~~ Sr A Bellefonte, Pa., June 7, 190I. A —— HOW TO BE HAPPY. Are you almost disgusted with life, little man ? I'll tell you a wonderful trick, That will bring you contentment, if anything can— Do something for somebody, quick! Are you awfully tired with play, little girl ? Weary, discouraged and sick ? I'll tell you the loveliest game in the world— Do something for somebody, quick ! Though it rains like the rain of the flood, little man— And the clouds are forbidding and thick, You can make the sun shine in your soul, little man— Do something for somebody, quick ! Though the stars are like brass overhead, little girl, And the walks like a well-heated brick, "And our earthly affairs in a terrible whirl— Do something for somebody, quick! —Exchemge. THE STORY OF HER MARRIAGE. There was a large house party at Newel Place for the first time since Valentine Newel had succeeded, after the death of his cousin, to agreat fortune his grand- father had tried to turn aside from him. As the son of a marriage which was consid- ered a mesalliance by his father’s family, he had grown to manhood among his an Cot people on a farm in Massachusetts. There- fore the world, to which his inheritance of the Newel millions transferred him, judged him discreet, when, two years since, he had gone to Europe before submitting himself to its criticism. That his motive was not a desire to gain social experience was, however, speedily proved by his neglect of letters of introduc- tion given him for use in various foreign capitals; and upon his return it hecame evident that, though well educated and disposed to tread in the footsteps of his hospitable progenitors, he was lacking in that impalpable yet invaluable savior-faire which his new acquaintances were “half amused, half aghast, to miss in their host. ‘‘He should take lessons from his butler in the use of his fish knife, and as to the manner of getting his guests away from the dinner table,”’ Van Alstyn grumbled. ““We should probably have remained there all . night if Mrs. Wharton had not made a move on her own responsibility.’ ‘‘He will take his lessons on those and other points from me,’’ Betty Gwynne de- clared. ‘‘I have been accepted as instruc- tor by the poor fellow, who was so desper- ate about his shortcomings that he has sent to town for a book on etiquette I’ Van Alstyn pulled his mustache unsmil- ingly. “Your aunt will cordially approve,”’ he exclaimed. Betty flushed, aud met his reproachfal glance with one which was wistful. “I want you to understand,” she began. “Tell me, then,” he murmured. ‘You know how much is it tome to believe that I—understand !”’ She leaned her elbows on her knees, her chin on her clasped bands, and the boyish attitude was not ill suited to certain details of her attire—the leggins, the golf coat and the broad brimmed felt hat. But the smile on her delicate lips was essentially femi- nine. “I have seen a good deal of him since we have been here, and it is not only in man- ners that he differs from the rest of us,”’? she said. ‘‘We went for a ride this morn- ing. He is more at home in the saddle than anywhere else——? » ‘A reminiscence of the farm 1? She frowned. ‘Yon are not to sneer if you wish to hear our bargain—and it is original enough to he worth hearing.’ “I am dumb.” “If you were anybody else you should swear to that dumbness I”? she exclaimed; “‘but I trust to your future silence for my sake.’ He bent and lifted the coat to his lips. ‘‘That reply would never have occurred to him !”’ she laughed though she flushed. ‘‘His methods are abrupt rather than grace- ful.’ Well ! we naturally grew confidential after a splendid gallop. He said that his horses were what he valued most among his new possessions, and I suggested that he should rank some of his new friends higher. He answered that he bad found no new friends, merely critical acquaintances. His eyes were as honest, asclever as adog’s —or mongrel’s, for, of course, he is a mon- grel, and they are cleverer than the un- crossed breeds.” She paused, linked her hands behind her head and gazed away over the brown countryside of the mild De- ‘cember afternoon. ."‘I declared that he might have me for a friend on certain conditions,” she contina- ed presently. ‘‘Hesaid that he understood those conditions without mention of them, and that they need he no obstacle to our friendship, as, though quite aware of the desire of our mutual relations for our mar- riage, he knew also my determination against it—and shared my opinion.”’ She pansed once more, so long that Van Alstyn prompted her. “You have not the air of thinking him rude 1”? “Not rade, hat a little rough. He as- sured me that he would never ask me to marry him, and that, if he could imagine I should accept him, he would be even less likely to ask me than now, when he is con- vinced that I. should refuse him—be- cause —’’ ‘ Again she paused and Van Alstyn repeat- ed eagerly; ‘‘Because 2’ Jase ‘‘Because he loves me, and could not en- dure to be my husband unless I loved him.” Van Alstyn laughed unsteadily. ‘‘There must exist an unsuspected dramati¢ quality in, Massachusetts farm life! What did you respond ?’? *‘Nothing,’’ she said, rising. ‘‘He cut short possible reply by doing what I am going to do now. He walked off, and I re- mained—as you will remain now—to think over our conversation,” Having thus made a good exit, she yield- ed to feminine instinct for further detail. “I saw him again just hefore luncheon, ”’ she resumed. “We met in the corridor and I held out my hand. You would have kissed it,” she parenthesized, with two charming dimples. ‘‘He held it so tight that my rings hurt me! ‘We are both rather friendless,’ I said, ‘from the equally excellent reasons that you are too rich and I $00 poor. So, if you like, we will be friends on the understood terms.’ ”’ “And he?” “He muttered something which meant consent. Then we sat in the bow window until the gong sounded, and I promised to coach him—as I told yon.” Van Alstyn sighed.” There was a melan- choly on his handsome countenance which * became it well. edge of her golf “I am sorry for him,”’ he said softly; *‘almost as sorry as I am for myself.” Upon which the conversation grew strict- ly personal,and ended,as anything like var- iance was wont to end between them, by her profession of regret for having wounded feelings whose sensitiveness was a perpetu- al wonder to her more callous nature. Yet, as she reflected, while she sat star- ing into her bed room fire when she should have been dressing for dinner, Van Alstyn’s position was harder to bear with courage than her own. He was as penniless as she, unable to earn more than a pittance in the bank of a wealthy uncle, and condemned by his honor to utter no word of his love for herself—or only a half word when, part- ly by her fault, his feelings overcame his discretion. She was often vexed with him—unnjust- ly, she thought, with tears which nobody ever saw in her brave eyes. But she liked him so well that this liking had taught her the impossibility of marrying without love. Yet she knew that her destiny, as decid- ed in the family councils, was a mercenary marriage, and, though she was too young, too pretty, too certain of other opportuni- ties to be coerced for those she threw aside, she know that some day the limits of her freedom would be reached, and a matrimo- nial prosecution would begin whose end she dared not contemplate. For a conserv- ative education had not endowed her with either the aspirations or the possibilities of self support, which characterize many of her compeers. The “family council,’”’ however, was in its serenest mood of tolerant confidence during the ensuing weeks, in which Betty and Valentine Newel were constantly to- gether. She wondered at times whether he fully realized what a protection his appar- ent devotion was to her from the admoni- tions with which her aunts usually wateh- ed the progress of her acquaintance with an eligible parti. She could not be sure how much he saspected of those ladies’ soaring hopes, because, from the moment of the bargain he and she had made, he never ut- tered even the name of love in her presence. Every other subject passed and repassed through the crucible of their youthful anal- ysis, and she acquired such respect for his information on all the great issues of the day, that she hesitated, abashed, in the gay instructions on minor social regulations which she had promised and in which he made rapid progress. They rode together when the weather permitted. At balls, his bad dancing be- ing beyond the remedy of her teaching, she would sit out a couple of waltzes with him. His box at the opera was always at her aunt’s disposal, and dinner giving people manifested a benevolent pleasure in asking Newel aud herself to the same functions, and placing them thereat side by side. Yet, though he tilled so large a place in her daily life,she rarely thought abont him when he was absent. His good comrade- ship had become a ‘‘foregone conclusion,” not to he debated. Van Alstyn's melan- with much more food for dreams. Her preoccupation with the soothing of that melancholy and the divining of those va- garies almost crowded from her remem- brance Valentine's brief and abrupt avowal of his love for her. She missed him consid- erably, however, when during a February thaw, he left town for some hunting. She was as regretful as sarprised when she chanced to hear of hissudden severe illness, but was utterly unprepared for the an- nouncement, a few days later, that he was dying. Van Alstyn, who had been one of the hunting party assembled at Newel Place, brought her the tidings, and gazed at her curiously while she stood pale aud speech- less. ‘‘He sent me to you because Iam so close afriend to you and your aunt,” he said } ‘‘he wants to see you.’ She heard him dully. Valentine Newel was dying—her vigorous, sensible, cheer- ful chum—he who was so busy with noble plans, which needed years to mature. She clasped her hands and flang them loose again with a wild gesture of helpless- ness. *“If I could do something for him ? she cried. “You can!” Van Alstyn exclaimed eagerly. “Ican? Oh!’ suddenly recalling the half heard words. ‘‘He wants to see me.’ She went to the door. ‘Will you take me to him ?'’ she asked. ‘I will get ready while you tell my aunt.” When she returned ten minutes later,she was bidden to wait for her aunt to accom- pany her. But even in her impatience to be on the way to him whose time had grown 80 scanty she was vaguely surprised at the rapidity of Mrs. Wharton’s preparations. Van Alstyn went with them in the carriage and told them that Valentine’s:illness had resulted from a chill taken while sitting in a wet field beside his horse, which had been fatally injured by a fall, and which he would not leave until a revolver had been brought with which he himself put an end to the animal’s agony. The train, which wasabout to start when they reached the railway station, was a ‘‘local accommodation,” ‘without a parlor car, and was so crowded that they were forced to separate. Van Alstyn, however, came restlessly to Betty’s side several times, with no more than a perfunctory question as to her con- fort. They were drawing near the station which was their destination when he came ‘again. *‘He has something to ask yon to do for him,” he said hurriedly ; ‘something that will seem hard for you to do—?* ; ‘Nothing he can ask will seem hard to do for him when he is dying.” *‘Yes, yes | Remember that he is dying 1" Van Alstyn whispered with an eagerness which oddly repelled her. “‘You will sure- give him his last wish,’”” he added entreat- gly. ; gs she followed him to the platform she mentaily begged his pardon for her momen- tary antagonism. How kind was his heart to be so moved by pity for a man whom he had never liked. Valentine’s trap was waiting for them, in response to a telegram, and the coach- man reported no change in his master’s condition during Van Alstyn’s absence, When they arrived at Newel Place they were shown upstairs at once, and Betty, a band as of iron around her throbbing throat was gently pushed forward by Mrs. Whar- ton, down whose cheeks tears were falling. “‘Be good to him, dear,” that lady falter- ed. ‘You will never regret it.’ Dazedly Betty followed a grave gentle- man, whom Van Alstyn presented as the doctor. He led her into a room dimly lighted by a shaded lamp. A nurse stepped k from the bedside as she approached, and she was aware of a hoarse, broken sound, which Lurt her, even before she realized that it was the tortured breathing of him who lay upon the bed. She put her hand within a burning grasp, feebly stretched out for it. She looked down ata flushed, haggard face—and two familiar eyes to which her heart leaped choly aud sentimental vagaries supplied her suddenly in the midst of all this strange- ness—the eyes’ which weeks ago she had said were like a mongrel dog’s in their cleverness, their unutterable fondness. She was on her knees, holding his hand fast in both her own. Her soul was flood- ed with compassion and with remembrance of his love, whoseone zonfession she had until now half forgotten. “You must not be so very grieved,’’ he panted brokenly. ‘‘You can make me very happy for—the few hours left me !”’ ‘Tell me what I can do—but it will be so little I’? she sobbed, dropping her face on her hand. She felt his tre.nbling touch upon her hair. . “It will be po much, that I have some- times thought life too hard to bear— knowing youn would never do it for me.” His voicesank as she lifted her head. “But you will do for the dying what you could not do for the living 2’? he gasped. ‘‘Sweet, Ilove you! Ishall be dead to-morrow— will you be my wife until then—that I may die in your arms?’ Always in Betty’s memory the hours which ensued are as bewildered, yet as un- forgetable as a haunting dream. People came and went through the shadowy room; her aunt, the nurse, the doctor, and anoth- er grave gentleman who held a book, and after whose reading she repeated certain words which Valentine had uttered between struggles for breath. Then Mrs. Wharton tearfully embraced her, and Van Alstyn, emerging from some of the shadows, caught her hands and kiss- ed them witha vehemence from which she shrank, turning to the bed again and the eyes that gazed up at her. They were not like a dog’s eyes now, nor like any she bad ever seen in their tender exultation; yet in spite of the difference they were still the eyes of a friend she trusted. “My wife !”” Valentine whispered. “My wife ! I bave so short a time to call you this that yon will let me say it often." And as she bent over him he went on pant- ingly: ‘‘Since the moment I first saw you I have wanted to take care of you; brave, cheery, lonely little girl. Now I shall have my wish, though Ishall not be here to see—7’ : Swiftly the motive of his desire for this marriage pierced her comprehension through the preoccupation with which com- passion had hidden it from her. She lean- ed close to him. “If you were as pooras Iam, I would have married you to-night, if you bad ask- ed me,’’ she murmured. He smiled. ‘Not even yourself knows that better than I know it.!” But you must not mind my gladness that you will never be poor again. My wifeis a rich woman— who will accomplish for me many of the plans we used to——"" He gasped for air, and somebody puta fan into her hand. ‘You can do more for me—of your sweet- ness,”” he went on presently. ‘‘Will you put your arm about me—if the doctor lifts me a little 2”? She had held him thus, looking down at his shut lids, listening to his struggling breath, for a time of which she had no reckoning, when she became aware that his lids had ceased to quiver, that his breath came more slowly. With a stab of fear she met the doctor’s glance as be stood with his fingers on Val- entine’s wrist. ‘Can you support him a while longer ? You may give him a chance,” he said just audibly. “‘Heis asleep, and his tempera- ture is lower.” Forty-eight hours later Valentine Newel was told what everybody else had heard sooner. His vigorous youth, his enormous vital- ity, had conquered at the instant when death was apparently about to overcome them. There were more professional terms in the doctors explanation, but the plain English of it was that life, not death, now awaited him. Valentine's eyes turned a passionate ap- peal from the doctor to Betty, who stood beside the bed. “It seems like a trick,’”” he muttered, “but I never meant—-—?? She gathered his fluttering fingers in her clasp. “My avswer shall be what you said to me,’’ she replied steadily. ‘Not even yourself knows your meaning better than 1.” He drew his hand from hers, pressed it over his eyes, and there was a choking sound of sobs. The doctor—confessor to more secrets than any priest—led her gently to the door. ‘‘He is very weak still,”’ he whispered. ‘‘Later he shall hear how gallantly you helped to save him.” She crossed the corridor to a sitting room where her aunt had spent the long hours of waiting. Betty had no desire for solitude, in which her confusion of emotion might become too clear. She preferred to join in Mrs. Wharton's rejoicings over Valentine’s recovery, which apparently was all that lady required of Valentines wife. But Mrs. Wharton was not in her usual place. Instead, Van Alstyn stood alone, staring into the fire, and he turned a gloomy countenance to Betty as she enter- ed He strode toward her and clasped in both his own the hand she mechanically extend- ed to him. ‘‘It seems as if we had been tricked !’’ he muttered, looking at her pale and troubled face with piercing eagerness. At the words, sonearly those which Val- entine had just uttered so differently, color rushed into her white cheeks, and she with- drew her hand. “Don’t hate me that I influenced you to marry him,” he went on vehemently. “Newel told me his wish when he sent me to you—I thought that your inheritance of his fortune would make a happiness for you and me—a setting free from the bonds of poverty, which have kept us apart——’ **Stop !”” she cried. She was as tall as he; and in the eyes which squarely met his blazed a scorn from which he shrank as from physical hurt. *‘Understand, now and always, that you in no degree influenced my marriage,’’ she said slowly. ‘‘I married Valentine Newel only to give him his dying wish. But, though I do not love him, neither do I love any other, and I thank God that he will live and that my happiness is safe with the best man I have ever known.’ Van Alstyn laughed jarringly. ‘‘Allow me to congratulate you on the conversion to worldly wisdom which your two days’ pos- session of Newel’s millions has affected.” She was gone. Breathless, every pulse throbbing, she fled with but one certainty in that chaos of her soul. She had never loved Van Alstyn—Never —Never ! z Valentine Newel recovered steadily, yet not so rapidly as the doctor desired. Late in March the society papers announced his departure for a yachting trip through Southern waters, accompanied by his phy- sician, while Mrs. Newel, who was a poor sailor, remained at their country place, un- der the chaperonage of her aunt, Mrs. Wharton. ’ The unusual circumstances of her mar- riage had heen, of course, a boon to the dullness of Lent, when, events being fewer, gossip became more fervent; and Mis. Wharton was quite aware that this separa- tion would not add to the pleasure of the on dits in circnlation. But exceedingly plain speaking to Betty only produced the assurance that the arragement was mutual- ly satisfactory to the two most concerned and that they could dispense with the ap- proval of others. And Mrs. Wharton found herself disinclined toward an appeal to Valentine. Indeed, the yachting trip had been bis proposition, made with the matter-of-course cheerfulness which was the manner he had adopted toward Betty. aud which checked any possible offer of her society. They somehow had seemed less to each other during those days of his convalescence, when she read to him, wrote letters for him, played chess with him, than when their comradeship of the early winter had been of choice, not of necessity. Yet the more she was associated with his plans and the more she heard of the scheme of life this young millionaire had prescribed, the greater grew her esteem for him—and some- thing warmer than esteem. 7 He was so ‘‘good.” Betty, who, hither- to bad scantily experienced all she defined by that little word, thrilled with proud re- joicing that she belonged to him—even though the thrill brought tears to her eyes and a flutter to her throat. She said “‘God speed’ to him gayly, amid the white paint aud bright brasses of the yacht, which presented a scene ill suited to melancholy. But she carried home a heartache which refused to he ignored, and a yearning keener than she had ever before known to answer the question which had leaped into his eyes when she held up her cheek for his kiss beside the companionway. She wrote him, two or three times each week, notes of inquiry as to his health,and received from him rather clever accounts of the humors of the cruise; and there was nothing on eitherside of the correspondence which might not have ben published with- out violation of privacy ! Then suddenly a black cloud whieh had long hung on the national horizon blew with whirlwind speed into proportions which obscured the heavens. Newspapers growling as to our duty to Cuba became stern admonitions. The people, in whom money getting and self advancement ap- peared to have smothered nobler instincts, stirred with that hereditary Anglo-Saxon revolt against tyranny, old as the race. War with Spain was declared. From big cities and tiny villages and wide-scat- tered ranches came the rush of volunteers, responding to the President’s call. Betty received a telegram dated St. Au- gustine : I have offered to equip a troop of cavalry, and have volunteered to go into its ranks. Am re- turning immediately. VALENTINE Nothing was further from the purpose of the man who sent the telegram than to dis- cover thereby his wife's feelings for him — yet he could not more surely have achieved it. That she liked him, that she esteemed him, that she admired him, Betty had of- ten told herself. But it was the reading of that telegram, facing with racing heart and shining eyes what it meant to her of exul- tation, of suspense, of possible anguish or possible happiness, which revealed to her that she loved him. He came—sunbrowned, eager—embar- rassed during the first moments of greeting, yet speedily engrossed by the books on cav- alry tactics, and the circulars from military tailors which every mail brought him. He was half shyly proud when he re- ceived from the Governor a commission as Lieutenant. ‘Of course he was bound to send it on account of my raising the troop,’ he ex- plained; *‘but I ride better than I do any- thing else, and I can pick up enough mili- tary details from my sergeant, who isan old ‘regular,’ to keep me from doing harm.” “Do you suppose I cannot see that you are a born soldier ?’’ she exclaimed. ‘‘This is your very heart’s desire !”’ ‘Is it 2” he muttered; and turned away for an instant—an instant in which the world stood still for her. ‘Yon must not make a hero of me,’”’ he said with an unsteady laugh and his face still averted; ‘I am only answering a call which has been answered by half the fellows of my age throughout the country.” “Iam not making a hero of you,’’ she murmured. He turned again at the tremor in her voice—white, wide eyed, trembling. ‘I am only learning, as any a woman throughout the country is learning,” she faltered, ‘‘all the love—and dread—a heart can hold !”’ He was kneeling beside her chair, his arms about her—and in their souls a rap- ture which, whatever the summer of war should bring them, neither Life nor Death can take away.—By Ellen Mackubin in Saturday Evening Post. 7 The Moon and its Snow. Professor Pickering's Discoveries Said to Be By No Means New. Professor Charles Doolittle, instructor in astronomy at the University of Pennsylva- nia, and head of the Flower Astronomical observatory, says there are no new features in the lunar discoveries announced by Pro- fessor W. H. Pickering, of Harvard. The latter after an investigation in Jamaica, declares that the moon has an atmosphere, though one of great alternation, and thas the surface is partially covered with snow. “I have carefully followed Professor Pickering’s description of this moon ques- tion,’’ Professor Doolittle said, ‘and I fail to see what new features he has brought out. It has been the accepted theory of astronomers for years that the valleys and and crevices of the moon’s surface are cov- ered with ice or ice covered rocks. “The various temperatures of the moon’s atmosphere is recorded from two to three and four hundred degrees below zero, or the absolute temperature of space. I think it takes no greatamount of reasoning to say that under such conditions anything freezable is certainly frozen solid. ‘We must take for granted that even in such a climate there will be some water vapor, due to the action of the sun’s rays, and this congealed, would make a frost or snow. ‘We know that the moon has some at- mosphere. It is recorded by different authorities at from one-four-hundredth, to one-five-hundredth to one nineteen-hun- dredth that of the earth’s density. Such a density would be insufficient to carry vapor clouds, from which snow might be formed.’’ es ———— ——~Some idea of the growth of the Uni- versity of California may be gained from the annual register, which shows 3024 stu- dents on the rolls, of whom 2229 are in the academic department. There are 483 in- structors. Only two years ago the total number of students was 2438, and last year the total was 2661. Seventy-three instruc- tors have added in the last two years. Some Wonderfal Feathered Freaks Which Live in Other Countries. Birds without wings are found in New Zealand and Australia. Kiwi is the name of one species. Beautiful mats are made of the feathers of the white variety, but it takes ten years and more to coilect enough feathers to make even a small mat which would sell for about $150. Birds without song belong to Hawaii. In Honolulu one sees a bird about the size of the robin, an independent sort of fellow, that walks about like a chicken, instead of bopping like a well trained bird of the United States, and it has no song. A bird that walks and swims, hut does not fly, is the penguin. No nests are made by penguins, but the one egg laid ata time by the mother is carried about under her absurd little wing or under her leg. The largest of flight birds is the Cali- fornia vulture or condor, measuring from tip to tip 93 to 10 feet and exceeding con- siderably in size the true condor of South America. The bird lays but one egg each season—large, oval, ashy green in color and deeply pitted, so distinctive in appear- ance that it cannot be confounded with any other. The California condor is rapidly ap- proaching extinction and museums all over the world are eager to secure living speci- mens. It is believed that there is only one in captivity. Another large bird is the rhinoceros bird, which is about the size of a turkey. One recently shot on the island of Java had in its crop a rim from a small telescope and three brass buttons, evidently helonging to a British soldier’s uniform. A bird which is swifter than a horse is the road runner of the Southwest. Its aliases are the ground cuckoo, the lizard bird and the snake killer. snakes being a favorite diet. In Northern Mexico, West- ern Texas and Southern Colorado and Cali- fornia it is found. The bird measures about two feet from tip to tip and is a dull brown in color. Its two legs are only about ten inches long, but neither horses with their four legs nor hounds nor electric pacing machines are in it for swiftness when it comes to running. Most curious are the sewing or tailor birds of India—little yellow things not much larger than one’s thumb. To escape falling a prey to snakes and mokeys the tailor bird picks up a dead leaf and flies up into a high tree, and with a fibre for a thread and its bill fora needle sews the leaf on toa green one hanging from the tree. The sides are sewed up, an opening being left at the top. That a nest is swing- ing in the tree no snake or monkey or even man would suspect. Many a regiment cannot compare in per- fection of movement with the flight of the carlews of Florida winging their way to their feeding grounds miles away, all in uniform lines in unbroken perfection. The curlews are dainty and charming birds to see, some pink, some white. Birds in flight often lose their bearings, being blown aside from their course by the wind. In this case they are as badly off as a mariner without a compass in a strange sea on a starless night. All very young birds, by a wise provision of nature, are entirely withous fear until they are able to fly. The reason for the delayed development of fear is that, being unable to fly, the birds would struggle and fall from their nests at every noise and be killed. Suddenly, almost in a day, the birds develop the sense of fear, when their feathers are enough grown so that they can It is always a source of wonder to Arctic explorers to find such quantities of singin birds within the Arctic Circle. They 4ié’ abundant beyond belief. But the immense crop of cranberries, crowberries and cloud- berries that ripen in the northern swamps accounts for the presence of the birds. A stick of wood seven inches long and a quarter of an inch in diameter was once taken from a wren’s nest. It is very sin- gular that so small and delicate a bird should use such rough material with which to construct its nest. If an eagle should use material proportioned to its size, its nest would be made up of fence rails and small saw logs. The extraordinary situations in which nests are found occasionally almost give one the impression that birds must be en- dowed with a sense of humor. For in- stance, a wren built its nest upon a scare- crow, a dead sparrow-hawk, which a farmer had hung up to frighten away winged rav- agers of his crop. In the pocket of an old jacket hanging in a barn a bird, also a wren, made its nest, which when discov- ered contained five eggs. It was a robin that raised a young family in a church pew and a robin that built its nest in the organ pipes of a church. Places of worship have always been favorite building places for birds. The Deer's Eyes. A Cavadian hunter tells this incident of how he once came face to face with his quarry and hadn’t the heart to fire: ‘‘It wasn’t a case of ‘buck fever,” such as a novice might experience, for I had been a hunter for many years, and had killed a good many deer. This was a particularly fine buck that I had followed for three days. A strong man can run any deer to earth in time, and at last I had my prey tired out. From the top ofa hill I sighted him a few miles away. He had given up the fight, and had stretched himself out on the snow. As I stalked him, he changed his position, and took shelter behind a boulder, and, using the same boulder for a shelter, I came suddenly face to face with him. He didn’t attempt to run away, but stood there looking at me with the most piteous pair of eyes I ever saw. ‘Shoot? I could have no more shot him than I could have shot a child. Had the chance come from a distance of one hun- dred yards, I would have shot him down and carried his antlers home in triumph, but once having looked into those eyes if would have been nothing less than’ mur- der: I have hunted deer since then, but I find the sport affords me little pleasure. Whenever I draw a bead, the picture of those mute, appealing eyes comes before me, and, though it has not prevented me from pulling the trigger, I have always felt glad somehow when my bullet failed to find its mark.”’— Washington Post. Rode A Ram to His Death. Luke Mallon of Camberland, Md., met his death Saturday in as novel a manner as it was thrilling. He and other young men residing along the south branch of the Potomac were trying to subdue a vicions ram that was grazing on a field in the mountain. : Mallon in a daring spirit offered to Ia: wager that he could ride the animal whic was accepted. He was assisted in mount- ing the sheep’s back which dashed off down a steep mountain side, collided with a tree with such force that Mallon was fatally injured. The Story of the Coffee Bean. Discovered by an Arabian Shepherd Centuries Ago It is Now Enjoyed all Round the Globe. Centuries ago, before America was dis- covered, on the green hills near Mocha, by the Red Sea, an Arab shepherd was watch- ing over his flocks hy night. Now the shepherd was drowsy, having watched all day, and yet he must not sleep, for fear a lion would come out of the yellow desert and attack the sheep. As he lay there in the uncertain starlight looking over the little woolly backs he noticed that while most of the sheep slept certain of them were awake and acting strangely. By careful observation the next day the shepherd discovered that the sheep which bad been so sprightly at night ate of a cer- tain erb, while the others only cropped the grass. *'It it is good for the sheep it is good for the shepherd,’’ thought he, and plucked some of the berries. These he boiled in a little water and drank of the liquid. Soon he began to feel tired faculties reviving, a delicious sense of ease was diffused th rough- out his body, and that night he had no difficulty in keeping awake to defend the sheep. ARAB LEGEND. So runs the Arab legend of the discovery of coffee, or khawah, and the variety that comes from Mocha is the most highly prized to this day. Now, Arabia is a country of shepherds, and coffee hecame the national drink. Turkey touches so closely the confines of Arabia that the knowledge of this wonder- ful stimulant soon slipped across the border. The priests began to use 1t to keep them awake at their vigils. Coffee houses were established in the streets. In 1652 Mr. Edwards, an English mer- chant traveling in Turkey, took home with him a Greek servant, Pasqua Rossi by name. Pasqua Rossi was daily in the habit of preparing coffee after the Turkish man- ner for Mr. Edwards and his friends. So popular did the new drink become among the friends of Mr. Edwards that their visits began to occasion him serious inconven- ience. At last in desperation he set Pasqua Rossi up in business, and thus was estab- lished the first coffee house in London. Its reception may be judged from the follow- ing advertisement :— “In Bartholomew Lane, on the back side of the Old Exchange, the drink called coffee, which is a wholesome and physical drink, havin many excellent virtues, closes the orifice of the stomach, fortifies the heat within, helpeth the heart quick- eneth the spirits, maketh the heart, light- some, is good against eyesores, coughs, or colds, rheumes, consumption, headache, dropsie, gout, scurvy, king’s evil, and many others, is to be sold in the morning and at 3 o’clock in the afternoon.’ IN PARIS. Soliman Aga, Ambassador of the Sultan of Turkey to Louis XIV, introduced coffee to Paris. Paris loves a new thing. To be sure, Paris always makes it into something else, tout a fait Francais. Coffee drinking was no longer coffee drinking, but an oc- casion for the discussion of every question of interest. The cafes became the resorts of philosophers and politicians. Coffee is well adapted for light refresh- ment, because it is exhilarating but non- intoxicant. The Germans have their kaffee- klatsch at 4 as regularly as the English take their tea In Austria the coffee is ground to a powder, boiled, and strained through a little silk bag. In Turkey the coffee is powdered, but not strained, mak- ing a thick, black decoction to be eaten with. sweetnieats. Itis in Arabia, the original home of cof- fee, that one finds the perfection of coffee custom. Coffee is there taken at every hour in the day, and it would be as much an insult not to offer a guest a cup of khawah in Arabia as to fail to serve tea in China or Japan. COFFEE ROOM, Imagine yourself in a khawah or coffee room—an essential part of every Arabian house. Tt is a long, low room, with bare polished floor and no furniture. Along the walls are strips of carpet and cushions covered with faded silks. = At one end is a tiny charcoal furnace, and about it are cof- fee pots of all sizes, the number varying in proportion to the wealth of the host. Coffee is made fresh for each new party of guests, and a large or small coffee pot is selected, according to the number. In order to lose none of the aroma the coffee is not only ground but roasted immediately before nsing—a custom which Calve ob- serves in her own apartments. A strong infusion is then made, but the boiling is allowed to continue only a moment,as long boiling softens the grains and gives a muddy appearance to the liquid. Some aromatic seeds or a little saffron are then thrown in for additional spicing. Cream and sugar would be regarded as a profanation. The tiny cups are placed on a tray of waven grass, together with a dish of dates or other confection, and the guests are served reclining at ease on their eush- ions. Dowie Greatly Excited. Says He Is Elijah and Also John the Baptist. *‘I am Elijah, the prophet, who appear- ed first as Elijah himself, second as John the Baptist, and who now comes in me, the restorer of all things. Elijah was a proph- et, John was a preacher, but I combine in myself the attributes of prophet, priest and ruler over men. Gaze on me, then; I say fearlessly. Make the most of it, yon ‘wretches in ecclesiastical garb. I am he that is the living physical and spiritual embodiment of Elijah, and my commission to earth a third time has been prophesied by Malachi, by God himself, by his son Jesus, by Peter, and 3,000 years ago by Moses. All who believe me to be in very truth all of this will stand up,” and over 3,000 people rose to their feet and greeted the declaration with cheers and hand clap- ing. ; b John Alexander Dowie. true to his prom- ises, made this statement from the platform of the Auditorium in Chicago Sunday night in the presence of 5,000 people. It was the culmination of a frenzied speech, in which he denounced everybody and every- thing not in Zion, cursed the people and the Roman Catholic church, spat literally on Masonry, the newspapers and the bank- ers of Chicago, and tore up and down the stage like a madmen. ‘Understand well what I mean,’’ he continued, *‘I will take no counsel in my methods of government. I have come to proclaim theocracy pure and simple, the government of God, by God and for God and I will never rest till all other forms of government have been driven from the earth.”’ DIDN'T MARRY FOR MoNEY.—The Bos- ton man who lately married a sickly rich young woman, is happy now, for he got Dr. King’s New Life Pills, which restored her to perfect health. Infallible for Bil- iousness, Malaria, Fever and Ague and all liver and stomach troubles. Gentle but effective. Only 25c. at Green’s drug store.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers