Bellefonte, Pa., Feb. 23. 1900. THE PARSON'S LIMIT. He’d been preaching and exorting For a score of years or so In a portion of the vineyard Where the harvesting was slow, Where the temporal inducement. For his ceaseless diligence Was a promise of four hundred For his yearly recompense. Unrelenting was the ardor He devoted to the cause, And, though slowly came the dollars, Still he labored without pause, Till one day they came and told him, As he kicked against the pricks, That they'd raised their offered stipend From four hundred up to six. Then the good man sank exhausted As he feebly made reply; “Don’t, I pray you men and brethren, Thus my patience overtry, For to glean the four you’ve promised Hath so warped my vital store That 'twould kill me if you taxed me To collect two hundred more !”’ Boston Courier. HER APPLAUSE. The Little Contralto was not really so very little, but she stood between a tall soprano and a still loftier barytone, and the people who screwed round their heads and looked up from the pews below naturally measured her against the surrounding heights. Moreover, the contralto—the solo- ist—was amply developed in all three di- mensions, and therefore the adjective of size was a most convenient one for distin- guishing the singer of second rank from her who stood in the front row and placidly returned the stares of curious worshippers; for the wealthy and fashionable congrega- tion was rather proud of its choir and fond of discussing all the singers, even those in the chorus, but of course 1t could not be expected to remember all the names. Now the Big Contralto and her husband were fond of going to grand opera and stop- ping in for a little bite to eat afterward. They did this one Saturday night, and coming out of the cafe early Sunday morn- ing a trifle over-heated—for the room was hot—found the streets stuffed with a cold raw fog. The result was that a direful soreness settled down on the throat of the Big Contralto, and kept her at home all day manipulating poultices, gargles, and what not. She sent word to the organist to omit her solo from the special musical service in the afternoon. But the organist swore, as if it were any week-day, and shook his head: the programs were all printed, on little squares of heavy glazed paper, and the wealthy and fashionable congregation must not be disappointed by the omission of a number; in short, the Little Contralto must sing the solo. The buttons on the Little Contralto’s tailor-made gown had their hands full as she walked to church that afternoon, for her heart was so distended with pride and joyful hope that it nearly burst its lodgings- A stiff, frosty northwest wind had whisked away the fog and substituted a sky that laughed like a blue-eyed girl, so the at- tendance was sure to be large. ‘‘This is my great day of days,’’ she thought. ‘‘Now at last—oh, if I could only flash out like a comet or something and startle the world ! I’m so glad it’s Sullivan’s ‘God Shall Wipe Away All Tears.” I loveit!”’ She was very early. When she had climbed the winding stairs and entered the little pen fenced off for the choir from the gallery pews the church was dark and still. A few electric lamps, turned very low, re- vealed the broad field of red-lined pews be- low, through which two vergers, black- robed and stooping from the hips, were clacking softly about on the tiled pave- ments, bringing in the stack of silver col- lection-plates and making other prepara- tions. The tall memorial windows, un- touched by the sun, so far from lighting the place, only cast a rich mantle over the deepened gloom. The Little Contralto gave one glance round. She was excited, and would have liked to shout something loud, but the vergers were there; however, they were not looking, so she raised her skirts surprising- ly high, swept with exaggerated majesty down to the front row, turned, raised her eyebrows, and bowed loftily to the tenor’s vacant chair, to the Big Contralto’s,. and to the basso’s in gleeful mockery of the haughty soprano’s manner. Then she noticed something in a dark corner of the gallery. ‘‘Gracious Peter ! There’s a per- son looking !”’ and to’ cover her confusion she dropped on her knees as if in prayer. The person looking was a shrinking little woman scarcely visible in the gloom, but her thin gray bair caught a ray fiom some lamp. A widow’s veil was thrown back from her plain bonnet.. After a decent period the Little Contralto rose and slipped into a chair. It was her first opportunity for thought since she had learned of her calling ‘and election at the morning service, for the interval had been occupied in practicing. Hers was a sensi- tive nature, with a great hunger for ap- plause—a temperament crueler to its pos- sessor than the Inquisition—and she was an enthusiast on music. To fill one’s world with melody—to preach with that sweet eloquence, richer than ever spoken words can hope to be, that nobler rhetoric which speaks so intimately yet so myster- iously to the germ of purity within each one of us—this was her dream. ‘‘Oh, Professor,” she had once said to the organ- ist, who was also her teacher of singing, “‘I would rather fail in singing than succeed in anything else.”” You, see, she was an enthusiast. . “My favorite pupil, be happy! Your ambition will be gratified,”’ the organist had replied. *‘Oh, Professor !”’ joy. ‘“Yes,”’ he continued with a twinkle in his eye, ‘‘you will fail in singing—"’ ‘Oh, Professor !”’ *‘Until you learn to forget that you have with a little grasp of a voice. You sing too much with your voice.’’ “Why—"" in an aggrieved tone, ‘‘shall I sing with my ears?’’ This was flippant, but he was too deeply interested in the young woman's success to indulge indigna- tion, so he smiled kindly as he shook his head and replied : “You would be surer of fame if you could.”” Then, seriously : ‘‘Believe me, no singer was ever truly great by the voice. No, the voice may be marvellous, dazzling, like the flashing of sunbeams on the waves, but it is not great with the greatness of the ocean. Mis. Rossmore has a voice—heauti- ful—pure—but you feel as if a snow storm had passed—co-old! Ah, my dear young Jady,”” springing up and shaking both hands at arm’s-length toward her, ‘‘your voice can only sing with your soul if you would sing into theirs.”’ She was thinking of this as she sat in the “dark gallery slowly pulling off her gloves. It frightened her a little. ‘‘How can I help being self-conscious, when it is my first solo in church?’ she asked herself. ‘‘He says my tones are sticky all over with rules and methods, like. fresh stain on wood, and I shall never do anything till they soak in and become second nature. I suppose he is right. Oh, if I should fail— and be laughed at!’ Her cheeks burned in the darkness. Presently a man came in and began to arrange the music on the organ and the stands. Then the lights went up all over the church, extinguishing the glory of tints of the interior, the red pews, the deep blue ceiling, and the frescoed walls. She saw the little widow now—a sweet face whose hollow eyes and every trait told of bereavement, desolation of the heart, and patient sorrow. Intermittent streams of worshippers began to trickle up the aisles, with a rustling of skirts and a clack- ing of pew doors. Somehow the Little Contralto’s fright seemed to increase with each new arrival, and as the members of the choir came in, one by one, her heart sank as an elevator drops from floor to floor, and with the same internal commo- tion that the dropping produces. Each one asked for the Big Contralto, who was usually an early arrival. The soprano— the owner of the icy voice—raised her eye- brows and said, ‘‘Isn’t that too bard!” And when the Little Contralto faltered, “I am to sing her solo,’’ she was sure the corners of the other’s mouth twitched sarcastically. Then the tenor—she never could bear him, anyway, because his face was broader than it was long—he gave an unnecessarily protracted expression of re- gret, and merely said ‘‘Oh!”’ when the soprano told him of the unhappy little substitute. The handsome basso frankly smiled. This might easily have signified pleasure and good-will, but the Little Con- tralto knew it was amusement, and hated him. She leaned on the railing with her pale face in her hands, quite miserable,and sorely tempted to give up and go home sick. The variegated throng below, whisp- ering, smiling, fanning, settling themselves comfortably on the seats, seemed to her like the pitiless Roman populace lounging at ease in the amphitheatre to enjoy some martyr’s death. At length the organist arrived. He seemed to appreciate her feelings at a glance, for he came down and laid a privi- leged hand on her shoulder, with a smile of encouragement. ‘‘It will be all right,”’ he whispered, ‘‘only don’t forget to forget that voice. And remember,’’ tapping with one finger over his heart, ‘‘it is greater to stir one human heart than to tickle forty connoisseurs. ’’ The choir arose, the building shook with the first ramble of the organ,and the clergy marched in, preceded by a solemn verger in gold eye-glasses. The Little Contralto’s heart-sickness gradually evaporated as the service progressed. The broad swing of the anthems and well-known hymns, the strong voices singing with her,gave courage ers her nerves became shaky again. While the minister prayed for peace she was anxiously running over the air she was to sing,and mentally rehearsing its pianissimos and crescendos. *‘I shall be more than satisfied if I can got through any way,’”’ she thought; ‘I can’t hope to do feeling work. I shall feel nothing but that forest of ears turned toward me down there. Oh, if I break down I shall die!” Then the minister advanced to the chancel rail and placidly read the program of the ‘‘special musical service,”” and when he mentioned the contralto solo she started and blanched as if it had been the first time she had heard of it. It was the sec- ond number, following an ‘‘Aria for Bass,”’ through which she trembled, and locked and unlocked her clammy fingers. The basso sat down and there was a pause. Heavens ! how indifferent the people were ! They sat unmoved, fanning, dreaming, - as if magnificent work like this were an every day matter. She had often noticed but never before felt it, this heart-chilling, un- applausive propriety of a church audience. Then the soprano nudged her elbow, and she stood up quickly in confusion. It was a crisis. She would have sold her birthright for the command of all her faculties, but they were slipping away like scared dogs. Her feet and hands were cold and her knees trembled. She heaped abuse upon herself. There was nothing to fear ! But what is abuse or argument to a stam- peded nervous system? The organ was sounding the prelude, and she drew a deep breath and moistened her lips, while her ears roared as if under water. She opened her mouth and a voice float- ed o- the air. Of course it was her own, but so strange in the stillness shat she scarcely recognized it. Before she had sung two bars a woman below turned and looked up into her face, then made some smiling remark to a companion. The sing- ing wavered. Some one up in the front pews coughed, then another answered from the rear; two girls were tittering togéther over something. ‘‘Oh, they are guying me !”’ thought the Little Contralto; ‘‘I am doing it all wrong—no style, no expres- sion, no more feeling than an old band- organ. I am failing.”’ . Thereupon she flatted a high note and cut another short to save herself from breaking down, and imagined "she heard the wide-faced tenor whispering remarks to the soprano. There were two pages more of this agony before her—she would rather have had the dentist prying round with his screw-driver in a back tooth—and the hardest part was the krowledge that she was doing herself an injustice, frightful, perhaps irremediable. If she could only control herself, cast off this confusion, forget—ah! the organist was right—~forget her voice for one little moment, she might yet save the day. There came a pause, brief but blessed. The discouraged singer passed her hand- kerchief quickly across her forehead and cast a timid glance around the balcony. All eyes-were upon her, of course. Some were critical, others indifferent; but the little gray-haired widow was leaning for- ward with clasped hands, and the expres- sion on her deep-lined motherly face was ‘of tender sympathy and concern. “You dear little sorrow-worn soul, I will sing to you,” thougis the Little Con- tralto, with a rush of feeling; ‘‘you have suffered —I will sing this all for you'”’ With the stirring of that kindly emotion it seemed as if her inner spirit’ had burst some shackle that bound it, and leaped to the air with a deep breath of joy. It met the soul of the master-composer pouring again from the great pipes of the organ, and her whole being thrilled with the em- brace. They were throbbing in unison— his soul and hers; she sang on, exalted, vivified. One after another turned and looked up in surprise, but they could not shake her, for her thoughts had left the earth behind. s “There shall be no-o mo-ore death,” sang the Little Contralto. Her voice soared away and up and down the great building like a bird that has regained its liberty. WR. si stained glass, and bringing out the warm’p and confidence. But during the long pray-- “Neither sorrow nor crying, Neither shall there be any more pain, And God shall wipe.away all:tears—all tears from their eyes.” A The full tones swelled and died in ca- dences of velvet softness. The end was reached. - The Little Contraltp started at the thought that she-had been singing in church. She had forgotten—lost herself. How had she done ? Had she failed ? There was a creaking of pew backs as the people shifted their positions, the coughing hegan again in all directions, the two girls were still giggling. But the little widow in the dark corner, what was she doing? Gently sobbing in her handkerchief. And the Little Contralto, too, taken by surprise, just choked off a rising sob; but she knew that she had not altogether fail- ed.—Reginald Banfield Chase, in Harper's Bazar. : A War Directory. The following list will be found useful by readers of the war news. The pronun- ciation of the more difficult words is giv- en: Aapies River (Arpies)—Runs through Pretoria into the Limpopo. Afrikander—A white man born in South Africa, of European stock. Berg—A mountain. : Bethulie (Beth-ooly) — Town in the Orange Free State. Biltong—Boer provender. Boer—A peasant. Burgher—Males over 16 years old pos- sessing the franchise. a Commandant—Commander. Commando—A body of Boers. Commandeer — To mobilize; to requisi- tion. : Dam—An artificial lake. Disselboom—Pole of an ‘ox wagon. Donga—A water hole or deep ditch. Dop—DBoer brandy. Dopper-—The Puritanical-Lutheran Boer. Dorp—A village. Drift—A ford. Etshowe( Etsh-owy )—Camp in Zululand. Residence of Commissioner. Field Cornet—A magistrate with certain military powers. Fontein—A spring. Gaberones(Gab-ber-oohs)—Very impor- tant native town, ninety miles north of Mafeking. . | Geldenhuis (Geld-den-hise) — Formerly member of the Volksraad for Johannes- burg. oe Griqualand West (Greek-a-land) District of Kimberley diamond mines. , . u Kantoor (Kantore) —Rocky mining val- ley near Barberton, in Transvaal. Klip—A stone. : Kloof—A ravine. . Komati Poort (Ko-marty-poort) -—Bord- ertown, Transvaal and Portuguese terri- tory. : Kopje—A hillock. > Kraal—A cattle pound, or. collection of native huts. Krantz—A cleft between hills. Laager—A Boer camp. 3 Mealies—Indian corn; staple food of na- tives. and much grown and used by the Boers for bread, ete. Nek—The saddle connecting two Oorlog—War. Palapswe (Pal-larp-sway) — Very large native town in Bechuanaland, Chief Kha- ma’s headquarters. Pan—A sheet of water. Poort—A pass between or over the moun tains. . Pont—A ferry. : Ramathlabama (Ray-math-lay-barm-er), —Near Mafeklng; British camp. Rooinek— Literally red neck. Boer term for English soldiers. Schuin’s Hoogte (Skeins-hoog-tay )—Hill in Natal; just over the Transvaal border. Battle in war of 1881. Sluit—A dry ditch. Spruit—A small stream. Taal—Boer Low Dutch Language. Trek—Traveling by ox wagon. Uitlander—A nonburgher of the Trans- vaal. Veldt—The South African prairie. Veldt Cornet—See Field Cornet. Vereeniging (Fur-eeny-ging)—First sta- tion on the Transvaal side of the Vaal Riv- er Custom-house. Vierkleur—The four-colored Boer flag, red, white, blue and green. Vlei—A small lake. Voorlooper—The boy leading the first span of an ox team. Voortrekker—The older generation of Boers, who took part in the Great Trek of 1837. Zarp—A Boer policeman. Zoutspansberg (Zoot-pans-berg) — Very large northern district of Transvaal. High- ly mineralized. Dried meat. i hills, Like An Antediluvian. Death of a Man Who Lived Longer Than Any Other Since the Flood. The other day Jesus de Garcia died near Chino, Santa Cruz, Cal. He was the old- est California Mission Indian. For many years he received help from neighbors, but of late the county has aided him. He was often seen gathering brush from the road- side and fields, with which to make the fires to cook his mer's Ha ageerted he was 140 years old, and vuc veces Stee ingin his memory seemed to give force to the assertion. He said that he helped in the building of the San. Gabriel mission and also remembered the erection of the San Luis Rey mission. Garcia was short in stature, wrinkled and withered, looking the age attributed him. He was out in a field, and it is pre- sumed that he dropped down and his strength failing him, was unable to rise. ‘When found he had reached the end of his long life. : There is no way to verify his statement as to the age through the mission records, because he was born before the missions were established in California, He. was a very old man when the oldest inhabitants of Chino and vicinity were boys. Some years ago an Indian named Justiana Rosas died in Santa Cruz at the age of 23 years. But Garcia, if the story is true, lived long- er than any other man since Methuselah passed away. In all of Garcia’s existence it is not believed that he had ever been 100 miles away from'the place he was born in. Not Kept in Stock. The young married woman had been telephoning to the grocer’s for an order of supplies, says the Detroit Free Press. A girl had taken her order and had just said goodby. Suddenly the young married woman remembered that she had a turkey for tomorrow’s dinner and must have some- thing with which to make the dressing. ‘‘Hello,”’ she called hurriedly. Then a pleasant girl’s voice answered ‘‘Hello.”’ “I want you to send up two loaves of stale bread,’’ said the Y. M. W. ‘‘Madam,’’ answered ‘the same | pleasant voice, ‘‘we don’t keep. stale bread at the telephone exchange.’’ i nger-: Worked Their Way Up. New Men in’ Congrese Who Have Risen From Lowly Rank Among the Toilers. Among the new members of the Fifty- sixth Congress there is an unusually large proportion of what are known as ‘‘selfs made’ men—men who have risen fiom: lowly stations to places of honor and trust hy force of their own efforts and merits. Young Americans may learn some salutary lessons from the careers of some of our pres- ent law-makers, says the Chicago ‘‘Inter- Ocean.’ About the biggest jump is that made by Francis W. Cushman of Tacoma, Wash. This is his first year in the House, and in attaining this honor he has passed through the successive stages of common laborer, or section hand on a railroad to cowboy ; from the ranch to the lumber camp, to school teaching, to the law and finally to Con- gress. - He started in Iowa. From there to Nebraska, and from Nebraska to Washington. ! Only twenty-five years ago James W. Ryan .was driving mules in Mahoney City, Pa. When a mere lad his parents moved to this mining town, and young Ryan be- gan to make money by driving a mule cart about in the mines. By this means he sup- ported himself till he was 16 years old: Then he was graduated from the high school. His high marks brought him into such prominence with the school board that they offered him the position of teacher in the public schools. He saved enough mon- ey to carry him through the four years needed to study law. Admitted to the bar he soon began to make a mark, and now he is a member of the national Congress. The career of John L. Sheppard of Texas is not dissimilar. His father died when he was only a boy, and his mother took up a small farm in Texas, moving there from Alabama. Between the seasons of plant- ing and harvesting the boy studied bard and faithfully. When he was sufficiently advanced in the common branches he began | to study law. This he did entirely by home reading and without tuition. He was admitted to the bar, however, and a practice of only three years brought him sufficiently before the public to bring him the district attorneyship of seven counties. The next step was jafuéship, and the next his present distinguished posi- tion. ¥ The Pacific coast has also furnished a self-made man. This is RusseleJ. Waters, of California. He was raised on a farm in Massachusetts. He worked at odd jobs as a factory hand, and in his spare moments attended school. He learned the trade of a ‘machinist. ‘What he knew of lessons fired %Hinr with a desire to know more, and he continued to study hard. He went to a fin- “ishing school and worked himself up there ih toa professorship in Latin and mathemat- ics. Obeying the mandate, ‘‘Young man, go West I’ he emigrated to Chicago, stud- ied law, pushed further West to California, engaged in banking, gas. and publishing enterprises, and became prominent in many public institutions in Los Angeles, whence he now. returns aeross the conti- nent to begin his career as a national states- man. James C. Needham, from the Seventh California district, was born at Carson City Nev., in an emigrant wagon, while his par- ents were pressing across the plains to Cali- fornia. From public schools young Need- ham passed through college, entered the War Department at Washington, was grad- vated in law, and now ten years later comes to Congress. He never previously held any ‘| elective office. In the Middle States, Gilbert Haugan of Iowa had a remarkable career. He was a merchant at the age of 14. In the first two yrs. of small sales he bad saved up enough to make the first deposit in payment for a farm. When only 18 he purchased a farm and continued his education until equipped to enter a business college. He was thus en- abled to pursue hardware, grain, live stock implement and importation enterprises. From township and county offices he reach- ed his state Legislature, which proved, as in many cases, his way to Congress. Farming was the first occupation of two other Iowa Congressman, McPherson and Smith. The former reached Washington by way of the law school, district attorney ship, and state atsorney-general ship. The latter taught school until able to purchase some law books and enter law school, whence he went into successful practice, stepping into the capitol from his district bench. : I William A. Reeder began his career as a school teacher. He was 14 years old when he first became a pedagogue. He followed his vocation in the public schools until 33 years old, saving enough to enter the bank- ing business and to establish the largest ir- rigation farm in his state. Phanor Breazeale, of Louisiana, clerked in a dry goods store, studied law, edited a newspaper, and was elected district attor- ney before receiving the Congressional nom- ination. = ; From the bench of clothing cutter to the House of Representatives was the strides made by Frank C. Watcher, who comes from Maryland. After learning his trade, he developed the industry of examining, adjusting, and refining woolen clothes. Henry C. Smith, of Michigan, was em- ployed as a farm and factory hand until 18, when he commenced to work. himself through college by doing chores for a farm- er in return for his hoard and by teaching during vacations. He was chosen orator for his college in an intercollegiate contest, and his eloquence brough.him so much in- to public notice that ;he was engaged to stump for the Greenback campaign under Zach Chandler, then, chairman of the Re- publican state committee, , Hesubsequent- ly began to practice law and has participat- ed in every campaign since his first. Edgar Weeks, also of Michigan, elimbed the ladder of success to national importance by the rounds of printet’s apprentice, law student, soldier, newspaper proprietor, prosecuting attorney and. Probate Judge. Joseph W. Fordney, his'colleague, began life in the lumber woods, logging and esti- mating pine timber, and thus acquired a practical knowledge of the lumber busi- ness, in which he has since grown wealthy. Until within 20 years John S. Robinson, of Nebraska, was working as a mechanic in a hinge factory in- West Virginia, where he saved sufficient to begin. the study of law at the age of 23. Moving West, he became attorney for his county and District Judge, in which latter office he was serving when nominated for Congress. From a common molder to leading criminal Tawyer of his state was the record made, in only a few years by William D, Daly from the: Hoboken, N. J. district. He was made leader of his party on the floor of the New, Jersey Assembly imme- diately upon entering that body; later be- came his party’s léader in the State Senate, land in his late Congressional campaign Ni earned the distinction of whipping Major Z.’K. Pangborn, the veteran school teacher who claims to be the only man who ever whipped Daly. Thomas Cusack, from one of the Chicago districts, began business as a rign painter and’ grew rich in an extension of his trade Before entering successful politics. George W. Weymouth, Fitchburg, Mass., began as a minor employe in the mills of his native town. He is now president and director in half the business enterprises in that up-to-date city. William S. Green, of Fall River, Mass., began life as a clerk in an insurance office. He subsequently went into the same busi- ness for himself. He added the calling of an anctioneer to that of insurance, and had as well a very considerable clientage of pa- trons in real-estate transactions. Farmer Killed His Neighbor. His Daughter, Who was Sitting Up With Her Beau, Took Him for a Burglar. A load of shot from farmer David S. Long’s gun carried death to John Becker, a housebreaker, at Long’s home, in North Cornwall township, Lebanon county, on Sunday night. The man was shot in the back as he was fleeing from the place, and he was instantly killed. Long surrender- ed himself to the authorities, disclaiming any intention to kill. He was held in $1,000 bail on a charge of involuntary manslaughter. The farmer and his wife bad retired, and Miss Eva Long, a daughter, was enter- taining a man in the parlor, when the young people’s attention was attracted by the furious barking of the dogs in their kennels, and then the noise of some one on the front porch. After hearing a window raised and then foot falls on the floor above. Miss Long aroused her father. Securing a gun, and against the wishes of his wife and daughter, who feared he would be shot, Long, accompanied by the young man, who carried a lantern. went in search of the burglar. They heard the man coming downstairs, and hurried to the porch just in time to see him climbing through an open window. The fellow was disappearing in the dark- ‘ness when Long fired, aiming low, as he ‘says, to wound him in the legs. As the gun was discharged the stranger leaped off the porch, and the load, instead of striking him in the legs, entered his back and pass- ed through his heart. The body was car- ried into the house and Long identified the dead man, whom he had formerly employ- ed as a laborer. Becker was 28 years old and unmarried. His home was at Mid- way. An examination of the house showed that Becker had gained entrance hy forcing a window. Five rooms on the second floor were disturbed, but no booty was found on Becker’s body. Found in a Closet. Two Boys Missing Since August—A Spring Lock Im- prisoned Them. Plumbers working in an unoccupied house on Edgecomb avenue, New York, on Tuesday found in a closet the decomposed bodies of two boys. They were identified by their parents as Martin Loefler, aged 9, and Charles Byrnes, aged 11. They had been missing since August 3rd last, when they left their homes nearby, saying they were going to pick apples. The building in which the bodies were found is a new flat house, and has never been occupied. When it was completed it was locked up, and all that remained to be done on it was the plambing. Tuesday afternoon two plumbers entered the house, and were almost overcome with the strong odor. It was strongest on the second floor. They opened a closet built into the wall, and there found the bodies of the boys. The door has a spring lock and no knob inside, so that a person entering and clos- ing the door would be unable to get out again unless it was opened from the out- side. It is supposed the hoys were playing hide and seek, and wens into the closet and closed the door. The whole city was searched for the boys last August, their pictures published in the newspapers and she river dragged. and their parents had given up all hope of ever hearing from them. Cost of War $355,000,000. Expenses Thus far Largely Due to Philippine Seizure. The New York Herald says: From the beginning of the war with Spain to the present time the total expenditures of the Governmens on account of that war and on account of the hostilities in the Philippines amount to about $355,000,000, as follows : .On account of the War Department $225,000,000 On account of the Navy Department 69,000,000 Paid to Spain for Philippines 20,000,000 Interest on war loan to date 9,000,000 Increased Cxpenaes in departmental . service in Washington...... ........... 2,000,000 .. The national defense fund of $50,000,000 voted by Congress at the commencement of the war was placed at the disposal of the President without any limitations what- ever, and allosments from it were made to the various departments to meet expendi- tures for which Congress has nos specifical- ly appropriated. The largest allotment, $29,973,274.22, was made to the Navy Department, and was principally used for the purchase of vessels, guns, ammunition and supplies. ——The largest orchards in the world are those of the Millers, of Hampshire county, and Pancake, of Romney, West Virginia. Descriptions and views of those orchards have been sent to the Paris Expo- sition. During the past year they cleared 1,735 acres of timber land in the heart of the Allegheny Mountains and planted last fall 181,000 trees. With their bearing or- chards, from which they shipped over 100 carloads of peaches and plums two years ago. they now have 200,000 peach and plum trees. SUNSET. God sits upon the mountains. As a robe The clouds enwrap him; and the sun, abashed, Slips at His back away. Dependent man! What hast thou done with this, thy latest day, Now passing from thee? its deeds ? And, sum thy tho'ts as they are; Shaping thy being for its final part Among the immortalities. Hast scarred thy What have been deeds, for such soul, Or fashioned it toward beauty, since the dawn ? — Mrs. Rebecen Lauck Turner, tn the Methodist Magazine. What Shall We Have for Dessert? This question arises in the family every day. Let us answer it to-day. Try Jell-O, a delicious and healthful desert. Prepared in two minutes, No boiling! No baking! dd boiling water and set to cool. Flavors:—Lemon, Orange, Raspberry ‘and Strawberry. At your grocers. 10 cts. 45-7 The Biblical Millennium and Union of Denominations. I bave been verily delighted reading, in what we call ‘‘secular’” newspapers, re- ports of the discussion concerning the ‘‘Biblical Millennium’’ and Union of Christians Denominations. It is specially ‘‘pleasant’’ because the discussion seems to be conducted in a Christian spirit. If it were otherwise I should have no word to express on the subject. The free and tolerant discussion of such subjects in the papers will always provide a public and everlasting benefit. As to the Biblical Millennium we know just enough to charitably differ; enough to secure what God has wisely ordered for us to “Watch” and ‘‘Be ye also ready.” The “‘Post’’ and the *‘Pre’’ in the Mil- Iennium will never appear until the good time coming is here. Perhaps the same may be said of the mode of baptism. Christians everywhere continue to differ in their belief and practice on that sub- ject, leaving room for ‘‘charity,’’ but never for unchristian controversy. Certain it is, we have never seen more ‘‘charity’’ mani- fest among Christians on that subject than there is today. In regard to the union of Christian de- nominations, I sincerely hope that our scholarly Doctors of Divinity will continue to preach and write about it and never think of ceasing to do this good and need- ful Gospel service. In his last prayer for believers Christ prayed in three petitions ‘That they all may be one.”’ The great Apostle exhorts all Christians to attain unto ‘‘anity’’ and ‘‘love which is the bond of perfectness.”’ As a Presbyterian I fully believe that the six or more separate denominations of Presbyterians should unite and form one Presbyterian family in the church. I believe, also, that the seven or more separate Methodist denominations, and a similar number of the Baptist divisions, should do likewise. For obvious reasons, there are too many churches of these di- vided flocks. For more than fifty years I have never yet met a prominent business man who did not agree with me on this point. Mankind set apart in separate families is Scriptural, but certain separa- tions without cause in the same family is not Scriptural. In Canada five separate Methodist denominations, the M. E., P. E, B.C, W. M. and P. M. (Methodist Episcopal, Protestant Methodists, Bible Christians, Wesleyan Methodists and Prim- itive Methodists) have united under one name, ‘‘The Methodist.” Under His Divine guidance ‘‘Jesus Christ the Head over all things to the church,” the one church of the future will formulate in His time and in His way. We should pray, speak and write freely concerning it, for Christ would never have prayed that prayer if it were not to be an- swered and realized ‘‘That they all may be one.” R. CRITTENDEN. A Marvelous Story. A Man Finds His Wife Alive In Her Coffin Aftar She Had Been Buried Three Days. Bishop Samuel Fallows, of the Reformed Episcopal church, told in Chicago on Sat- urday a marvelous story of physical phe- nomena, in which he asserted that a husband heard his wife calling after she had been buried, and that on hastily reopening the grave, found her unconscious but still alive. The minister declined to give the real names; using the name of Smith. As Fal- low’s tells the story, some years ago Mrs. Charles Smith, the wife of a young man living on the North side, was taken serious- ly ill and died in ashort time. She was not embalmed, and was buried two or three days later in Rose Hill cemetry. She was buried in the afternoon. In the middle of the night Mr. Smith was awaken- ed by some one calling his name. He heard the name two or three times. ‘‘Charles, Charles’ very distinctly. He did not asso- ciate the voice with any one he knew, and said to himself that it was an hallucniation. Being a man of materialistic views, he at- tached no superstitious i:.eaning to the mat- ter, and soon fell into a troubled sleep again. After a little while he was awakened by the voice again, this time more insistant: ‘Charles, Charles, Charles!” Just as day was breaking, for the third time he heard the call again, this time en- treatingly, the minister declares. This time he recognized the voice very distinctly as that of his wife. Moved by some unex- plainable impulse, he sprang up, searched the room throughly, found no one, and rushed into where a friend was asleep. ‘‘Come, getup! We muss go to Rose Hill,”’ he cried. His friend tried to dissuade him. but to no purpose. They harnessed a horse toa light buggy, took spadesand pickaxes, and drove to the cemetry at daybreak ®$ break- neck speed. As quickly as they dug down to the coffin, and opened it. The young wife was just turning over in the casket. Although alive, she was unconscious. Presumable she had beenin a stupor the entite time. She was taken home, recover- ed ancis alive today. She has no idea that she was ever buried alive, and probably if she had known all of the cironmstances at that time the shock would have killed her. She was told that she had been very ill, and had recovered almost miraculously. Another Elopement. The Man 42 ears Old, the Girl Only 14. A story cov ies from Austin, Potter county to the effer that Frank Blodgets, an itiner- ant preac.:er, and who is 42 years old eloped a few nights ago with Carrie, the 14 year old daughter of James Howland. Blodgett had been employed som< time by Mr. How- land. He is well known in certain sections of Clinton, Potter, Lycoming counties, he having made speeches at different times. He showed a fondness for Howland’s daugh- ter, but the parents never suspected any thing wrong, owing to the tender age of the child. They were rudely awakened recent- ly by Blodgett asking that he be allowed to marry the girl. This the parents refused todoand the elopement was the result. Carrie retired that night as usual, and some time in the early morning, it, was discovered that she was not in her room. Part of her wardrobe was gone and Blodgett also had disappeared. It is believed that they went to New York state. Stoop DeatH OFF.—E. B. Munday, a lawyer of Henrietta, Tex., once fooled a grave-digger. He says: ‘"My brother was very low with malarial fever and jaundice. I persuaded him to try Electric Bitters, and he was soon much hetter, but continued their use until he was wholly cared. Iam sure Electric Bitters saved his life.”” This remedy expels malaria, kills disease germs and purifies the blood ; aids digestion, regu- lates liver, kidneys and bowels, cures con- stipation, dyspepsia, nervous diseases, kid- ney troubles, female complaints; gives per- fect health. Only 50 cents at F. P. Green's drug store.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers