Demorealic atc, Bellefonte, Pa., December 12, 1902. THE INTERVENTION OF BIDDY. ‘‘Hallo, Biddy—you—you——"" and then Derrick Trevlyn splattered and gasped, for another good firm snowball bad hit him fairly and squarely in the mouth, and there were mysterious movements among the evergreens on the high bank surrounding the old red parsonage, and the sound of stifled laughter. He drew in his horse, and shook hi# fist in the direction of his unseen assailants. ‘‘Come down here, you young monkeys.”’ The bushes rustled vigorously: the snow fell off in showers; two rosy faces peeped down npon him, then disappeared. And by and by the big gate opened, and the two little girls ran out on the road—Biddy with her white Tam o’ Shanter in her hand and the black locks tossed into a wild tan- gle over her saucy eyes; and Dossie with her golden eurls flying, and her fair little face scarlet with the effort to outrun Biddy. But it was hopeless. “‘Her legs are so long,”” Dossie gasped, eyeing those useful members of her sister’s with some envy. They patted and kissed the big bay horse, and looked up demurely at the traces of snow still clinging to Trevlyn’s cap and hair. - ‘‘We hope the balls were not too hard,’ said Biddy, with au attempt at a show of concern, though her eyes were dancing. “We were afraid that you had forgotten us.” *‘That’s so likely, eh?’ said Trevlyn, smiling affectionately down upon them. ‘Though, upon my soul, Biddy, my dear, you need not have reminded me of your ex- istence in quite so emphatic a manner. Biddy laughed, and Dossie hugged his foot, stirrup and all, against her little bosom. ‘‘We thought that you were really going past,’’ she said, looking up at him with her sweet blue eyes. ‘‘But we didn’t mean to throw very hard.” “We !”” said Biddy, with a disdainful toss of her head. ‘You don’t suppose, child, that your balls went near him ?'’ “It is nothing to boast of, tomboy,’’ said Trevlyn, with assumed severity, ‘‘that your unerring aim nearly blinded your old friend.” Biddy looked up quickly,but the twinkle in his eyes reassured her. She made a dash at the bridle, and tried to lead the horse to- wards the gate. The smile died out of the man’s face. “Not today, Biddy dear. I am due at Berfield at half past four.” Four astonished young eyes were lifted to his; they overwhelmed him with ejacula- tions of surprise. “I can’t put off my engage ment, Biddy.”’ “You could have come to the Vicarage this morning, then,”’ said Biddy, severely. ‘‘Bathy will be awfully vexed.” *‘1 on didn’t come yesterday, Derrick ?'’ “No, Dossie, I didn’t.” “Did you forget that Barby was coming home yesterday ?"’ *‘It was yesterday, wasn’t it, Biddy ?’’ He hent down and patted Major’s glossy neck to avert his face from those sharp eyes. ‘‘Derrick,”’ said Biddy, severely, ‘‘yon haven’s quarrelled with Barby ?’ ‘No, dear.” ‘But you don’t care about seeing her ?’’ ‘‘I saw her at the station.” ‘Not to speak to,”’ persisted Biddy, sternly, ‘‘for I was there, and I didn’t see you.” “No.” ‘‘And always when Barby came home from school you used to meet her. She loves youn quite as much as she does us.”’ ‘Oh, quite,’”’ corroborated Dossie. A queer smile flitted over his brown face. He turned his face away, and looked over the snow covered fields with the ache in his heart intensified by the children’s words. He loved Barby so truly—he had dared to hope once that she loved him—but he bad hesitated to speak lest he should be taking advantage of the merely friendly affection with which she had regarded him all ber life. And then, Mrs. Mansfield had ap- peared upon the scene and carried her beautiful niece away with her to New York. Aud Barby had gone willingly enough;and accounts reached them of gay doings—of the admiration Barby’s loveliness had excit- ed—of would-be lovers in plenty—of one especially with whom her name was often linked, and Mrs. Mansfield filled pages with the praises of this Mr. Smith, or rather of Mr. S:nith’s position in the world. Dossie caught hold of his hand to bring his attention back to herself. ‘Did you see her frock ?’’ she asked sol- emnly. ‘‘Worth made it—that man who makes ladies’ dresses, you know. He has made her lots of things, and Aunt Margaret says that he will make Barby’s wedding dress.” ‘I didn’t like it,”’ put in Biddy, in her usual downright way. ‘‘She wore one of her old frocks at dinner, and she looked. more like our Barby. Father thought so, too. Derrick, Barby doesn’t laugh as'she used to do ; T wish she had never gone away.”’ Derrick silently and passionately echoed the wish. ‘*When she is married she will live so far away,’’ said Dossie, plaintively. ‘‘And he is only a common mister. I thought she would have married a lord or a duke.’ Derrick laughed oddly. ‘‘Mr. Smith is richer than any lord that I ever heard of, Doss.”? “*But a brewer,”’ said Biddy, with a curl of ber lip. ‘‘Aunt Margaret calls him charming, but her charming people are all beasts.”’ ‘‘Biddy 1"? “They are,”’ said Biddy, with her chin in the air, aud a flash of her black eyes. ‘Mr. Smith is a vulgar little wretch ; Bar- bara can’t like him; itis all Aunt Mar. garet’s doing. You ask Nancy about Mr. Smith, she can’t bear him. Her brother is a gardener at his place, and he tells her things. They all loathe Mr. Smith, and he bullies his mother, and bullies everybody, and if Barby marries him he’ll bally her, and I'll hate him.”’ - She clenched her fist, and shook it threat- eningly. *‘Biddy.”’ said the man quietly, though he himself could have substantiated the child’s words, ‘‘youn should not listen to servants’ gossip.”’ Biddy exchanged her tragical air for one of curiosity. ‘Why, Nancy’s gossip isn’t as bad as Aunt Margarets gossip.” Derrick shrugged his shoulders. “Is it all settled then ?”’ Hishand went mechanically up and down Major’s neck. ‘Barby is engaged to Mr. Smith 2” Dossie nodded. ‘You don’t know, Dossie ; have you no- iced, Derrick, how positive she is ?’! Biddy brought her eves quickly from Derrick’s face, her cheeks were scarlet. Derrick turned hastily away from her ; the sudden sympathy and understanding in those black eyes of hers unnerved him. ‘‘We don’t know anything sure, Derrick. Everybody says that she will marry him, but she hasn’t got a ring on.”’ Derrick straightened himself with a jerk. “I must hurry off, or it will be night be- fore we get into Berfield. Iam a thought- less brute to keep you here in the ‘snow. Run in, dears; it is beginning to come down again.’’ He went off with a cheery smile and a gay wave of his hand, but the shadow on his face was reflected on Biddy’s. The chil- dren stood for a minute watching the horse picking his way daintily through the snow. Then they turned away, and went up the avenue. *‘Biddy.”’ “Well,” said Biddy, shortly. “Did you ever hope that Derrick would marry Barby ?”’ ‘‘Dozens of times.’’ ‘'I suppose,’’ said Dossie, gravely, ‘‘that she must love Mr. Smith better than Der- rick, but I couldn’s.”’ “There isn’t any love in the match,’’ said Biddy, grumpily, winking something bright out of her eyes that she would not have permitted Dossie to see for the world. ‘It’s lots of hig houses and diamonds and things that Aunt Margaret thinks about, and she’s made Barby think the same.”’ ‘Derrick 1sn’t poor, Biddy.’ ‘‘I never said he was ; you always jump to the end of things. But he isn’t as rich as the Smith man, and I’m glad of it.”’ ‘Oh, Biddy, does Derrick love Barby,and is that why he is vexed and didn’t come to see her ?’’ Biddy nodded. “I’m not going to let Barby make a fool of herself, I can tell you.” ‘*You can’t do anything, Biddy, if Barby likes Mr. Smith best.”’ ‘Pooh !”’ said Biddy, and not another word would she say. When the children entered the drawing: room, Barby looked up quickly from her seat at the tea table. Her questioning gaze went beyond them with a look of expect- ancy that vanished instantly, and a little shade crept over her face. ‘‘How late you are children. Did yougo farther than the garden ? I thought I heard you speaking to someone at the gate.”’ “It was Derrick,’’ said Dossie. “We wanted him to come in and see you,”” continued Biddy, with her sharp black eyes fixed on Barby’s beautiful grave face to see the effect of her words. ‘‘But he said he was going to Berfield.” Barbara went on with her tea making silently, but the hot vexed color surged in- to her cheeks, and the hand that held the little fat cream jug trembled. Never bhe- fore in her whole life had her old friend failed to greet her after the short- est absence, and she had been in the house twenty-four hours now, and he had passed the very gate without caring to come in. She rose to carry the Vicar’s cap of tea into the study, and ae she passed Biddy the girl heard her sigh. In the old days Barby never sighed, and the astute young woman put this sigh down to the account of Mr. Smith and Aunt Mar- garet, and shook her head gravely over her sister's affairs. ‘A nice Christmas we’re going to have,’ she grumbled to Dossie. ‘‘Unless n “What ?’’ said Dossie, eagerly. ‘‘Nothing,’’ said Biddy, laconically. According to Biddy, and she was an ac- curate chronicler, for the next two or three days Barby and Derrick behaved after the manner of the old man and woman in Dos- sie’s weather glass in the school room, for when one appears the other was invisible. And when at last they did meet, though Derrick said in his usual voice, ‘‘Well, Barby, glad to see you back again,” and Barby just as easily said, ‘‘Thank you, Der- rick, I am very pleased to be at home again,’’ the old affectionate familiar ways bad departed, and to see them together was as efficacious as a cold douche. ‘She doesn’t care for Derrick now,’’ Dos- sie mourned. ‘‘She does,’’ said her wise elder. “But Mr. Smith!” ‘Bother Mr. Smith,’’ said Biddy, fierce- ly. ‘‘And Aunt Margaret ?’’ Biddy did not say ‘‘bother Aunt Mar- garet !”” but she looked as though she was quite equal to it. The day before Christmas eve, Biddy, rushing into the breakfast parlor, found Barby sitting at her little writing table— the writing table that had been Derrick’s birthday present to her on the day that she was fifteen. Barby’s face was hidden on her outstretched arms, and she never heard Biddy until she felt her hand on her shoul- der. ‘‘Barby darling !”’ Barby raised her head and laughed. ‘Is that you, Biddy ? I believe I was half asleep.’’ Biddy looked at hersteadily. Her beau- tiful brilliant eyes were feverishly bright; there was no look of drowsinessabout them. ‘Barbara darling, are you miserable about something ?’’ said the little girl, wist- fully. : ‘Miserable?’ Nonsense! I am tired, Biddy, that is all. Nancy and I have been preparing for the school children’s tea to- morrow.”’ “That never used to tire yon, Barby."’ “*No?’”’ said Barby, smiling oddly. She took up her pen and wrote one word on u sheet of notepaper. Biddy could read the big, bold writing easily. The word was ‘“‘Come.”” And the envelope into which it was hurriedly slipped was inscribed with the name of Smith. Biddy’s eyes nearly started out of her head. She was writing to the Smith man to come here! That meant for Christmas. And if he came Derrick’s chance would be all gone. Perhaps, indeed, Barby was real- ly engaged to Mr. Smith. But the real facts of the case were that, though Lady Mansfield did not know of it, Mr. Smith had proposed to Barbata before she left London, and the girl bad put him off. His last words to her had been, ‘If your an- swer is yes’’—and the self satisfied smile on his little plebeian countenance told her that he bad little doubt of her answer—*‘‘send me the one word ‘Come! I will under- stand, and be with you immediately.”’ .Barby rose up bastily, and was leaving the room with the letter in her band, when Biddy stopped her. ; ‘Barby, Dossie and I want yon to come and have tea at Denmen’s this afternoon. You'll come, won't youn ?’’ Barby hesitated for a moment as though she would refuse, but the pleading in Bid- dy’s face made.her acquiesce. “Very well, dear. If father does not want me this afternoon I will go.” The letter was staring them in the face in the most ostentatious manner from amongst all the other letters on the hall table as they passed through after luncheon on their way out. Barby averted her eyes from it, and quickened her steps almost un- consciously. Long before their return the traveling postman would have carried it away out of her sight. But Biddy and Dos- sis eyed it persistently as though fascinat- Halt way down the drive Biddy discov- ered that one of the parcels of cakes put up for their tea at Denmen’s had been left be- hind, and started back for it. When she overtook the other two again her cheeks were scarlet. and her eyes had a witch-like snap in them. And she was in the mad- dest spirits all the way down the steep road into the valley and up again to the high land beyond, where Denmen’s farm showed a gaunt, gray gable and two of the tallest chimneys ever seen on that country- side. Hannah Denmen had gone to see a rela- tion that afternoon, but the girls were quite at home in the big flagged kitchen that had been the scene of many a revel. The red- armed farm maid stood looking on with a grin of amusement at the energetic move- ments of the little ladies from the Vicarage, but beautiful tall Barbara filled her with awe. She swungon the big black kettle and disappeared into the dairy. Dossie un- packed the basket and Biddy brought out Miss Denmen’s quaint old cups and saucers with a highly colored picture of the finding of Moses on each one. ‘‘You’ve brought out four cups and saucers, and there are only three of us.”’ Dossie was much diverted with Biddy’s mistake. ‘‘Have I?’ mumktled Biddy, with her head in the cupboard. ‘‘Never mind.”’ Then she disappeared into the dairy for cream, and Dossie followed her. And Bar- by stood in front of the fire with her eyes on the big kettle and the little black teapot in her band ready to fill it the instant the water hoiled. The kettle was long in boiling; the babel of questioning voices had ceased in the dairy ; the children had evidently been drawn off in another direction. Barby was thinking of going in search of them, when a quick step coming down the stone pas- sage made her start and tremble, “Am I late, Biddy, love—’' And now it was Derrick’s turn to start at the sight of the tall young figure standing on the hearth with troubled blue eyes raised to his. And before he could get another word ont Biddy appeared on the scene with a warning look in her eyes, and upon her lips a bland smile that would not have dis- graced a veteran chaperon. *'Oh, Derrick ! how jolly ! You are just in time, isn’¢ he, Barby? How did you know that we were here ?’’ But this was a dangerous question, soshe veered off in another direction. And Dos- sie took one of Derrick’s arms in a close embrace. ‘‘We have tea cakes, hut we for- got to toast them ; do you mind? Martin was cutting the holly, and we were watch- ing him.”’ Bus Derrick persisted that he did mind, and would, moreover, toast the cakes him- self. And when Biddy had rescued the overflowing teapot from Barby’s hand, the two elders had recovered their self posses- sion, and were able to talk and smile as usual. “Isn’t it lovely ?’’ said Biddy, wistfully, when tea was over. ‘‘Perhaps we’ll never be all here together again.’’ She turned a quick look from the man’s face to Barby’s, but Barby’s was turned away. **Of course, we will,”’ said Derrick, smil- ing; but the cheerfulness in his voice had an unnatural ring. Biddy shook her head rather dolefully. She dragged Dossie away to give some final directions about the holly, and left her =is- ter and Derrick together ; but when they returned they were standing decorously in the window discussing golf with quite pro- fessional gravity. She shrugged her shoul- ders when Barby took Dossie’s hand and went off down the road, and Derrick would wait behind for her. But presently her crossness and disappointment were put to flight by a little ery of pain that was echoed by a shrill scream from Dossie. Barby, in hurrying down the steep, slippery path, had fallen and sprained her ankle. Derrick lifted her in his arms and carried her back to the farmhouse. The sight of the beautiful pale face so close to his forced from him despairing words that he would have recalled, but it was too late. Biddy pulled Dossie back ; they had no right to listen, but fragments of broken sentences floated back to them in the erisp air. ‘‘Barby, what have you done ?”’ ‘* . . . Derrick, Ido not know; you did not speak.” ‘‘I thought yon did not care. . . ”’ Be wii It is too late. Oh, say no more ! It is too late.”’ And after that, silence; and the man’s face set in hard lines. Biddy’s hand went to her pocket, and she gave vent to an indescribable sound that in Dossie’s ears bore a strong resem- blance to a chuckle, and the tears dried in her blue eyes as she looked reproachfully at her sister. . When Barby was lying on the settee in the farm kitchen and Derrick was seeing after the trap to take her home, Biddy knelt down and put her cheek against hers, and Barby’s burning cheek was wet. *‘Darling, is it so bad ?”’ ‘‘No, no.” And then Biddy slipped something into Barhy’s hand. ‘‘It is the letter—to Mr. Smith, you koow,’’ she said, jerkily, and drawing her breath quickly. ‘‘I—Ithought perhaps if you waited you wounldn’t want to send it ; and—and we didu’t want him for Christ- mas. Are you angry, darling.” There was a little pause; then Barby drew Biddy’s face down to hers. *‘No,”’ she whispered. And the letter that did eventually reach Mr. Smith contained a refusal. And the little girls were jubilant, especially Biddv, who went nearly frantic with delight when a broad band of saphires, that Derrick con- fessed to have had in his possession for a long time, appeared on Barby’s finger.—In McCall's Magazine for December. The Biggest Liar. A clergyman passing through a village street saw a number of small boys sur- rounding a dog. Thinking some cruel deed was in progress, the clergyman hasten- ed towards the boys and asked what they were doing. One of the boys replied that they were telling lies, and the hoy wbo told the biggest lie would get the dog. The clergyman was shocked at such depravity, and began to lecture them on the sin of lying, and concluded his remarks by say- ing: “Why, when I was a little boy I never told lies.” The boys were silent for a second, when one of them said, sadly : ‘‘Hand him up the dog.”’ Widow Gives Mail Agent Fortune. The widow of a former Governor of New York, whose name is withheld, has be- queathed to C. A. Anderson, a mail route agent on the northwestern road, a tract of land near Hannibal, Mo., worth nearly a million dollars. It contains the richest quarry of lithographers’ stone in the coun- try. Anderson is a relative of the family, 20d Be received the gift for developing the and. Dared Many Perils to be Silver King. ‘ Boss” Shepherd's Quest for Wealth Reads Like Monte Cristo Story. Quells Wild Outlaws. Few chapters in ‘The Count of Monte Cristo’’ contain a more thrilling narrative than can be found in the actual adventures and exploits of Alexander R. Shepherd, known in Washington circles ax ‘Boss’? Shepherd, whodied in his faraway Mexican home a month or more ago. Friends of the former Governor of the District of Columbia who visited him at his hacienda, or planta- tion, at Batopilas, Mexico, are now repeat- ing the stories of his vast wealth, estimated at between $15,000,000 and $200,000,000, and telling of the veritable city built with- in the plantation’s walls; the forts, hos- pital, dwelling houses for employes; a hotel for guests; the great ore mills, where the silver quartz from his mines was crush- ed and refined: the great aqueduct, whose waters, brought from the mountains miles away, drove the machinery of the powerful crushers, and, most wonderful of all, the palace where the ‘Bonanza King’’ lumself lived, sorronnded by all the comforts and luxuries of life. It was twenty-three years ago that ‘Boss’? Shepherd went to Mexico an ‘‘ex- ile.”” some called him, to seek a fortune in its mines. A revolution had just sub- sided, leaving in its wake rain, desolation and financial hysteria. It was a time ripe for a strong and firm hand, such as that of the ex-Governor of the District of Co- lambia. His friends said that, despite the assertions that he had been a *‘Second Boss Tweed’’ in his connection with the im- provement of the national capital, he was, when deposed from office and power, a comparatively poor man. Shepherd look- ed around him in Mexico for an oppor- tunity, and he found one. He bought ana bandoned mine at Batop- ilas for $1,000,000. The money had been raised by a company which he organized in the United States. Then the struggle began. As the ‘‘Mine King’’ said after success had at last crowned his efforts : > HIS BRIEF NARRATIVE. ‘‘The engineer reported the mines ex- ceedingly valuable. After buying the property from the Wells-Fargo Express company people I took $150,000 for a working capital. But before work had gone far I found the engineer had deceived me. He estimated there was $300,000 of silver in the pillars of the mine. The pil- lars netted just $80,000. “I had then to use all kinds of make- shifts to keep the work going, to quiet the impatience of the ever increasing number of creditors, and to reassure the stock- holders and still be able to turn out some- thing. But, by dint of a tremendous amount of digging, by means of improve- ments, and after winning the good will of any number of suspicious Mexizan officials who did not relish an American mining their silver, we have 1n the last seventeen years taken out $10,500,000 worth of metal. And there is much more down there yet.”’ After the full tide of success bad come, Shepherd was, indeed, a monarch in the eyes of his 2000 Mexican employes, as all powerfnl and resplendent as a Montezuma. His plantation at Batopilas was 225 miles from Chihuahua, the nearest railroad. Lawless hands wandered throughous the surrounding country. Accordingly, the plantation was fortified with heavy, thick walls, corner towers, port-holes for rifles and cannon, and within an arsenal was built and stocked with ammunition and arms. A small army was carefully trained as an escort for the mail stage between Batopilas and Chihuahua and to guard the silver trains. Sometimes more than $300,- 000 worth of the metal was to be carried at one time by mule back to Chilhuahua to be minted there into Mexican dollars, or deposited as bullion for an equivalent in bank notes. Naturally, the presence of so much treasare in their midst invited at- tack from the lawless bands which prowl through these mountains. At last one of the mule trains was attacked, the guard overpowered and the silver stolen. Shep- herd, in a rage, spent money like water in apprehending the criminals. His offers of extravagant rewards at last brought ahout the capture of the handits, and they were escorted by some Mexican soldiery to the Governor of the province for trial. A few days later word came to the Shepherd hacienda that the robbers had attempted to escape on the way and had all been shot dead. At one time it was said that the Bovanza King had been responsible for this summary revenge, but, at any rate, his silver trains were afterward unmolested. COURTESY FROM ROBBERS. The high esteem with which he was held even by the robbers who had thus been signally punished was shown the time he was captured by one of their band. He was going to Chihuahua from Batopilas, when he was surprised by five highway- men. They had pounced down on him when he had happened to fall bebind his guard. He threw up his hands, kept them up, and went with the brigands to a cave. There they took all the money he had on his person, feasted him with a ‘‘touching’’ hospitality, called him the ‘‘white-faced Silver King,’” and then bade him a merry good-bye. The interior of his fortified haclenda con- tains a veritable city. There are houses, streets, parks, stores, factories and mills. The streets are filled with handsome trees, planted by the master’s own hand. The houses where the employes live have cool,. spacious piazzas and are built, all of one- story,out of the sundried adcbe. The office building is on a war footing, with its win- dows and doors heavily barricaded. The treasury building, where the refined silver is stored ready for shipment, is also a fort within a fort. Then there are the great mills where the quartz, which has been brought up from the mines below, is smash- ed and refined and the molten metal is run into huge bricks of 150 pounds each. It is a considerable army that lives with- in the fortifications, without going or car- ing to go outside, except upon rare oceca- sions. All were subject, under ‘‘Boss’’ Shepherd, to the strictest discipline, but such was the admiration of these easy go- ing, noon napping people for the manly force and tireless energy of their master that they submitted without whimpering. It may seem wonderful that some des- perate character never organized a mutiny to kill the owner, capture his wealth and defy all outside interference. Bat ‘‘Boss’’ Shepherd, exercised too great an influence over them, and they stood in fear of him as if he was almost a super-human being. A ROYAL RESIDENCE. The house where the bonanza king and his family lived was a palace. The table was loaded with as many delicacies as if it had been a Fifth avenue hotel. The cellar was filled with wines of every brand. Tropical fruits abounded. A great re- frigerating plant overcame the tropic heat of the noonday. On the drawing room table were piled the latest papers. A tele- graph ticker kept its operator in constant touch with the outside world. The parlor contained furniture wrought of silver and gold. The nooks and corners were filled with 1are antiques of the time of the Aztecs. Here were also the trophies of his past political life,costly gifts and souvenirs given him by his old-time friends. And in the music room one of his daughters play- ed at times a piano brought from New York city by steamer and train and then over the rough mountain trail, where it had to be lowered and raised by derricks across canyons and over precipices. Near the mine king’s palace was a stable whose stalls were filled with thoroughbreds, and some distance further the cow barns, stock- ed with pure-blooded Gueraseys and Jer- seys. -The whole community is supplied with water by a huge aqueduct, built at a cost of several millions of dollars, and bringing thither the current of a mountain stream. All the machinery is operated by meacs of this water. The aqueduct was built after the furnaces of the smelters had burned up all the available wood within a distance of twenty miles. Even though the great Bonanza king is dead, it is said that the paper money which he established and which is now current throughout Mexico will still remain in circulation. After a determined fight the mine king practically compelled the peo- ple to take his bank notes, each one of which represented by its face value so much silver bullion deposited in the Bank of Chihuahua. It was not until ‘‘Boss” Shepherd had been closeted with Presi- dent Diaz and the two had eaten and drank together in the halls of Maximilian, that the bold American triumphed, and his mine was practically recognized as an of- ficial ming, and his money as a part of the currency of the Republic.—New York Tribune. Women in Federal Service. About one-third of all the employes in the government department at Washington are women. Their salaries range from $660 to over $2,500 per annum. Last year of the 3,083 applicants for government posi- tions, 2476 passed the examination, and 444 were appointed. The most popular examination for women is that for stenog- raphers and typewriters. Tne men appli- cants for these positions predominate; yet the average passing was larger on the women’s side. Many of the lower officials refuse to have male stenographers in their offices. Although the records show that the wom- en applicants have much greater ability than the men, yet men are in the majority appointed. A thousand reasons are urged why men should have the preference, although hardly one woman in fifty but is either the sole support of a family, or one of its main props. The government employe works just as bard as her sister outside, and, once having obtained a position, she has to work to keep it. A young woman was last year made chief of one of the divisions in the post- office department because she knew more about the work of that particular division than any other employe. Miss Thora Stejneger, a Norwegian woman, has charge of the classification of all animals received by the Smithsonian institute, and she examines and labels them with unerring skill. The way of obtaining government posi- tions is tedious and long, but under the methods employed by the civil service com- mission, it is open to all. There are a great many elderly ladies employed in the treasury department. Some are in the 70's; one or two have reach- ed the 80’s. They have worked for years in this department, and are wonderfully expert in their duties. The salaries over- Jap the $100 per month mark. Itisdoubt- ful if any man could be found to do the work at any salary. In cases where exactitude to the verge of finickiness is required, women are better clerks than men. The tabulating machines, requiring uvending patience and the most skillful exactuess of touch, are all run by women. The Foot and Mouth Disease. The appearance of the foot and mouth disease: among cattle in the New England States has made strict quarantine regula- tions a prime necessity. The great inter- ests at stake in the home and foreign mark- ets argue in favor of promptuess and effi- ciency of method. The contagiousness of the disease is well recognized by all vet- erinary authorities, and is apt to extend its baneful influences over large territories whenever the slightest communication with infected herds is possible. The malady is an eruptive fever attended with the appearance of small blisters on the tongue, in the nostrils and mouth and on those parts of the body least covered with hair, preferably around the feet and udder. : The sources of infection are the saliva and the contents of the vesicles, which find their way into the food and diink of the animals and even contaminate the road- ways over which the diseased* beasts may travel. : In certain epidemics the mortality is large and in others comparatively small. The most serious features are the large number of victims, the rapidity of the spread of the disease and the long time re- quired for quarantine. Not only cows but sheep and pigs are susceptible to the con- tagion. ; The first symptoms are loss of appetite, with pain and weakness of the limbs and fever. The secretion of milk is early re- dnced, and there is loss of flesh and spirit. Soon the eruptions appear when the di- agnosis of the general trouble is easily made. In times of epidemic it goes without the saying that herdsmen should be on the lookout for the slightest manifestation of disease, and shoold promptly notify the cattle bureaus. Everytbing now depends upon the ability to stamp out the disease at its very beginning.—New York Herald. Of interest to School Boards. Judges Stowe and Collier, of Pittsburg, one day last week handed down a decision regarding the compulsory education law of 1901 that is of interest to all School Boards. These Judges declare that §he provisions of that act do not apply to boys over 13 years of age who are employed at home, and base their decision on that section of the law which reads as follows: ‘‘This act shall not apply to any child between the ages of 13 and 16 years who can read and write she English language intelligently, and is regularly engaged in any useful employ- ment of service.”’ This is the first time this question has been raised in this State, and the decision of the court is of great importance, not only to School Boards, but to thousands of parents and guardians, who have boys over 13 and under 16 years, employed ahout their homes. The decision in this case’ if sustained by the higher oourt, will change the mode of proceedure of every school board in the State. in regard to the enforce- ment of the compulsory school law. SE SE. “The Old Kentucky Home.” The Weekly Record of Bardstown, Ky., gives this history of the beautiful old song, ‘My O!d Kentucky Home :”’ The song was written by Stephen Collins Foster, a resident of Penusylvania, while he and his sister were on a visit to Judge John Rowan, a short distance east of Bards- town. One beautiful morning, while the darkies were at work in the cornfields and the sun was shining with a mighty splendor on the waving grass—first giving it a color of light red, then changing it to a golden hue—there was seated upon a bench - in front of the Rowan homestead two young people—a brother and a sister. High up in the top of a tree was a mocking bird warbling its sweet notes. Over in the hid- den recesses of a small bush the thrush’s mellow song could be heard. A number of small negro children were playing not far away. When Foster had finished the first verse of the song his sister took it from his hand and sang in a sweet, mellow voice : The sun shines bright on my old Kentucky home; > 'Tis summer, the darkies are gay ; The corn top’s ripe and the meadow’s in the bloom, While the birds make music all the day. The young folks roll on the little cabin floor, All merry, all happy, all bright ; By’m by hard times comes a-knockin’ at the door— Then my old Kentucky home, good night. On her finishing the first verse the mock- ing bird descended to a lower bough. The feathery songster drew his head to one side and appeared to be completely enraptured at the wonderful voice of the young singer. When the last sweet note had died away upon the air her fond brother sang in a deep Fass voice : Weep no more, my lady ; oh, weep no more today ; We'll sing one song for the old Kentucky home. For our old Kentucky home far away. The darkies had laid down their hoe and rake; the little tots had placed themselves behind the large, sheltering trees, while the old black women were peeping around the corner of the house. The faithful old house dog never took his eyes off the young singers. Everything was still, not even the stirring of the leaves seemed to break the wonderful silence. Again the brother and sister took hold of the remaining nutes and sang in sweet accents : They hunt no more for the ’possum and the ‘coon On the meadow, the hill and the shore ; They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon On the bench by de old cabin door. The day goes by like a shadow o’er the heart, With sorrow where all was delight ; The time has come when the darkies have to part— Then my old Kentucky home, good night. The head must bow and the back will have to bend Wherever the darkies may go ; A few more daysand the trouble all will end In the field where the sugar canes grow. A few more days to “‘tote” the weary load— No matter, it will never be light ; A few more days till we totter on the road— Then my old Kentucky home, good night. As the song was finished tears flowed down the old darkies’ cheeks; the children crept from their hiding places behind the trees, their faces wreathed in smiles; the mocking bird and thrush sought their bomes in the thicket, while the old dog still lay basking in the sun. December Weather. The Range of Temperature in this Climate has Been Very Great. The vagaries of December weather for fourteen years are thus shown by the data in the weather bureau. The warmest day was Christmas, 1889, when the thermometer registered sixty-six degrees and dandelions poked their yellow heads up in sheltered places. The whole month that year was warm, the average being forty degrees. The coldest day was December 29th, 1884, when four degrees was the record. It is not generally a cheerful month, as the average number of clear days is only nine, and on December 17th, 1890, the wind blew sixty-four miles an hour. The dry- est month was in 1896, when only forty- one hundredth of an inch of water fell, while 4.75 inches fell in 1901. The great- est snowfall in twenty-four hours was 8.4 inches on Christmas, 1890, and that month won the record for cold, averaging only twenty-nine degrees. If the goose bone is correct in its prognostications and the corn didn’t make any mistake this fall in put- ting on an extra overcoat of husk, and the legend about a warm St. Martin’s day is correct, people may look for a cold De- cember, but the past month has been a most pleasant one. Culiare of Charles Dickens. A Harsh Criticism of the Famous Author's Capabilities. There is something altogether too donnish and academic in the lament of the Uni- versity Extension Journal, that Dickens lacked ‘‘anything like a systematic learn- ing,”’ and that he ‘knew absolutely noth- ing, and cared less,” about history, says the London Graphic. To say this in the face of Dickens’ wonderful contributions to imaginative literature would be to make too great a fetish of ‘‘secondary education, ’’ even if the allegation were true; and it needs an immense amount of qualification before it even approximates to the truth. One of the secrets of Dickens’ popularity is that he understood bis limitations as well as his strength; but the lack of feeling for the picturesque in history, and even for its broader lessons, is not included in their number. ‘‘A Tale of Two Cities’’ is there to prove the contrary. A reader who only knew the French Revolution from that story (which some good judges consider Dickens’ greatest work) might easily have a truer as well as a clearer comprehension of that earth-shaking episode than those who only knew it from the more carefully sifted statements in the text books of the - specialists. A —————— Nature His Hired Man. It was in the far South. ‘“‘How’s times ?’’ asked the tourist. “Pretty tolerable, stranger,” responded the old man, who was sitting on a stump. ‘‘I bad some trees to cut down, but the cyclone leveled them and saved me the trouble.’’ “That was good.’ ‘Yes; and then the lighting set fire to the brush pile and saved me the trouble of burning it.”’ ‘‘Remarkable! But what are you doing now ?"’ ‘Waiting for an earthquake to come along and shake the potatoes out of the ground.’’— Chicago News.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers