Demers ald Bellefonte, Pa., Sept. 29. 1899. EE ET SAR. WHEN LIGHTS ARE LOW. The rooms are hushed, the lights are low I sit and listen to the wind That comes from out the distant hill. It comes and croons in an undertone Of alien region vast and lone, Of pleasures lost in a land nnknown Then steals away and all is still. *Tis good to listen to the wind When rooms are hushed and lights are low. When those we love have come and gone, Tis weary to be left behind— To miss sweet eyes where late they shone To look for what we may not find, Long cherished forms that haunt the mind., Soft voices that were once too kind; To live and miss them one by one Is weary work. Who'd stay behind When those we love have come and gone ? —New York Times. THE BRIDE OF THE PASTOR EMERITUS. It was right in the swelter of the hottest spell for years when the pastor emeritus died. Most of us, without saying so, thought it distinctly unkind of him to im- pose the necessity of a funeral in such weather, putting so many good people to inconvenience aud discomfort. But, at any rate, he was dead—dead in the fullness of years, dead in the ripeness of a life that was clean, pure and sweet. The day was certainly hot. People came into the beautiful church gasping and grambling, sank in their pews, and, with all reverence, devoutly wished it were soon over, and they might get back to the coun- try, the mountains and the seashore. The handsome pastor was a martyr in his hot clerical belongings; in spite of an electric fan cleverly concealed in the alcove, it grew hotter all the time. “Of course somebody from our family bad to come,’’ the girl with the blue hat was whispering to the girl in the pink waist, ‘‘and as usual, they put it all on me. They wanted papa for one of the pall-bearers, but that was out of the ques- tion, don’t you know. He is too feeble.” “I heard they had a lot of trouble get- ting enough men to act as pall-bearers,”’ said the girl in the pink waist. ‘‘No wonder. Just think of the weath- er! Did you ever feel such a hot day ?”’ ‘“‘Never. It is perfectly awful !”’ I hope they will get through so that I ‘can take the twelve o’clock train. You will run back to the mountains on the ex- press, of course. It is hard to bring us to the city on such a day, but of course he couldn’t helpit. And the Doctor was such a dear, good man. Honestly, I believe if one of our family had not come to the fun- eral, mamma would be afraid to go to Heaven. He baptized all of us, married most of us, and buried a few of us, and we have a queer feeling about him.”’ “It was the same in our family. He was more to us than the physician.” *‘It seems to have been the same in most of the families. I never heard of any of our set that he didn’t either marry or bap- tize. Pa used to tell the Doctor that he be- lieved he married Adam and Eve.” ‘Yes; and don’t you remember that one week he got over a thousand dollars in wedding fees ?”’ ‘‘Yes, and gave every cent of it away. Pa used to tell the Doctor that he didn’t know the value of money, and I’v heard the old Doctor reply that the only way to make a dollar useful was to keep it mov- ing; and no matter how much they gave him he was always poor.’ ‘‘He did a lot of good. We know of cases where he was a real angel. You re- member late one afternoon a family was reported to our Help Society, but we were all tired out, and it was too late to do any- thing? That night the old Doctor held a reception, and somebody mentioned the case casually to him. Well, don’t you know, when the reception was over, and everybody had gone, the old Doctor disap- peared, and didn’t get back until two o'clock in the morning. He walked two miles, found the house, waked up a grocer, and had those people comfortable before he left them. My, it made us all feel asham- ed of ourselves !”’ Hak ‘‘Gracious, it gets hotter every minute ! Behold the dominie in the pulpit. He looks like Niobe—all perspiration. By the by, did you ever hear the old' Doctor’s ro- mance ?”’ ‘Well, this is the real story. Papa— vou know he and the Doctor were life-long friends—told it to us for the first time last night. Death, he said, unsealed his lips. He had told it to mamma before, but to the rest of us it was all new. The old Doctor was in love. He fell in love when he came here as a young clergyman. ‘The church was small then—it was be- for he built it up—and it had no paid choir, nor any of the modern fixings. But in the unpaid choir was a girl—one of those slim, queer things —with a wonder- ful voice, and the young pastor fell in love with her and she with him. But they were too poor to marry, and she was too poor to wait, and so she began to use her voice to support herself and her mother. ‘‘Soon, as such things go, she was sing- ing in concerts in halls and places, and was making a great deal of money. Her voice was simply wonderful—a high, clear, Heavenly kind of music that just took hold of people’s souls. The papers were full of her, and her picture was everywhere. And all the time she was such a furore the young pastor was working and building up this church. One day she came back, and went to papa and ask for a confidential in- terview, and then she told him everything —how she loved the pastor, how he loved her and importuned her to marry him, for the church was growing, and he could now support a wife; and how she was doubtful, because she was afraid the publicity of her name might make her marriage interfere with his work, and how she would rather sacrifice herself than injure his ministry. “Well, it was hard lines for poor old papa, but he is a conscientious old thing, who says what he thinks, and he told her what he thought, and she thanked him and left. Papa said he felt as if he had com- mitted a murder when he saw her go out of the room.” ‘‘Yes I heard from grandma that he had a love who would not marry him. But I did not know it was as romantic as all that. I wonder what ever became of her?” ‘Rich and retired, I believe. and living quietly in the city somewhere.” The last comers were taking their seats, and, just before the services began, a slen- der figure, enveloped inmourning, crept up the aisle, and sank into a pew near the front. wx It was a peculiar service. When the idea of placing an organ in the church was first proposed by the young minister, many years before this funeral, there was a great protest, but patiently and kindly the young man had won his way, and good music had helped as much to fill the pews as the clergyman’s preaching. There was a marvelous organist in those early days, and he was greatly devoted to the young preacher. In decades that had passed the organist had grown bent and deaf, but his love for the minister lived, and when he read of his death he asked that be might be allowed to play tbe pastor’s favorite hymn at the funeral. And he was at the organ, loving it for what it was, just as he would a sweetheart—loving it more for the sweet consolation it might give, just as he could a wife. ® 3% The lady who was to sing the solo had come, at great personal sacrifice, in compli- ment to the doyen of the church which she served, but the heat in the choir loft was particularly stifling, and her corpulence was a handicap. She fanned to the limit of her energy, and the more she fanned the warmer she grew; but she was faithful to her duty, and the people gave to her any pity that they had left after pitying them- selves. I had no idea of bringing myself into this plain narrative, but it has been my lot, in my three score years or more, to at- tend funerals in churches, of many denom- inations, and, now that the services have begun, the same curious feeling comes over me. As an old-fashioned physician, I know that my part ends at the death-bed, but it has been interesting to observe that, through all the last sad rites, a similar sentiment runs. I have heard the services of the Protes- tant Episcopal and Catholic, of Presbyte- rian and Methodist, of Lutheran and Quaker, of almost all, in fact, and in each of them, whether the noble dignity of the Protestant Episcopal, the wonderful high mass of the Catholic, or the impressive simplicity of the Methodist, or the different excellences of any and all, one thought has always come to me: How blindly we do these reverent actions for the dead, when our whole religion teaches us that they have awakened into a knowledge as far be- yond our real knowing as Heaven is from the earth. Faith bridges the distance. you say, and 80, indeed, it does, but I cannot get away from my thought, and perhaps that is why I was so drawn to the young clergyman, who, in his address, said that no words of his could add to the sermon of such a life, no tribute of earth could increase the glory of that Heavenly awakening. Then he told simply the story of the man who had given his life to the church and his fellow-men; who, in the very excess of his goodness and charity, had never been able to understand meanness nor to feel Tesentment toward ingratitude. It was al- together worthy of the young man, and, under the circumstances of the heat and the desire of everyone to get away, it was really wonderful how well he held the at- tention of the congregation. * There came in goed time the hymn of the pastor emeritus. We saw that the so- prano was trying to force herself up to the ordeal, and we wondered if she could get through. The heat was worse than ever. Henry Moller, the old organist, trembled to the seat, and, closing his eyes, saw the favorite hymn of his friend, the pastor emeritus, stretched before him in ascending notes from earth to Heaven. His fingers touched the keys, and there came a sound of music, rich, gentle, worshipful, with the soul of the musician and the heart of the friend playing together. It touched us all, and it nerved the soprano for her ef- fort. She arose and put her full strength in the first verse. It was sung well, but the effort in it was direful, and I, at least, was not surprised that when the last line of the verse was concluded she moved her head from side to side to say that she could go no further, and sat down. I started to the loft, but when I saw her fanning I knew that she had not fainted, and resumed my seat. * 4% Then occurred the strangest thing I have ever seen at any funeral. Old Moller, being deaf and lost to every- thing save;the hymn of his dead friend, kept on playing as if nothing had happened. The interlude was almost over, and the congregation saw that the soprano would attempt nothing further, so we waited for Moller to finish the instrumental perform- ance, without a voice to sing the words. But suddenly there arose in the middle of the church a figure dressed in deep mourning. She quickly threw back her heavy veil, and we saw a face of infinite sweetness, old and with wrinkles, but an- gelic ip its softness, purity and beauty— the face that was the mirror to a lovely life, and a clean, loving heart; a face that once seen, was never to be forgotten. And I had seen it in its earlier years. As the note of the verse was struck there came forth a molody that filled the church and thrilled our hearts. True music is al- ways intoxicating, but the peculiar sweet- ness of the voice and the sympathetic vi- bration in each tone had a powerful effect amidst these surroundings and under these circumstances. Women forgot to fan, and men bent forward, and children gazed wonderingly. The voice rose and fell in perfect caden- ces, the very fullness of sympathy and in- spiration. The verse sung, she stood with clasped hands and waited for the second, and old Moller played on, oblivious to all save the organ and the hymn of his friend. As the song proceeded, the beauty of it, the intense interest of it, flowered into an indescribable glory. The hearts were sing- ing. The souls were singing. Heaven itself was singing. Rt There are on record several notable instances where the singing voice was re- turned in old age and under intense ex- citement, but, as far as I could remember, the reaction generally meant collapse and sudden death. I was in the pew just back of the singer, and, without being per- ceived, I moved so as to be near her if she fainted. But she did not faint. When she finished the hymn, she half sat, half sank down in the pew, and quickly re- placed the veil. I could not help bending forward and saying: “I am Dr. Thomas Amhers—Tom Am- bers you used to know. Can I do anything for you?” “No,” “‘Shall I escort you out after the serv- ice ?”’ It was as I thought. Her nerve was good for all the funeral. The manner in which she uttered the monosyllables showed that. %*.% “Well, do you see that ?’’ exclaimed the girl with the blue hat to the girl in the pink waist. ‘‘Old Doctor Ambers taking her out before the procession. He’s a per- fect old nuisance. He always was. I would have give anything to see her; now we can’t, because if we goto the cemetery we’ll miss our trains.” “It is fearfully exasperating, isn’t it?’ ‘Yes, and I heard old Doctor Ambers used to be in love with her, too. And I half believe he is vet. Wasn’t her voice beautiful ? And it was all so odd.” “Lovely. I would not have missed it for the world. Do you expect to catch the 12 o’clock train ?”’ “If I live through the heat. Isn't it killing 2” ‘Perfectly frightful 1” * Just before the services were over she had turned to me and said, ‘Please take me out.’”” I knew what she meant. She wanted to escape the crowd. When we reached the street I called one of the few carriages, and, placing her in it, got in myself and closed the curtains. She sank back, saying nothing for a time, but presently speaking very gently: ‘Thank you my good friend, thank you! God made me do it! God did it! Blessed be His name!"”’ ‘‘Blessed be His name!’” I repeated, not knowing what else to say, it being no time or place for compliments on her singing. Nothing more was ver said on this sub- ject by either of us. There weregvery few persons at the grave, and the heat was al- most intolerable. We drove back without many words. When we reached her boarding house she asked that the young preacher come to see her as soon as pos- sible. Late in the afternoon he was in my'of- fice. ‘‘Doctor,’’ he said, ‘‘this is so extra- ordinary that I seem to be moving in a dream. The incident at the church was strange enough, but stranger things have come and I want your advice. She says she expects to die soon, and she wants to be buried near him, and I don’t know what to do. How could I explain the two graves in the lot ? ‘‘No explanation necessary,’”’ I replied. ‘‘What does the living world care for worn out preachers, or—worn out doctors? We save their souls and save their lives, and then they forget us. A doctor may spend a life time in doing good to others, hut let him stop a year, and he had just as well dry up and be blown away. And a pastor emeritus, with no relatives to place flowers upon his grave, will not he disturbed by the memories of the world. Tell her yes.” Lh * It was a more comfertable day when we next visited the lot—the young preacher and I—and we lingered there until the men who filled the grave had followed the hearse and the attendants around the bend of the road. Then, with uncovered head, the young preacher stood by the graves, and with closed eyes repeated something to himself. ‘You were saying the marriage service,’’ I said as we started to go. ‘‘She asked me to do it,”” he replied, “but why I do not know, for are they not together in Heaven." And as we walked on I heard him say- ing, ‘God is love, and Love is God. How wonderful is love!” “At least,”” I said, thinking of the graves, ‘‘I was best man.”’—Lynn Roby Meekins in Saturday Evening Post. Cows Go on a Big Spree. Eat Up An Apple Orchard. and Get as Drynk as Sailors. Like all placid animals, the cow is a terror when in her cups, says the New York Journal. In such condition she has been known to kick over her favorite milk maid and gore the watch dog into mince meat. No wise farmer dares to fool with an in- ebriated cow in cider time. Twenty-eight Connecticut cows helong- ing to Hardenhergh brothers, of Canaan, got into an orchard on Wednesday and be- gan eating the apples. “‘Darn if these aint better than grass,” exclaimed the leader of the herd as she staggered around the trees, looking for more fruit. Seeing the horrible way in which this old and experienced milcher was affected, the younger cows were for beating a re- treat, but the apples were so good that they lingered, and that was their undoing. When farmer Hardenbergh’s daughter Mary went to drive the cattle home they were still busy converting the fruit into applejack and hard cider. The young cows were pretty jolly, but the old ones staggered about like drunken men. Miss Mary, however, soon brought them to their senses, and the whole twenty-eight started for home with a reckless, jolting motion. As they went the apples began to get in their fine work. In the old cows the ap- ple precipitated a remarkably fine brand of applejack, which made them positively crazy. With the younger cows the apples gave off a kindly hard cider, which in its effects, however, was just as bad. The whole herd started ont ona wild run for the farm, leaving Miss Mary breath- less and astonished at the road side. Farmer Hardenbergh. was smoking his pipe in the front yard when his attention was attracted by a great cloud of dust down theroad. It looked like a small cyclone, with a deep red centre. He ran into the house for his gun in order to dissipate the tornado and save the farm, but before he could get back the cows had arrived. They swept by him likean express train, and, dashing into the farm yard, brought up with a fearful shock against the barn, which shook to its foundations. Twenty chickens which had been fooling around were instantly killed, and the farmer’s favorite dog was trampled to death. Fortu- nately no farm hands were about, or they, too, must have perished. Miss Mary, who arrived breathless at this moment, told her father where she had found the cows, and he at once knew that they were drunk. He immediately locked them in the cow yard and warned all hands to keep away until they had sobered up. The cows were pretty ugly by this time, principally because they could find no more apples. They began to fight among themselves, and the air trembled with their fierce mooings. The cow yard was like a shamble. They tossed the body of the dead dog from one to another like a foot ball. The end came at last, however, a one by one they reeled over and went to sleep. $300,000 Given to Dartmouth, Three hundred thousand dollars was transferred on Tuesday to the trustees of Dartmouth college, Hanover, N. H., as a gift of Edward Tuck, of New York, as a memorial of his father, Amos Tuck, at one time a trustee of the college. Mr. Tuck is a retired merchant of New York, and was once vice consul of this country at Paris. This gift will be known as the Amos Tuck Endownment Fund, and its annual income, which at present is $12,000, is to be appli- ed exclusively to the purposes of instruc- tion. s—— Texas’ Largest Ranch. It Is Owned and Worked Successfully by Two Penr= sylvanians. Fifteen years ago Messrs. A. J. and J. J. Dull, of Harrisburg, Pa., bought of the widow Burke her many acres of land in the counties of La Salle, McMullen, En- cinal and Duval in Southwestern Texas. These two brothers were millionaire iron and steel workers in the Keystone State and were able to operate a vast ranch and stock it with the finest cattle, and they did. They have been constantly adding to the already large ranch, until now they occupy land in four counties in a country drained by two rivers, the Nueces and Fiio. These two streams are perfectly dry nine months in the year, but when a heavy rain comes they are bank full, and frequently, when the wet spell comes, the rise is so sudden that there is great danger to life and prop- erty, as was the case two months ago, when the whole of this country was flooded as never before in the history of either white or red men. The water of these two streams contains much oil, and cattle will not drink it un- less very thirsty, and, when a match is ap- plied to it, combustion occurs. For this reason they have a number of large wind- mills, where an abundant supply of water is obtained from driven wells with but slight expense. The character or topog- raphy of this huge range is undulating and slightly rolling in general, and as the ranch runs adjacent to the county seats of these four counties, the Messrs. Dull have established several general stores and supply their many cowboys with all need- ed goods and supplies, thus making not only a profit on the labor of ‘‘cow punch- ers,’’ but also on the merchandise they dis- pose of. The Mexican male heart pines for fine boots and a gaudy sombrero, as the headpiece is called, and very often the last dollar is spent in personal adornment. The work of the herders is so well systematized that each one has certain work and knows his place with almost that precision which characterizes the best paid fire departments in the States. Here we see four different classes of labor, called outfits, as follows, fence, tank. cow, and feeder, over each of which is an experienced and fearless hoss, who, while being hail fellow well met and ‘‘one of the hoys,”’ will brook no opposi- tion to his commands. The Mexican cowhoy is usually thought to he treacherous, but, be this as it may, if he discovers you are afraid of him it will go hard with you. Your chances of good treat- ment from them are increased a hundred- fold if you be a good Castilian linguist and can parley with them in their much-be- loved Spanish tongue. The manager of this large cattle-breeding establishment is Mr. S. R. Walker, a man who knows his duty and does it. In the summer months no feeding is done, the vast herds being al- lowed to range at will where they find the best grass, being watched over by the numerous outriders. As winter comes the feeding commences, and this is an under- taking of gigantic proportions in which many men are engaged. The pear-shaped leaves of the cactus plant are ground up and mixed with cotton seed meal, making a nourishing diet for their 12,000 head of cattle. During the summer months twen- ty-tfive men are employed, but the duties of feeding in winter, in conjunction with the regular work, require one hundred hands. Two hundred ponies are kept in readi- ness for immediate use, as it is often nec- essary to change a tired animal for a fresh one. These two brother capitalists make a yearly pilgrimage down there from the icy-fettered North every March, and go over the whole broad extent to note the progress and view the methods of work. They own two other ranches of smaller acreage in the portion of the State, the ‘‘Sanderson,’’ or ‘‘Big Canon,’ and ad- jacent to it the Pecos ranch. It is not an easy life, but the ‘‘esperridion guerra’ (cow hoss) and his undergraduates get ac- customed to it and have the hardiness to sleep out on the ground in all kinds of weather. The poisonous tarantula and venomous rattlesnakes are common ex- periences, and many a brave man goes down under their deadly bite. We were sitting out one night around a camp fire, when our leader told me to sit still while he knocked a tarantula from my collar. I did so, and he knocked it in the fire, to my relief, as it had been in the pocket of my main coat, which I had just put on. My life was saved by the good-hearted Mexican, and I felt truly grateful—In- dianapolls Journal. More Gettysburg Dead. Bones of Sixteen Union Soldiers Unearthed on the Battlefield. The bones of sixteen Union soldiers were found by workmen who were building the return avenue on Culp’s Hill at Gettys- burg Saturday afternoon. This is con- sidered a remarkable discovery, as it was supposed that all the soldiers who were buried at various places over the battle- field after the battle had heen reinterred in the National cemetery. Nothing is, of course, known of the sol- diers, except that they were Union men, on account of the United States belt plates found with the bodies. The spot where they were found was fought over by the men of the One Hundred and Forty-seventh Pennsylvania, Twenty-ninth Pennsylvania, Fifth Ohio and Eighty-fourth New York, and it is possible that they were from these regiments, as, at the time of the battle, the soldiers were buried where they fell. The ‘‘unknown’’ plot in the National cemetery contains more than 1600 bodies, and is all taken up, so that those found yesterday will have to be buried on the outside of the semi-circle of graves. Too Much Realism. Mme. de Navarro has recorded in ‘‘A Few Memories’’ the greatest lesson she ever received against too much realism. In a certain drama the heroine, under great excitement, suddenly stops to gain com- posure as she hears the approaching car- riages of the guests. ‘“‘Hark !”” she says. ‘‘I hear the wheels of their carriages.”’ We obtained the effects of approaching wheels, but, try as we would, the stamp- ing of the horses’ feet upon the gravel be- fore Clarisse’s door we could not manage. At last a brilliant idea struck me, which the stage manager promptly indorsed. It was that we should have in a donkey from Covent Garden to trot up and down behind the scenes on the gravel especially laid for him. We were decidedly nervous on the first appearance of our four footed friend, whose role was to counterfeit the high stepping horses of the brilliant French court. When his cue was given, there was only an ominous silence. I repeated the word in a louder voice, when such a braying and scuffling were heard as sent the audi- ence into roars of laughter. Although it was one of the most serious situations of the play, I could not help joining in their mirth until the tears rolled down my cheeks. : Wasp Pest in Eastern Maine. Millions of the Insects on Every Farm—Hard Season for the Farmers. This has been a hard season for the farm- ers of eastern Maine. Crops have dried up in the fields and stock has grown lean for want of water. While all products that yield money have suffered badly, insect life has waxed strong. In June, the or- chard owners said that the apple tree cater- pillars were more numerous than in any other year since the Civil War. Whole orchards, laden with promises of abundant fruit, were stripped bare of foliage, crip- pling the trees for years to come. The cars on the line of the Belfast and Burnham rail- road in Waldo county were delayed from one to three hours every trip by the mass of caterpillars that accumulated on the rails, the crushed bodies greasing the tracks so the wheels could make no progress. A month later the Colorado beetles came in hordes, nipping the potato down to the ground and darkening midday with the shadow of passing wings. In August a plague of locusts invaded the fields. They chewed off the heads of standing grain and devastated the farms until they looked as if a fire had swept the country. Through all these visitations of drought and famine and insect enemies the people remained healthy, so that country doctors made long trips to fishing resorts and un- dertakers complained about business be- ing dead. While pneumonia held off and typhoid fever delayed tostrike, the citizens had reason to be thankful that the trouble was no worse. Their joy was short lived. In September the homes of the farming folks were stormed by myriads of wasps that buzzed about the rooms and stung everything stingable. A yellow jacket wasp with its garb of orange and black is the most venomous creature of its size that lives. The torture which a wasp sting in- flicts cannot he described by any phrase that is tolerated in a civilized community. Ex-vice President Hamlin called it ‘‘con- centrated hell,” which is far short of the whole truth. The hot, dry weather has favored the production of wasps. Their gray houses, which in ordinary seasons seldom grow beyond the size of a two-quart dipper, are bigger than water pails tbis vear, and every structure holds from 50,- 000 to 100,000 armed warriors. When there are four or five nests to an acre, and every nest holds some 70,000 insects, the total number of wasps on an average farm is almost beyond computation. Two weeks ago the skirmish line ap- peared, sipping the sweets from fruit hung out to dry and buzzing about the rooms in quest of fat flies. The main army came a week later, when fruit was eaten from the trees, ripe tomatoes were destroyed on the vines and mosquito bar screens in open windows were chewed to lint. Reports of serious injuries from wasp stings came from every county in Maine. Mrs. Smithson of Brooks, while trimming the leaves from her grape vines to admit the light, found a colony of wasps at home and will lose the sight of both eyes. John Clarke of Prospect has heen unable to put his shirt on over his head for a week be- cause he disturbed a wasp camp meeting while grubbing stumps in his back pasture. Yellow jackets interrupted a marriage cere- mony in an old church in Brooksville on Sept. 9th, compelling the contracting parties to adjourn to a nearby house before they could be made man and wife. Five college students, who have been camping on the shores of Flood’s pond for two weeks, resolved to have a swimming match to strip off their garments in camp, dash through the woods to a bluff a quar- ter of a mile away, and swim around a headland to a cove in front of the camp. The man who ran ahead jostled a tree hold- ing a nest of wasps as he dashed past. He was out of range before. the wasps got at him, but the four youths who tailed on be- hind were so badly peppered by the en- raged insects that they could not be re- moved from camp for a week. The body of a young woman who died in Tilden early in September was taken to Amherst to be placed ina tomb. When the rusty door was pried open the yellow jackets poured out in such numbers that the mourners and friends scattered in haste. Two frantic horses in the procession ran away, and more than a score of persons were badly stung. Those who have had courage enough to approach a tenanted nest of wasps and plug the entrance hole with a chloroformed sponge say that the proper cells are crowd- ed to full capacity with young grubs, which will soon put on wings and hecome adult wasps. Indications are that the pests will continue to multiply rapidly until a frost arrives to kill them off. The outlook is that there will be no falling off in numbers until Oct. 1st or later. As soon as the leaves fall and the ground freezes so as to make good walking in the woods, the dealers in curios who collect strange things to sell to the city people, will go out and gather the nests in which the late tenants have died. They are as- sured of a rich harvest this year. In form- er seasons a well preserved nest as large as a coal hod sold readily for $5. This year there are plenty of nests larger than a half bushel basket. All of these will be stored away in dry attics to await the coming of purchasers. While the entire stock may not be sold off next year, it is sure to go sooner or later, because giant wasp nests are usually very hard to find. Egg Lemonade for Consumption. Dr. A. M. Cushing, in the Chicago T%i- bune, says: A person never dies of con- sumption who is gaining flesh or fas, or even ‘‘holding his own.” Then the thing to be done is to keep him nourished. In some cases it can be none by drinking three or four quarts of milk a day; in others by eating chocolate caramels, perhaps a pound a day; or the two combined; but in the ex- perience of forty-three years, eggs, in lemonade, whole or beaten up, anywhere from one to six aday may be taken. If he can digest six, the patient need have but little fear of consumption. I have reasonst to believe the lemonade digests the eggs, for one evening, when in my teens, I drank twenty eggs in lemonade in a little while, beating a bigger boy by four eggs, without an unpleasant symptom. As to the treat- ment, I believe firmly in giving the well indicated, attenuated remedy by hypo- dermic injection into the arm, and rarely repeated. Any intelligent physician can do that. If the stomach does not tolerate food, a few drops of pure olive oil injected into the arm occassionally will start the cure, and, I believe, kill the microbes.’ ——William Morris had a great horror of being buried under a marble slab, and, though a costly monument has been erect- ed over his grave at Kelmscott, in Eng- land, the grass grows over the mound. This is contrived by having the base of the column form an arch above the grave. There is no inscription save the words “William Morris.”’ All About Ebony. Legends Connected With Its Use. Where It Is 0b- tained and’ Prepared. Ebony was known and highly esteemed by the ancients as an article of Inxury and was used by them for a varity of purposes. In India it is said tha3 it was employed by kings for sceptres and also for images. On account of its supposed antagonism to poi- sons it was used largely for drinking cups. Its use has extended continuously down to the present time, and in England, as well as on the continent, it has always been held in high esteem hy the wealthy for toilet articles and boxes. In France par- ticularly the manufacture of ehony goods has attained a high degree of perfection. Within a few years its use in the United States has increased remarkably, in a large measure, no doubt, on account of its com- bination with silver, which is believed to have originated in this country. The strik- ing contrast of the dead black of the wood and the brilliant white of the silver has from the outset commended it to the Ameri- can public. This combination, it is said, has now been introduced into England and other European countries. The silver mounting of the ebony gives scope for the taste and originality of the silversmith. The style of decoration most frequently used on the larger pieces consists of a border of scrolls, of flowers or of a com- bination of scrolls and floral designs. The variety and degree of elaboration of the borders shown are almost endless. Some- times the border extends only half way around the edge of the article. A silver shield on which the initials of the owner may be engraved is generally placed in the centre of the piece. This shield is occa- sionally replaced by a monogram, more or less elaborate, which may be the only mounting used. Large initials are also used instead of a monogram. Another style of decoration consists of a beaded edge of silver. While the border is occasionally used on small pieces, the decoration for these is generally confined to a shield or monogram. The shield may be combined with floral designs or scrolls. The name ebony is given to the wood of several varieties of trees. All kinds of ebony are distinguished for their great den- sity and dark color. The wood in all varieties is heavier than water ; the heav- iest varieties are the darkest. The other grades require a considerable amount of staining to make them black. Ebony is of a uniform color throughout, and will not show any deterioration even from long con- tinued use. There are three varieties of ebony well known in commerce. The ebony from the Gaboon coast of Africa is the darkest. The Madagascar ebony is the densest. The Macassar ebony furnishes the largest pieces. Almost all ebony is sentin the form of logs to London and from there shipped to various connties in which it is used for manufacturing purposes. Iv is sold by weight. Imitations of ebony can always be distinguished ;by their lighter weight, and the cheaper imitations can be detected by merely scratching the surface. More Money Needed. Last Call Issued for Subscriptions to the Dewey Home. At a final meeting of the Dewey Nation- al Home Fund Committee, an account of stock was taken and plans perfected for closing the subscriptions before the arrival in New York of Admiral Dewey. At the conclusion of the meeting the committee requested that the following be published : **'The Dewey National Home Fund Com- mittee have received contributions from about 30,000 citizens, representing every State and Territory in the Union. These aggregate $27,065, exclusive of the contri- butions received to-day. The fund should be increased to at least $50,000, to enable the committee to purchase a home at the capital of the nation which will he a credit tothe givers and a pride to the hero of Manilla Bay. Admiral Dewey has in- dicated to the committee a desire to make Washington his permanent home. Here, as the ranking officer of the United States navy, he will spend the remainder of his life. “The Admiral has indicated his grateful appreciation of the intention of the Ameri- can people to present him a home, and he will accept it with the spirit in which it will be given. The committee must close the subscriptions before the end of next week, before the arrival of Admiral Dewey, and will be pleased to receive and acknowl- edge by the issuance of a souvenir receipt any contributions. “A home will be purchased with what- ever funds the committee may have at the end of next week. The time is now so short that the committee suggests those who desire to make an immediate success of this work by making liberal contribu- tions to indicate their wishes by telegraph to Hon. Ellis H. Roberts, United States Treasurer, Washington, D. C.. who is Treasurer of the fund, and to remit by first mail.” ——A conservative estimate of Nebraska’s corn crop, which is now safe from frost, is 300,000,000 bushels. It is hard for the mind to grasp just what these figures mean. Counting sixty bushels of shelled corn to the load, it would take five million teams to haul the crop to market, a caravan that would reach around the world. It will take an army of 80,000 men over two months to husk it if they husk sixty bushels a day each. If loaded into cars of 30,000 capacity it would take 60,000 cars to haul the crop, a train over 4,000 miles long. At no time within the past ten years has there been such a tendency on the part of farmers to look for new locations, either to better themselves or to provide homes for their children. Many sections in the east are overcrowded while thousands of acres of rich, well watered lands can still be had in Nebraska and Northern Kansas at comparatively low prices. Thousands will visit that country this fall as the rail- roads have announced cheap-rate harvest excursions for October 3rd and 17th. Valued Farm More Than Life. Brothers Quarreled Over It and One Killed the Other. As the “outcome of a quarrel over the ownership of a farm, Cassius Wilson killed his brother Laverne at Dunkirk, N. Y., Saturday. The affair took place on the farm over which the brothers quarreled, seven miles south of this city. The broth- ers are sons of Chauncey Wilson, an ec- centric and wealthy farmer, who gave this farm to the two. They had trouble, and it led to a suit. Laverne publicly threat- ened to shoot Cassius if the latter won the suit. Cassius heard this and carried a weapon. The suit was decided Friday in favor of Cassius, and Laverne started to put his threat into execution Saturday. He met Cassius, who was working, and told him - he was going to kill him. Cassius drew his revolver and fired, fatally wounding Laverne.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers