Bellefonte, Pa., Feb. 17, 1899. A GOODNIGHT SONG. Goodnight, dear heart! the twilight shadows darken And blur the light. Yet, from the distance—o’er the dim lands, harken To this goodnight. I do not know the dear paths where you wander; 1 only know That every moment makes my sad heart fonder— Loving you so! I miss you, dear! I miss your kind caresses— All joys above. I miss the gold of your tumultuons tresses— Your lips—your love. From the bleak skies the Wintry snows are drift- ing: Veiled is their blue. But Love the Springtime lilies still is lifting, Dear heart, to you. The lilies that made life well worth living In those dear days, Breathing of love and tenderest forgiving, And peace, and praise. Goodnight, dear heart! whatever sorrow meets vou May Hope give gleams. God be with you when every morning greets you. And with your dreams. — Atlanta ** Constitution.” A PERFECTLY MODEL MAN. She lay there alone in the dark. It was near midnight. When the lights had been dimmed throughout the house, and stillness had settted upon everything, bie had arisen in unbearable suffering and gone softly down stairs. It was her last night in the house, whose every chair and curtain seemed to thrill as he passed, and Lie must be nearer the room in which she lay asleep—forevermote asleep. He threw himself upon a couch in the hall. He lay on his back with one arm thrown over his eyes. He was trembling like an old man—or like a dog that lies out in the cold and wet and hears a fire crack- ling within the house. A fine rain was beating ceaselessly against the windows and the doors. The climbing rose against the side of the house moved its arms as the wind hore down up- on it. It had not been a month since she had asked him to tack it more securely, as the autumn winds were coming on; and he replied that he would do it some other time—he had an engagement now. The engagement had been to play billiards with a man for whom he cared nothing. She was standing on the steps in her pale blue gown, with tacks and bits of leather and a long handled hammer in her hands. He recalled the cloud of disappointment that had drifted suddenly across her face. The following morning he had observed that the vine was tacked in place, and he had not thought of it again. Until now! Why on earth should he think of it now? Was not his anguish deep enough? Why could he not remember rather the things he had done to make her happy—the pleas- ant home he had given her, the jewels, the pretty gowns, the carriage—ah, the car- riage! His heart opened, and closed sud- denly. The carriage in which she had seemed to take no pleasure because he never went driving with her] He had told her that he was too busy! Good God! his heart cried out roughly, why need he have lied to her? she must have known then that he was lying to her; surely she knew it now. Presently he became aware that two women had entered an adjoining room. They drew their chairs to the fire and sewed and talked. The door leading into the dark hall was open. It seemed good to him—-less lonely—that they should be there. They spoke in unhushed voices, as if to make it more cheerful for themselves. ““Well,”” said one, after they Lad talked of other things, biting a thread and rolling the end between her thumb and forefinger, ‘‘she had everything that heart could want. He's a good man, an’ he was mighty good to her.” She bent toward the lamp to thread her needle. Her eyelids flickered close together. Tiny wrinkles ran around her eyes. The other woman was silent. “Yes,” continued Mrs. Gregg, beginning to sew, ‘‘there ain’t many men as good to a woman’s he was. She had a nice home, all furnished up nice—w’y, that sideboard alone cost two hundred dollars if it cost a cent! She had a cook an’ a secon’ girl—I never could see why they call ’em secon’ girls—an’ a kerriage, an’ fine jewelry, an’ dresses. She had a plenty o’ spendin’ money besides.” The other woman was silent. Why did she not speak ? Ife lifted his head and looked at her. She rocked back and forth as she sewed. Her eyes were on her work. He knew her well—a poor neighbor to whom his wife had given much sewing and of whom she had always been fond. Only a few hours before her death she had spok- en to him of this woman. “You’ll do something for her sometimes, dearest,’’ she had whispered even after speech was a dif- ficult thing for her. ‘Do little things for her and the children—and do them deli- cately—no you will not—hurt her—’’ She had sunk back in his arms, exhausted, and finished the sentence with a smile. “Look at her front door,”’ went on Mrs. Gregg. ‘‘She wanted a fine one an’ she got it. She got every blessed thing she took a notion for, from a burgeler-proof closet for her silverware to a Poppa Gonteer rose- bush. You got that seam done, Mis’ Med- ca'f?”’ Mrs. Medcalf held up the seam to show that it lacked several inches of being fin- ished. ‘Oh, you'll soon have it done. It’s a pity she ain’t got any children. He'll be so much more lonesome, a-comin’ home at night an’ not a-findin’ anybody here.”’ Then of a sudden the other woman spoke. “I reckon he won’t he any lonesomer’n she’s heen all these years, a-settin’ here alone, night after night, till eleven o’clock.” No knife ever sent a more sickening pain through a heart than those words sent through the heart of the man who lay there in the dark and heard. “Hum—er hum,’’ said Mra. Gregg. 1 expect it did get kind of lonesome for her. He—he—that is, I guess he did have to stay down town most of the time. But he didn’t have any bad habits—didn’t drink or gamble or look at other” women. He was a perfectly model husband.’’ There was no reply to this, and presently Mrs. Gregg continued, ‘‘I never’d thought she’d up and utter a word of complaint agen such a husband.” ‘‘She never did,’”’ said Mrs. Medcalf. ‘‘Never’n in her life, so far’s I know. She worshipped the land he walked on. You could see that with ha’f an eye. But she led a mighty lonesome life, model husband or no model husband. Hedidn’t have any bad habits. I know that. He just simply wa’n’t domestic. He’d rather set down town an’ play some fool game or other than to set at home an’ read or play cards with his wife. It ain’t no sin, an’ I ain’t sayin’ it is; when a woman has that kind of a husband the whole neighborhood’s ready to scream cut, ‘My-O! What does gettin’ lonesome amount to? She ain’t got any call fer complaint, ’s 1 can see. She’d best be thankin’ her stars she ain’t got a hus- band that comes home drunk an’ abuses her, or gambles everything he earns away in some old saloon or other!” An’ I ain’t the one to be claimin’ they ain’t right, an’ she wa’n’t the one to complain about any- thing. But what I see with my own eyes I guess I know. One night she come over to our house for somethin’. an’ when she comes in—well, if I do say it myself, our little settin’-room did look bright an’ cheerful, even if we ain’t got much in it. He always builds up a big fire 'n the fire- place in winter, an’ pops a big pan o’ cern an’ gets up some apples from the cellar, an’ then sets down an’ reads an’ talks while I sew. An’ we was settin’ there that night when she comes in with a blue dress on an’ a black lace scarf over her head, an’ cries out, ‘Oh, how cozy you are! Why, is your husband at home evenings?’ An’ she had the wishfullest eyes I ever looked into. ‘“ “Yes,” Isays real quick, for I didn’t want to hurt her feelin’s, ‘he works so hard all day he don’t feel much like goin’ out nights.’ ¢ ‘Why, he isn’t home every night, is he ?’ she cries out. ‘ “Yes, I be,’ says he, before I could speak. ‘W’y, ain't your husband ?’ ‘¢ ‘No,’ she says, an’ she walked over an’ stood lookin’ down into the fire; an’ then she says, very slow, ‘I’d be the happiest woman on earth if he was.’ ‘¢ ‘Well,’ says he, lookin’ at her close, ‘he’s home sometimes in the evenin’, ain’t he?’ ‘Don’t you like pop-corn ?’ cries I, jumpin’ up quick, for I knew he never was an’ sure enough, her face was as red as fire —an’ if there wa’n’t fears in her eyes I don’t knoy tears when I see ’em!”’ ‘‘He was my idee of a perfectly model husband,” said Mrs. Gregg, sternly. I don’t see how anybody can find it in their heart to utter a word agen him.”’ “I ain’t a-utterin’ a word agen him, Mis’ Gregg. I’m just tellin’ you that she was a turable lonesome woman, even if he did give her everything that heart could ask. That time after her baby died he stayed home with her every evenin’-—he didn’t go down town a-onge, not a-once—’’ “You got that seam most finished ?’’ de- manded Mrs. Gregg, in a tone of extreme irritation. ‘‘After you get it all finished we'll go out in the breakfast room an’ get somethin’ to eat. There’s a nice lunch all laid out on the table. We’ll make some tea on the gas stove.”’ ‘But it didn’t last long,”’ went on Mrs. Medealf, unmoved. ‘‘In less’n two weeks he had to run down town just for a minute—’’ “You like tea or coffee best, Mis" Med- ca’f? We can boil one as easy’s the other.”’ “Tea. An’ his minutes kep’ gettin’ longer an’ longer, an’ in less ,n two weeks more-—’’ “I’ve got my seam all done, Mis’ Med- ca’f. Ca-ha-ca-ha-ha,’”’ coughed Mis’ Gregg. ‘‘There, I'm ketchin’ cold.”’ “In two weeks more he was a-stayin’ out just as late as ever. An’ then it seemed as if she just couldn’t stay at home alone evenin’s—’’ Mis. Gregg arose suddenly, scraping her chair back with a rasping sound. She went to the sideboard, ca-na-ca-ha-ha-ing noisily as she went. She came back bear- ing a heavy solid silver cake-tray in both hands. ‘Heft that,”’ she saia, sternly. “Just heft it”? Mrs. Medealf hefted it. “Unh-hunh—solid,”” she said, briefly, unimpressed. ‘So she took to comin’ over to my house to set a little while, with her white face an’ her black dress, lookin’ as sad.’’ She paused and bent sidewise to pick up her thimble, which had fallen. But Mrs. Gregg did not speak. She set the cake- tray in its place on the two hundred dollar sideboard. She brushed some imaginary dust off the embroidered cover with her hand. He, lying in the dark hall, ob- served her movements with that uncon- scious interest in trivial things which takes hold of one powerfully in great moments. She shook out the folds of her apron and stood for a second irresolute. Then she re- turned slowly to her chair and sat down with a look of utter defeat. Mrs. Medcalf continued her story with irritating compla- cence. Mrs. Medcalf turned her face en- tirely away, and leaning her head against the back of the chair, closed her eyes and sat motionless, as if asleep. Mrs. Medcalf had her innings, and she made the most of them. ¢¢ ‘Specially on windy nights, when doors rattled an’ latches lifted up, she couldn’t stay alone. So she used to come over an’ set there till bedtime, an’ then go home in the rain an’ dark an’ go into that lonesome house all alone—an’ him down town with- out a habit!”’ : Mrs. Medcalf had finished; she arose, trinmphant. She folded her work neatly and leisurely and laid it on the table. Then she pushed her needle into it and set her thimble on top of it—balancing it so it would not roll off. ‘‘He was a perfectly model husband,’’ she said then. imitating Mrs. Gregg's tone; ‘but I reckon she’ll never be any lonesomer up in that windy graveyard than she was here. Shall we go out now an’ get sometin’ to eat ?’’ She went slowly out of the room. Mrs. Gregg arose with her lips set together grimly and followed. And he—he lay there alone in the dark!— Ella Higginson in Woman’s Home Compan- ion. “Sunset” Cox's Repartee. A life of ‘‘Sunset’’ Cox, the famous Con- gressman from Ohio and New York, has been published by his nephew, the well- known scientist of the Smithsonian Insti- tute. One anecdote, not new in its point, but memory-refreshing in the location of the phrase. His colleague in the House, the late General Rosecrans, tells it: ‘‘I re- member one day some one on the other side, I forget his name, was making a strong pro-Chinese speech, winding up something like this: ‘‘The Chinaman is clean, he is temperate, he is frugal: what fault have yon to find with him?’ Cox piped out, ‘he wears his shirt outside of his breeches.” The House was crowded, and that was the last of that orator and his Chi- nese speech.’’ In All Probability She Is. Johnnie, whose mamma has a headache -—“Am I really so bad mamma ?’’ Mamma—*‘‘Yes Johnnie, you are a very bad boy.” Johnnie, reflectively—‘‘Well, anyhow you ought to be glad I'm not twins.”’— Harlem Life. — Subscribe for the WATCHMAN. Bending the Twig. ‘As the twig’s bent the tree’s inclined” says one of those old adages for whieh the Nothing could be truer than this, as a bald statement of fact. If you take an incipient tree you can bend it in almost any way and cause it to assume any sort of a fantas- tic shape, when it grows to be a tree. You can cause it to be dwarfed or crooked and may evoke no end of admiration by the freakish shapes which you cause it to as- sume. The Japanese are adepts in this bending of the twig and curiously inclin- ing of the tree, and are past masters in the production of arboreal freaks. But if the Japanese or anybody else want good wood or timber; if thev want lumber to build houses and ships and bridges, or to manu- facture articles of utility and beauty, they do nos go to the freak trees to get it, but obtain it from those that have grown up unmolested. The old saw above mentioned does com- paratively little harm when itis applied to trees, for usually there are so many of them in the world that the man who goes around bending twigs in order that he may incline the resulting tree to his liking can change the ultimate destiny of but a few of them. The troubles, however, with this adage is that it is not applied to trees at all, but usually to boys. What those who quote it really mean is. ‘‘As the boy’s bent the man’s inclined.”” They use it as a text for a lecture on the art of bending the boy, and the boy is bent accordingly. It frequently happens, too, that in the process of bending him many twigs that would otherwise grow up into useful and valuable trees are used up in the process. % 3% Now, really the best trees are not in- clined at all. They grow up straight. There is no sense in inclining them, and if anybody would stop to reflect a moment it would be seen that it is absurd to apply such an adage to boys. We neither want crooked trees nor crooked boys. We want them both to grow up straight. We give the tree a chance to do so, but for the most part we try to bend the boy. We beat him and lecture him, and pull him and haul him, and warp and twist him, and the re- sult is that many of them grow up in odd shapes. We bend them in the twig and they turn out more or less crooked men. There is one plan of training, the chief doctrine of which is that the boy should be continually sat down upon. He must be flattened out and made to feel his boyish inferiority on every possible occasion. If he shows any ambition or forwardness in any direction, if he makes any proposition, he must at once be overwhelmed with the superior wisdom of his elders. It must be made manifest to him that he knows nothing, and the vast extent of ig- norance must be so magnified that he will be discouraged and despair of ever arriving at the exalted knowledge that his parents or teachers possess. Unless he isa very hardy twig, indeed, this dwarfs his intel- lect and smothers his desire for knowledge. There are many, too, who unreasonably ex- pect the boy to be a man as soon as he steps out of the cradle. They frown at his boy- ish appetite, at his boyish interest in every- thing, at his boyish pranks, at his disposi- tion to turn everything into play. They want him to be a solemn sawlog when he is really only a a supple sapling, bending to every breeze. They hamper him with rules and regula- tions; they erect before him a formidable criminal code, so that it is impossible for him to live and move and have his being, or to enjoy his inalienable right to the pur- suit of happiness without constant infrac- tions. They hedge him about with restrie- tions, which if they were preseribed for in- mates of the penitentiary, would cause a wave of indignation tosweep over the com- munity. They expect the boy to he 10 times as correct in his deportment as they are themselves. In most cases, too, they fall in with the idea of Solomon's about the rod. They think that a boy is like a piece of iron, to he improved by hammering. It often happens that people will strike and beat a boy, just because they feel a sort of necessity of working off their ill-temper hy torturing some one, and they are too cow- ardly to attack anyone who is a mateh for them in the game of inflicting blows. Of course, the hoy must be trained; hut, coming back to the simile of the tree and the twig, it might be well to inquire how it is that the tree grows straight. If you will go out into the woods you will see that it grows straight because all 1he other trees surrounding itarestraight. The twig follows the lines that are set for it hy its surroundings. The boy learns by imita- tion. He follows the direction of his en- vironment. If those who are charged with his training are honest and straightforward, correct in their deportment and in their bearing toward one another, the boy will be likewise. The great secret is to know when to let the boy alone, and not to be eternally bending him when you really want him to grow into a healthy and nor- mal man.— Pittsburg Times. Patti’s Third Husband. It is a great tribute that Madame Adelina Patti has paid to matrimony in leading to the altar a third consort. Her first hus- band, the Marquis de Caux, whom she mar- ried in 1868, had the indelicacy to get a divorce from her on account of her attach- ment to Signor Nicolini. This attachment survived her marriage to Nicolini in 1886, and continued until his death on January 18, 1898. Tf it had been her sole attach- ment, possibly she wonld have felt indis- posed to form another, but while one saint- ed memory may do to cherish for aye, two sainted memories make a good pair to draw to, and very possibly Madame Nicolini has done well in emphasizing the close of her year of widowhood by a new alliance. Her new husband, Baron Cederstrom, is a Swede, and has lately been engaged in the health-gymnastic business in London. His age is thirty; hers, fifty-six—giving an average for hoth of forty-three: a time of life which the blending of experience with expectation makes particularly suitable for the undertaking of new enterprises.— E. S. Martin in Harper's Weekly. To Sit Forever in a Chair. Entombment Extraordinary Reported From Massa- chusetts. Genial Reuben J. Smith, paperhanger hy trade and the most inveterate checker- player in New England, has been jumped by death. He was entombed at Amesbury, Mass., on the 25th inst. He had always dreaded burial in the cold, cold ground; so by his own direction his body was placed in a chair in an upright sarcophagus in Amesbury cemetery. The sarcophagus is on the brow of the cemetery hill. A solid rock foundation was first built. Upon this is erected an arched house-like tomb of brick laid in cement, the walls of which are one foot thick. The brick structure is encased in marble of three-inch thickness, the roof being pitched. world has such a superstitious reverence. |- Light on Great Poison Plot. Cornish and Molineux 8rarply Cross-Examined. The inquest into the mysterious death by poisoning of Mrs. Kate J. Adams, who was killed by a drug sent in a ‘‘bromo-seltzer’’ bottle to Harry S. Cornish, physical in- structor at the Knickerbocker Athletic club, N. Y. was continued Satuday. Cornish re- ceived the bottle in a silver holder through the mail, and took it to his home, where Mrs. Adams swallowed a dose of it to re- lieve her headache and died, and Cornish was made ill by taking a small quantity of the mixture. For weeks the whole ma- chinery of the police and District Attor- ney’s office has been engaged in trying to solve the mystery, which is supposed to implicate several persons prominentin club circles. Harry S. Cornish and Roland Burnham Molineux were the witnesses Saturday. Cornish, as on the first day, showed an evasive disposition. He constantly fenced with assistant District Attorney Osborne. From the answers to questions put to Cornish by Mr. Osborne, many believe that the great poison mystery is being slowly solved. That Cornish has not yet made public all he knows relative to the poison- ing of Barnet and Mrs. Adams, is the firm belief of the officials of the District At- torney’s office. It can, therefore, be truth- fully said that he will not be allowed to leave the stand until he has told all that District Attorney Gardner is inclined to think that he knows. After much parleying and the asking of questions, Cornish admitted that the the first suggestion as toa bungling chemist having prepared the poison was made to him by his own intimate friend, Mr. Yocum, a chemist, who is also a friend of John D. Adams, secretary of the Knickerbocker Athletic club. He also admitted that the glass contain- ing the remnant of the poison taken by Mrs. Adams and himself lay in the apart- ment untouched by the police for ‘‘seven or ten days after the death of Mrs. Adams.” Also that Mr. Yocum visited the apart- ment on the evening after the death and examined the glass and its contents, while he (Cornish) lay sick at the club. “Now, look here, Cornish,” said the assistant District Attorney, ‘‘vou came to my office this morning and told me that I was not treating you fairly. I told you then, and I tell you now, I do not suspect you of the crime, and I wish to give you every chance to tell all you know. Are you being perfectly candid?”’ “1 am telling you all I know,” said Cornish. Cornish was somewhat roughly handled by Mr. Osborne, in the course of which he said that, after searching for a man with a common motive against him and against Barnet, his mind closed upon the name of Molineux when it was suggested. Mr. Molineux testified with apparent willingness, and seemed to be anxious to answer every question fully. He did not dodge or evade anything. Assistant Dis- trict Attorney Osborne asked him if he was willing to say he was not guilty of the homicide. His reply was: “Yes; I am innocent.” lames Awful Work. South Dakota State Insane Asylum Burned,—Seven- teen of the Inmates Caught in the Building.— Weather was Intensely Cold. One of the most horrifying fires in the history of the country occurred Sunday morning at 2 o’clock at the state insane asylum at Yankton, S. D., when one of the cottages took fire in the basement, com- | pletely gutting the building and causing | the loss of the lives of seventeen inmates confined there. | The cottage was of stone and granite walls with wooden interior and intended for laundry purposes, but owing to the crowded condition of the main building forty of the female patients were placed there and the laundry was operated in the basement. The exact cause of the fire is not known except that it originated in the dry room of the laundry. The burned cottage stands some 300 feet in the rear of the main building. the water tank for fire protection being 100 feet in the rear of the cottage. The steam pipes used for pumping ran from the boilers to the main building through the cottage for heating and then to the artesian well or tank. The intense heat in the burning building caused the pipes to burst shortly after the fire began, leaving the fire hose with only direct pressure from the tank, which was in no way sufficient to quench the flames. Two streams of water were thrown on the building, but did little good. With the thermometer standing at 23 below zero, the inmates who could es- cape came down the narrow flight of stairs in their night clothing and bare feet into the bitter cold and had it not been for the nearness of shelter, the suffering and proba- ble loss of life from freezing would have heen terrible. Fifty-two persons were in the burning building, forty patients and twelve at- tendants. The attendants escaped as did the others who were saved, with none of their personal effects, many losing all that they possessed. Portions of charred remains can be seen in the debris at the bottom of the base- ment. In 1882, the asylum, then a frame building. was destroyed by fire and six lives were lost. Irrigation on a Great Scale. i England is preparing to spend $800,000 I a year for thirty years for the great lake for i irrigating purposes, to be made by dam- ming the Nile. Of the results of this dam- building, Mr. F. C. Penfield speaks thus in the February Century : The Egypt of the map shows more than 400,000 square miles, an expanse nearly seven times as great as New England ; but the practical Egypt—that which produces crops and sustains life—is barely as large as the States of Vermont and Rhode Island taken together. This is the ribbon-like strip of alluvial land bordering the Nile, a few miles wide on each side, and measur- ing not more than 10,500 square miles. The extension planned, and to be complet- ed in the next six or eight years, wholly by irrigation, is no less magnificent in concep- tion than rescuing from the Libyan and Arabian deserts of 2,500 square miles, or twice the area of Rhode Island. This will be exploitation in its truest sense, and its accomplishment will be a verification of the ancient saying that ‘‘Egypt is the Nile and the Nile is Egypt.”’ ‘Asan object-lesson this Egyptain enter- prise should have no more interested obser- vers than in America, especially in Colora- do, Nevada, California, and other States of the West, were the irrigation expert is suc- ceeding the railway-builder as a developer. ——If you want fine work done of every description the WATCHMAN is the place te have it done. Quinine Eaters. An Immense Amount of the Drug is Now Used. It is estimated that during and since the war with Spain over 125,000,000 grains of quinine have been issued to American sol- diers suffering from fever. In some cases men who were in the hospitals were dosed with as much as 300 grains per week, and almost every man in the army took the drug at some period of his service, either for its curative or preventive effect. Yet, as large as these figures are, they are hard- ly as surprising as those for the entire population of the United States. We are a race of quinine eaters and the people of this country consume one-third of the quinine of the world, says the Scientific American. Although such doses as prevailed in Cuba and Porto Rico are seldom taken in the states, there are few people here who do not at some time dur- ing the year quinine in some form or other. The drug is used in the prepara- tion of many patent medicines, tonics, bit- ters, cold cures, ete., even in hair tonics for external application. The official figures of the treasury department show that last year there were imported into the United States 1,539,057.750 grains of quinia. This means a consumption of something like 20 grains for every man, woman and child, as there are practically no exports of this article. For many yearsall the quinine of com- merce came from the wild trees of Peru, but with the present great demand the re- fined product obtained from the wild trees of its native habitat would supply but a small proportion of the world’s require- ments. At the present time two-thirds of the quinine used is produced in Java, an island of the East India archipelago, cor- responding closely in size to Cuba, and having with it many features of soil and climate in common. ' The history of cinchona culture in Java is interesting. For thirty years the Dutch government, which owns Java, was urged to undertake in the island the introduction of this plant from Peru, and finally in 1852, it employed the botanist Hasshar to ex- plore the cinchona forests of Peru. He procured a large number of varieties and took them to Java, where plantations were started, which have succeeded in the ex- tent already indicated. The government of India was not to be behind in the mat- ter, and the cinchona plantations and facto- ries of that region produce now their share of this important drog. The importance of sending trained explorers to find and import new and rave plants is shown in the early efforts of the Indian government to secure cinchona trees. Seven years of gov- ernmental correspondence failed to secure a single living plant of this species, when the government engaged Clement R. Mark- ham to visit the mountains of Peru, at the i risk of his life, and he succeeded in estab- lishing in the British East Indies in a single year 9,732 cinchona trees. Her Feet Frozen. The Freezing Experience of a Father and Daughter. An Italian, named Panquatto, and his danghter had heen visiting relatives at Jersey Shore. Desiring to go to Renovo they boarded a Beech Creek passenger train Saturday morning, with the intention of going to Castanea. By mistake they alighted from the train at Youngdale and started to walk to the city. When they arrived at the water tank, below Lock Haven, the young woman was overcome by the extreme cold and sat down. Here they were found by Road Foreman Welsh, who took the father and daughter into his house and did what he could to lessen their sufferings. When the coal train came along, Panquatto and his daughter were put into the cabin and taken to Lock Haven. By this time the girl began complaining terribly with her feet, and she was carried into the con- fectionery store of Frank Tomaino, where certain remedies were applied. An exami- nation revealed that the young woman’s feet were badly frozen. The father’s one hand was also frozen. - As to the Postoflice. What is the first, second, third and fourth class postoftice? is the question that is fre- quently asked. A first class postoffice is one where the gross receipts are $40,000 and upwards; a second class office is one where the receipts run from $8,000 to $40,000; a third class office is one in which the receipts ran from $1,000 to $8.000; ail other offices are fourth class. Before an office can have a free delivery the receipts must be $10,- 000 or more. The President appoints the first, second and third class postmasters, although he usually sublets the job to the fourth assistant postmaster general. Too Much Salt. A medical journal advises against the excessive use of salt. It is first of all a perversion of taste the condiment destroy- ing the flavor of delicate dishes if too pro- nounced. Furthermore, it is asserted that an excessive use of salt seriously overtaxes the kidneys to remove it, and that many cases of derangement and disease -are due to this excessive use. The salt habit, it is added, is” easily acquired, and persons in- dulging themselves soon reach a point where nothing is palatable that is not strongly impregnated with salt. -——James McCready, a fireman on the Pittsburg and Eastern railroad, who, with his wife and two children, lived at Mahaf- fey, Clearfield county, met a frightful death near that place last Friday. Me- Cready’s engine was crossing the bridge over the West Branch of the Susquehanna and he went out on the tender to get ready to take water at the tank at the end of the bridge, when he slipped and plunged head- long to the solid ice below a distance of seventy feet. He only lived a short time after hisawful drop. He was aged 28 years. Back to Klondike for More Gold. Not satisfied with claims worth over a quarter of a million dollars, Nathan Kresky, a returned Klondiker, of Stroudsburg, has packed up his clothes and left for the gold regions. Kresky’s success at gold digging has been most remarkable. He arrived at Dawson City on May 20th, 1897, and a year later was back home with a fortune. Another of the Mcanest Men. The meanest man on earth has heen found. He sold his son-in-law a half in- terest in a cow, and insisted it was the front half sold, calmly appropriating all milk, while he forces the young man to feed and water the cow twice a day. The cow recently hooked the old man and he is now suing the son-in-law for damages. When the rising bell is ringing, Though the world is wrap d in frost, ° Plunge at once from 'neath the covers— He who hesitates is lost. ~—Chicago Record. Quiet at Manila. All Quiet Along the Entire Line Saturday.—After 8ix Days’ Fighting.—Insurgents Known to Have Lost 2,500 in Killed. —They Fought to the Last. —Our Loss Placed at Sixty-five Dead and 257 Wounded—Twenty Villages Have Been Captured or Surrendered.—Cablegrams From General Otis. MANILA, February 12.—4.50 p. m.—In Manila the inhabitants have generally re- covered from the alarm occasioned by the fear of a native uprising and are resuming their ordinary business. The shipping in- terests are naturally suffering, since there have heen no clearances for Philippine ports within a week, but on the other hand foreign shipping has increased, especially for Hong Kong, every steamer bound thither being crowded with timid refugees. Despite, however, this guietude, many are asking whether the problem is not still far from solution. A week ago those who took an optimistic view predicted that the terrible lesson just administered to the rebels would settle the question of Filipino independence in short order. But this pre- diction has not been fulfilled. Asa mat- ter of fact the rebels are now scattered throughout the country, bush-whacking, except at Malabon, where they are gath- ered in force. Even there their methods savor more of guerrilla than of civilized war- fare, every bush, clump of trees and tree furnishing a cover for their sharpshooters. Unfortunately for miles around the land is covered with bamboo jungle and open spaces are few and far between. This af- fords the natives, who fight better under cover, a distinct advantage. In many places the jungle is so dense that the eye cannot penetrate it, and only by the flashes of their rifles is the whereabouts of the enemy indicated. Under such conditions, it is remarkable that the American casualties should be so few, while the number of dead natives found in the brush after every skirmish testifies to the precision of our fire. Last week there was not a single day without fighting, but the Americans steadily ad- vanced, carrying everything before them and gradually increasing their semi-circle, until now it spreads fan-shaped from four to ten miles around Manila, the works be- ing the most distant point. It is now known that the Filipino loss is fully 2,500 killed, with wounded vastly in excess of that number, and thousands are held prisoners. All this has been achieved at the cost of sixty-five Americans killed and 267 wounded. There are two Ameri- cans missing and unaccounted for. No fewer than twenty native villages have surrendered or heen captured. Sev- eral have been destroyed because their houses harbored men, frequently disguised | in female attire, who shot from windows and roof tops at the American troops. Many rifles and a ton of ammunition have been seized. There has been looting in the outskirts and this has heen in direct violation of the laws. The only incident that has broken the quiet of the day followed the arrival of the German first-class cruiser Kaiserin Augusta. When she saluted Admiral Dewey’s flag- ship a report spread rapidly that the Amer- ican warships were bombarding Maloban. Crowds have visited the scenes of last week's fighting. All the roads from the city were thronged with vehicles. But beyond burned villages and the new mounds in the fields there was little to be seen. A close inspection showed that most of the enemy’s dead had remained at their posts to the last as the bodies were nsually surrounded by empty cartridges, while in the trenches, wherever there was no dead, there was little and often no ammunition. Among the distinguished prisoners cap- tured in Manila since the ontbreak of hos- tilities are Captain A. G. Lscamillo; Ag- uinaldo’s private secretary, Captain E. P. Veraguth, Colonel Martin de Los Reyes and Senor Tomas del Rosario, a member of the so-called Filipino Congress in session at Malolos. A few minor Filipino officials are also in custody. Killed by their Friends. Spanish Shells Aimed at the Merrimac Fell on Morro Castle. Lieut. Hobson tells in the February Cen- tury why it was that the Spanish officers at Morro Castle believed the collier ‘‘Merri- mac’’ to be an armored man-of-war: It was not long before the governor of the Morro came, making me a most cordial visit. He was followed by the colonel commanding the artillery. This officer, af- ter kind salutations, referred to the heavy fire we had withstood so long, and to the gallantry of our fire in return. When I informed him that we had no guns on’ board, Le was utterly incredulous, and seemed to conclude that I was deceiving him, for hereplied: *‘But I know you must have fired, for I was struck myself on the foot, though I was standing away up ahove.”” 1 replied that it must have been a fragment resulting from their own fire; at which the colonel became serious, as though a new and unwelcome thought was passing through his mind. He too had tak- en us for an armored vessel forcing our way through, and what he said about our fire puzzled me. The next time Charette came in, he told me that wounded men were be- ing operated on in the room just above the men’s cell, and that the blood was running down the wall, and had run down the clues of his hammock, so that he had bad to change its position. When I had a chance to speak to him and to the others afterward, they said that both a Spanish sergeant and a Spanish private had told them that the blood came from the men we had wounded —that we bad killed fourteen and wound- ed thirty-seven! In a visit to the Morro after the surrend- er, I was very much puzzled to find fresh gashes and imprints of various sizes in the rear walls, as though it had been attacked only from the sea. Every indication seems to point to the conclusion that the Span- iards firing at the Merrimac had struck their own men across the channel. This was the more to be expected from the hori- zontal fire. Morro, though elevated, was in the line of fire from the Reina Mercedes, whose projectiles, exploding on the Merri- mac, doubtless showed the banks and the rear of Morro beyond. No wonder, then, that they took us for an armored man-of- war. Pater—Do you think you can support a wife? He--With the help of Providence I hope to. Pater — Providence has no rating in Bradstreet’s. ——“T didn’t know you were so sarcastic when I married you.” “Did you not? Possibly you have for- gotten I said, ‘This is so sudden’ when you proposed after four years courtship.’ —The “Buffalo”? has reached Manila and joined Dewey’s fleet. She made the trip in 54 days. Jack—I'm in an awful dilemma. Dick—Engaged to two girls, I suppose? Jack—No; to one.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers