a ——_
Bellefonte, Pa., June 19, 1903.
RE ————————————————————— == EAA ——————— E———————_———————_——— === — —~~T——__ _—
THE OPTIMIST.
The green leaves are all dancing in the balmy
winds of May ;
The children ’neath the shade trees are all
happy in their play,
And there’s lots of joy in living if you take
the proper way,
So cheer up and don’t waste time in vain
repining.
The gentle rain is falling on the fair and
fertile fields;
The Lord with gracious favor still His loving
sceptre wields,
And the vineyard, farm and orchard each its
richest treasure yields,
So cheer up and don’t waste time in vain
repining.
The bullheads are a-biting from the dawn to
twilight late ;
The merry birds are singing in a chorus
strong and great,
And you waste your iime in moaning or in
groaning at your fate,
€5 cheer up and don’t waste time in vain
repining.
The clouds may thickly gather, but the sun
still sheds its rays ;
The day may be full gloomy, but there’ll be
more sunny days,
And you'll feel a whole lot better, if you sing
the songs of praise.
So cheer up and don’t waste time in vain
repining.
. A WARY CAMPAIGNER.
“My dear,” said Mrs. Marryat, adjust-
ing her chiffon boa upon her shoulders, ‘I
can only tell you that May and Fiddy were
nothing to her. I took them through two
winters each, as you know, and married
them.”
Mrs. Hayward nodded in appreciative
assent at the triumph of Mrs. Marryat’s
tone ; to marry May and Fiddy might have
corrugated the brows of the ablest mother.
‘“Now,’” Mrs. Marryat.continned, ‘‘what
happens? Ihave a really pretty bright
child whom any one might think it simple
to launch in society, and--the result! I
have never had so intolerable a season.
Nora has one abominable fanlt. Her name
for it is ‘real pride.’ I call it being pos-
sessed of the devil I”
The two ladies looked at each other.
This was strong language. Mrs. Marryat’s
colorless, shapely countenance did not
weaken. She proceeded :—
*‘She classes as false pride every decent
act of decent society. She reverses every
known law, is cavalier to the eligible, flat-
tering to the dowdy, wears her best dress
to dine with a trained nurse and her worst
to the party of the season. She disobeys
every command that I give her with a
sweetness that makes it intolerable, and,
my dear, she drives me to extremes! I
am not used to being thwarted by girls,
and—I have a plan.”
There was a moment of almost awed si-
lence. Mrs. Hayward leaned toward the
speaker with fascinated eves, but the latter
shook her head.
‘I cannot tell it, Susie. It would not
do to tell, even to you. But I will confess
that it is not the sort of thing that I gen-
erally approve of, or indulge in ; still, am
pushed to extremes. I shall manage her
without her knowing it.’’
She arose as she spoke and looked down
on her confidante. ‘‘I hope, my dear, that
you will never have such an experience, ’’
she said, and she swept away, toward the
tennis-courts, to find her troublesome
daughter. .
Mrs. Hayward stared in a wonder that
verged on stupor and she watched Mrs.
Marryat’s handsome back disappearing.
Addie Marryat was a worker of miracles.
How, on her trifling ‘income, she not only
wore a dress like that, but paid for it ; how
she ran with the best, and not only ran
with them, but led them ; how, with no
money, she ranked among the dowagers of
consideration, gave balls or as good as gave
them by receiving at them—these were
things that no ordinary woman could un-
derstand.
_ There was the occasion on which, at an
informal gathering of matrons, she had
charmingly coerced them into getting up a
set of dances to which she never: snbserik-
ed, but which she undertook to manage.
‘“My dear souls,” were her famous words,
“Ill give something better than money :
I'll give you time and trouble.” And, by
dins of spending their money and her per-
sonality with a lavish hand, they were the
success of the season.
There was the gay December when she
talked minuets into fashion (having bad
Fiddy instructed during the dull autumn
months) and sprang her accomplished
daughter on the unthinking mamas and:
cotillion-leaders in so natural a fashion
that Fiddy was sought by all the sons of.
the great houses, and led into empty halls
and libraries to practise with these scions,
who hung upon her steps, at least ! 3
Mrs. Hayward’s head buzzed as she
thought of the wonderful things that Addie
Marryat had done—and she thirsted to
know what desperate step she was now
taking. Mrs. Marryat, when not ‘‘pushed
to extremes,”” was so’ formidable that she
trembled when she thought of her thus
spurred. !
She got up and wandered aimlessly
about, chatting with her friends and long-
ing to stalk Addie, but notdaring to do 80.
She would bave found her very naturally
employed in welcoming an old friend.
‘My dear Robert’? she was saying, ‘‘it
is really rather nice to have vou back. I
think, perhaps, we might almost say that
we have missed you!" .
The yonng man whom she addressed,
and who sat beside her on a long bench
near a tennis-court, laughed.
““You are good, Mrs. Marryat,”” he an-
swered. ‘‘I am glad to be back.”
‘‘Are you truthful?’ She raised her
straight, firmly marked brows. ‘‘But how
about the pretty lady in waiting I heard
of, and the hunting? Confess that you
miss the bunting.”
*‘Perhaps I ehall mise the hunting,” he
admitted, smiling ; ‘‘bus the lady in wais-
ing is a stately fiction. I suppose that I
have to thank Marsball for that.”
‘*Mr. Marshall among others.” She
smiled, and then, with a little serious look
ahead of her, she sighed. ‘‘Robert,”’_she
added, ‘‘I am baving a horrid time.”
Robert stared in sympathetic wonder.
‘‘My dear lady,’’ he returned, ‘‘what is
the matter ? May ? Fiddy?”
She again sighed. Mrs. Marryat in a
softened mood was extraordinarily charm-
ing. Ifshe bad not had astern preocen-
pation with her social and maternal duties,
she might have wrought a very ‘pretty
havoo of her own. §
‘No ; the girls are well and happy,”
she returned, with a plaintive note he never
remembered having heard and which touch-
ed him ; “but my baby, my youngest
child, Robert, is causing me so muck dis-
tress, so much distress.” rire
He shook his head. ‘‘Dear me! What
is the trouble ? “I thought some one said
that she was pretty and——"’
Mrs. Marryat fixed her eyes upon him,
gravely.
‘‘She is pretty,’”’ she said, in a hold-
cheap voice. ‘‘Very pretty. What good
is that when she behaves as she does? The
child is—I don’t know what to call it. She
is a socialist. 2 :
The young man gave a relieved laugh.
‘Oh, come, Mrs. Marryat, that isn’t bad !
Now, what difference do mere opinions
make ?7’
‘‘Mere opinions !”’ echoed the sorrowing
mother beside him. ‘‘If they were only
mere opinions. But she won’t be civil to
anything less than a pauper. It’s a form
of snobbishness, in my opinion,’ she pro-
ceeded, in righteous indignation. ‘It’s no
better to toady to the poor than the rich.
No better to trample on the rich than the
poor !”?
Robert Spenser broke into an abrupt
laugh. °‘‘I beg your pardon,’’ he explain-
ed. ‘‘But it does sound funny.’
“Does i$ ?"’ She faced him reproachful-
ly, the lilacs on her charming hat quiver-
ing in sympathy. ‘‘Perhaps it wouldn’t if
you had your child flout every friend you
had and truckle to farm-hands.’’
‘Oh, come !”’ Spenser laughed Sgain,
“I wish I could come.’”’ Mrs. Marryat
flashed back at him and then dropped her
eyes wearily upon the scene before her.
“I shouldn’s have spoken of it, only—only
—I'm fond of you, Robert ; and you were
80 kind about Fiddy.”’
He did not disclaim. He had been kind
about Fiddy, and it bad been up-hill work.
He bad drawn one line, however ; he had
made it plain, early in the day, that he
would not mar
her and shetler her from the results of her
own dulness, and he had done that and en-
joyed it after a fashion—as you enjoy going
to work among the newsboys or helping re-
formed drunkards, because you have such
a light conscience with which to face your
own gins.
“I've never said a word fo any one,”
went on Mrs. Marryat, firmly. ‘‘This is
just an ontburst on my part of pent-up feel-
ing, and T know you will understand and
not repeat a word I say.”’
He nodded. ‘‘Mum’s the word.’
‘“You will understand just how unpleas-
ant it is when she makes your money a
disgrace to you, ‘‘went on his confidante ;
‘‘and, Robert, if she could only once like a
rich man, it would fall to the ground like
other follies and delusions. I wish that
you would make her like you! But you
couldn’ I’’ She shook her head wearily,
drew off her glove and turned her rings
thoughtfully on her finger.
~ Spenser lighted a cigarette.
“I don’t believe it. Sbe shall like me.
Of course she will. She must.”
Mrs. Marryat’s rings went slowly round.
‘She would if she didn’t know how rich
you are, but the moment she sees that
a 49)
‘Oh, come !”” Spenser had recourse to
his favorite expression. ‘‘It isn’t written
all over my face !”’. :
She smiled at him. ‘‘No, but it ia all
over your horses.” And they were both
silent.
‘‘Robert Spenser,”” said Mrs. Marryat,
suddenly, “Ihave an idea.’”” Her dark
blue-gray eyes were shining. Spenser
watched ber with an amazed satisfaction.
Really, you never could tell where pleasure
could be gathered—to think that Mrs. Mar-
ryat’s eyes should be so handsome !
“I want you to do something for me.’’
“With pleasure! Why not ?”’ His an-
swer came promptly, but held a reserva-
tion—like his attentions to Fiddy.
*‘I want you to let my girl have one
friend among my friends, one decent fellow
to whom she talks sometimes.’’
Again the unexpected, a spot of color in
Mrs. Marryat’s cheeks ! Spenser watched
it as he answered.
‘Certainly, my dear lady ; but it is not
I who am the stumbling-block !”’
“I know. Well, then, we will have to
—to, for once,shuffle a little with the truth
and do her a good turn against her will.
Robert, I shall tell her that you are a poor
man, with no connections !’?
*‘Ob, come !”’ Spenser sat up.
“I'm coming.”” Mrs. Marryat was al-
most beautiful. ‘‘My child, it is an in-
spiration—a heaven-sent inspiration I”
Spenser stared and thought.
touched bottom yet—anything like bottom
—but he was having a very good time and
what be reveled in : a sense of mental ef-
fort. Keeping up with Mrs. Marryat was,
going to exercise his every faculty, and he
knew it. :
“I don’t think I see exactly how it is to
be done,”” he said, slowly. ‘‘Details,
please.” eT ;
‘‘Let me think! How can Igive you
details when this has come, Minerva-like,
whole from my poor, anxious head. But
see, something like this——’’ Mrs. Mar-
ryat hesitated, and thesemblance of vague-
ness was perfect. * “Try this. We are go-
ing to Louisa’s for a week to-morrow.’
(Louisa had married Mrs, Marryat’s broth-
er and given him the righ to be the happy
loafer that he was.) ‘‘You—you could
come, too. I'll arrange it.”” (Louisa was
accommodating.) ‘“No one can tell on us
there, aud you can be as poor and uncon-
nected as possible. Nora will take you to
her heart, and, when we come back and
break the horrid truth to her, she will
have to confess that money doesn’t ahso-
lutely rnin men—on occasion.”’
Spenser hesitated. He loved a mas-
querade, like his fellows—and it sounded
harmless on the whole, and—and—yet he
hesitated. . :
“There is Nora,’’ said Mrs. Marryat,
quietly, ‘‘coming toward me, now. Are
you going to do me a good turn, and cure
her of her folly, or be—inadequate ?’’
Spenser gazed gravely at the advancing
figure aud its attendant.
*'Ob, I'll go in I’ he responded ; and
Mrs. Marryat turned her ring so ruthlessly
on her finger that it cut. ‘‘Don’t overdo
it,”’ she said. ‘“‘I’ll just say a word to
warn her against you.’” She gave him the
sweetest smile he had ever seen touch her
well-cat lips. Ey {
The young girl drew near. She was so
natural, so gay, frolicking on the verge of
their pit of deception, that Spenser felt nos
only guilty, but entranced. Tt was fun. =
‘*Nora, my dear, where have you been?
Mrs. Marryat’s voice had its usual slightly
commanding accent. ‘‘I asked you to be
at the pavilion.” li ue
Nora stood before them, looking very un-
like a culprit. Spenser caught ascent of
battle in the cool, independent glance that
rested on her mother. !
pizyed, and there was such a crowd, and
George and I took a little walk.” She
smiled kindly at her companion, who mov-
ed his big canvas-covered feet uneasily as
he felt Mrs. Marryat’s eyes linger on them.
He wished he had bought’ the other pair
that the shopman had recommended.
‘Hardly a day for walking, I should
think.” Mrs. Marryat’s statement was
cold and general. ‘‘Mr, Spenser, you have
never been presented to my daughter. I
*" believe——Nora, this is Mr. Spenser.”
her, but would look after |
He badn’t
‘I$ was too hot ‘there, and the band:
He bowed, she acknowledged his saluta-
tion, and there was an instant’s silence.
‘“There is Mrs. Willoughby.” Mrs. Mar-
ryat spoke rapidly, as the occasion requir-
ed. ‘‘Will you ron after her, Mr. Car-
penter, and stop her for me. I must speak
to her about those seats, Nora,”’
Carpenter went on his errand with an
‘alacrity which was a characteristic of moss
of Mrs. Marryat’s messengers, and she laid
her band a moment on the girl’s arm as she
turned to follow him.
‘I'll come back for you,” she said, and
added, in a low voice : “Don’t keep Robert
Spenser ; he has just come. Don’t begin
by encouraging him. He is a pleasant
enough fellow, but never has made a penny
‘in his life, and never will, and, altogether
ti
‘‘You...will..miss . Mrs. .. Willoughby,
Mama,”’ Nora broke in, with the slightly
perceptible curl of her lip that Mrs. Mar-
ryat had learned to know so well. She
nodded to them both and departed with
her even, stately tread.
~The sun was straight over their heads,
and it was very hot, but just two steps
‘back suretched the long, cool bench in the
shadow of the squash-court. Nora glanced
about and met Spenser’s glance resting on
her with some curiosity and, she thought,
even amusement. It ran through her
quick mind that he had canght her moth-
er’s warning undertone and was waiting
for her to get rid of him. She gavea lit-
tle mental jerk to the bit as the took it in
her teeth and, sitting down, looked up ‘at
him.
‘‘Are you going away.’’ she said.
you tired of the Marryat family ?’’
Pure coquetry is a rare art ; not to be
self-conscious, not to look coquettish to
the bystander, which is fatal and disliked
of all men, but to be. so, quietly, for the
benefit of the one person it is aimed at—
that is one of the charming things of the
world, and very rare. u
Spenser met ber eyes, and they were
challenging, provocating, and yet, thank
God ! innocent ; he was not a friend to
“knowing’’ girls. Fiddy’s one charm had
been a certain straightforward freshness.
‘‘Going away?’ he responded. ‘I
hadn’t the most remote idea of it, unless
you sent me.”’
*‘Why should I send you ?’’ She smooth-
ed her lacy skirt with the little ivory fan
she held. ‘‘I’'m not such a lover of soli-
tude as that comes to, and, then, you are
quite new, unknown ground, and I——I
am something of an explorer.’’ Her eye-
brows were straight and black like her
mother’s, but the gray, shining eyes be-
neath them were informed by a totally dif-
ferent spirit, Spenser was fond of Mrs.
Marryat, but he was glad.
‘‘Are you ?”’ was his answer, while his
own glance took in these details with lei-
surely thoroughness—‘‘so am I, but I
don’t think the Casino is, as a rule, the
place to discover new regions. One walks
through trim gardens nodding’ with roses
and lilies, hut for the wild charms of a
meadow, the secrets of the woodland, one
may seek in vain.”
She stared. ‘‘Dear me’ she said, slow-
ly. “Ibaven’t heard a word of that sort
for months, not since I left the country
and went to town to shop with Mama.
How strange it sounds!’ She smiled a
him. ‘I am glad you came from wherever
it was. It’s nice to meet a fellow country
man, and I’ve been among these queer peo-
ple so long.”
He took in the slight flush that accom-
panied these words and waited for her to
go on.
‘‘Here we talk about the tennis-courts,’’
she continued, ‘‘and the dancing-floors
and the weather and our clothes and their
carriages, and sometimes we revive our
fainting spirits with a hopeful canvassing
of our neighbors’ disgraceful family quar-
rels—but why do I goon? You probably
know if all, and perbaps like it, since you
come here as a free agent from some other
place.” Sh: EES
*‘Pve just come back from the other
side,’’ answered Spenser, and then stopped
abruptly, his guilty mind suggesting ‘that
it was a queer place for a poor man to go.
He hurried on to cover his retreat. *‘I stop-
ped at my sister’s for a day or two before T
came here,” and there I had unbroken
rusticity. I took a ride yesterday (each
thing sounded more leisurely and well-off
than the last, hut he blundered on) and
went for miles without seeing a soul.”
“Did you? How I envy you!! She
looked discontentedly about her. ‘‘Here
every road is infested with automobiles,
every bush supports a bicycle.”
“It was ‘a wonderful place.’”” Spenser
forgot his responsibilities as he thought of |
his vision of two days before. ‘‘I rode on
and en hetween fields and woods without a
sign of human life except that the ground’
was plowed and cared for, until, suddenly,
I came on a honse lying not far back from
the road, which had a stretch of green but
rather shaggy lawn leading up to it, It.
had pillars and a second-story porch ; it
was a big house, evidently belonging to
people of taste. There was a garden, run-
ning back at one side, and behind it the
woods crowded up and almost clasped it in
their green arms.’’ He stopped and stared
at her with a sudden recognition of her
presence. ‘‘It was the nicest place I've
ever seen, and I’ve——I’ve been in love
ever since.” 5
She smiled. ‘In love with it 2’ she
queried.
“No. in love with ker,”’ he answered.
‘Oh I" Her smile changed. ‘‘So you
saw the mistress of it 2’?
He shook his head. ‘I saw no one.’
“But——"? ! :
‘But she lives there, just the same, and:
is everything I like best in woman. I sat
on my horse,” proceeded Spenser, “‘hesi-
tating whether I should risk it and ride ap
and ask for her, and then—then I ‘hadn’t
the courage, and I rode on, twisting in my
saddle until I nearly fell off, watching the
Place nntil I got around the torn, out of
sight.
& But, evidently, not out of mind !"’ She
raised her black brows and smiled again.
‘Well, do you know, I don’t think rauch
at you—I should have gone in and found
er. :
‘I was afraid some one else would come
when I knocked and would not understand
how important it was for me to see her.
She was up-stairs, tying her sash over her
dress of lavender lawn,and ‘so she wonldn’t
have been in the drawing-room even.”
Miss Marryat studied the profile beside
her with the eager, ignorant eyes of youth.
She liked it. :
‘So she has a lavender lawn, has she 9”?
she asked, slowly. ‘‘Does she wear laven-
der a great deal ?”?
He nodded. ‘‘Yes, and organdies, lots
of organdies. There is one with a yellow
spring on a gray ground.”
Miss Marryat turned away and stared
rather disconsolately over the lawn.
“I am beginning to feel lonely and
Data she said, with a little pout.
‘When I asked you to sit down here, I
didn’t intend to talk
organdies,”’
penser turned about in his turn and
watched the face beside him ; strangely
‘Are
abont other peoples’
enough, she was, in his mental vision, clad
in lilac, though to an unenlightened ob-
server her dress was pink.
“Didn’t you?’ he asked. “Did you
intend anything when you asked me to sit
dowp beside you ?”’
‘Nothing very definite,”’ she answered,
and, being young, she became serious.
*‘Only to weigh you a little, and ——"
‘And find me wanting 2’ he interrups-
ted, with a very delightful smile.
*‘No,”” she laughed, but her eyes gave a
little snap ; ‘only to find out if every
young man in this place is equally bhope-
less as a companion.’
He tried not to smile again.
I, also, quite hopeless ?’’
Miss Marryat fluttered her fan softly.
“You wonldn’t be if you badn’s fallen in
love with %er. I think yom might be rath:
“Well, am
er-nice if.it were not for that.’’
“There is hope for me, then,”’ Spenser
resumed. ‘‘For I am a very fickle person,
and I may supplant her image with anoth-
er in short order. I wonderif you would
take a drive——I mean a walk with me
this afternoon ?’’
The girl hesitated. They were sitting
facing each other, and Mrs. Marryat ap-
proached with an indefinable smile hover-
ing on ber lips.
‘‘My dear,” she said ; and Nora started
and rose to her feet, as did Spenser also.
‘I've made an engagement for you this af-
ternoon, and’ yon must come now ; for
luncheon will be ready.” She turned to
Spenser graciously : “I’m afraid we shall
miss your visit, Mr. Spenser, as we go
down to my sister’s place to-morrow. for a
week.’
The girl turned to him with troubled
eyes. He gazed a moment into their
depths and pressed unconventionally the
hand she laid in his. i
“I'm sorry,’”’ she said. ‘‘You see how
Mama disposes of my afternoons ; but, per-
haps, when we come back, if ‘you haven’t
quite gone, and I buy an organdy, you
might ask me again.”’ Again they looked
into each other’s eyes, and hoth of them
laughed.
“I may almost call it a likelihood,’’ he
responded, and reluctantly let her fingers
£0. ‘‘May I see you to the gates?’
Mrs. Hayward, who stood waiting for
her brother, stared at them and felt her
eyes growing round as she watched the
girl’s manner.
Had Addie’s whole story been false ?
Impossible ! And then Nora already had
a reputation. Was she dreaming, or was
this the result of Addie’s desperate remedy?
She sank on a bench and gasped asshe saw
them go through the gates and caught the
flash of the girl’s lovely gray eyes as she
looked hack at Spenser.
‘‘Addiz is a witch,”” she murmured ;
and she has never had cause to change her
opinion.—By Francis Willing Wharton, in
the Cosmopolitan.
Where the Nile Flows.
The Land of the Speechless Sphinx and the Trackless
Desert.
Port Said and Alexandria are the gate-
ways through which tourists usually enter
Egypt. The one lies at the northern en-
trance to the Suez Canal, the other farther
west, in the Delta of the Nile. Visitors
who expect to see in either city impressive
reminders of Egypt’s ancient splendor are
acutely disappointed by their first glimpse
of the historic land. The very decidedly
modern aspect of Alexandria suggests little
of the mysterious Orient. Only a few scat-
tered minarets, and here and there a stray
palm tree distinguish the bustling town
from any seaport on the French coast. We
are interested in its street scenes, but we
feel no regret on leaving this ancient strong-
hold of the Ptolemies’ and eagerly take
train to Cairo, the Pyramids and the
Sphinx.
From thecar windows we get glimpses
of a kaleidoscopic procession of Bedouins,
clad in their flowing bernouses, of women
hideously veiled, of water carriers laden
with goatskins filled to bursting, and of nn-
gainly camels whose turbaned drivers are
starting them on their voyage across the
desert. These, and Cairo’ itself, city of
mosques and tombs and. minarets, make us
realize the ascendency of the cresceut. But
it is ever so much harder to believe that
this gay, fashionable health resort, this
social center of a refined civilization, this
many-sided metropolis of today, is now the
capital, the living heart of the Egypt of the
Pharaohs, and of Cleopatra.
"From January until April, Cairo is the
scene of incessant revelry. After that the
official colony departs, and the gentleman-
ly khedive and his court hasten to Alexan-
dria. ro :
"But during the season the 'Nile's sacred
bosom is gay with beating parties, ‘whose
song and laughter rebound, from ruined
temples where long forgotten priests once.
chanted their hynms to the rising. sun.
Since that day the massive ‘columns, now
prove and broken, have echoed sounds that
changed the very face of the globe. Here:
the captive children of Israel groaned till
Moses led them to Sinai; here Anthony
dreamed away an empire; here victorious
Islam carried the koran on its sword point
and the mighty Mamelukes fell hefore Na-
poleon’s army. ih
Such levity amidst such surronndings is
shocking, of course, and all a startling in-
congruity. But we add our own quota
when, busy with thoughts of a. wonderful
past, we find ourselves eagerly watching
the progress of a polo game played in the
very shadows of the overthrown temples.
To ‘visit the Pyramid Field; we drive
through a beautiful avenue bordered with
miles of luxuriant lebbek trees, in victorias
or, if we prefer, in automobiles. Irrever-
ently we wonder what the royal mummies
would say to the latter. Poor fellows,they
haven’ been treated fairly. After bmild-
ing for themselves tombs that have protect-.
ed them for ages, and where they hoped to
lie until resurrection dawned, we dig them’
out and expose them to view in the musenm
at Ghizeh, and add to the insult by charg-
ing a small admission fee. Tey
‘Think of wheeling parties picnicking in
the shadow of the Sphinax, resting their
bicyoles against old Cheops himself, and
sending their golf balls out over the plain
he has guarded so long. 3
Arrived at the Pyramids we play at
mountaineering on the desert and, at the
risk of our dignity, we are shoved and
hauled up the giant steps of the Great Pyra-
mid, laid bare by the thieving Arabs, who,
to deck their mushroom mosques, scaled off
its marvelous sheathing of polished granite.
A staircase to the sky is Cheops. At the
summit we drink in a glorious panorama.
Close at hand rise the lesser pyramids,
great piles of gray gloom that cut black
triangles out of the blue and gold sky, and
| the motionless Sphinx still patiently wait-
ing for the Dawn. Even in its mutilation,
the giant head reveals the ancient type of
female African beauty.
Yonder lies Cairo, its golden domes and
its exquisitely graceful minarets gleaming
red and white against the purpling horizon;
and through the broad landscape winds the
sluggish Nile, its outstretched arms caress-
ing the low lying islands green fringed with
oe EHTS on
palms, and far in the distance lies the Del-
ta, like a great fan of silver filigree.
The excavations pursued by scientists
may, ere long, lift the veil that hides the
origin and meaning of the Pyramids. But
will they ever discover the secret of their
wonderful architecture? Where, to-day, is
the modern builder who will raise such a
structure and set is upon a floor of shifting
sand with such accuracy that, after the
lapse of ages, it shall vary nota bair’s
breadth from the geometric truth with
which it was planned ?
But Cairo beckons and we close our eyes
for a moment to imprint the scene on our
minds forever. We wave our hands to the
eternal Sphinx rising above billows of
whirling sand, we turn for a last look at
the Pyramids, hoary with age when Moses
lay in his royal cradle. . We dine and sleep
at the Palace hotel in Ghizeh, a beautiful
palace built for his residence by the late
khedive, on so vast a scale that it was
known as ‘‘Ismail’s Folly.”” Bought by a
syndicate from the creditors of the extrava-
gant sovereign, it has been converted into
a hotel second to none in the world in
luxury and equipment.
A discordant jangle of many bells, loud
cries of runners, a cloud ‘of dust and behind
it a lurching vehicle suspended between
gaily. caparisoned camels, attract our at-
tention, and we behold a modorn Rebecca
being borne in state, a bride, to her hus-
band’s home. i
- We long to peep behind the swarshy
yasmask, but we dare not. Even the man
who weds her has not yet looked upon her
face.
Hoary past and hustling present literally
clasp hands in the streets of Cairo. Bedouin
women from the desert, hugging close their
chubby youngsters, drive into town in the
rudest of donkey carts and gaze with wide-
eyed stolidity at the swiftly moving electric
street cars. The top heavy camel slouches
along on guite familiar footing with bicycles
and horseless carriages. Native runners,
clad io brilliant and picturesque Ali Baba
costumes, make their engagements over the
telephone. Butchersand bakers, fruit ven:
ders, water sellers and candy hawkers ply
their trade in doorways and under bal-
conies, pierced and crenlated and fretted
with a delicacy fit for a lady’s fan.
The mosques are churches, tombs,
schools, universities. hospitals, and the
rallying spots of mobs and demagogues, all
in one. Distinctively eastern as is their
exterior, in their inner courts the bewilder-
ing mass of carving, fretwork, inlay, tiling
and mosaic, perfect in every tiny detail of
workmanship, fairly takes one’s breath
away. Spiral and curve,star and parallelo-
gram, these are the everlasting motif; for
the koran upholds the decalogue and lays
strict injonction against the making of
graven images.
No wonder we miss monuments and
statues; po wonder that flower, fruit and
leaf are absent; no wonder that art here de-
votes itself to the purely geometric.
There is no ritual in the mosque other
than—if such it may be called—the re-
citing of prayers in response to the
muezzin’s call. The better class make
their prostrations upon the rugs for which
the East is famous. When these praying
rugs reach our home marts, the connoisseur
seeks the twin spots in the pile, worn there
by the hands and knees and toes of the
faithful. Those who have been in the East
and heard the muezzins call from the min-
arets with the regularity of a cockoo clock,
and have followed the pious into the mos-
ques and noted their postures during pray-
er, readily understand the significance of
so singular a hall mark.—By Isabel R.
Wallach in The Four Track News.
Servia’s Bloody Chronicles.
Servia is a kingdom in the Balkan pen-
insula, south of Austria-Hungary, with
Roumania on the east from which it is
separated by the. Danube, Bulgama and
Albania on the south, and Albania and
Bosnia on the west. Its area is but
19,050 square miles, about three-fifths of
that of Pennsylvania, but with. a popula-
tion of 2,312,000. At Orsova the Balkans
are separated from the Carpathian moun-
tains by a eleft called the Iron Gates, and
through them the Danube rushes. = Servia
slopes from the mountains on the south . to
the north in a roughly inclined plain, but
there are level tracts on the northwest. In
the valleys and lower regions the fertile
soil grows maize, rice, wheat, bemp and:
tobacco.
Vineyards are along the Danube, and
plum trees, whence the native brandy is
distilled. Oak and walnut forests cover’
more than half the territory.- Iron, copper
and coal abound, but lack of roads chesks
their working. Immense herds of swine
are tended in the forests, and this exporta-
tion forms the chief revenue. Thus among
the peasant ralers figuring in the dynastic
history the swineherd often appears. Lit-
tle attention is paid to education, and the
general condition of the country is far be-
hind that of Roumania and Bulgaria. The
preponderance of exports and imports ie
with Austria-Hungary. Abont 2,500 miles
of telegraph and 350 of railroads exist. The
inhabitants are a branch of the Slavic.
The skuptschina meets annually and has
a membership of 262. The inhabitants are
almost entirely members of the Orthodox,
or Greek Catholio church. Military service
is obligatory upon all able-bodied males be-
tween 21 and 51. An army of 350,000 can
be mobilized. The Servian Mterature
naturally involves that of the southern.
Slavic languages, spoken in Servia, Herso-
govina, Bosnia, Croatia, Montenegro and
Dalmatia. The Servian and Croat litera-
tures come nearer together. The former
uses Russian writing characters, and the
latter the Latin. But they differ in reli-
gious influence, the one Greek and the other
Roman Catholic, and thus for centuries
were divergent in development. The
struggle for liberation from the Turks
brought out some fine Servian poetry, but
the greatest literary treasures are the Ser:
vian ballads. So the Croatian literature
has a parallel development under similar
patriotic influences. :
Belgrade, the capital of Servia, has a
population of 54,000. Its Servian equiva-
lent is Biel-gorod, or white town. It ison
the right bank of the Danube. Its citadel
is very strong. Is is the entrepot of com-
‘merce between Turkey and Austria. Its
manufactures are of arms, cutlery, sad-
dlery and carpets. It has lost its former
Oriental appearance because wealthy Turks
have deserted it.
The Byzantine emperors induced the
Servians in the seventh century to leave
the Carpathian region and settle in their
present abode. Christianized in the ninth,
they became independent in the eleventh
century, and Pope Gregory VII, recogniz-
ed their king. The tenth sovereign, Steph-
en Dushan, in the fourteenth century, con-
quered nearly all the Balkan peninsula and
took the title of czar. In 1389, in the ter-
rible battle of Kossova, Servia lost her in-
dependence to the Turks and disappeared
from history until the beginning of the
nineteenth century.
Then the peasant, Kara-George, expelled
the Ottomans, aided by the Frans and
reigned from 1804 to 1813. Again the Ot-
tomans overran the kingdom and the swine-
herd, Milosh Obrenovitch, who had assassi-
nated King Kara-George, headed a desper-
ate resistance for 15 years. - Supported by
Russian diplomacy, be forced the Sublime
Porte, in 1830, to recognize him as heredi-
tary prince of Servia.
Kara-George, who had led the grand
revolt in 1803 against the Turks, bad as
his real name George Petrovich, but he was
surnamed Tsrni, or Black George, which
in Turkish is kara. When Milosh had, in
1830, forced Turkey to recognize him as a
prince, he soon forgot his Turkish training,
and made himself obnoxious. He was
compelled to abdicate in 1839, in favor of
bis son, Milan. But he was too feeble to
exercise authority, and after his speedy
death his younger brother, Michael, suc-
ceeded. He in turn abdicted in 1842, and
the Serbs then elected Alexander, the son
of Black George, or, as his name reads in
Servian, Karageogevitch.
He was compelled to resign in 1859 and
Milosh, now very old, was invited to re-
turn from Bucharest. He lived but one
year, and dying left the throne to his son,
Michael, then 40 years old, thus elected a
second time king. Michael had learned
much during his exile. In 1862 he sue-
ceeded in having the Turkish garrisons re-
moved from Belgrade. The Moslem in-
habitants gradually withdréw from the
country. One mosque in Belgrade is still
used by the remainder, but the second
temple is now a gas works.
While. walking in the Tipshirede park
June 10, 1868, Michael was assassinated by
the emissaries of Alexander Karageorge-
viteh. His second cousin, Milan, grandson
of Yephrem (Ephraim ),a brother of Milosh,
succeeded. In 1875 Milan married Natalie
de Keczko, a Russian. Scandals that af-
fected all Europe were followed by his at-
tempts to divorce her, which she finally ac-
complished herself in 1884. This Milan
was born in 1854, and was the adopted son
of Prince Michael, who had no children by
his wife, Julia Hunyadi. Sent to Paris, to
be educated, his plans were changed by the
assassination of 1868. He was released
from the regency. governing during his
minority, and became prince in 1872. In
1876 he proclaimed war against Turkey,
and went to the front, but soon returned to
Belgrade and let the Russian generals con-
trol. TheServians were defeated in a great
battle, and the joint war, in which Mon-
tenegro bad aided, had to be settled by the
intervention of Russia. The Berlin con-
gress recognized the independence of Servia
in 1878, and extended its boundaries.
Milan was proclaimed the first king in
1882. His queen procured her divorce
from the patriarch of Servia. She had nev-
er taken any pains to hide her pro-Russian
sympathies. Milan was compelled to ab-
dicate, and the king just assassinated
Alexander Obrenovitch, his son was named
as his successor.
In this same year a more liberal constitu-
tion was proclaimed, under which all tax-
payers became electors, and by their votes
chose the entire skaptschina.
Alexander was born August 14th, 1876.
He had accompanied his mother, Queen
Natalie, to Berlin after the divorce, but
was forcibly brought back to Belgrade. He
married July 23rd, 1900, Mme. Draga
Maschin, a widow, whose father was a
liveryman and whose own past had been
disreputable. She was 40 years old at the
time, and bad a son 16 years old. The
king posted a proclamation that his low
|| caste marriage was to set an example to a
peasant people. Ministry and clergy pro-
tested. but the marriage was solemnized.
A scandalous chronicle has been the
sequence. She feigned maternity and tried
to palm off a sister’s child as an heir. Then
she essayed suicide. The czarina of Russia
ignored her, aad diplomatic corps. women
held aloof. Last April the king fignred in
a coup by suspending the parliament of
the kingdom and the constitution,and then
as suddenly restoring them. But mean-
while as an absolute monarch he bad ab-
rogated laws passed under the later organic
law, and these were not restored. 'Recent-
ly his kingdom bas been involved in the
troubles known generically as the Ma-
cedopian. . hia
“One cause of popular irritation recently
has been the rumored attempt of Queen
Draga, who was remembered as only a lady
in waiting to Queen Natalie to foist one of
her brothers upon the throne by arrange-
ment with Alexander. Roma ah
hi ;
From the Third Grade.
‘Miss Petal Pink, who teaches the third
grade in one of the publicschools, says that
if the daily column people could have their
desks in her room newspapers would be
considerably brighter and there would be
no such word as ‘‘grind.”” iE
‘‘Yesterday,’” related Miss Pink, ‘‘one
of the little ones was ill, and we talked the
matter over before setting down to work.
Little Minnie Briggs had an observation to
make on illness in general. * * * Jas
Sunday,’ she informed us, ‘my pa had a
funny sickness—counldn’t walk straight—
and we all had to go over to our grand-
ma’s. - After dinner pa was better, only he
had a headache; but we all went out to the
Zoo 1” ; ;
*‘Awhile ago.” resumed Miss Pink, ‘the
board gave us a half dozen new chairs for
our room, and this became a topic for dis-
cussion for several moments. = Minnie,
whose eyes miss nothing, in the heavens
above or waters beneath, was on’ the spot
with an item of interest. * * * ‘When-
ever my ma buys new furniture a man likes
it so well that he comes a lot of times to see
it,’ she declared, just a little proudly.
* % % Ts wassome moments before it
dawned upon me that Mrs. Briggs probably
bonght ber furniture on the installment
plan. shail
Found Him Out,
Little Dot—‘ ‘Mamma, I don’t think
Uncle George is half as smart us he tries to
make people believe he is.”’
Mamma— ‘Why. do you think that,
dear?”
Little Dot—‘‘Becanse he claims to un-
derstand five or six different lauguages and
yesterday I bad to tell him what the baby
was saying.’’— Chicago News.
——Farmers and others should he famil-
iar with the fact that a small quantity of
clean lard rubbed in horse’s ears will keep
from the ears all flies, large and small, and
save the animal untold annoyance and suf-
fering. Will you do it or will you allow
the poor brute to worry through the sum-
mer for want of a few minute’stime each
week on your part. e
——Mrs. Mary L. Harrison, widow of
ex-President Benjamin Harrison, contem-
plates a trip around the world. She will
leave shortly for the coast to take a steamer
for Japan, where she will spend the greater
part of her time.