Bellefonte, Pa., Dec. 9, 1898. IF. If all who hate would love us, And all our loves were true, The stars that swing above us Would brighten in the blue; If cruel words were kisses, And every scowl a smile, A better world than this is Would hardly be worth while; If purses would untighten To meet a brother's need, The load we bear would lighten Above the grave of greed. If those who whine would whistle, And those who languish laugh, The grain outrun the chaff; The rose would rout the thistle, If hearts were only jolly, If grieving were forgot, And tears and melancholy Were things that now are not— Then Love would kneel to Duty, And all the world would seem A bridal bower of beauty, A dream within a dream. If men would cease to worry, And women cease to sigh And all be glad to bury Whatever has to die— If neighbor spake to neighbor, As love demands of all, The rust would eat the saber, The spear stay on the wall; Then every day would glisten, And every eye would shine, And God would pause to listen, And life would be divine. NICCOLO GENNINI. Twenty-Six Years After. When Margaret informed me that she intended to travel third class from Naples to Messina for the purpose of studying hu- man nature and gaining insight into the manners and customs of the Italian peas- antry, I agreed at once and remarked that I admired her spirit. A disagreeable person might have associated this reason with a recent purchase of mosaics and Roman pearls, but as no good ever results from be- ing smart at a friend’s expense, I made a point of taking Margaret’s spasmodic econ- omies seriously, and in this instance re- signed myself to the discomfort with what good grace I might. We hooked third class. therefore, and Margaret divided responsibilities by leav- ing me to wrestle with the baggage, while she strolled down the platform peering in- to one carriage after another, with the ob- ject of choosing the most interesting fel- low passengers. Such, at least, was my charitable conclusion ; butit would appear that her own comfort was an even more powerfal motive, for she passed by parties of merry, laughing peasants, and reached the end of the train before she beckoned to me with an air of triumph. “Here we are—the very thing! Two window seats and only one companion; such a nice man !”’ I toiled up, laden with possessions, and immediately upon my appearance ‘‘the nice, clean man’? stood up to take one bun- dle after another from my hand, swing them upward with easy strength and pack them in the rail overhead. I was struck by his quiet, deferential manner, and when we subsided into our respective cor- ners, looked at him with interest, to see what sort of a companion fate had given us for the long night journey. Isaw a respectable looking contadino, dressed in blue homespun. with a vividly white shirt, above which his sunburned face appeared even hrowner than ever. His hair was gray, his features grave and worn, and I put him down as 60 years of age, or evena little older. We were agree- ably impressed by the man’s personality, which was more than could be said of his attitude towards ourselves, for his assist- ance had heen given in mechanical fashion, and the moment that we were seated he resumed his steady stare out of the win- dow which had bheeu interrupted by our appearance. Ie seemed more inclined to silence than the majority of his fellow countrymen, but Margaret was bound to make some pretense of carrying out her purpose, so she coughed gently to attract attention, and remarked in her very best Italian that it was a beautiful evening. It was a commonplace observation, but we were startled by the intensity of the re- bly. ‘Ah, it is indeed a beautiful evening!” cried the stranger, and the emphasis with which he spoke proved that the words had no common significance in his mind, though fine evenings are by no means a rare occurrence in Italy in the month of May. As he spoke he turned reluctantly from the window, and we looked into his face with a shock of surprise. The f{eat- ures were stamped with the impress of a great sorrow, but it was the eyes which held us spellbound—brown eyes, liquid and beautiful as Italian eyes can be, but with an expression of such infinite pathos as words cannot describe. His glance wan- dered from Margaret to myself, and dwelt upon us with the wistful appeal of an ani- mal in pain, longing for sympathy, tremh- ling lest its confidence may be misplaced, while we sat silent, conscious to the bot- tom of our souls of the gulf which yawned between this man and ourselves—we, with our petty trials and annoyances, worrying over imaginary woes, and vastly troubled because, forsooth, the trick did not always fall to our share; he set apart in some des- ert of experience, branded by a suffering of which we could not even understand the meaning. We felt our hearts go out ina wave of sympathy, and made up our minds there and then, to do all that was in our power to cheer the poor fellow during the hours which we were to spend together. “We are starting on a long journey,’ Margaret explained as a preliminary; “all the way to Sicily. We shall be two nights in the train. . I suppose You are not going so far?” “Not quite; Iam for Rosino, a village in the north of Calabria. I shall arrive about ten o’clock to-morrow morning. It is my native place. The signora has been in Calabria perhaps, if she is fond of travel 2? : “No, I have never heen so far south. We have been staying at Naples, and I am enhanced with the bay. Could anytking he more beautiful than Naples on a moon- light night 2? | “It is more heautiful in Calabria,’ he said simply. Then his eyes rested on the bunch of flowers which she had pinned in- to her belt. “There are flowers like those growing near my old home, only larger. I used to gather them when I was a boy.” “Then I think we ought to share these now,” said Margaret prettil Y, separating a few blossoms as she spoke, and holding them to him with a smile. “Will you wear these in your buttonhole for the rest of the journey, to remind you of your home until yon see it again ?”’ The contadino took the flowers eagerly enough, bnt instead of putting them in his coat as directed, he cradled them in the hollow of his hand, as though in fear of damaging their fragile beauty, while ever and anon he raised them to his face to drink in the delicate perfume or to obtain a closer view of leaf and stem. . During the first hour of our journey his attention was divided pretty equally be- tween the flowers, the scenery through which we were passing and my bonnie Margaret herself, but there was nothing in his gaze to which the most rigorous chap- eron could have taken exception. She was worth looking at as a picture of happy, healthful youth, and was moreover such a contrast to himself. such an essentially feminine little creature, that I did not won- der at his admiration. It was evident that our companion pos- sessed his full share of that love of beauty which is characteristic of his face, but for such an intelligent-looking man he was wo- fully ill-informed, and his ‘“‘I don’t know, signora’’—‘‘I can’t tell you signora,”” be- gan to have a monotonous sound in in onr ears. The explanation came at last when I asked if there was a post van attached to the train, wherein I could deposit the card I had just been writing. ‘I can’t tell you, signora,’’ said the con- sadino once more; then looking at us very earnestly with his beautiful eyes—*‘I am the worst man in the world to give you in- formation aboat such things,” he said slowly, for only yesterday I came out of prison, and this is my first day of liberty for twenty-six years.” It was a shock. We had thought of many tragic explanations, but never of this. A convict! and a convict, too, of the worst order, for twenty-six years meant a commutted life sentence, and life sentences are not given for light offenses. It seemed impossible to associate the idea of crime with the face of the man seated opposite, but there was no discrediting his own words. We waited breathlessly to hear the nature of the offense for which he had been committed—to receive assurances that Re had been wrongfully accused, and was the most ill-used of men. None came. Neither at that time nor throughout the hours or the journey did he utter a word of excuse of exoneration; but the absence of any astempt to ‘‘talk good’’ or to prove that he had been un- justly sentenced, was more impressive than a hundred protestations, and made us feel that we had been fortunate in our choice of a. traveling companion, despite the sins of the past. from the shock, but while the sad, brown show any sign of discomfiture, and Mar- garet managed to coujure up the ghost of a smile as she asked where he had heen dur- ing all these years. ‘In the convict prison at Porte Ferraio, on Elba, signora. I came out yesterday morning, after having been there for twen- ty-six years and two months. It isa long time n “A long time I”? echoed Margaret in dis- may. “Twenty-six years! Why, it. is longer than I have lived—five years lon- ger. Iam only 21.” The convict gave a flickering smile. Now that his history was known, and that he had seen that we did not shrink from him in consequence, he seemed to find re- lief in putting his thoughts into words. “I was 21 when I went in,” he said, “and now I am 47. Ah yes!’ in answer to the astonishment on our faces. “I saw myself in a looking glass for the first time yesterday, and I was surprised, too. For a moment I thought it was my father, and that he had cone to meet me, but he is dead, and itis I who am old. It seems like a dream, signora, that I was ever young, but it hurt to see myself so changed for all these years I have been looking for- ward and saying, ‘It will come! and when I saw my face I knew that it was too late, and that the old life had gone forever . . . My wife will not know me. We have She is a pretty girl, poor Ninna! fair, like the signora, with the same blue eyes. Bot I am changed. No one in the village will know Niccolo Cennini now.” “But you are still young. A man of 47 has plenty of time before him. You must not lose heart just when the good time is at hand. You and vonr wife may have as many happy years together as you have had sad ones apart.’’ ‘*Ah! who can say?” he sighed. “God only knows; but one always hopes. The bambino, my little girl, she is married. She was too young when I left to remem- ber her father. Ah, signora I”” and the in- tolerable pain of the dark eyes once more pierced our hearts. ‘They have lived their lives—it may be that T am not wel- come! Sometimes I have thought that it would be better if I never returned; but one dies hard, one dies hard, signora! It is not with wishing that the end will come and to stay away when one is free—it is not in nature.” ‘No, indeed, and it would break their hearts if you did. A woman can never for- get her husband, and your wife will have taught the child to know you. They will have talked about you together, every day of their lives, and now, depend upon it, they are full of happiness and excitement, longing for the hours to pass, so that to- morrow may be here.” ‘Ah! who can tell 2” he repeated again ‘One always hopes. She was a good wife, and we loved each other, buf—twenty-six years! It isa long time!’ "He fixed his eyes on Margaret’s face as he finished speaking, as if something in her fresh beauty brought back the remembrance of the youthful Ninna whom he had left be- hind, and who was still, in his thoughts, a pretty girl with golden hair and clear blue eyes. It was easy to see that he was at once longing for aud dreading the meeting which Jay before him on the morrow, and, perceiving that nervousness was momentar- ily increasing, we tried to divert his thoughts by calling attention to the beauty of the landscape through which we were passing. He listened politely, but in every instance the answer was the same—*‘Cala- bria was superior.” . I pointed out the cattle grazing in the fields—they had a finer breed in Calabria, I prophesied a good harvest from the ap- pearance of the land—the crops were finer in Calabria. We exclaimed at the grand- eur of mountain and river—they were high- er in Calabria, wider in Calabria, grander, more impressive, until, at last, as the tears sprang suddenly to my eyes, he checked himself to say, with a sigh: . “Ab, well, itis along time! Perhaps they have all grown in my memory, but I think they are all finer in my old home.” When nightfall came our ex-convict handed down shawls and rugs, and attend- ed to our comfort with anxious care; but whenever I woke from my restless slum- bers his own eyes were wide open, and once or twice I saw his lips move, and im- agined that I heard the word “Ninna.” In the morning light he looked gray and drawn with the fatigue of the long journey and with agitation of the thought of the It was some time before we could recover’ eyes searched our faces, it seemed brutal to. not seen each othersince I was taken away. meeting so near at hand. We fed him with tea and sandwiches, and talked cheer- fully, to put courage into his sinking heart but he was slow to respond. “Twenty-six years, signora!’ he kept on repeating, ‘‘They have lived their lives. Perhaps they will not care— ’ As he drew near his destination, Nicolo looked into our faces with an appeal which moved us strangely. We, the acquaint- ances of a few hours, seemed in reality nearer to him than the dreamlike figures of wife and child. . He clung to us, dreading the thought of a separation, and when the train slackened speed at the little country station, he bade us farewell in trembling accents. ‘“When you first spoke to me I thought it was only right to warn yon of my past; but I shall tell my wife that after you knew I was a convict you still spoke to me.” He quivered. ‘It is not many pleasant things I have to tell her of these twenty-six years.”’ A group of country people were standing on the platform waiting the arrival of the train, and no sooner had it drawn up than carriage doors were thrown open, and the wearied travelers stepped to the ground to stretch their limbs after the long night journey. In a moment all was bustle and coufusion, and Niccolo Cennini moved for- ward with uncertain footsteps, looking anxiously to right and left. A priest, in shabby, black gown, marched to and fro; a group of workmen talked and gesticulated in the foreground; and beside a pillar stood a peasant woman, her arms hanging slack by her side, a white hood fitting closely over her head. Her back was bent, and her face had the dried, weather-beaten appearance of one who has worked beneath a burning sun. but the lips were set in lines of patient sweetness, and the eyes had an expression which Mar- garet and 1 were quick to recognize. During the months which we had spent in Italy, one of our favorite occupations had been to watch the demeanor of the peasant women in the Virgin’s chapels of the dim cathedrals. They came in from streets and markets, laying their burdens on the ground while they knelt in prayer before the altar, and when their devotion was finished they withdrew to a short dis- tance to meditate, with folded hands and arms cast down. The painted image of the Virgin locked on them as they sat, and it seemed as if some of her own sweet sereni- ty of expression had passed into the pa- tient faces of her worshippers. Margaret and I were good Protestants, but we felt many times that these poor women could teach us a lesson, and went away feeling ashamed of our selfish repinings. This peasant woman cast a glance of kindly unconcern upon Niccolo as he passed and he looked at her too, but only fora moment, for a group of tourists, who had been blocking the way, moved suddenly to one side, and he found himself face to face with a young woman, whose tall, finely formed figure stood out conspicuously among the crowd. She was a contadina, | bat dressed in gala costume, with white bodice, green skirt and large silver pins fastening the plaits of her yellow hair. She carried a baby of a few months’ old in one arm, her head was thrown back on her full handsome throat, and she scanned the windows of the train with curious eves. She was too much engrossed in her scru- tiny to note the presence of the tall figure in the homespun suit, but in our prome- nade along the platform we were in fuli view of Niccolo’s face and could see that it was aflame with joyful recognition. He clasped the girl by the shoulder, calling out her name in trembling accents. ‘Ninna! Ninna! Do youn know me? It is I—I have come back!" The girl fell back a pace. and her cheeks flushed. She stared blankly at the gray head, the worn features, then the dark eyes met hers, and told the truth to her heart. ‘Padre!’ she cried, loudly, “Padre!” and her voice was full of joyful certainty. In another moment they would have bgen clasped in each other’s arms, but even as she swayed towards him, the girl checked herself with sudden recollection and, grasp- ing his hand in hers, drew him forward to the spot where the peasant woman stood in working dress, turning her patient eyes on each newcomer. ‘‘Mother!”’ she cried, “he has come! I have brought Lim to you. Father is here!’ It was a critical moment, and we held our breath to see what would happen. Nothing in the world could have made the past so real to those two poor souls as the sight of the change in that other self with whom memory had dealt so tenderly. During all the years of separation one il- lusion had survived in either breast, the image of the girl-wife, the boy-hushand, who stood waiting at the end of the weary road. Ninna still saw in imagination Nie- colo’s crown of ebony curls; while the con viet grown gray within the prison walls, cherished the remembrance of a girl in the heyday of her charm. What would be the result of the awaken- ing? For the woman, one was safe to pre- dict increased tenderness and pity; but— the man? "The light died out of Niccolo’s eyes as he beheld his wife; his cheek whit- ened as if some pale ghost had risen be- tween him and the newly-found happiness. His wife! Ninna! He stared in dismay at the bent back, the roughened hands, the scanty locks beneath the hood; but Ninna looked at him and smiled—a wonderful smile, sweet and steadfast, with the stamp of a lifelong loyalty, and at the sight an agony of tenderness contracted the man’s features. - He threw out his arms and stag- gered towards her as a child to 4ts mother. The little, worn woman opened her. arms to receive him, and cradled him on her bo- som. We could not see her face, for our eyes were dim, but we heard her vice, and the music of it is still in onr ears. ‘Niccolo mio! It was a long journey. Thou art wearied. Come home and rest!’ As the train moved out of the station we saw Niccolo Cennini pass along the country road towards his home. The child lay in his arms, and the women who loved him walked on either side.— From Longman’s Magazine. or Colonel W. Hayes Grier, of Colum- bia, is willing that Philadelphia should be cut out of the map of Pennsylvania and he erected into a State by itself, and all be.- cause political debauchery is said to thrive in the Quaker City—a charge the colonel has but recently made against his own town of Columbia. The colonel would not like losing Independence Hall from Penn- sylvania, but would sacrifice it and the high-perched statue of William Penn “for the good that would follow to the people who. were left behind in the old Keystone.’? He would permit Philadelphia’s *‘scound- rels and political thieves to fight among themselves until they die.” —— “Good in geogravhy ?”’ asked the Major. : “Rather,” said the Young Thing. ‘Bound the new United States,’’ said the Major. REE re ‘| hunt; and the 21st, That Sahara Railroad. The enforced retirement of Maj. March- end from Fashoda, on the Nile, by reason of the British-Egyptian opposition, has in- duced in France a strong revival of senti- ment in favor of undertaking the old proj- ect of building a railroad through the Sa- hara. A Paris paper declares that if such a railroad had existed Maj. Marchand would not have had to leave Fashoda, and this is probably correct. At least he would have been able to have maintained himself for some time there. Reinforcements and supplies could have been sent him which would have put him on more equal footing with the British and Egyptians. The latter were not only in greatly superior in force, but had a line of communication and trans. portation open all the way to Cairo. They could have overwhelmed Marchand or starved him out long before any assistance could have reached him, and this was no doubt a strong factor in including his with- drawal. The project of a railroad through the Sahara had been agitated by the French for some years, and a number of ex- plorations and surveys have been made which have supported the idea of its feasi- bility. They also had a project for flood- ing the Sahara by letting in the waters of the Meditterranean through a canal, which DeLesseps calculated would cost $30,000, - 000 and take five years to build. Only a very small portion of the Sahara, however, would have been flooded by such a canal. A lake would have been formed of about 3,000 square miles in extent, which would have been deep enough to float the largest ships. The creation of such a landlocked sea would have rendered fertile a broad belt of desert land to the north, constitut- ing a large part of the interior of Tunis and Algeria. But the greater portion of the Sahara to the south would have been unaffected. It lies considerably above the sea level, while the portion where the pro- posed lake would have been is below that level. *_% The so-called Great Desert of Sahara is uot, as many suppose, thoughout a great plain covered with a sea of shifting sand. It in fact, possesses many varied character- istics in its topography.” Its area is about 2,400,000 square miles. Of this area the portion covered by dunes or moving sands is only 500,000 square miles. Its average elevation above the sea is estimated at from 1,200 to 1,500 feet. A mountainous region stretches through the desert southeast and northwest, extending from South Algeria to Darfur, dividing the eastern, or Libyan desert from the Central and Western Saha- ra, and having its backbone in the Tassili and Tibesti mountains. These mountains make a nearly unbroken range 1,100 miles long, culminating in Mt. Tarso, or Tihesti, about 8,000 feet high. To the west of this range, and connected with it, are the mountain complexes of Ahaggar and Azjer, which occupy the geographic center of the Sahara, with elevations of from 4,000 to 5,000 feet. These, with areas of lower mountains to the north and south, make an elevated band which crosses the Sahara nearly centrally from the Syrtis, on the north, to Sokoto, on the south. mainder is much diversified by plains, hills and valleys, and is furrowed by the beds of streams, generally dry, but having, nev- ertheless, as well defined basins as in other parts of the world. The flora, though poor is rarely entirely lacking, even in the sandy deserts, and the oases, comprising about 75,000 square miles, are very islands of verdure. Here the chief plant is the date palm. In the mountains are jackals, wolves, antelopes, and sometimes lions and tigers. The birds are few in species and numbers. The reptiles are relatively abundant and permanent waters are stocked with fish and water animals. At the southern end of the Sahara is Lake Tchad, or Chad, a very large body of water and this is mentioned as the destination of The re- | influences known to science How to Postpone Old Age. Anatomical experiment and invest igation show that the chief characteristics of old age are the deposits of earthy matter of a gelatiuous, fibrinous character in the hu. man system. Carbonate and phosphate of lime, mixed with other salts of a calcare- ous nature, have been found to furnish the greater part of these earthy deposits. As observation shows, man begins in a gela- tinous condition; he ends in an osseous or bony one—soft in infancy, hard in old age. By gradual change in the long space of years the ossification comes on; but, after middle life is passed, a more marked de- velopment of the ossific character takes place. Of course, these earthly deposits— which affect all the physical organs— naturally interfere with their fanetions. Partical ossification of the heart produces the imperfect circulation of the blood which affects the aged. When the arteries are clogged with calcareous matter, there is interference with circulation, upon which nutrition depends. Without nutrition there is no repair ‘of the body. None of these things interfere with nutrition and circulation in earlier years. The reparation of the physical system, as everyone ought to know, depends on this fine balance. In fact, the whole change is merely a slow, steady accumulation of calcareous deposits in the system. When these be- come excessive and resist expulsion, they cause the stiffness and dryness of old age. Entire blockage of the functions of the body is then a mere ‘matter of time. The refuse matter deposited by the blood in its constant passage through the system stops the delicate and exquisite machinery which we call life. This is death. It has been proved by analysis that human blood con- tains compounds of lime, magnesia, and iron. In the blood itself are thus contain- ed the earth salts. In early life they are thrown off. Age has not the power to doit. Hence, as blood is produced by assimila- tion of the food we eat, to this food we must look for the earthy accumulations which in time block up the system and bring on old age. Almost every- thing we eat contains more or less of these elements for destroying life, by means of calcareous salts deposited by theall-nourish- ing blood. Careful selection, however, can enable us to avoid the worst of them. Earth salts abound in the cereals, and bread it- self, though seemingly the most innocent of edibles, greatly assists in the deposition of ca'cireous matter in oar bodies. Nitrog- enous food abounds in this element. Hence a diet made up of fruit principally is best for people advancing in years, for the reason that, being deficient in nitrogen, the ossific deposits £0 much to he dreaded are more likely to be suspended. Moderate eaters have in all cases a much better chance for long life than those addicted to excesses of the table. Fruits, fish, poultry, young mutton, and veal contain less of the earthy salts than other articles of food, and are of years. Beef and old mutton usually are overcharged with salts, and should he avoided; a diet containing a minimum amount of earthy particles is most suitable to retard of old age, by preserving the Sys- {tem from functional blockages. : The daily use of distilled water is, after | middle life, one of the most important means of preventing secretions and the de- rangement of health. As to diluted phos- horic acid, it is one of the most powerful for shielding the human system from the inconveniences of old age. Daily use of it mixed with dis- tilled water helps to retard the approach of senility. By its affinity for oxygen the fibrinous and gelatinous deposits previous- ly alluded to are checked, and their ex- pulsion from the system hastened. To sum up: Avoid all foods rich in the earth soils, use much fruit, especially juicy, uncooked apples, and take daily two or three tumblerfuls of distilled water wit. about ten or fifteen drops of diluted phos- phoric acid in each glassful. Thus will the proposed railroad. Several French ex- peditions are now making their way to the lake, with a view of establishing their country’s dominion over it. A German. expedition is also designed for the same purpose. The lake is, however, sur- rounded by natives, which will doubtless strongly resist both French and Germans. The French now hold possession of Algeria and Tanis, which embrace much of the northern part of the Sahara. They are also in posssession of a large territory on its southwestern side, running east from Senegambia. on the Atlantic. The British however, who own large territory just to the south of these latter French possessions along the Nile river, are likely to claim Lake Tchad as within their sphere. The lake is supposed by some to have originally been the headwaters of the Niger, with which it is believed to be feasible to make a canal connection. A railroad from Al- geria to Lake Tchad through the Sahara would be from 1,500 to 2,000 miles in length, while it is only about 700 miles from the lake to the Atlantic through the British territory. It does not seem likely therefore, that the French project will he seriously taken up for many years to come, if ever. Coles for December. He Makes Conditions as to Coming Conditions. Prot. Coles, in his December Storms and Signs says: “Two meteors are coming earthward at a rapid pace. Another approaching comet can now be sighted just outside of the or-- bit of Jupiter. Earth is now in the *‘honse of sickness” and disease epidemics will spring up over the country like magic. The November meteoric shower, that the great astronomers predicted would come on the 14th, is delayed by a ‘“‘strong head- wind I”” Earthquake shocks may shock the whole world. A deep sorrow is noi overshadowing America.. The earthquake, that we predicted, came in Italy and tore down a whole town with its terrible con- cussions. The white wire worms, which we foretold coming last summer, will at- tack the wheat crop and destroy thousands of acres this winter and next spring. The race war came as we predicted, and will continue to grow in hatred until, perhaps, the very men who fought for their freedom will fight for their annihilation. “Turkeys, chickens and all kinds of fowls. beef, pork and all kinds of meats intended for the Christmas trade or for home use should be killed on the 20th, 21st or 24th; and. for the New Year's trade, on the 26th, 30th or 31st; as all the other days are ‘‘low ebb” days and all flesh killed at “low ebb” time is not in proper condition to be eaten by man; and its discoloration caused by quick decompo- sition destroys its real market value too. The 3d, 30th and 31st will be the only really good days during the whole month to kill pork and beef for winter use, and to make sauer kraut. The 3d, 30th and 31st will be the best days to fish and to 22nd and 27th will be the next best days. The 4th, Gth, 7th and 10th will be bad days for all those troub- led with heart di.ease; and it will be well for all such to refrain from laborious exer- our days be prolonged, old age delayed, and health insured. eae eee Daily Life of Pope Leo XII. Summer and winter the Pope is awake at six o'clock in the morning, and rather before than after that hour; and he may have, in token of a sleepless night, a piece of Italian or Latin poetry to dictate to one of the secretaries before mass. Or may be there is some more practical affair that has kept him awake while! he outlined the es- sential points in an argnment, an appeal, a letter of instructions (in this case he dic- tates from the notes, which are afterwards scrupulously destroyed). To begin the day hesays early mass: in the chapel in his private apartments, but on Sundays and feast-days in a room that is large enough to accommodate the visitors who have re- ceived permission to be present. Dressed in a cassock of pure white, a circle of snow- white hair showing beneath the white skull cap, or beretta, the Pope is seen holding silver aspersory, sprinkling holy water on the assembled worshippers; and so much in harmony with his surroundings is this figure that Rev. Bernard O'Reilly is led to say, “It is asif one of Fra Angelico’s glorified saints had walked out of the canvas, or come down from the frescoes on the wall, and shone on us.” Immediately after saying mass himself he hears a second one, said by a private chaplain. The sec- ond mass of thanksgiving being finished, Epistle side, and the Pope is seated. All present go forward in turn, to kneel at his feet, kiss his hand, and receive communion. Then a frugal breakfast follows of coffee and a bit of bread and goat’s milk. At ten o’clock the Secretary of State is in consultation with the Holy Father, and this conference lasts until about eleven; but on Tuesday and Fridays the Under. Secretary confers with the Pope, while the diplomatic corps assembles in the apart- ments of the Secretary of State; and there is also the duty of receiving ambassadors and distinguished Italians and foreigners. The congregations of cardinals report regu- larly, and we barely intimate the im- portance of the subject matter thus re- ported when we state that all things con- nected with the administration of a church numbering perhaps two hundred millions are divided among these standing commit- tees. In some cases the sessions are actual- ly held in the Pope's presence, and even when that additional tax upon his atten- tion and his strength is avoided, it still re- mains true, as the author last quoted asserts, that his ‘“solicitude extends to every diocese and mission on the surface of the globe.” And besides these, many other congregations and commissions charged with special work must satisfy Leo’s demands for the utmost regularity, punctuality, and exactness in their reports. — Harper's Weekly. Only Difficulty. Graham—By the way, when you were abroad, didn’t you find it difficult talking French? Ryan—Not particularly. The greatest cises on those days.’ difficulty was to make the people under- stand it. therefore best for people entering the vale | an arm chair is brought and placed on the h ‘ Xy, ¥ The Great Exposition. France’s next great exposition, which to be at Paris in 1900, will beging Apri 15th and end Nov. 5th. Eleven vears will have elapsed since the last preceding great fair at Paris, and in that intervaj industrial and scientific development have been pro- ceeding at a rapid pace. France may .be relied upon to celebrate the completion of the nineteenth century- -a century remark- able for material progress—in a striking original and appropriate manner. There are things in which other nations excel the French, but in the art of producing novel, spectaculur, industrial displays the latter easily distance all competitors. We have had big shows since 1889, in Chicago, At- lanta, Nashville and Omaha, but they were all copies, more or less imperfect, of the great French exposition of the year just mentioned. Experience tells. France or- ganized the first exposition ever held, and the taste and skill of her people are ex- panded in every successive effort. The coming exposition was authorized by the chamber of deputies as long ago as July, 1892, so that when it arrives it will have had the advantage of eight years of careful preparation. The new century will be ushered in hy an adequate review of the inventions and improvements in every art and science that have distinguished the past century. Some 300 acres will be occupied with the palaces, museums, landscapes and gardens of the exposition grounds. Twenty million dollars are to be devoted to buildings and running expenses. This sam isin addi- tion to the large sums spent by other gov- ernments, fifty-four in number. that will participate. The United States has been conceded 230,000 square feet of space, as against the 122,697 feet used at the ex- position of 1889. Other governments are obtaining even larger proportionate allot- ments, so that it will be seen that the dis- play is to be on a large scale. The ‘‘oate money,’’ or receipts from visitors, in 1900 will amount, it is estimated, to $13,000,- 000, as against the $4,316,000 of 1889. The price of admission is to be one franc, and the number of paid admissions is expected to be 60,000.000, or three times as many as in 1889. The enterprise is regarded hy Frenchmen as a national affair—one to en- list the patriotic sentiment, of the nation— but it is also expected to pay. The ex- position of 1889 brought to Paris visitors who spent as mucli, itis estimated, as $25, - 000,000. The receipts of French railways were increased by it to the extent of $15, - 400,000 and postal and telegraph receipts to the extent of $1,400,000. These were good results, hat the outside receipts in 1900 will, it is believed, be double or triple these figures. To the American or English mind an exposition is a show and nothing else, but to Frenchmen it is a matter of sentiment also, and, as such, a matter of great poli- tical importance. Such enterprises tend to quiet the public pulse. Itis hoped that the coming exposition. being in some sort a national fete, will draw men’s minds away from the Dreyfus, Picquart, Fashoda and other like disagreeable topics, and so conduce to the restoration of a wholesome state of political feeling. France has re- cently been supping from a cup full of horrors. Sensational incidents have been ‘developing constantly at - Paris, each of a kind to demora- lize the public. Revelations of cor- ruption in high places have tended to un- settle the faith of the masses in the honesty of the government. The Panama scandal, the Dreyfus miscarriage of justice, the Picquart prosecution and the Fashoda episode all bring into question the effic- iency, if not the good faith. of the men to whose hands the destinies of France are entrusted. Honest souls are almost fin despair. There is a strong disposition, ac- cordingly, to turn for relief to the exposi- tion. In this at least the nation may feel a legitimate pride, and the liberal thoughts inspired by it may tend to 1ift France from the morass of miserable suspicions ‘into which she has fallen. eo t———_————— Some Recipes Worth Trying To make hot tamales, scald a quart of good Southern white cornmeal. Do not make it soft, but moist. Have ready your corn husks and several husks torn into nar- row strips like ribbons. Have cooked thoroughly and chopped fine a chicken; add to it a Spanish pepper, chopped fine, and a palatable seasoning of salt. Take the cornmeal in your hand, sort of pat it down, put into the corn husk sufficient to roll inches long down the center. Put in a couple of tablespoonfuls of chopped chicken, then roll the husks and the corn- meal over, making a complete roll with the chicken inside. Fold the ends of the corn husks over; tie them with the narrow strips which you have prepared. Put the bones taken from the chicken in the hot- tom of a kettle; add a sliced onion, three or four cloves, two bay leaves, a teaspoon- tul of salt and a quarter of a teaspoonful of pepper; cover with cold water and bring to a boil. Now put your tamales all over the top; the bones will act as a sort of rack, keeping them from heing covered by the water; cook continuously for two or three hours, and they will be ready to serve. The rolls are cut into halves. Dish them neatly, ‘so that the ends will he exposed. —Ladies’ Home Journal. Oyster croquettes. One-half pint raw oysters, chopped fine; one-half pint cooked veal, chopped fine; two tablespoons of but- ter, solid; three tablespoons cracker meal, two eggs, one-fourth cup creani, one table- spoon onion juice. Soak cracker meal in oyster liquor. Mix all. Let stand two hours; then shape. Roll in egg and cracker meal. Make as soft as possible. Boiling lard sufficient to float. Whips-—Soak a half box of gelatine in a half eup of cold water; pour over one cup of boiling water; add a half cup of sugar and a teaspoonful of vanila, and, if you use it, four tablespoonfuls of sherry. When this begins to congeal, add the unbeaten whites of two eggs; beat the whole until light and creamy; fill into glass custard cups; cover the top with grated macearoons. Place in the centre a candied cherry ora picce of angelica and serve. Sponge patties with maroons. Bake a four egg sponge cake in a layer of ahout one inch. When done, cut it into rounds. Cut the centre from one round; moisten the round with white of egg and place it on top of the solid one. Place in this patty one ordinary preserved maroon. Beat three eggs with three tablespoonfuls of sugar until light; add to them a pint of hot milk; cook over the fire until thick ; take from the fire, and, when cold, add a portion of the syrup that has been drained from the ma- roons; pour this around the patties, and serve at once. Sponge cake is preferable because it contains no butter. ——John Westfall, living at Inglenook, a summer resort above Duncannon, in the act of lighting his pipe recently, while helping at butchering, fell over dead from heart failure. He was aged 70 years and leaves a wife.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers