Demoreaic fata. Bellefonte, Pa., Sept. I. 1899. nmmm— LIFE. Sad is our youth, for it is ever going, Crumbling away beneath our very feet; Sad is our life, for onward it is flowing In current unperceived, because <o fleet; Sad are our hopes, for they were sweet in sow- ing— But tares, self-sown, have over-topped the wheat; Sad are our joys, for they were sweet in blow- ing— And still, oh still, their dying breath is sweet; And sweet is youth, although it hath bereft us Of that which made our childhood sweeter still; And sweet is middle life, for it hath left us A nearer good to cure an older ill; And sweeter are all things, when we learn to prize them Nor for their sake, but His who grants them or denies them, —Aubrey De Vere. HIS MAJESTY THE BABY. Until the bus stopped and the old gentle- man entered we had heen a contented and genial company, traveling from a suburb into the city in high good fellowship, and our absolute monarchy was Baby. His mother was evidently the wife of a well doing artisan, a wise looking, capable, bon- nie young woman, and Baby was nota marvel of attire, nor could he be called beautiful. He was dressed after a careful, tidy, comfortable fashion, and he was a clean skinned, healthy child; that is all you would have noticed had you met the two on the street. In a bus where there is nothing to do for 40 minutes except stare into each other’s faces,a baby has the great chance of his life, and this Baby was made to seize it. He was not hungry and there were no pins about his clothes and nobody had made him afraid, and he was by nature a human soul. So he took us in hand one by one till he had reduced us all to a state of de- lighted subjection, to the pretended scan- dal and secret pride of his mother. His first conquest was easy and might have been discounted, for against such an onset there was no power of resistance in the elderly woman opposite—one of the low- er middles, fearfully stout, and of course a grandmother. He simply looked at her— if besmiled, that was thrown in—for, with- out her knowledge, her arms had begun to shape for his reception—so often had chil- dren lain on that ample resting place. ‘‘Bless ’is little ’eart; it do me good to see im.” No one cared to criticise the words, and we remarked to ourselves how the ex- pression changes the countenance. Not heavy and red, far less dull, the proper ad- jective for that face is motherly. The next passenger, just above Grannie, 1s a lady, young and pretty, and a mother. Of course;did you not see her look Baby over as an expert at her sharpest? The mother is conscious of inspection and adjusts a ribbon his majesty had tossed aside, and then she meekly awaited approval. For a moment we were anxious, but that was our foolish- ness, for in half a minute the lady’s face relaxed, and she passed Baby. She leaned forward and asked questions and we over- heard scraps of technical details: “My first —14 months--six teeth--always well.” One was a lady, the other a working wom- an; they had not met before; they were not likely to meet again, but they had forgot- ten strangeness and differences in the com- mon bonds of motherhood. Opposite me a priest was sitting and saying his office, but at this point his eye fell on the mothers, and I thought his lips shaped the words ‘‘Sancta Maria’’ before he went on with the appointed portion. Baby had wearied of inaction and had begun another campaign, and my heart sank, for this time he courted defeat. On the other side of Grannie and within baby’s sphere of influence was a man about whose profession there could be little doubt, even if he bad not had a bag on his knee and were not reading from a parchment docu- ment. After a long and serious considera- tion of the lawyer’s clean, cut shaven blood- less face, Baby leaned forward and tapped gently on the deed, and then, when the keen face looked up in quick inquiry, Baby replied with a smile of roguish intelligence as if to say, ‘‘By the way, that parchment would make an excellent drum; do you mind me— A tune has just come into my head.” The lawyer, of course, drew away the deed and frowned at the insolence of the thing. No he did not—there is a soul in lawyers if you know how to find it—he smiled. Well, it was nota first rate smile, but it was genuine, and the next time he did it better, and afterward it spread all over his face and lighted up his eyes. He had never been exposed in such a genial, irresistable way before, and so he held the drum, and Baby played a variation on ‘‘Rule, Britannia’’ with much spirit, while Grannie appealed for applause. “If he don’t play as weli as the band in Hyde park of a Sunday.” After a well deserved rest of 40 seconds, during which we wagged our heads in won- der, Baby turned his attention to his right hand neighbor and for the balance of the minute, examined her with compassion— an old maid without question, with her disposition written on her thin lips and the hard gray eyes. None of us would care to trifle with her. Will he dare? If he has not! There was the chief stroke of genius, and it deserved success—when, with an ex- pression of unaffected pity he put out his soft dimpled hand gently stroked her cheek, acting as if to say: ‘‘Poor thing, all alone, ’lone, ’lone! I'm so solly, solly, solly so velly, velly, velly solly.”” Did I say that her eyes were tender and true enough to win a man’s heart and keep it, and that her lips spoke of patience and gentleness? If I did not, Irepair my neglect. She must have been a beautiful woman in her youth —no, no, today, just when she inclines her head and Baby strokes her cheek again and cooes. ‘‘Pretty, pretty, pretty, and so velly, velly, velly good.”” Was there not a lovely flush on her cheek ?—oh, the fool of a man that might of had that love! She opens a neat little bag, and as this is public affairs we watched without shame. Quite s0; she is to be away all day and has got a frugal lunch, and—it’s all she can do in re- turn. Perhaps he cannot eat it. I don’t know nor does she. Baby ways are a mys- tery to her; but would he refuse that bis- cuit? Not he; he makes an immense to do over it and shows it to his mother and to all his loyal subjects, and he was ready to be kissed, but she did not like to kiss him. Peace be with thy shy, modest soul! The Christ child come into thine heart! Two passengers on Baby's ieft hand en- dured these escapades with patient and suf- fering dignity. When a boy is profoundly conscious that he is—well, a man, and yet a blind and unfeeling world conspires to treat him as—well, a child—he must pro- tect himself and aszert his position. Which he does to the delight of everybody with any sense of humor, by refusing indignant- ly to be kissed by his mother or sisters in public, by severely checking any natural tendency to enthusiasm about any thing except sport, by allowing it to be under- stood that he has exhausted the last re- maining pleasure and is fairly burned out. Dear boy, and all the time ready to run a mile to see a cavalry regiment drill and tormented by a secret hankering after the zoological gardens. These two had been nice little chaps two years ago and would be manly fellows two years hence. Mean- while they were provoking and required chastisement or regeneration. Baby was to them a ‘‘kid’’ to be treated with con- tempt, and when in the paroxysm of de- light over that folly of alaw paper he had tilted one of the young men’s hats that blase ancient replaced it in position with a bored and weary air. How Baby had tak- en in the situation I cannot guess, but he had his mind on the lads, and suddenly, while they were sustaining an elaborate concern, he flung himself back and crowed —yes, joyfully crowed—with rosy, jocund countenance in the whites of the eyes of the two solemnities. One raised his eye- brows, and the other looked at the roof in despair, but I had hopes, for who could re- sist this bubbling, chortling mirth! One laughed a glad, boyish chuckle, and the other tickles Baby just at the right spot be- low the chin—has a baby at home after all and loves it—declaring aloud that he is a ‘jolly little beggar.”” Those boys are all right. There is a sound heart below the little affectations, and they are going to be men. This outburst of his majesty cheered us all mightily, and a young woman at the top of the bus, catching his eye, waved her hand to him with a happy smile. Brown gloves, size 6}, perhaps 6, much worn, and a jacket also not of yesterday, but every- thing is well made and in perfect taste. Milk white teeth, hazel eyes, Grecian pro- file—what a winsome girl '—and let me see she takes off a glove—yea, is wearing an engagement ring; a lucky fellow, for she must be good with those eyes and that mer- ry smile, A teacher, one guesses, and to- day off, and then the three—her mother, that dear woman with bair turning gray— will go upon the river and come home in the sweet summer evening, full of content. As soon as he gets a rise in the office they will marry, and she will also have her gift, at every woman should. But where am I now?—let that baby bear the blame. ‘We had one vacant place, and that was how he intruded on our peace, but let me make one excuse for him. It isaggravating to stand on the edge of the pavement and wave his umbrella ostentatiously to a bus which passes you and draws up 15 yards ahead, to make your dangerous way along a slippery street with hansoms bent upon your life, to be ordered to ‘hurry up’’ by the impatient conductor and ignominiously hauled on to a moving bus. For an elderly gentleman of military appearance and short temper it was not soothing, and he might have been excused a word or two, but he distinctly exceeded. He insisted in language of great direct- ness and simplicity that the conductor had seen him all the time; that if he didn’t he ought to have been looking; that he (the colonel) was not a fox terrier, to run after a bus in the mud; that the conductor was an impertinent scoundrel and that he would have him dismissed, with other things and words unworthy of even a retired Anglo- Indian. The sympathy of the bus did not go out to him, and when he forced himself in between the lawyer and Grannie, and leaning forward with his hands on his cane glared at us impartially, relations were strained. A cut on his cheek and a bristly white mustache half hiding, half concealing, a cruel mouth, did not commend the new passenger to a peaceable company. Baby regarded the old man with sad attention, and at last he indicated that his fancy is to examine thesilver head of the colonel’s cane. The colonel, after two moments’ hesitation, removes his hands and gives full liberty. On second thoughts he must have got that cut in some stiff fight. Wonder whether he isa V.C. Baby moves the cane back and forward to a march of his own de- vising, the colonel actively assisting. Now I see it ina proper light his mustache is soft and sets off the face excellently. Had it not heen the cut puckering the corner of his upper lip, that would have been a very sweet mouth for a man, or even a woman. Baby is not lifted above ali human weak- nesses—preserve us from perfect people— and he indicates a desire to taste as well as handle that silver. head. The colonel is quite agreeable—the most good natured man you could meet in a day’s journey— but Baby’s guardian objects, and history warns us of the dangers which beset a colli- sion between an absolute monarch and his faithful commons. We are all concerned, but the crisis is safe in the colonel’s hands. He thrusts his hand within the tightly but- toned frock coat and produces a gold hunt- ing watch—crested, did you notice—and— yes, just what every father has done for his baby since watches were invented—he blew; the lid flew open. Baby blew, and the lid flew open faster and farther. ‘‘Reminds me of my boy at that age—killed on fron- tier last year.”” Is much ashamed of this confidence, and we all look unconscious. What a fine, simple old fellow he is. ‘‘Saved up, has he,”’ the colonel is say- ing to the mother, ‘‘to give Baby and you a week at Ramsgate? He’s the right sort, your husband. It’s for Baby, not for you, to get him some folderol, you know. He's done a lot of good to a crusty old chap.” And he passes something from his pocket into the mother’s hand. The conductor had taken in the scene with huge delight and closes it at just the right point. ‘‘Your club, general, just wait till the bus stops. Can you get near the curb, Bill? Now, that’s right; take care sir, plenty of time.”’ The colonel was standing on the broad top step of the Veterans’, smiling and wav- ing his hand, the bus waved back, the con- buctor touched his cap, and Baby danced with sheer joy, since there is no victory like love.—By Ian Maclaren in British Weckly. THE LOST MAN. One evening a man came into a New York French restaurant and, walking through the succession of small rooms, saw only one vacant seat. He sat down opposite a man whose face was hidden behind a newspaper. The waiter brought a bottie of wine and a sar- dine for the newcomer and a roast sparrow for the other man, who now folded his newspaper and dropped it on the floor. Then he looked across at his vis-a-vis, and his hand fell to his side and hung limp. The other man, having poured the thin claret over the lumps of ice in his glass, lifted it to his lips and glanced up over the rim. Then he set the glass down without tasting, spilling a little claret. ‘‘Dalton!’’ he said indistinctly. ‘‘Well, Holloway?’ said the other. “I thought you were dead.’ ‘So I am—so far as you’re concerned. Who’d thought you’d turned up here?” ‘Yes, what lnck! I thought New York was big enough to turn around in without stumbling over some confounded old ac- quaintance.’’ “Old acquaintance—well, that’s pretty cool. However, I shan’t bother you. You needn’t be afraid of me. I’m not go- ing back out there, and if you ever do I'll trouble you to keep a still tongue. You needn’t say you saw me. Understand?” “Oh, yes!’ said the other man. “But I don’t bank much on going hack myself. I'm about sick of this country. I don’t blame you for wanting to keep out, hut, I say, that was a funny thing, you dropping out the way you did. Everybody thinks you're dead or lcco and shut up some- where. They bad no end of a time look- ing for you—dragged the river and took a posse through Sonora town. All the news- papers renovated you into a prominent cit- izen, but I suppose you saw ’em.”’ ‘No, Ididn’t. I was down in Mexico. How long ago did you leave Calif—beg your pardon, I withdraw the question, un- less it happens to be’’— ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter! I left eight months ago. I'm only here for—for—a few days—just passing through.” ‘Yes? [Let's see, its two, three years since I came away. Do you know what that reminds me of? Two hurrying shapes, don’t you know, in ‘No Man’s Land,’ met each other face to face—very awkward sometimes—and bade each other stand.” ‘‘Sounds like footpads,’’ suggested the nervous man. “No; it’s poetry. Well, they asked each other’s name’’— Here the two men looked at one anoth- er, and the nervous man broke into a gig- le. 2 “Exactly. We won’t do that.’ He emptied his glass and set it down. ‘They call this stuff California claret,’ he said. “Look here, don’t you want some news?’’ ‘News?’ The quiet man blinked un- certainly for a moment and then said: ‘‘Yes, I suppose so. What is it?”’ “Well, I meant—you know Sharpless is mayor now. We got him in last year, and it was the biggest fight the town ever saw. Jim Luke got the city attorneyship. He’s in the new city hall with velvet carpets and hand painted spittoons. Oh. the boys are all right. And you wouldn’t know the place. Brick blocks going up every- where and cable cars on Main street.’’ The quiet man began to eat his sparrow and stringy salad. ‘I suppose so,’ he said. ‘‘And say—well, of course it’s none of my business. Isuppose you hear from out there, anyway?’ ‘Not a word,” said the quiet man, ‘‘But go ahead, if you’ve got anything to tell.”’ “Well, it’s only about—confound it!— your wife. Say, Dalton, why in thunder —it’s none of my business, but it’s pretty hard on her.” “She must think dead.” ‘Well, she doesn’t. She’s still looking for you. When they didn’t find you in the river, you know, she had detectives. They combed San Francisco for you.” The quiet man moved uneasily. tectives cost money,’’ he said. ‘‘They do. She’s teaching now in the public schools. The hoys put that through. She gets $95 a month, and that about feeds the five young ones.” “I left her enough. I left her half the money I bad. If I could have fixed it so, she could have got my life insurance’— “Well, why didn’t you? There was the river. Excuse me, old man, but is this any better. ‘‘Oh, yes!’ said Dalton dreamily. I have a quiet life; all day in the library if Ilike. You've no idea what a racket five children can make in a small house. And then out there I never could get the hooks I wanted—The Latinists of the fourth cen- tury, for instance. And then, you know, a woman—a woman who’s fond of you. It explains why the philosophers were monks. But I'm getting pretty close to bedrock,’ he added frowning. “‘I don't like to eat in these places. And to see you here!” ‘Yes, I know,” said Holloway hastily, ‘but I’ve got just enough to take me where I’m going. I pulled out with about $600 —though the boys wouldn’t believe you if you told ’em. I suppose they think I'm living in cotton— Monto Carlo or’’— “Six hundred! Why, you used to have your fist in deep. What’s the matter—Ilost your pull?” : ‘‘Nellie's got it—my wife, you know— that is, all I could pull cut. Say, Dalton, 1 don’t mind telling you—I don’t suppose you'd give me away. and if yon did I—the police—’? ‘“The law can’t touch me,’’ said Dalton. Holloway’s face flushed dully. Perhaps not, but I would’t change places with you. My wife’s living in Europe— been there for a year. She's living well too. She was always crazy to go. She's got enough to make her comfortable for some time and I’m going—well, never mind. D’d do it over again. I tell you, Dalton, for a woman you’re fond of—bhut what’s the use of talking to you? Might as well talk to a Latin grammar. Dalton contemplated his cheese and withered pears and thin coffee resignedly. “If I didn’t have to eat,’’ he said, “I'd be all right. I want few things, God knows.”’ I,” said Holloway under his breath, want only one.””—New York Advertiser. I'm dead—I am “Da- Holding Down all the Jobs. A canvasser for a religious publication entered the yard of a residence in the south- ern part of the city a few days ago. A small wagon in the yard and several war whoops from the rear of the house announc- ed that the family was not out of the city for the summer. A pull at the front door bell brought no response,so he went around to the side porch, where he found a small boy with his face smeared with jam mak- ing a pyramid with lumps of loaf sugar. ‘‘Anyone at home?’’ asked the can- vasser. : “Me.” ‘‘No one else?” ‘Nop. Papa went to the store an’ left me wif marmer. Marmer went up ve street an’ left me wif nurse. Nurse's aunt died an’ she left me wif ze cook. Cook jus’ runned up ze alley to see her frenz an’ I’s got everysing to see after, an’ it’s all right.”’ The canvasser felt that the sunshine of his paper was not needed in that family, and he went his way. Fatally Bitten While in the Field. Mrs. Messimer, wife of Col. Merit M. Messimer, of Pottstown, is lying critically ill with blood poison, which re- sulted from the sting of some insect or reptile while waiking through a field near the Falls of French Creek last week. She suffers terrible pain and will not likely recover. Solid Walls of Wheat. Five Thousand Acres of Golden Grain on one Ranch | John I. Blair, the Multi-Millionaire, Celebrated His | in Oklahoma. | Oklahoma’s largest wheat field lies a few | miles west of the small railway station of Bliss, in Kay county. It contains 5,000 ! acres, and belongs to the noted ranch “101°” | The day was observed as a time of rejoicing | which coutrols 15,000 acres of land leased |in the town which Mr. from the Ponce Indians. Two hundred | founded, which bears his name and of Jersey’s Wealthiest Man. ! i i 97th Birthday—His Remarkable Career. | | John I. Blair, New Jersey's aged multi- | millionaire, whose home is in Blairstown, | celebrated his 97th, birthday last week. | Blair's money | men, more than 300 mules and horses and | which he is the chief financial support. twenty-four big twine binders were em- | The merchants of the town closed their ployed in cutting and shocking the grain | places of business and a general holiday | . was enjoyed by the residents. grown on this magnificent field this year, and it was not until last Sunday, with an army of laborers working night and day for ten days, that the last acre was har- vested. Every principle of geod farming was ob- served in cultivating this big field, with the result that the total output will not be | less than 100,000 bushels of as good wheat as can be found in Oklahoma. It is esti- mated that the average acre yield will he from 20 te 25 bushels. There are many acres that will run from 40 to 50 bushels. Buyers have already offered 60 cents a bushel for the entire crop. It is probable that the owners will get from 60 to 70 cents, a gross sum of $65,000 or $70,000. The cost of producing this wheat and put- ting it on board cars will be 25 cents a bushel, leaving a net profit of about $35,- 000. Wheat was king in the Strip last week, and its importance eclipses everything else on ranch ‘“101.” Numerically, a 5,000 acre wheat field is not very impressive. To ride over it, however, in blazing sunshine is to give rise to the feeling that it covers the face of the earth. The 5,000 acres of wheat on ranch ‘101°’ are divided into two fields of almost equal size by the Salt Fork river, a stream that pours down a large volume of water at this time of year. Great yellow undulations of grain swept along- side the river and then away toward the distant hills, until they seemed to reach the sky. It wasso far across the fields that the shocks look like a solid wall of wheat. In the field on the south side of the river the first circuit with a binder was made by superintendent Miller. ‘There was not a man who could guess how long it would take me to make the round, ’’ said he, ‘‘I piled a supply of twine on my binder, and started. It was almost dinner time when I got back. I was gone four hours, and traveled six miles.” The distances are so great on the ranch that it is impossible for the men to turn in at one place for the meals. The loss of time would amount to hundreds of dollars in a season. Accordingly, camps are es- tablished at different places, generally close to a stream, where the men live in tents and the meals are prepared by ranch cooks. Some Busy Animals. Do Everything from Stealing Chickens to ing Homes. Build The fox is a dealer in poultry, but he is nothing more or less than a thief. Fat ducks and chickens are his delight, and a plump rabbit comes next best. The otter and the heron are fishermen. The otter is not often seen, for he carries on bis work mostly under the water, but the heron stands with his long, thin legs in the water, waiting until a fish comes by Then a sudden plunge with his long, sharp bill and the poor fish is brought up and swallowed. The ants are the busiest of all. Catch an ant asleep in the daytime if you can. They are always in earnest at their work, building their underground homes and lay- ing up stores of food for the long winter. The swallow is a fly catcher, and skims low over the surface of the little streams. It takes a great many flies to feed him for just one day, and he is forever at work. The beaver is a wood cutter, a builder and a mason. It cuts down the small trees with its teeth, and after it has built its house, it plasters it with its tail. The snail, too, is a builder, but it takes the material for its house from its own body. It is so anxious to begin work that it commences to build its house before it is even hatched. The mole that burrows under the ground makes a little fort under the earth from which it tunnels in every direction, and it makes such clever paths that it can run from one to the other and can scarcely be caught. The bees do not all live in hives or tree trunks. The mason bee digs a hole in the brick wall, and lines it with clay. In this nest it lays two eggs and closes it up. The miner bee bores long holes in the sand banks, and the carpenter bees bore their tunnels in wood. The upholsterer bee lines his nest with poppy leaves. The rose Ieaf cutter takes a leaf between its jaws, be- gins near the stalk and cuts out a circle of just the right size and as perfect as could be marked with a compass. With these cir- cles of fragrant rose leaves it divides its round hole in the wall into little cells. Politieai Rivals. “My left leg,”’ said the candidate for sheriff, ‘*was shot off in the civil war, and to-day, my friends, the bones of that leg are bleaching in the valleys of Virginia! What can my opponent say to that? I pause for a reply.” ‘I cansay lots to that, fellow citizens,’ said the rival candidate, as he mounted the stump. ‘I bad the rheumatism when the war broke out, but I hired three men to go and fight for me. Each man of them had his right leg shot off, and to-day—yes, to- day—the bones of those three right legs— and not one of them was as bow-legged as my friend is—are bleaching on the plains of Tennessee!’’ Still Branching Out. The Berwind-White coal company is buying from 4,500 to 9,000 acres of coal lands from some thirty prominent farmers in Conemaugh township, Somerset county. The deal has been in progress for some time and part of the sellers have received their money from the coal company, while others are expected to transfer their prop- erty to the corporation within the next sixty days. The price paid per acre is $18. The land lies in the vicinity of Davids- ville, Tire Hill and Benscreek. Freight Train Riders to be Fined. The Pennsylvania railroad and the Phil- adelphia and Reading railway companies have decided to make an effort to put a stop to illegal car riding, and to do the work more effectually have asked the police- men along their lines to co-operate with the railroad officers in this move. Every illegal rider will be heavily fined, and if he cannot pay he will be punished by im- prisonment. ——A school boy’s essay about hornets paid this compliment to that inflammable bug: ‘‘One way a hornet shows his smart- ness is by attending his own business, and making everybody who interferes with him wish he had done the same thing.” | Notwithstanding the weight of nearly a | century, which bas somewhat howed the | figure of the wealthy old man and whicen- | ed the head which has planned the way to | millions, the years have dealt gently with him, and he is still healthy and strong in mind. His life has heen a philanthropic | one, and he has given many thousands to | the education of young people. The | academy which bears his name at Blairs- | town was founded and is supported by him. | He has also built several buildings at La- fayette college and Princeton university. Mr. Blair lives modestly in a neat but inexpensive home on a hill overlcoking the | Delaware. It is to his regular habits that he attributes his longevity, and from all | appearances there is no reason why he! should not live to reach the century mark. | | The romance of Mr. Blairs life began in | 1302 on a farm two miles below Belvidere, | N. J., on the banks of the Delaware. One | would not look to see a man carve out a fortune of $60,000,000 in a sylvan neigh- borhood. But the opportunity was there. It is there to-day. All that it needed was the man. He came of Scotch stock. He loved to talk about the ancestors who ‘‘tought for the Covenant.”’ Rev. John Blair, his namesake, who was a cousin of his great-grandfather, was one of those wuo obtained from Gov. Belcher a charter for Princeton college, now New Jersey’s fine university. In time the Blairs, who were born natural money mak- ers, became connected with the famous Ox- ford furnace, founded by William Penn’s friend, Robeson, and the father of John I. Blair was sent down to the banks of the Delaware near the close of the last century to superintend the shipping of iron bars made at the old furnace. There John I. was born, one of 11 chil- dren. The family were living in Beaver Creek when an event of great importance happen- ed to the future railroad king. He earned his first dollar. Dearly he loved to tell about it. He was 8 years old and as poor as a church mouse. He went into the woods and set traps for rabbits and muskrats. These he skinned, and ;when he had got a load of pelts he walked over the hills to Easton 20 miles away, and sold them for that dollar. Before he was 12 years old a cousin, who had a village store in Hope, sent for him to become his clerk. Blair went and for several years he clerked with eminent suc- cess. He not only gave satisfaction to his employer, but he was able to turn little bargains for himself, and soon had money in the bank. Then his cousin and himself opened a store at Bulls Bridge. That is the Blairstown of to-day, the town that John I. Blair owns in fee simple. It was then a cross roads in a semi-wilderness. But out of the wilderness he carved success. Farmers and woodsmen came miles to trade in Blair’s store. When he was yet so young that he did not like to tell his age, Blair became a commanding personality in the district. He got the office of postmaster. He estab- lished branch stores in the country round about and brought his numerous brothers from the farm to take charge of them. Some of his brothers were also shrewd fel- lows and became highly successful, but none had the genius of John I. He saw money in banking and establish- ed the Belvidere bank, of which he has been president or vice president for 60 years. He bought a cotton mill at a low figure and turned a financial failure into a success. He bought a cargo of damaged cotton that was in the hold of a steamship and made $15,000 by the operation. He had examined the cotton secretly and found it was not so badly damaged as was thought. Then he went into the produce business. He obtained control of nearly all the pro- duce raised in the county where he lived and sent it to market at a handsome pro- fit. He ran four flour mills. He bought and sold real estate. He dropped the re- tail business and went into the wholesale. He sent wagons into the sparsely settled country, where they exchanged manufac- tured goods for rich produce or money. By this time he was rich, but his in stinets kept him moving. He had buisness enough on his hands to send an ordinary man to the insane asylum, but it did not worry him in the least. He/was constant- ly looking around for new opportunities. He saw one. It was coal. He bought shares in the Scranton Coal and Iron company, and paid for experi- ments for making iron with anthracite coal. They were successful, and before long the company could not begin to supply the de- mand for rails from the mnilroad. This turned his attention to railroads. He went to work to secur¢ a charter for a railroad trom Scranton tg Great Bend. He got it and the road wasbuilt. It was called Leggett’s railroad. But from that infant sprang the giant of t¢-day, the great Delaware, Lackawanna and, Western, with its wealth of coal and its fine passenger business. From Lackawanna to Tow, Oakes Ames and the Union Pacific, these were the strides he made. [he Omaha ex- tension, the Sioux City an{ Pacific and a dozen other roads he builtiand helped to manage. At one time he wis president of 20 railroads and improvemet companies in the West. His foresight, ldustry, ambi- tion and enterprise went hand in hand. His success was phenomena. It was not until Mr. Jair went into politics that he tasted the Btterness of fail- ure. In 1866 his friends pksuaded him to run for Governor. He sg@gnt about $60,- 000 in the campaign and wg defeated. Af- ter that he swore off from He made money for hif own pleasure. He spent it for the pleasur@of others. has always been of a philajthropic nature, and a generous friend of bducation, has given more than half to Blair college. He gav Princeton and Lafayett Grinnell college, Iowa, whi it was blown down by a cyclone. Hundeds of other in- stitutions have been helped by him. Mir Blair is a widower, yith two living children. His daughter parried Charles Scribner, head of the publihiug house. from Iowa to 90,000 each to He rebuilt mt ——Nell—1I suppose youll be surprised to learn that Jack propeed to me last night. Belle—Yes, indeed. threatened to do something desperate vhen I refused i says the Pittsburg Post. | a trifle taller. | the girl’s. tember. 000, which, except a few small bequests, is given to Mrs. Newman to use during her life. The American Boy and Girl. We have been furnished with an elabo- rate study of school children made in Washington, D. C., by Arthur MacDonald | to ascertain whether hy careful measure- { ments of weight. height, ete., at various ages useful indications may be obtained Sonie interesting facts are exhibited. It is shown again for example, that from the age of 11 to 15 girls are taller and heavier than boys, but at no other time. After 15 the boys leave the | girls behind and the latter never regain their advantage. At 6 the average boy and girl measure about 45 inches, the hoy being At 11 they are both about 53 inches tall. At 13 the girl is over an inch taller, but at 17, when the girl has reached a height of 62 inches, the hoy has | gone to 66 inches. So of weight. At 7, boy and girl average 45 to 47 pounds respectively, and the boy is heavier till the age of 10 or 12 is reach- ed. At this time each weighs about 70 1bs. At 14 when the ayerage boy weighs 85, the girl weighs 91, but at 15 the boy begins to catch up, and at 17 weighs 123, while the girl weighs but 111. As respects height when sitting the smail boy is higher at all ages till about 12, but at 14 the sitting height of the girl is an inch greater than that of the boy. Eighteen months later the advantage is lost and at 17 the average boy’s sitting height is an inch more than The girl continues growing in sitting height, or length of trunk, longer than in length of limbs. Boys of the non- laboring classes have at all ages a greater height and sitting height than those of the laboring classes. Similarly boys of the non- laboring class are heavier at all ages, except 7, than boys of the laboring class, he differ-- ence increasing after 13. The satme is tru of girls, except that girls of the laboring class begin to be the heavier after 15. American boys excel foreign boys in height, but are inferior in weight. White boys are taller than colored boys. Girls maintain the average of brightness for girls more steadily than do boys—boys have a higher percentage of dullness. Unruliness is shown to be connected with dullness. The highest percentage of unruliness is shown by the dull boys—some ten per cent of the dull boys are unruly. Boys of the non-laboring class are the more unruly. These and other like curious facts are brought out in Mr. MacDonald’s entertain- ing paper. Their meaning is not obvious at first, but ultimately they will afford indi- cations useful to the teacher. Woman’s Patience Overdone. In New York a woman was recently re- leased from prison who asserted her own guilt of a theft committed by her husband, and served a term in the penitentiary in his stead. After she was released she worked hard to support him while he lived in idleness. In return he treated her abominably, beating and abusing her cruelly. After enduring this for twelve years she at length had him arrested, but still declares she loves him. This is the old story of a man’s brutality and a woman’s weakness—the dog-like de- votion to her ‘‘lord and master’”’ and gave rise to the old adage: A woman, a dog, and a walnut tree, The more you beat them the better they be. Generally, in such cases, while the man is condemned the woman is praised for her self-sacrifice and the persistence of her love. Yet, though the man was undoubtedly a brute, there is nothing admirable in the conduct of the woman. She simply en- couraged and increased the baseness of her own folly. The whole occurrence is representative of the old relation of woman to man, when the only object of her existence was to win his favor. This idea can be traced to the time when women were scarcely ranked as hu- man beings—when, indeed, it was much discussed whether or not they had souls. Then men were taught to worship God, but women were taught to look up in adora- tion to men. The husband practically took the place of God to his wife, and every sacrifice for his sake was considered no- ble. This doctrine in its extreme form is no longer promulgated, but relics of its influ- ence remain. We still find women whose only standard of duty is to win the approval of their husbands. This is most injurious to man’s moral na- ture. The fact that he will not lose the love of the woman under any circumstances deprives him of a powerful incentive to noble conduct. The woman whose love is to be commend- ed is faithful through misfortune, poverty or sickness; she understands and condones the faults, failings and even sins that some- times overwhelm even the best of men in moments of weakness. But she knows that no love is worth having that has not its foundation in respect for her, and does not manifest itself in continual efforts to rise to higher levels. A man will endeavor to be worthy of such a woman, and her love will be an en- nobling and uplifting influence in his life. Bugs Greased the Tracks. A Double Trolley Wreck Caused by Potato Pests.— Made the Car Wheels Slip. Potato bugs Wednesday night caused a double wreck on the Lehigh Valley traction system and the serious injury of motorman Henry C. Weibel. A car in charge of Weibel was on its way to Copley, and passed through a section of country where myriads of potato bugs had invaded the track, and had been mashed to a pulp on the rails. The latter was rend- ered extremely slippery by the mass of ‘potato bug mash,’ and caused Weibel’s car to run away. At the base of the hill the car was derailed and ran into a fence, seriously injuring Motorman Weibel. Soon after, another car that came to Weibel’s assistance ran away on account of the potato bugs, and dashed into the de- railed car. The passengers of the collid- ing car were badly shaken up, and both cars were wrecked. Motorman Weibel has seen all kinds of hard luck since he donned a uniform. Three years ago he was struck by light- ning and was nearly killed. Later he was the victim of a number of minor mishaps. But a month ago he was struck in the ab- domen by a flying brake handle, and was badly hurt. Last week he resumed work, but a day or two after he ran over a man and cut off his leg. Weibel served in the war with Spain. Bishop Newman’s Estate. Amounts to About $50,000 and Ultimately Will Go to Drew Seminary. The will of the late Bishop John P. New- man of the Methodist Episcopal church will be presented for probate early in Sep- It disposes of an estate of $50,- At her death it will go to the Drew him, but I didn’t think hémeant it. Theological Seminary in its entirety. -
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers