: Bellefonte, Pa., July 30, 1897.
He never read the roses
Nor learnt the lilies’ lore,
The pansies blue, all diamond dew,
He, passing, trampled o’er.
The mignonette, the violet
In vain with incense pray’d—
He never thought that flowers meant aught
Tntil he loved a maid.
He heard a mavis callin,
He heard—and then forgot !
A lark leapt high and thrilled the sky,
He heard—and wondered not.
All fain to please, among the trees,
Birds peeped, and piped and played—
He’d ne’er repeat : “Dear God, how sweet !”
Until he loved a maid.
He never dreamed of beauty,
He never blessed the world ;
The heathered hills, the rippling rills,
The sea’s foam flag unfurled.
The Summer's prime, the Winter's rime,
The sunshine and the shade—
He did not care that earth was fair
Until he loved a maid.
She came! and with her advent
The very stars drew near,
And every bird in spirit stirred,
And every flow’r grew dear,
And all the earth went mad with mirth
To hear his hymage paid—
“Oh, sure,” he said, “I was as dead
Until T loved a maid.”
—The Illustrated Magazine.
CECILY !
“It’s the fault of there being such a
large family, dear, that is all.”’
‘And a very bad fault, too.”
“Dick! Don’t you like the family 2”?
‘Not as I like you, child, and not
enough to like them to monopolize you,
and take up all your time and thoughts
and interests, so that I, whom you are go-
ing to marry, can hardly get so much asa
word or look from you.”
‘‘Who is with you now, Dick 2’
‘Yes, for three minutes at the garden
gate, because if I come inside you will be
surrounded by the whole lot of them next
moment, and for anything we may want to
say to one another we might as well be at
opposite poles. You mayn’t mind it Ce-
cliy—you don’t seem to do so at any rate—
but, upon my soul, it’s hard lines on a
man who loves you.”
It is an evening in April. The land is
all aflush with the pink blossoms of the al-
mond and the white blossoms of the pear.
He is very handsome always, rather an-
gry just now, my lover; but I know that
the anger comes from love, and so I think
more of the first fact than the second as T
look up smilingly into the brave blue eyes,
bright with a passionate gleam, and mark
how well the broad, square-cut shoulders
and shapely head stand out against the
golden glory of that evening sky.
“And pray, sir, do you expect me to he
always at your beck and call?’ I ask.
“I’m sure you get your fair share of atten-
tion.”
“Do I?” he says gravely. “When I
walk with you, and when the promised
day comes you coolly send me word that
you’ve got something else to do, and are
too busy even tosee me! I might have
claimed your promise to marry me two
summers ago, and again last autumn, when
I was offered the making of that new Cana-
dian line. I refused it, only because I
knew you wouldn’t leave home so soon af-
ter your mother’s death, and I could not
bear to go away without you ; but now
there is this other job of the same sort in
Perthshire, and they say I can have it for the
asking. The works are to begin in July,
and if we are married in June—dear Cecily
my own darling love, do say that we shall
be ; do give me what I ask. Think how
long I have waited for you already and
how badly I want you, and come to me.
Cecily, dearest, if you love me, say you
will. Say it now.”
“In June!” Irepeat, my eyes wide
with dismay, and drawing myself still fur-
ther back. ‘Dick, you promised not to
be in a hurry.”
but if I had done so I should have kept my
promise over and over again. Cecily will
you ever find a lover who has waited as
long as Ihave done already? And yet
you talk of my waiting on for another year
still ! If you loved me in the least you
would be as tired of these delays as I am :
but you don’t, and I see it only too plain-
ly. You don’t even know what love is
You—"’
*‘Hullabullero, hullabullero ! Cecily
Cis, where are you?’ shouts a hoy’s
voice from the laburnum bushes behind,
“Don’t be silly, Dick. Let me go.
Please let me go,” I stammer out hurried-
ly ; but I have no need to repeat the re-
quest. At the first sound of rough-
tongued little brother’s voice Dick has
dropped my hands and stepped back.
“Let you go? Oh, certainly,’ he says,
with a strange, bitter accent in his voice.
“For good, if you like. I expect it will
come to that some day.
off he goes, striding over the dewy grass
thorn trees without another word or look.
It is too hod.
‘ . 21 | .
Good-bye,” and mer dresses for my sisters, and other do-
and under the milk-white blossoms of the | mestic business; but these duties have
|
|
Of course the children |
don’t really mean to hurt me, but it is too |
bad, and the worst of it is that I dare not
show my vexation.
Poor Dick’s spurt of temper is forgotten
and tea proceeds without further allusion
to him. I cannot bear Dick to be angry
with me ; Dick, who for all his quick, fiery
nature is gentle asa woman in general
with those he loves, and who has been so
tender and true to me all these years, that
at times his very generosity makes one for-
get that those who give much have a right
to expect much in return.
A long engagement is a very trying
thing. Not that it diminishes the mutual
love of those most concerned, but that it is
apt to lessen the outward expression of it
and bring about unintentional slights and
apparent coolnesses, and it is trying too,
from the fact that the longer it lasts the
trees, beneath which Dick lodges? Per- |
haps he may be striding across those mead-
OWS now to pay us an early visit and bring
me a bunch of violets. He had done so
once or twice, but father doesn’t like visit-
ors at breakfast, and I’m afraid Dick has
found it out at any rate, he does not
come to-day, and so I go down to breakfast
give the orders for dinner and am just go-
ing to assist my little sister through her la-
borious efforts at wading up the scale on
the piano when the maid brings me a let-
ter, which she says has just come from the
inn, and I see it is from Dick.
How thankful I have been since then
that I left Maud and went away to read it
by myself, for even the first words seem to
daze and dazzle me. It begins, ‘‘My dear
Cecily,’ and then I sit and read and re-
read the rest over and over again, how long
I never knew, with eyes that see, yet see
not, and a heart which beats, yet refuses to
comprehend. Dick is gone and this is
what he tells me.
When he went back to the inn he found
a letter awaiting him from the contractors
for that Canadian railroad of which he had
told me before. It was a liberal offer, and
he was still very hot and angry. On the
spur of the moment he sat down and ac-
cepted it, and then, in the act of sealing
the letter, repented of what he had
done. Perhaps he remembered how long
we had loved one another and what bitter
pain parting would be ; at any rate he put
the letter in his pocket and came up to the
vicarage to tell me again that if I would
marry him in June he would still accept
the smaller appointment in lieu of this, or,
if that were really impossible, would ar-
range to come back from Canada in the au-
tumn, make me his wife and take me back
with him.
Well, you guess what he found? A
whole family laughing and making game
of him, mocking at the pain which had
brought him back; my laugh— heaven
help me, mine !—the loudest in the party,
my hand aiding in the jest, which was
amusing a set of thoughtless boys. ‘‘And
so,” the wrote, ‘I went away, and I write
this now to bid you goodby. My eyes
have been opened at last, and I see only
too plainly that the years which have only
intensified my love for you have withered
yours at the root ; that my visits have been
a weariness, my fidelity a jest. Perbaps
some day I may live to be thankful that I
have learned this lesson even so late, but I
cannot do so yet, nor can I briug myself to
the useless pain of meeting you again. I
go back to my old lodgings at once, and
sail for Canada this week. Would to
heaven you had told me the truth which
sends me from you, before, but I do not
blame you for not doing so. You were al-
ways gentle at heart, and I believe you
could not hear to hurt me to my face.”
And then he bade God bless me, and
signed himself, ‘‘Yours ever faithfully,
Richard Meredith.”’
I cut the meat and served the pudding
that day at dinner, and though I cannot
say one word, and there must he something
in my face which frightens the boys, for
they stare at me with wondering eyes and
are strangely good and quiet, I never break
down once, or rise until the meal is quite
ended ; and then at last I escape, and as I
write to Dick the tears which have heen
frozen till now break forth like rain and
blot the words as fast as they are penned.
For of course I answer him. I have
read—in novels—of girls who, when they
have hurt or angered their lovers, are too
proud to write orsay a word for pardon :
but I am not like that ; I love him too
dearly, ill as I may have proved it, and
stupid and shy as I have been of showing
my affections by outward sings. I am too
sure of his love for me to let any false
shame or misunderstanding rest between
us; and so I write and just tell him the
whole truth about that luckless scene, tell
him how dear he is tome, and beg him
humbly and with tears to forgive me and
love me still ; not to give up his journey
(if he'has accepted the post I know that
cannot be), but at least to come to me be-
fore he goes and say goodby ; and to take
my promise that at whatever time he wants
me I will be ready to be his wife, whether
he can come back for me or I have to go
out to him. Other women have done that
much for men who love them, and why
not I for Dick, who has waited for me lon-
‘ger than many lovers already and signs
| Bt ine “fit "still 2
“I never promised anything of the sort 35 himself rine Staltfille? sil]
So my letter is finished at last, and I
walk across the fields myself (I will not
trust it to any other hand) to put it in the
post.
And I do wait, wait patiently indeed,
but with a daily lessening hope, a’ daily
failing heart ; for Dick does not come, nor
is there any answer to my poor, tear-blot-
ted letter. Suns rise and suns set. Dick
has left me. His love, tried perhaps be-
fore to stretching, snapped before that
forced merriment of that foolish laugh ;
and because he had not the heart to say so
he has held his peace and gone ; gone for
good.
It is spring again now; the second
spring since my lover left me. Twice al-
| ready have the fields been red with poppies
(and the deep woods brown with falling
| leaves.
Twice have we dressed the church
with ivy and holly, and hung big bushes
of mistletoe in the vicarage hall.
I have come up to London to buy sum-
been achieved ; and now, before I go hone
again, I am bound on an errand which,
though I would not dare own it to any one
(for indeed I know it to be hoth vain and
foolish) has been pressing on my heart ever
since I left home, with a yearning persist-
ence to which, even though it he unmaid-
enly, I cannot choose but yield.
It is to visit Dick's lodgings, where he
always lived when he was in London, and
the address of which I have known by
heart this many a year.
I go there and make my little excuse
apout wanting to see the rooms for a friend
—I hope it is not very wrong to say so—
and even manage to get out his name as
the person who once recommended them
tome. That proves an ‘‘open sesame,’’
however, for Mrs. Brown beams with
smiles on the instant, and begs me to walk
| up stairs, ‘‘which fortunately the rooms
are vacant, and just as they were when Mr.
less consideration or sympathy it seems to | Meredith was there hisself, for times and
elicit from those even most nearly allied to |
the lovers, and who, when the first eclat of
the affair is over, are apt to regard its
lengthened existence with something of
impatience, not contempt. Dick and I
have heen engaged for an immense while—
four years before mother died, and he was
ready and waiting for me when she was
first taken ill, nearly a year hefore that.
I don’t see him often. He is a civil en-
gineer and too busy to pay frequent visits
to our quiet village, but during this one
his patience had been tried more than
usual.
Is there ever a gayer, gladder time in all
the year, or a gayer, gladder morning than
this when I rise and look, across the froth-
ing snow of pear blossoms and meadows
paved with golden buttercups, to the red
roof of the village inn, half hidden in elm
| address.
again he’d said tome : ‘Now, Mrs. Brown,
don’t you go doing nothing to these rooms;
for comfortabler couldn’t be, and if ever I
returns to London it’s back to them I shall
come and nowhere else.” And by the way,
ma’am, if so be you're a friend of that dear
gentleman’s, perhaps you can give me his
There’s a letter been lying ‘ere
for him this ever so long. It come about
six months after he left, inclosed in a note
to ‘the owner of the ’ouse,’ saying as who-
ever posted it had dropped it into a gap be-
tween the post box and the inside of the
wall, and there it had stuck, no one find-
ing it till a few days before.”’
I am standing there in Dick’s own room,
the room where he sat and worked and
wrote many and many a letter to me in the
happy days of old ; the last room, perhaps,
| in which he ever ate a meal or rested be-
fore he sailed away from me and England
together ; and yet I cannot look at it; I
cannot think of it. A haze has come be-
fore my eyes, and a dumbness over my
brain, for there on the table before me
lies my letter, the very letter, blotted with
tears and soiled and crumpled with age,
which I posted with my own hand two
years ago, and which—ah? I see it all
now, how could I think him so hard, so
unforgiving, I who ought to have known
his nature better '—which he never re-
ceived at all.
I must be very weak, or the shock is too
great ; for as Mrs. Brown leaves the room I
sit quietly down and faint away.
It is only for a minute, however. The
sunbeams which were shining on a pot of
yellow crocuses in the window have not
moved a hair’s breadth ; and faintly on
the clear, cool air I can still hear the bells
from some distant church which were call-
ing the people to asaint’s day service when
I came in.
There is a step at the door ; but though
I know it is Mrs. Brown I cannot look up,
or raise my head from the hard deal table
where it is howed. All my long self-re-
straint, all my painful, pitiful efforts at
womanly reticence and bravery have brok-
en down at last in a buist of childish grief;
and the tears so long held back break forth
in a blinding rain, and my face is hidden
in my hands. So it happens that some one
coming in sees me before I see him, or can
so much as dry my eyes, and utters an ex-
clamation of surprise.
“I beg your pardon,” he adds very
quickly. “I only came in because my old
landlady has been telling me something
about a letter, and a lady—.”” And there
he breaks off, for I have lifted my head,
and as our eyes meet there is a cry.
“Cecily ! Cecily! Isit you! Oh, my
darling, my love, what good angel brought
you here to give me the sight of you!”
and somehow, in one moment, all the pain
and grief and weariness, all the bitter
bravery of days when “the burden laid up-
on me seemed greater than I could bear’?
are gone, blotted out like breath from a
glass ; and there is nothing but joy and
peace and rest, rest perfect and serene to
mind and heart and body ; for I am in my
lover’s arms, and my tired head is drawn
down upon his breast; and I hear his
voice, the dear tender voice of old, mur-
muring prayers for forgiveness mingled
with such words of love and fondness as T
never thought would greet my ears again
on this side of the grave.
The bells have ceased to chime. The
yellow crocuses bend and shiver before the
sharp cold breeze, but we two stand in the
April sunshine, and the light which falls
on Dick’s bronzed head and kisses the
crushed white hyacinths on my breast, is
no brighter than that which brightens our
two hearts on this the springtide of our
lives.—From All the Year Round.
Its Equal Never Seen.
Philadelphia and Vicinity Most Disastrously Touch-
ed by Wind, Hail and Rain.
One of the most disastrous, wind, hail
and rain strorms which has visited Phila-
delphia in a long time, swept over it last
Friday. The storm entered the city from
the west, and took a northeasterly course,
the greater part of the.damage being done
in West Philadelphia. Houses were un-
roofed, trees uprooted and cellars flooded.
In the outlying districts, growing crops
were damaged to the extent of thousands
of dollars. Corn was cut to ribbons, while
tomatoes and cabbage plants were almost
totally ruined by the hail. Two houses of
William Whitely, at Sixty-first and Ham-
ilton streets were unroofed, as were also the
West Philadelphia Maennerchor hall and |
half a dozen other dwellings. An entire
row of three story buildings in course of
erection at Fifty-second and Vine streets
was almost totally demolished.
Bryn Mawr the hailstones were almost as
large as hen eggs, and the wind blew a
gale uprooting dozens of trees. This storm
struck the Delaware river, this side of Bris-
tol, just as the steamboat Columbia was |
passing up the river. One of her lifeboats
was lifted from the davits as if it was so |
much paper and carried nearly over to the |
New Jersey shore.
At Norristown lightning struck the New |
Trinity church and tore the roof nearly off.
Part of the foundation of the big Conshhock- |
en dye house was washed away, and the |
big mill of McFarland Bros, was badly
damaged by the bursting of a dam. -
Reports from Easton, Pa., state that the |
storm was unusually severe in that section. |
In some place crops were totally destroyed |
by the hail. In Warren county, N. J., |
. . ’
Just across the Delaware river from Easton, |
How to Get There.
What it Costs and How Far One Must Travel to
Reach the Klondyke Gold Fields.
To prospect for gold in Alaska, says the
St Louis Globe Democrat, is quite different
from prospecting in the Rocky mountains
of Colorado and other Western States, where
railroads carry supplies within reasonable
distances at a reasonable cost. If one goes
to Juneau, Alaska, and takes the route
through either the Chilkat or the Chilkoot
pass over the mountains he must travel
across glaciers and fields of snow, and have
his supplies carried either on the backs of
Esquimau dogs or have sledgeloads of sup-
plies pulled by these dogs. Once across
the mountains a boat must be constructed
in the wilderness, and then a journey
must be made over rapids and through dan-
gerous currents of the various streams for
1,000 miles. By this route one can reach
Juneau by steamer from Seattle without
any discomfort, but the hardships come
when he starts to cross the mountains and
plunges into the lonely wilderness beyond.
Perhaps the most comfortable trip is the
one which sends the prospector by steamer
from Seattle around by way of the Alen-
tian islands, and on to the mouth of the
Yukon river, whence smaller boats will
carry him up tbe river to Circle city.
Alaska and the adjacent waters of the Pa-
cific are a section of the globe that furnish
magnificent distances. To go to the mouth
of the Yukon a large steamer, leaving Seat-
tle, proceeds up Puget sound, passing
Port Townsend and Victoria, and sails out
through the Straits of San Juan del Fuca
to the heautiful Pacific, and then across
the water for 22,000 miles to Dutch Harbor,
in the Aleutian islands, where the first
stop is made. Then the steamer proceeds
on its way north for another stretch of
1,000 miles, passing through Bering sea and
past the Seal islands, and up through Nor-
ton sound to Fort Get There, on St. Mi-
chael island at the mouth of the Yukon
river. Here the passenger is transferred to
a river steamer and sails 60 miles up the
the coast to the north mouth of the Yukon,
and then sails for over 2,000 miles up that
river before reaching Circle City, a frontier
town of log houses, which has 2,000 popu-
lation, and is the supply point and the
metropolis of the Alaska gold fields. If
one wishes to reach the Klondyke district,
where the recent rich strikes are said to
have been made, or the region of Forty-
Mile Creek, he must sail up the river 260
miles above Circle City to Fort Cudahy,
the end of navigation.
After reaching Circle City or Fort Cudahy
the prospector must than push out into the
mountains and locate his claim. The ne-
cessities for one man for one month are 20
pounds of flour with baking powder; 12
pounds of bacon, 6 pounds of beans, 5
pounds of dried fruits, 3 pounds of dessica-
ted vegetables, 4 pounds of butter, 5 pounds
pounds of coffee, 2 pounds of salt, 5 pounds
of cornmeal, pepper, matches, mustard,
cooking utensils and dishes, frying pan,
water kettle, tent, Yukon stove, 2 pairs of
good blankets, 1 rubber blanket, a bean
pot, 2 plates, a drinking cup, tea pat,
knife and fork, 1 large and 1 small cooking
pan. The following tools for boat build-
ing will be necessary, if the mountain trip
| is made : One jack plane, 1 whip saw, 1
rip saw, 1draw knife, 1 ax, 1 hatchet, 1
pocket rule, 6 pounds of assorted nails, 3
pounds of oakum, 5 pounds of piteh, 50
feet of {-inch rope, mosquito netting, 1
pair of erag-prooff hip hoots. snow glasses
and a chest of medicine.
As outlandish prices are charged for sup-
plies at Circle City many are bought at Se- |
attle The freight charges from Seattle to
Circle City are at the rate of $280 per ton.
As traveling can only be done in the sum-
mer months the prospector will find a good
part of the first season is consumed in reach-
ing the mining region, and then, if a claim
is located, only the preliminary work can
be done. The second year the claim can
be well opened up, and if it proves to be
| worth anything some money can be made.
But no results to speak of can be expected
until the third year. Some men who have
visited the region advise no man to land at
Circle City with less than $400 in cash and
his supplies, and others say he would better
have $1,000. The trading companies doing
business there refuse absolutely to give
credit, as they can sell their goods for ready
cash.
The British lion swings his tail over the |
Klondyke district, where the latest discov-
eries have been made, for it lies in the
Northwest Territory, which is a portion of
Canada. That region is inside the Arctic
|
| difficulties, which tax the endurance and
| nerve of the most hardy, it is just as possi-
| ble that a man might find his golden dream
of wealth in Alaska shattered, and shatter-
ed hopelessly.
The New Gold Fields,
Senator Jones, of Neyada, is one of the
to gold and silver mining on the Pacif-
ic, and has made much money by his gold-
mining operations in Alaska. He states
that from the best information that comes
to him the new Alaskan and Canadian dis-
coveries are likely to prove as rich as those
of California in 1848. In his opinion the
California field did not open nearly so fa-
vorably as have the new regions. It cer-
tainly looks as if the mountain ranges clear
through from Mexico to Alaska contain im-
mense gold deposits. In 1896, according
to the report of the director of the mint,
the gold product of Alaska amounted to
$2,055,070, of Oregon to $1,251,000, of
Washington to $405,000, while going
southward California, Nevada and Arizona
produced over $20,000,000 of gold. We
have not the figures for British Columbia,
but the output from the Frazer river and
other mines must have been as large as the
Alaskan product. Just where the richest
deposits are must remain undetermined for
years, but the reports from Klondyke re-
gion give great promise in that direction.
Of the $53,000,000 of gold produced in the
United States last year all but about $300,-
000 came from the Rocky mountain states
and the Pacific slope.
The Klondyke placer diggings are well
within Canadian territory, although gold
is found in Alaska west of them. The
141st meridian forms the boundary between
Alaska and Canada, and a boundary dis-
pute is not likely, as the line is easy of sci-
entific determination. The Canadian gov-
ernment has the right to put in force its
alien lahor laws and exclude American citi-
zens from the mines, but it is preposterous
to suppose it will attempt this right of ex-
clusion. How it would have been had not
President Cleveland vetoed the alien ex-
clusion law passed by the last Congress is
another matter. There is talk of attempt-
ing to revive this vetoed bill, and have this
Congress again pass it, but we may be sure
that under existing circumstances the sec-
tion will be omitted that prohibited Cana-
dians coming into this country in the way
of daily labor.
Congress will pass before it adjourns a
law authorizing the president to name a
surveyor-general for Alaska and dividing
the territory into land districts, with land
offices. The president has already taken
steps for the supremacy of federal law by
appointing Charles H. Isham, of Baltimore,
United States commissioner at Circle City,
| citement until the discovery of the Klon-
| dyke diggings moved the gold hunters en
| The Dominion government has been more
| prompt in this matter than we have been.
More than two years ago it sent a police in-
spector with a force of twenty Northwest
mounted police to preserve order and en-
force the law in the Canadian territory be-
tween Fort Cudahy and Fort Reliance,
which includes the Klondyke gold fields,
and having since then appointed a customs
officer, who last year collected $33,000 in
revenues for his government. The Cana-
dian department of the interior, which con-
trols mining operations in the unorganized
districts of the Dominion, has a gold com-
missioner on the spot, whose expeditions
and satisfactory decisons of disputes
among claimants, often involving property
rights to the value of hundreds of thous-
ands of dollars, are said to be matter for
wonder and gratifications to American
miners accustomed to the wearisome delays
to which they have been subjected in simi-
lar cases under the laws of this country.
Life and property appear to be well cared
for at the Klondyke mines. This winter
the more serious question will be one of
food.
Has Andree Succeeded?
‘Two carrier pigeons have been picked up
in Norway, which are alleged to have been
sent out by by Explorer Andree from his
and is somewhere in the vicinity of Alaska.
| This information is open to suspicion for
| several reasons. One authority says that
the ring worn by the first pigeon is not the
kind which Andree took with him. An-
| other objection is that the explorer would
| certainly have spent a more definite mes-
i sage. A still further objection is raised by
| those who doubs that the possibility of a
2 : pigeon covering the distance in so short a
a number of farm houses and barns were | ¢ircle, and during the months of June and | Dipone g Sinden *
struck by lightning. The Hunterdon |
county peach crop has heen almost totally
ruined. Trainmen on the Belvidere divis- |
ion of the Penusylvania railroad, and on |
the Jersey Central, say that in all their ex- |
perience they have never witnessed such a
destructive storm. |
At Lambertville and Flemington several
barns were unroofed and trees uprooted hy |
the storm. : !
Lo! He Was a Woman.
A few days ago Poor Director Koble was
notified that there was a very sick man in
a box car in the upper yard, and knowing
that a little medicine would be cheaper than
a funeral, he investigated the case. The
charge was removed to the farm below
town and the necessary medicine admin-
istered. A bath heads the unalterable
rules of the place, to which proposition the
stranger demurred most radically, but the
evidence for the necessity of the job was
overwhelming. The patient finally agreed,
and while the process of renovation was in
progress, it was discovered that the sup-
posed man, so dressed when taken in
charge, was a buxom woman of about 165
pounds. She was allowed to tarry a day
and was then furnished with one of those
fabulously low priced July outfi’: adver-
tised by our merchants, and sent out in the
direction of Harrisburg. On leaving she
remarked that if her 3} cent per yard uni-
form held out until she reached that city,
she would discard it for men’s attire again,
because dress goods won't go on freight
trains. She has been on the road for six-
teen years and has not washed in that time.
—Sunbury Daily.
His Only Course Under the Circum-
stances.
It was not a bad funeral oration which a
clergyman pronounced over a man who
had lived a very wicked life. ‘‘Good peo-
ple, I doubt not that the friends of the de-
funct expect me to say something in his be-
half, but in this I am a little straightened.
To speak good of him I cannot ; to speak
ill of him I dare not ; but this I will say ;
how he lived, you know how he died, I
partly know, but how or where he is now
God only knows ; to His mercy I commit
him, take him up and bury him.”'—F;-
change.
July the sun shines for 24 hours without a
break each day, and one can read a book
at any hour without a lamp.
Life close to the Arctic circle affords |
many contrasts. On the Upper Yukon the
climate is dry, with but little rain, but at
Forty Mile there is almost as much rain as
in North Dakota and Montana. Up in the
mountains this rain turns to snow, which
interferes with the diggings sometimes even |
in midsummer. Singular to say, the coun-
try is infested with millions upon mil-
lions of mosquitoes in summer, and a man’s
life is in danger if his face and body are not |
properly protected. It is said that not one |
third of the men that go to the region in
the summer remain over winter as the
mosquitoes run them out.
After two months of continuous day-
light then comes winter. Work can only
be done about five months of the year.
When winter sets in the river freezes up,
and the country is cut off from con-
nection = with the outside world.
The weather becomes steadily cold,
averaging 20 degrees below zero, but fre-
quently falling to 70 and 80 below zero.
At times a gale blows when the thermome-
ter is low, and then the weather is almost
unendurable. Men must remain in their
huts if on the trial, or in their cabins if
cutting wood or at any other work. The
temperature may be moderate for an Are-
tic winter—20 degrees below zero—and a |
miner may venture out of his hut. Then
the temperature may take a sudden drop
down to 70 or 80 degrees below zero. If he
is not well prepared he may lose his life.
The principal danger is in getting the feet
wet and freezing before a fire can be built
and the feet dried. It is said that more
men lose their lives in this way than any
i other.
Even in the summer the mail carries no
newspapers, and the miners know nothing
of the news of the world, except what they
glean from letters from friends. In the
winter the only way a letter leaves Circle
City is by a dog team, which travels more
than 1,000 miles over the ice, and would
be two or three months in reaching St.
Louis.
So, with the deadly mosquitoes in mid-
summer and weather 80 degrees zero in the
seven months of winter ; with packing pro-
visions over pathless mountains, digging in
bottomless frost, shooting over seething
rapids in a boat, and with innumerable
| time.
If a pigeon was released in the neighbor-
hood of Alaska it would have been at least
3.000 miles to fly before reaching Norway,
which is twice the distance ever covered by
any known pigeon before. If the wind had
| blown so strong as to carry Andree from
{ Norway to Alaska in six days it would be
| very difficult for a pigeon to fly in the face
! of the wind that distance in a similar per-
! iod of time. The difficulty seems so great
that much more conclusive evidence mus-
be awaited before the success of the intret
pid explorer can be positively announced.
Of course, we should all rejoice to know
that complete success had been attained,
but the evidence at hand is not satisfactory
, when we consider how easily some one
might put up a hoax. Andree is a scien-
tific man, and he would not, we should
think, send an ambiguous message. Fur-
ther reports will be awaited with great in-
terest.
Caught in a : ‘Thresher.
A horrible accident occurred on the farm
of George Shilling, near Lancaster Satur-
day afternoon Christian Rapp, who works
with the steam thresher of Robert Donnel-
ly was killed in a fearful manner.
The separator is of the undershot pattern
and so dangerous that those working about
it are obliged to be very careful. Rapp
crawled to the top of the machine to ad-
just a straw carrier and in getting down
slipped and his legs were drawn into the
cylinder where the machine is fed. His
legs were literally ground to pieces to the
knees and he became wedged so tightly in-
to the cylinder that the separator stopped
running.
When he was taken out from the ma-
chine he was perfectly conscious and spoke
to those around, but he only lived an hour.
He was 35 years old and leaves a family of
small children.
The Deepest Oil Well
While a well was being drilled for the
Forest Oil company, near West Elizabeth,
the crown pulley gave way, leaving the
toolsand more than 5,000 feet of rope in
the well. If the tools and rope can be're-
covered, the well will be cut down to the
depth, of 6,000 feet. If they should not
be successful, its record, at its present
depth, will stand as the deepest well
drilled in the world. The well wasdrill-
| ed 5,530 feet.
best informed men on all subjects relating |
which was the center of Alaskan gold ex- |
! | masse eastward into Canadian territory. |
of sugar, 5 cans of milk, 1 pound of tea, 3 |
balloon, bearing messages indicating that
the explorer successfully passed the pole, |
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
| A beautiful Scotch gingham frock for the
| morning is in plaided black, green and old
| rose. A belt ending in a bow at the left
side and a stock are of old-rose velvet, and
all around the full waist are four rows of
fine white swiss insertion. The blouse
| closes at the left side—a novel and pleas-
ing feature—and the joined edge is covered
with a strip of insertion. At the wrist of
the leg-of-mutton sleeve and on the three
shoulder ruffles are edgings of the swiss,
and two rows down and around the five.
gored skirt give a pretty panel effect. A
green satin straw shade hat has green satin
ribbon loops, two black tips and a bunch
of wild roses, and above this mass of mil-
linery prettiness will be held a parasol of
plain rose-colored India silk.
Pique and linen gowns made in smart
tailor fashion have skirts closing on one
side, the entire length of the seam. They
are made close and habitlike, and are fast-
ened by small buttons concealed under a
line or panel of trimming. The one-sided
trimming on the skirt is continued on the
closing side of the bodice. Pique comes
| now in many colors, a cool, grayish blue,
nice with white trimming, being popular.
One way tocorrect round shoulders in a
schoolboy or girl is to teach them to sleep
on a very stiffly stuffed hair mattress, with
the pillow that lifts the head butan inch
above the level of the rest of the body. A
soft bed and plenty of easy pillows is one
of the prime causes of crooked shoulders
among our American children. To sleep
with the head very high is a mistake, and
a soft bed is by no means the most hene-
ficial one.
Ifa mother would have her boys and girls
possess sturdy legs let her teach them the
value of walking as an exercise. Every
child ought once a day to walk 4% least a
mile in the open air, while twice that dis-
tance will do a healthy one no harm.
This rule naturally does not apply to
very little ones, though many a pair of
spindling little legs is the direct result of
lazy babyhood and an overindulgent nurse
and mother. Children in these, the gold-
en days for youth, linger too long in their
baby carriages and wheeled seats, and are
far too often carried in some patient nurse’s
arms, when their own two legs should be
exercising vigorously for the development
of symmetry and muscle.
To keep healthy little stomachs in the
nursery never serve hot stewed fruit to the
children. Plenty of stewed fruitand bhak-.
ed apples they should eat, hut they must
be invariably cooked the day before and
dished up cold.
A handsame costume made for a society
girl of New York is that dull, light shade
| of blue known as ‘“‘cadet blue.” There is
much more work on this gown, and while
it is tailor-made, it could besafely used for
more dressy occasions. The skirt is cut in
three pieces ; that is, in three flaring ruffles
of the same width, vet the fullness is only
in the bottom of each raffle, it heing ofthe
circular cut. :
Each ruffle is lined with bright cherry
and cream changeable silk. Heavy braid
trimming is carried out on the bottom of
each ruffle, in three or four rows. The
| Jacket is of the zounave style, and is heavily
braided, as are the sleeves, and the same
silk composes the waist front. A hat is
made of the same harmonizing colors used
{ for lining blue, black and cherry.
{Nine times out of ten the woman who
nags is tired. One time out of ten she is
| hateful. Times out of mind her husband
lis to blame. The cases that come under
| the physician’s eye aré those of the women
who are tired and who have been tired so
long that they are suffering from some form
| of nervous disease. They may think they
are only tired, but in fact they are ill, and
| it is the sort of illness in which the will is
| weakened and the patients give way to
| annoyances that they would ignore if in a
| healthy condition. In such cases the
| woman often suffers more from her nag-
| ging than the husband or the children with
{whom she finds fault. She knows she
does it. She does not intend to do it. She
isuffers in her own self-respect when she
i does it, and, in the depths of her soul longs
for something to stop it.
The condition is usually brought on by
broken sleep, improper food, want of some
other exercise than housekeeping and of
enough out-of-door air and practical objec-
tive thinking. It is often the most unsel-
fish and most affectionate of women who
fall into this state. They are too much de-
voted to their families to give themselves
a bicycle, for instance, or enough of any
healthy exercise and diversion, enough of
afternoon naps, perhaps, or theatres and
concerts. In such cases the husband is
often to blame, because he gives nag for
nag instead of looking straight for the
fundamental cause of the trouble. There
are many cases where such a woman begins
by showing a longing for a little more at-
tention, a little more tenderness, an invi-
tation to the theatre or cozy little dinner
out with her husband. The man who does
not take that as a sign is a fool. He is not
only a fool, but he is responsible for pretty
much all that follows, and sometimes it
amounts to something very like criminal
responsibility.
She was a girl who didn’t believe much
in economy moves, the fixing over. for in-
stance, of time-worn straws, or the refur-
hishing of shabby laces and ribbons ; but
sbe happened to have, amidst her ward-
robe riff-raff, a souvenir of last season’s
millinery, a flapping, broad-brimmer that
was yellow and sun-scorched. It wasn’t
fit for even second best this year, and it
couldn’t be made to look any worse, she
reasoned, so just on a venture its owner
undertook to apply one of the economy
methods she had picked up among her
friends.
The shabby old straw was given a bath
of bronze shoe polish, until it was glossy
with a russet coating. When it was dried
it looked so chic the owner was inspired to
continue her home renovations. She swath-
ed the crown with rolls of pale yellow
tulle, ripped off of a party waist, and
tumbled upon the brim a lovely lot of yel-
low roses, just crumpled enough to appear
Frenchily artistic.
When this brown and yellow hat was
tilted over the white forehead of its decor-
ator it was really picturesque looking and,
best of all, the wearer felt none of the
pangs of conscience that follow in the wake
of a millinery extravagance.
Equally exacting is the up-to-date giri
in the matter of shirt waists, and while
the counters in all the shops are full te
running over with every style from dimities
to taffetas, she will not give them more
than a glance in passing, and speed onward
to her tailor, who she claims can alone give
her the desired cat and fit.
—
—A Kansas editor is said to have got-
ten hay fever by kissing a grass widow.