‘‘It is difficult to do that,” says some one. We all know that it is very hard, but | women are not afraid of difficulties. The | more difficult the right thing is to do. the greater reason for doing it. All we need is to make the first effort—strength will be born which will increase at each subse- quent attempt, and we shall conquer it in the end. Salvation for women lies in this -—not to be overcome by tronbles, but to overcome them. If your holiday is still before you look about the shops and try to get a pongee shirt-wairt. They are the very latest word in this useful article. Canton silk will serve if you cannot get pongee, and then you will not go about looking as if you wore the uniform of the summer girl — namely gingham shirt-waist and serge skirt. The most comfortable looking girl you see wears a white duck skirt, white lawn shirt-waist, Nile green belt and tie, white sailor hat with a green band, white silk gloves and black oxford ties. A word as to the care of clothing. The band of the skirt should always have three loops or hangers instead of two, as usually seen, and all three should be placed on one hook in the wardrobe to prevent the ugly sagging often seen in otherwise handsome dresses.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers