Democratic alan Bellefonte, Pa., Sept. 23,1898. IN ARCADY. Not a movement, not a murmur in the wind ; Not a bird-note, not a whisper in the air; Not a fancy, not a feeling in the mind But the ene thought, ‘It is very, very fair.” And the perfume, what a perfume of the pine! And the azure, what an azure, there below, Where the waters in a long and creamy line Come in wavelets! Ah, the ocean has its snow. Oh, the beauty of the downward-drooping rills, As they fell, or seem to fall, without a sound! The enchantment, old enchantment of the hills, With the mystery of silence all around! Asif Spirits of the mountain and the deep, Fancy’s loveliest creations, still were there, Who might wake up any moment from their sleep Nymph and Naiad, beauty’s semblance, yet more fair. Something dearer than the stillness of the wood ; Something livelier than the radiance of the green ; Who might teach us in a voice we understood, That a heart is there in Nature, though unseen. That a mother’s heart is beating in her grace ; She hath wisdom, she is wonderfully wise ; There is purpose in each wrinkle of her cheek ; Love is lurking in the glances of her eyes. And the wildness has departed from her life ; Peace is shining on her battlefields of old; Here the mountain tells of earthquake and of strife ; There the valley has its cornfield and its gold. So we lingered, till the landscape seemed to blend With the golden haze of sunset far away ; And we knew not the beginning from the end ; All was passing with the passing of the day, All was passing, yet it cometh oft again In the evening, like a well-beloved guest. That remembrance of a beauty without stain, Of a world just for a moment at its best. Not a movement, not a murmur in the wind! Not a bird-note, not a whisper in the air! But engraven as a picture on the mind Still I see it. It was very, very fair. —London Spectator. A PASSAGE AT ARMS. The man from Africa did not think much of the professor. From his place at little Mrs. Arran’s right hand he some times in- cluded the scientist in a casual glance, in which supreme self satisfaction was slight- ly tinged with contempt, but that was all. ‘With the professor it was otherwise. He looked at the stranger more than once with curious if rather absent eyes, and at last made a remark : “I seem to know the face.’ “Do you?” asked his friend Barring- ton, who overheard. ‘‘Where have you seen it before ?’’ Professor Herne could not remember. The man from Africa owned a loud and somewhat penetrating voice. He had been successful at Johannesburg and possessed a large and seasonable selection of stories. Anecdotes of Rand life had far less in- terest for the professor than the pebble in- scriptions of prehistoric man, but he could not help observing that the newcomer was monopolizing the attention, not only of the other visitors, hut of the hostess her- self. Somehow the knowledge depressed him. ‘I almost wish,’’ he said softly, ‘‘that I had not gone away.’ “Eh?” cried Dr. Barrington. ‘‘Why ? You were not disappointed, were you ?”’ ‘‘Oh, no,” was the reply. ‘‘As a geo- logical expedition ours was entirely suc- cessful. I was thinking of something else —a private matter.”’ ‘By the way,’’ said Barrington a mo- ment later, ‘‘our new friend has some good stories, but he does not tell all. If some reports be true, he is not exactly the hero our hostess seems to believe him.”’ ‘Indeed ?”’ was the low remark. ‘No. Herries of the rifle police has heard something of him. He is home on leave, and I met him in town last week. According to his account, our friend here got into trouble more than once through his queer method of managing certain ob- stinate blacks. Hedid not stop short of’’— Only the professor heard the final words, and when he heard them his eyes seemed to harden peculiarly, and he gave another glance toward the head of the table. ‘‘Ah,” he said, ‘‘is that so? By the bye, what is his name? I have forgotten.’’ ‘‘Rugman,’’ replied the doctor. ‘I be- lieve he intends to settle down at Hexmin- ster. We shall be little the better for him.”’ “Very little,” was the professor’s un- usually decisive answer, and when it was spoken he fell into a train of thought from which his companion’s remarks could not easily rouse him. The man from Africa had arrived at the old cathedral city on a visit toa friend, and had created something of a ripple up- on those quiet waters. He had gained an entrance into that select circle which made Mrs. Arran’s table its favored place of meeting and had even won his way to the seat of honor. Alas for the professor ! He had been supplanted, and the allegi- ance of the gentle, sweet faced little wom- an at the head of the table had been given to another. So he pondered, sitting almost in si- lence until the gentlemen moved to the drawing room. There he found a nook where he was farthest from the sound of the strong and overwhelming voice of his supplanter and sat down. Presently he was aroused by a touch up- on the sleeve. A rather delicate looking boy of 12 had approached him unnoticed. ‘Why, Jack,’’ said the professor, “I did not see you! How are you?" “I'm glad you are back, sir,’”” he said heartily. ‘Indeed ! sor’s reply. “Did you get any fossils, sir? You know you promised me some.’’ The geologist smiled. ‘‘Perhaps,” he said. ‘‘You shall come to my rooms to- morrow and see.’’ ‘‘You’re awfully kind,’ said Jack grate- fully. “Not like that man over there. He's quite a cad, I think.” ‘‘Hem !”” said the professor warningly. ‘Whom do you mean ?”’ ‘That Mr. Rugman. He’s from Africa, and he’s never even shot a rhinoceros. He can only talk about Boers and banks and stocks and shares, and he’ll bardly talk to me at all.” The listener smiled. Jack continued, still in a slightly indignant tone : “You know, sir, you advised mamma not to send me away to school till I am 14. Well, Mr. Rugman has been talking so much to her about it that I believe she has almost changed her mind.’ The professor took off his eye-glasses and rubbed them with his handkerchief, an in- fallible sign that he was troubled. “I wish you’d speak to her again, sir. She will do anything you say.” Artful Jack! The professor flushed and Thank you,’’ was the profes- promised that he would think about it. It was a blow to him that Mrs. Arran had been so easily shaken in her resolves, and a long dormant battle spirit was beginning to move within. ‘‘He’s been talking about schools,’’ pur- sued Master Jack. ‘‘He says that I ought to go to his old school, Castlebridge.”’ ‘Eh? Where?’ exclaimed the pro- fessor. And his start was so sudden that Jack almost tumbled from his perch. ‘‘Castlebridge,”” replied the boy. ‘‘He says he was captain there once, and no end of other things. Oh, there's Dr. Barrington calling me! I’ll be back directly, sir.” The professor sat back in his chair. He rubbed his eye-glasses once more, and then, glancing across the room, took a long, stern look at the face of the man from Africa. It was a gaze of sudden remembrance. ‘‘She does not know,’”’ he murmured. ‘‘If she only knew! Yet all is fair in war and in—hem !”’ Mrs. Arran and the man from Africa were still speaking of Master Jack. The widow was framing certain faint objec- tions. ‘‘He is so very delicate,”’ she said. ‘School would be just the thing, then,” was the confident assurance. ‘‘Athletic exercises, regular life, plain, good food— just the thing.” ‘But boys are so very rough, are they not ?’’ was the next suggestion. ‘‘Some,’’ admitted Mr. Rugman. ‘‘Such stories are .greatly exaggerated. Elder boys in our great schools feel their responsi- bilities. When I was captain of the clubs at Castlebridge, I was very careful’’— “Ah,” sighed Mrs. Arran, “I should feel so safe if Jack could only find a friend such as you must have been to the little ones at your school !”’ Mr. Rugman smiled contentedly. ‘“H’m,” he said, with modesty. ‘‘There are many boys quite as kind to the young- sters as I was’’— He paused, for a sudden hush had fallen upon a large group sitting near them. And at that moment another voice began clear- ly, decisively : ‘‘When I was junior master at a public school’’— His words had been spoken to be heard by all. Mrs. Arran looked up to listen, and Mr. Rugman turned to see who had interrupted him. It was the professor. ‘When I was junior master at a public school.’’ he repeated, ‘‘an incident occurred which seems to bear upon this question. It was a decidedly unpleasant case’’— Everybody was listening now, for the professor had been known to tell a story well. ‘“There was a boy in the school whom we may call Smith,”” resumed the profes- sor, apparently unconscious to the general interest. ‘‘He was in the sixth form, tall, strong and athletic, a leader in all sports and over 18 years of age. There was anoth- er boy whom I will call Brown. He was a little fellow of 12, quick and clever, but delicate and shy. He was remarkably good at recitation.’’ During the last few words the story tell- er had glanced casually at Master Jack, who was now standing heside his mother’s chair. ‘“This Smith,” continued the professor, ‘‘was a very eccentric fellow and remark- ably fond of amusement. His amusement consisted in tormenting his young school- fellow, Brown, and some of his methods were as unique as effectual. He did not stop short of’’—the professor paused to give another glance around ; then he con- cluded the sentence—’’ red-hot iron !”’ Some one gave a little exclamation. ‘‘Smith,’’ the story went on, ‘‘would heat a poker in the classroom fire. Then he would follow Brown around the play- ground, penning him up at last in the cor- ner between two walls. There, holding the poker well advanced, he would compel the boy to recite, with suitable gestures, long passages from Shakespeare. If he proved obstinate, the poker was moved forward, and he always gave in. As I have said, he was a shy and delicate boy of 12.’ The professor paused again. ‘‘It went on for a long time,’ he then said soberly. ‘‘Little Brown never said a word at home, though he spent all his holi- days, all his leisure time, in getting his Shakespeare by heart. His condition of mind may be easily imagined. There was no humor in it for him. One day it came to an end. It appears that he had recited all that he knew and was still ordered to go on. It may be that he pressed forward, it may be that the poker was advanced a little too far ; it is probable that he was desperate ; it is probable that the brute who tortured him was reckless. The iron, fresh from the fire had touched his cheek !”’ ‘‘A nasty incident,’ said one after a long pause. ‘‘Of course the brute was ex- pelled 2”? ‘‘He left at the end of the term,’’ replied the professor. ‘You called him Smith,’’ cried Barring- ton. ‘‘Have you forgotten his name—the unspeakable bully 2” ‘No,’ said the professor slowly, *‘I have not forgotten his name.’’ He looked up once more. His eyes pass- ed around the circle, resting for a moment upon Mrs. Arran’s face, clouded and angry still, and then moving to another face be- hind her chair. That was a critical moment, the last of the passage at arms. The hold eyes of the man from Africa did not fall at first, though the florid face had paled and the strong hands gripped the chair rail con- vulsively. But the professor’s look was cold, unflinching, threatening. The man from Africa bent to whisper a word in the widow’s ear. She was sur- prised, but had no opportunity to say so. There was a movement of the door cur- tains, a heavy but hasty step in the cor- ridor. Mr. Rugman had deserted the com- pany without even saying ‘‘good night.’’ “I have not forgotten the name,’’ re- peated the professor calmly. ‘‘But it would serve no purpose to mention it now.’’ And he surveyed the circle with that be- nign smile which his friends knew so well. * * * * * * Some time later our geologist, drawing on his gloves in the hall, was joined by a small boy, jubilant and eager. ‘‘Oh,”’ he cried, ‘‘I'm glad you told that story, sir! Mamma heard every word of it.” ‘‘Jack,”’ said Professor Herne, ‘‘you ought to be asleep.” “I'm going,” replied Jack. ‘‘But have you any more tales like that? Because if Mr. Rugman comes and talks again to- morrow’’— The professor smiled and gently pinched the boy’s ear. ‘‘Don’t worry,’’ he said. “It is not likely that he will come to- morrow. *’ Mrs. Arran, descending the stairs be- hind, saw the action and the smile. Per- haps she heard the words, too, or it may be that she had already guessed the truth. It is my suspicion that she had never real- ly wavered in her loyalty to the professor, but had wisely used the visit to Mr. Rug- man as a means of bringing her too forget- ful scientist more certainly to her side. —Chambers’ Journal. Fishing for Sponges. How They are Sighted and Brought up From the Water. The sponges of commerce and the dried specimens of other species are not the actual animals, but merely their skeletons, or framework. That which constitutes their vital parts is removed in preparing them for market. Sponges do not have the power of motion possessed by most animals ; they are near- ly always attached to submerged objects. Since it is impossible for them to go in search of food, they can grow only in places where there is plenty of food such as they require. They are more active in fresh than in still water, and die in a short time if ex- posed to the air. The surface of a living sponge is covered with minute pores, through which water is imbibed, carrying with it both the air and the organic parti- cles necessary for the support of life. Sponges ave distributed through all seas, and are classified, chiefly, according to the structure of the skeleton. The Mediterra- nean and the Red Sea are the sponging- grounds of the old world ; the grounds of the new world are the Bahamas, Southern and Western Florida, and parts of the West Indies. The best sponge of commerce is found in the Mediterranean, and is known as Tur- key or Smyrna, sponge. It is obtained by divers, who go clad in armory when div- ing. Sponges are usually obtained by fishing for them. When a sponging vessel arrives at the fishing-ground in the Bahamas, it is anchored, and the crew immediately get ready for work. The sponge-fisher’s out- fit consists of a small boat called a ‘‘din- gey,”’ a long hook and a water-glass. The sponge-hook is a three pronged iron fork attached to the end of a very long pole ; the water-glass is simply a wooden water- bucket with a bottom of common window- glass. To use it, the glass bottom is thrust into the water, the fisherman puts the bail around his neck, and then buries his head deep in the bucket to exclude the light. There are always two men to each dingey ; one to act as ‘‘sculler’’ and the other as ‘‘hooker.”” While the sculler propels the dingey along very slowly, the hooker, in a kneeling position, keeps his head in the water-glass, looking down in the water. When a good sponge is sighted, the hooker gives a signal and the dingey stops. Together the sculler and hooker thrust the sponge-hook down through the water and run it under the sponge ; the roots are thus pulled loose from the rocks, and soon the game is in the dingey. Thus the work goes on until a boat-load is obtained, and then they are taken ashore and placed in crawls to be cured. The crawls are built by sticking pieces of brush or stakes into the sand just out of the water, or where it is very shallow. They remain in the crawls while under- going maceration, and the refuse is carried away in the ebb and flow of the tide. Us- ually they are left in the crawls for a week then the fisherman remove them and give them a beating for the purpose of removing all chance impurities. After the beating they are thorougly cleansed, and are ready for market. Skillful and Artificial Carving Done by the Native Artisians in India. An official report issued in India under the name of the .4gricultural Ledger, con- cerning artistic work in bison and buffalo horn in that country. The ornamental work in bison horn is an industry carried on in the Ratnagiri district as a side line by many who arealso carpenters and metal workers, and who have acquired the art from their forefathers. Bison horns are used because the ornaments usually made are small stands for offerings in the tem- ples, and the restrictions of the Brahman faith would not allow the worshipers to touch them if they were made of cow horn. The horn is prepared by being kept moist with cocoanut oil, and is then heated before a fire, when it becomes as soft as wax and can be pressed into the required form, tools and a small lathe completing the design. The oil upon being heated does not discolor the horn, but gives it a translucence which produces a very pleas- ing effect. The horn after being carved is polished with the rough leaves of a tree of the ficas tribe which grows in the district, and serves as a natural sandpaper. Addi- tiobal ornamentation, which is generally of a simple and graceful kind, done with steel graving tools. Like most other na- tive artisans, the Ratnagiri horn carvers use very few tools. The entire equipment usually consists merely of a small lathe, a fine saw, a pair of calipers and perhaps a file. The commonest ornament is a sacred bull supporting a flat tray, with a cobra rising out of the middle and rearing above it with expanded hood. The conventional figures are those commonly used in the brass work and embroidery and even in the rustic mu- ral decorations of the country, and consist of circles with regnlar or undulating eir- cumferences, radiating lines, loops and rings arranged in graceful patterns. In Bengal ornaments of buffalo horn are made at Monghyr and consist chiefly of necklaces and similar objects of personal adornment. Combs are made in Dacca, where about 100 Mohammedans are em- ployed in the industry. A special caste in Balasot, on the coast below Calcutta, is en- gaged in the production of walking sticks made of horn. In Madras black horn is worked by the Vishnu Brahmans of Viza- gapatain, who turn out bezique boxes, pict- ure frames and similar articles of very beautiful design.— Manufacturer. Humor at the Altar. Some funny stories are told about the marriage service. One of them relates how an old man brought rather unwilling to the altar could not be induced to repeat the responses. ‘‘My good man,’’ at length exclaimed the clegyman, ‘‘I really cannot marry you unless you do as you are told.”’ The man still remained silent. At this un- expected hitch the bride lost all patience with her future spouse and bursted out with : ‘‘Go on, you old toot! Say it after him, just the same as if you were mocking him.” The same difficulty occurred in another case. The clergyman after ex- plaining what was necessary and going over the responses several times without the smallest effect, stopped in dismay, where- upon the bridegroom encouraged him with: ‘Gio ahead, pass’n, go ahead !thou’rt doin’ bravely.” Upon another occasion it was, strangely enough, the woman who could not be prevailed upon to speak. When the clergymen remonstrated with her she indignantly replied : ‘‘You father married me twice before and he wasn’t axin’ me any of them imperent questions at all.” Origin of Mt. Vernon. In the war between England and Spain in 1739 history records ‘‘how we, as colon- sympathy and support.”’ During that con- flict a friendship was formed between Lawrence Washington and Admiral Vernon which gave the name to one of the most beautiful historical homes—one dear to every American heart. Edward Vernon, commander-in-chief of England’s forces in the West Indies, was born in Westminister, England, on No- vember 12th, 1864. He obtained a com- mission in the navy in 1702, and was en- gaged that year in the expedition under Admiral Hopson which destroyed the French and Spanish fleets on October 12th. He also engaged in the capture of Gibraltar on July 27th, 1704, and the naval battle of Malage, on August 13th, same year. He was made Rear Admiral in 1708 at the age of twenty-four, and continued in active service until 1727, when he was elected to Parliament for Penryn. In 1739, as the Spaniards had made many depredations upon British commerce, it was determined to chastise them. Vernon declared, in the debate that followed, ‘‘that Puerto Bello, on the Spanish main, could be taken with six ships.”” The Min- istry took him at his word, gave him the command of six men-of-war, with the rank of vice Admiral of the Blue. With his small fleet he captured Puerto Bello on November 22nd, 1739, after an assault of one day, with the loss of only seven men. Spain prepared to strike an avenging blow. France offered her assistance. England and her colonies were aroused, and four regiments were recruited in the American colonies for service in the West Indies. Lawrence Washington, at that time a spirited young man of twenty-two, having inherited the military fervor of his family, caught the infection and obtained a cap- tain’s commission. He embarked for the West Indies in 1741, with between 3,000 and 4,000 men, under Gen. Wentworth. That officer, with Admiral Vernon, com- manded a joint expedition against Car- thagena, in South America, with disastrous results. A fatal illness prevailed among the troops, especially those under com- mand of Gen. Wentworth. History records that not less than 20,000 British soldiers and seamen perished during the pestilence. Lawrence Washington returned home in the autumn of 1742, the provincial army being disbanded, and Admiral Vernon and Gen. Wentworth were recalled to England. During his service he acquired the friend- ship and confidence of both these officers, and for many years maintained a corres- pondence with Admiral Vernon. He re- ceived many gifts from him. The one most prized was a copy of a medal struck in commemoration of Puerto Bello, which was preserved at Mount Vernon until Washington’s death. Lawrence desired to join the English army and seek preferment therein, but love changed his resolution. ‘All the world must be a grain of sand in comparison with love.” Beautiful Anna, the eldest daughter of William Fairfax, of Fairfax county, Va., became the object of his affection, and they were betrothed. Their nuptials were to be celebrated in the spring of 1743, but the sudden illness and death of his father, Aug- ustine Washington, postponed the mar- riage until the following July. All thoughts of a military life asa profession passed from his mind. He took possession of his Hunting Creek estate, bequeathed to him by his father—a noble domain of many hundred acres, stretching for miles along the Potomac. On its highest eminence he erected a plain, substantial mansion. It was about one-third the size of the present building, of the old gable-roofed style, with four rooms upon each floor. He gave it the name of Mount Vernon, in honor of his friend, the gallant Admiral. There he resided until his death, which took place in July, 1752. He bequeathed his beauti- ful home to his only child, a daughter, Jane, with a proviso that in the event of her death it should become the property of his half brother, George. She survived her father but a short time; and thus George Washington became the owner of that beautiful home on the Potomac. He always styled the house a ‘‘villa,”’ and it retained its original form until after the Revolution. In the spring of 1784 the construction of the house in its present form was resolved upon. The ‘‘villa,”’ as it was termed, was made to occupy the main or central por- tion, the two wings being built at the same time. In these improvements Washington was his own architect, and drew every plan and specification for the workmen with his own hand. Thus the home, bear- ing the name of one of England’s bravest sons became the loved refuge of the ‘‘Fath- er of Our Country’’ after the cares and tur- moils of public life, the Mecca of every American tourist. Do Fishes Sleep ‘Do fishes sleep—and how *”’ This question was addressed to Eugene G. Blackford, formerly Fish Commissioner of New York State. His acquaintance with fish began when he was very young, and at the present time he a recognized au- thority all over the world. ‘Certainly they sleep,” was Mr. Black- ford’s response. ‘‘They sleep suspended in the water, with their eyes wide open. I have seen them do it often. I have many fish in tanks with glass fronts and watch them. Sometimes I see a fish sus- pended in the water keeping perfectly still for half an hour at a time, and then I con- clude that he is asleep. He does not even move a fin at such times, and the motion of the gills is barely preceptible. ‘Fishes don’t close their eyes, because there is no necessity for their doing it. They have no eyelids, because their eyes are not exposed to dust as ours are. They don’t close their eyes in sleep because the light is so modified by the water that it is not hard for them to find a twilight spot. ‘‘But they can close their eyes if they want to do it, and they do on very pecu- liar occasions. I will show you.—John bring me a trout.”’ The man went to a tank, and soon re- turned, bearing in his hand a fine trout about eight inches in length. This Mr. Blackford held, while he took a lead pen- cil and touched one of its eyes with the point. The trout wriggled about vigor- ously, and at the same time drew an inside yellow curtain over the eye. ‘You see, he can close his eyes if he chooses,” said the former Fish Commis- sioner. ‘““The habits of fish are little known in many respects. We have only begun to study their migrations in a way that promises to lead to anything. We have captured some thousands of cod and mackeral and put metal tags on their fins. Some of these will be caught in nets far norsh and south, and as they have the ad- dress of the United States Fisheries Com- mission on them, that will give us an idea where the untold millions of fish that race along our shores at certain periods spend other parts of their year.— Harper's Round Table. Tolstoi and Slumming. Tolstoi had for neighbor in the country | Turgueneff until the latter’s imprisonment ists of the mother country, tendered our ! and exile. It was Turgueneff who first made Tolstoi’s writings known in the West, but the younger man was offended by some over-frank criticism of one of Turgueneff’s books, and they became es- tranged. A mutual friend, Shenshin, un- dertook;to bring about a reconciliation, and with some trouble induced the two authors to meet at his house. All went well until at breakfast Turgueneff began to give his hostess a glowing account of his danghter’s English governess, who, among other novel and liberal-minded things, had initiated her young charge into some of the myster- ies of slumming. They went about and gathered up the ragged clothing of the poor and the young lady mended it. ‘‘And you consider that to be good 2’ asked Tolstoi. “Of course! It brings the charitable person closer to the poor,” replied Tur- gueneff. “I think,”” said Tolstoi, ‘‘that a well- dressed girl who takes dirty rags in her lap acts an insincere and theatrical part.’ Turgueneff requested a retraction, which Tolstoi refused to make. Thereupon Tur- gueneff arose with a threat, which, how- ever, he did not carry out, but left the room in a passion ; and the host ordered separate carriages for the irate authors. Tolstoi wrote to Turgueneff demanding an apology, and as his letter was not at once answered, followed it up with a challenge. But before that could have heen received by Turgueneff the apology came to hand, the challenge was withdrawn, and after a time the old friendship was resumed. Once When Joe Jefferson Induiged in More Than a Stage Sleep. While he was playing ‘“‘Rip Van Win- kle’’ at Chicago, Jefferson once went into the theatre very much exhausted by a long day’s fishing on the lake. As the curtain rose on the third act it disclosed the white haired Rip still deep in his twenty years’ nap. Five, ten, twenty minutes passed and he did not waken. The audience be- gan to get impatient, and the prompter un- easy. The great actor doubtless knew what he was about, but this was carrying the real- istic business too far. The fact was that all this time Jefferson was really sleeping the sleep of the just, or of the fisherman who had sat eight hours in the sun. Fin- ally the gallery became uproarious, and one of the ‘‘gods’’ wanted to know if there was going to be ‘‘nineteen years more of this snooze husiness !”’ At this point Jefferson began to snore. This decided the prompter, who opened a small trap beneath the stage and began to prod Rip from below. The fagged come- dian fumbled in his pocket for an imaginary railway ticket, and muttered drowsily, ‘Going right through ’ductor.”’ At this entirely new reading the au- dience was transfixed with amazement when all at once Jefferson sat up with a loud shriek, evidently in agony. The exasper- ated prumpter had ‘‘jabbed’”’ him with a pin. Consciousness of the situation came to him, and the play went on after that with a rush. Gladstone as a Precentor. A writer in the New York Evangelist tells a story of Mr. Gladstone when he was prime minister. He was one of a large house party at Inverary Castle, the seat of the duke of Argyle, in Scotland. The fa- mous Dr. Guthrie ied the morning and evening worship every day, and Lady Mary Campbell, one of the Duke’s daugh- ters, played the organ. One morning she was absent, and Dr. Guthrie expressed re- gret that there was no precentor present to lead the singing. ‘‘Permit me, Doctor,’ said one of those present. Dr. Guthrie looked up and there was the great tall form of Gladstone, who had taken the Psalm book in his hand, and all the congregation rose while, to the grand old tune of ‘“Martyrdom.” Gladstone led the morning psalm : Be merciful to me, O God : Thy merey unto me Do thou extend, because my soul Doth put her trust in Thee. “There was a pathos about his singing that made him to his astonishment, find that he was singing almost a solo to the weeping accompaniment of many. The Premier of England in ringing tones sang that penitential cry to God. Holding the helm of the Great Empire, everyone felt that it was true that he put his trust in God.” The Nearer World. When in the year 321 B. C., Alexander the Great staid his eastward march in In- dia and turned his course down the Indus to seek a sea, a boundary line was set which proved to mean for the history of the human race more than any ever created by the act of man, says Benjamin Ide Wheeler in the Atlantic. The eastern boundary of Alexander’s empire, running from the Jaxartes river southward along the Pamir ranges, ‘‘the roof of the world,’’ to the Indus, and then on the Indian ocean, divided the world and its history into two utterly distinct parts. The part which lay to the East, with its two great centres, India and China, and which to-day includes a little over half the population of the globe, had not part nor share in the life and history of the western part, which we call, our nearer world. All the elements within this nearer world, stretching from Afghanistan and Persia to the shores of western Europe, have in the long process of mixture and fermentation which history has suffered since Alexander’s time yielded their con- tribution, small or great, to the civilization upon which our modern life is based. The history which we study, whether of events, institutions, ideas or religion, has been all a history of the nearer world. Charms and Luck. More than half of the men I know wear in their pocket some sort of talisman—a coin of odd date or old or foreign or of strange metal, the inevitable rabbit foot of the true graveyard variety, marbles, small stones, vials, a poker chip, a rubber band, anything found by chance or presented hy a friend. Whenever a charm of any kind fails to bring good luck to the wearer, he seeks occasion to give it to some dear ac- quaintance, who after trying its potency for awhile and failing to make it work, passes it in turn to some one he wants to ‘‘get even’ with. There is a leading citi- zen of this city who has carried two glass marbles in his pocket these seven or eight years, and he has rubbed them together so much between his fingers that the harder has worn a hole in the softer. He would not part with them for gold and precious stones.— New York Press. -——1It is not the place that maketh the person, but the person that maketh the place honorable. Facts for the Curious. About 20,000 English ships entered the 19 free harbors of China in 1896. They carried only English goods. The present population of Bordeaux, France, is 297,000 of whom 18,864 are in receipt of assistance from charitable socie- ties. London and Liverpool are both at the level of the sea. Glasgow is 30 feet above it, Manchester is 50 feet, and Birmingham 300 feet. Among the many mysteries of bird mi- gration is the fact that over sea journeys are generally conducted in the darkness and invariably against a head wind. More than 50 years ago a coal mine at Dailly, Scotland, caught fire. All the at- tempts made to put it out have failed, but it is out now, apparently from lack of fuel. There are in France 15,227 charitable or- ganizations. It is proposed to collect sta- tistics relating to them and print them in a volume in time for the exhibition of 1900. Household servant girls throughout Mon- tana receive in the humblest of families about $6 a week, besides hoard, and the “‘washing,”’ including that of the servant herself, must always be sent out to the laundries. A Persian never takes a dose of physic until he has previously obtained a favora- ble answer from heaven in the shape of an omen. Should he happen to sneeze when he has the the potion at his lips he throws the medicine away. A new society of ‘‘Bird Restorers’” has been organized in Boston for the purpose of replacing native song birds in their former haunts, protecting and encouraging them in the breeding season and planting colo- nies wherever practicable. The small town of Werda, in the king- dom of Dahomey, is celebrated for its tem- ple of serpents, a long building in which the priests keep upward of 1.000 serpents of all sizes, which they feed with birds and frogs brought to them as offerings hy the natives. The magnitude of the Escurial, the great Spanish palace, may be inferred from the fact that it would take four days to go through all the rooms and apartments, the length of the way being reckoned at 23 Spanish leagues, which is about 120 Eng- lish miles. In Sweden yarn is not allowed to be sold if it contains 0.0009 per cent of arsenic. A carpet has been condemned by the inspec- tors because it contained one-thousandth part of a grain of arsenic in sixteen square inches, that is, one grain in a piece of car- pet ten feet square. The largest bog in Ireland is the bog of Allan, which stretches across the center of the island, east of the Shannon, and covers nearly 25,000 acres. Altogether there are nearly 3,000,000 acres of hog in Ireland— that is to say, about one-seventh of the to- tal area of the country is bog., A curious mode of catching turtle is prac- ticed in the West Indies. It consists in at- taching a ring and a line to the tail of a species of sucker fish, which is then thrown overboard, and immediately make for the first turtle he canspy, to which he attaches himself very firmly by means of a sucking apparatus arranged on the top of his head. The fisherman then hauls both turtle and sucking fish in. According to M. Adhemar Leclerc, French resident in Kratia, Cambodia, the Phongs, a wild people of that country, have the type of the North American In- dians. They believe in a God, whom they call Brah, and in another lifeand in ghosts. They eat almost every kind of flesh, and make an intoxicating drink from rice. They smoke a wild tobacco in wooden pipes. Their sense of smell is so keen that they profess to know individual animals by it. They have neither music nor dance. He Hired the Whole Circus. How the Candidate Won Voters From his Rival. ‘*Times,”” said Senator Sorgum, reflect- ively, ‘‘ain’t like they used to be. There's too much formality. We're getting to where the first thing that’s done when a good old fashioned impulse asserts itself is hd some red tape around it and choke it off. “You think we are getting slightly ef- fete?’ inquired the young man who 1s learning the politic business. ‘Undoubtedly. And the worst of it is that we are getting effete-er and effete-er. The people ain’t governed as they ought to be. A whole lot of folks have noticed it. I'll never forget the first time I ran for of- fice,”” he went ou in a dreamily reminiscent tone. ‘‘There was one township that was dead against us. And we needed it. And we got it. But we didn’t send around a lot of clumsy and commonplace agents with check books. Nor did we have to re- sort to any of the elaborate methods of sur- reptitious persuasion that I hear about so often and with so much pain.”’ ‘How did you manage it ?"’ ‘‘Delicately, but thoroughly. We were a little bit annoyed at first by the fact that a circus had arranged to show at the vil- lage on the day election occurred. It was only a small circus, but hig enough to make trouble unless we headed off its dead- ly influence. Its arrival was a temptation for everybody to come to town and cast a vote, and the more votes there were the more trouble our ticket had to overcome ; for that was the most prejudiced township it was ever my experience to do business in. ButI didn’t despair. I had a long interview with the circus manager, who combined with alove of his art a very acute business sense. The circus was showing in a vacant lot adjacent to the polls. When the crowd began to gather, it found canvas walls stretching from the main en- trance to the polls. People who went to make purchases at the ticket wagon were informed that Socrates Sorgum, Esq., was giving a theatre party that day, and there wasn’t room in the tent for anybody ex- cept his guests. When they began to as- semble at the polls I announced that I ap- preciated the expressions of loyalty and es- teem which had proceeded from Elderberry township, and that in my turn I proposed to show the citizens a good time. I in- formed them that each of our ballots had a coupon which would be stamped by a man that stood just outside, where he could see that the holder had not been deceived into voting a wrong piece of paper, and which would admit the bearer and his family to the circus. Those who were not entitled to my hospitality could follow the show to some other town and see it the next day.” “Did it work ?”’ “Work! Several of the men on the ri- val ticket voted for us rather than miss the circus. But you couldn’t do anything like that now,’’ he added, with a sigh. ‘Cir- cuses have got so big that no one could af- ford to hire one for a whole day. And, anyhow everything is getting sort of com- plex and undemocratic.’”” — Washington Post. ——You ought to take the WATCHMAN.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers