Bellefonte, Pa., September 25, 1903. THE SHADY SIDE OF FORTY. On the shady side of forty, but the sun is sail- ing high, And the path is gently winding where the sweet- est roses lie. On the shady side of forty, but amidst the golden glow I am walking with my loved ones where the fairest flowers grow. Youth is still beside me trudging down the in- cense-laden way And I fear not coming shadows of an evening cold and gray, For with light and love and laughter why should one be full of gloom On the shady side of forty while the roses are in bloom. On the shady side of forty, but yet scarcely past the noon, And the birds are gaily singing each its merry woodland tune, On the shady side of forty, but my pathway I pursue Full of hope and cheer and pleasure with the old friends tried and true. Love is keeping step beside me and the sky o’erhead is clear, And I take no thought of twilight and a night time dark and drear. For while loved ones cling about me why should I be full of dread On the shady side of forty with a bright sun overhead ? On the shady side of forty, but my joys are all increased For I live again the hours when the sun was in the east. On the shady side of forty, and I live again the joy, In the mem’ries, gayand happy, of the days when but a boy. Visions sweet come trooping past me as I walk along the way, And I live the happy morning, working in the close of day. So with loved ones walking by me while the west is all aglow, I can pluck life’s sweetest flowers in the gar- dens where they grow. On the shady side of forty ? Nay, ’tis on the sunny side, For I see the sun in splendor down the sky- blue distance glide, While its golden tints are painting on the canvas of the west Pictures of a stately mansion where at last my soul shall rest. On the sunny side of forty! And the pathway leads along Flowered banks and rills that ripple in a never- ceasing song ; And I walk with loved ones ever with a heart so light and gay On the sunny side of forty in the brightest of the day. —Selected. HEPNER’S UNDISPUTED WILL. ‘Old Man Hepner’’ was an original fel- low, with a well-developed sense of humor. He seldom did anything as another would do it, but his method usually was effective, and it was more than an even chance that a discerning man would find a choice bit of humor concealed somewhere in his every action. Hepner could appreciate a joke all by himself. The average man wants com- panionship in his humor, but Hepner need- ed none. He did not have to repeat a joke or tell a story to some one else in order to enjoy the full flavor of it. It was enough for him that he saw the point, and in con- sequence he had developed a silent chuckle that was both mystifying and annoying. The corners of his mouth would begin to twitch, his eyes would twinkle merrily,and he would fairly shake with suppressed merriment, but when asked what amused him he would give the unsatisfactory re- ply, *‘Oh, I was just thinking.”’ It was fortunate for Old Man Hepner, as he was generally known, that he was thus constituted, for humor is essential to a . proper enjoyment of life, and in his case there was little that was conducive to laughter in his immediate surroundings. He had accumulated money by hard work and economy, and he was decidedly averse to having it dissipated by lavish and un- necessary expenditures. Herein he differ- ed from his second wife and his children. His first wife, who had shared in his early hardships and struggles, had been careful and saving, but his second wife regarded a wealthy husband as little else than a banker who should honor all drafts up to the limit of his resources. When this limit was reached it would be no more than considerate for him to die and permit her to acquire another banker by matrimonial purchase. But old men with young wives sometimes look at these things differently, and Hepner, with his usual forethought, would not let present pleasure blind him to future needs. He thought of his grand- children, while his children thought of themselves. The latter joined with the stepmother in her efforts to make inroads on the fortune. They bad not appreciated his early struggles, and their social and other ambitions were of the expensive kind. They were in need of money all the time. Now Old Man Hepner was not miserly, but only reasonably economical and cau- tious. He knew how mach he had, and he knew what would happen if he released his hold on the purse-strings—the fortune would melt away, iustead of slowly in- creasing as it was doing under his manage- ment. The income would be exhausted, and the principal attacked, in no time at all; his wife and his children would live high, and nothing would be left for the grandchildren; his money would be circu- lated lavishly in New York and Europe, and the place of their birth would known them no more. So he withstood the pleas and arguments, insisted that life should not be devoted entirely to pleasure, and retained his sanity and good-humor under the stress of constant criticism and ingen- ious verbal assaults only by his saving sense of humor. ‘*But wait till he dies,”’ said the neigh- bors, to whom the facts were well known. ‘‘He can’t take his money with him, and there will be great doings then.’’ ‘‘He’ll tie it up in his will,”’ a thought- ful one suggested. ‘‘The will never was made that can’t be broken when all the principal heirs are bent on it,’ was the confident reply. As a matter of fact, this was the very thing that worried Old Man Hepner. The grandchildren almost invariably have an important place in the plans of old people, and Hepner was no exception to this rule. He wished to protect their interests, but how could he do it? He had, perhaps, an exaggerated idea of the ease with which wills could be broken, and he was fearful of what would happen when he had passed away. *‘They’ll make me out crazy,’’ he said to himself. ‘‘They’ll say I was unduly influenced by somebody, that I wasn’t in my right mind, that I had been erratic and irresponsible for several years; and, if they fail in that, the lawyer will forget to cross a ‘t’ or to dot an ‘i’ and then it will be all up with the will. How can I make it binding ?”’ It was when he finally answered this question to his satisfaction that he gave his most extraordinary exhibition of suppress- ed mirth. In truth, he seemed in danger of an apopletic stroke for a few minutes. “What's the matter?’ demanded his wife. “I was juss thinking,” he replied. “Of what ?’’ she asked. “Of my will,”’ he answered. “Is it so funny ?’ she inquired, puzzled, It is,’ he said. His lawyer laughed, too, when he heard the plan, and thereafter Old Man Hepner chuckled more than ever. And always, when his wife or his children asked the occasion for his merriment, he answered, “I was thinking of my will.”” Naturally, they marveled much at this, and one day his daughter remarked that she could see nothing so excruciatingly funny in a will. ‘“Wait till you see this one,”’ he replied. At another time, when his son happened to be at the house, he solemnly informed him that nothing short of cremation would prevent him from langhing aloud in his grave when the will was opened. “Then you shall be cremated,’’ said the son. ‘As you will,”’ replied Old Man Hepner. ‘My spirit will still laugh.” This humor disturbed the wife and chil- dren mightily, for they could make noth- ing of it, and it continued fitfully up to the time of the old man’s death. He pass- ed away peacefully and seemingly content, a peculiar, quizzical smile haunting his face at the lass. His will, it was discovered, was in the possession of his lawyer, and it was with anxious curiosity that the widow, the son and the daughter assembled in the law- yer’s office after the final obsequies to learn what Fate had in store for them. The lawyer smiled grimly as he produced a lit- tle box and a brief legal document. ‘Mr. Hepner,”’ hesaid, ‘‘chose a strange method of making his last will and testa- ment, for there are, in fact, two of them, each decidedly original in form and con- tents.”’ “In any event,’’ said the widow, de- cisively, ‘I get the widow’s dower inter- est. Whatever may be done with the other property, I cannot be deprived of that.’ The lawyer bowed and smiled again. ‘‘He gave due thought to that,’’ he said, ‘‘but he was hopeful that you would con- sent to waive those rights and inherit un- der the will he has left.” “I’l1 waive no rights,’ said the widow. “I’ve been cooped up in this town long enough waiting to get what’s due me.” ‘‘Let’s hear the will,”’ said the son. ‘“The first,”’ said the lawyer, picking up the document, ‘‘is a rather informal etate- ment of his wishes. Stripped of the legal preliminaries, it is to the following effect : ‘It is my desire that my wife Lonise Watts Hepner, my son Horace Hepner,and my daughter Helen Hepner Hoekins, shall waive all rights conflicting with the pur- pose here set forth, and, by agreement, shall permit the estate to remain intact under the joint management of my attor- ney, Samuel Towner, and my former partner, John S. Fender, who shall give a sufficient bond for the proper execution of this trust; that the income of the estate, after deducting the necessary administra- tion expenses. shall be divided equally among these three heirs, their heirs in case of death to receive their share, until my youngest grandchild shall reach the age of twenty-one years, when the estate shall be divided equally among all of my direct descendants then living, my widow, if still living, to receive an equal share with the others. If one or more of my three heirs, enumerated above, refuses to agree to this, I desire that my phonograph shall be al- lowed to speak for itself, with megaphone attachment, in open court, and that the probate judge take such action in the prem- ises as may be legal and proper.’’’ The three heirs all spoke at once and all used the same words when the lawyer bad finished reading. “‘’ll not agree,’’ was what they said. ‘‘“Think of tying up my interest for nine- teen or twenty years,’’ added the son. ‘‘I want the ready money.’”’ “So do I,” said the daughter. ‘I've been planning a European trip for the last six years.”’ i‘And I must bave my dower interess,’’ asserted the widow. ‘‘I’'m going to New York to live.” “In that case,’’ remarked the lawyer in the tone of one who had slight interest in the matter, ‘‘it will be necessary to present the phonograph will for probate.’’ “What is the phonograph will ?”’ asked the widow. “It is a will that he dictated to the phonograph in his own language,’’ replied the lawyer. “I have the cylinder here, and, in case of disagreement, it will have to be used in accordance with the instruc- tions he left. You see, he makes definite provisions for this sabstitution, so that if any attack is to be made it must be made on the phonograph will. The other prac- tically passes out of existence the moment it is assailed.” ““Well,”’ said the widow with determi- nation, ‘‘I won’t accept that written thing, and if the phonograph will is no better I'll hire a lawyer and see if I can’t break it.” ‘“That’s right,’’ acquiesced the son. *‘I want my share of that estate without fool- ish restriotions.’’ “So do I,” said the daoghter. Again the lawyer bowed. “You will know better what you wish to do,”” he remarked, ‘‘after you have heard the phonograph will. Mr. Hepner was a very peculiar and original man with most extraordinary ideas, and he has pre- pared a will the like of which I think never was seen or heard before. It is so strange and unusoal that, I confess, I am doubtfal of its validity, but he seemed to care little for that so long as I could assure him that it would be heard in open coaré before any attack could be made on it. I will now let Mr. Hepner himself acquaint yon with its terms.’”’ The widow shuddered a little at this, and the son and daughter looked ill at ease. There was something uncanny in hearing the voice of Old Man Hepner him- self explain what he wished done with his property. However, they waited patient- ly and in silence while the lawyer adjust- ed the cylinder. Then the voice they knew so well began this remarkable state- ment : “I, Sylvanus Hepner, being of sound mind, declare this to be my last will and testament, and 1 desire that the absence of legal verbiage and ordinary legal forms shall be interpreted and executed in ac- cordance with the plain statement I now make : “I have no confidence in the ability or inclination of my wife. Louise Watts Hepner, my son Horace Hepner, or my daughter Helen Hepner Hosking, to prop- erly manage and conserve the estate—?’ ““The brute !’’ broke in the widow. ‘“—and for that reason I desire that if shall remain intact, if this be a possible thing. Appreciating, however, that when Louise Watts proposed to me—’’ “J never did !’’ cried the widow, in- dignantly, and then, addressing the phono- graph directly, ‘‘You know better than that, Sylvanus !”’ ‘‘—ghe was principally attracted by the comfortable fortune I possessed—’’ fA lie!” passionately exclaimed the widow. ‘‘—] anticipate that she will demand her dower rights. If she gains this much with- out restrictions it may prove an attraction to another man, aud I am sufficiently well- disposed toward men in general to wish to preserve each and all of them from this fate. I would not willingly put in any man’s way the temptation that may result in binding him to an ill-kep$ house—’ ‘Oh, oh, oh! I’m a good housekeeper, and you know it!" cried the widow. “—but it may be that I am powerless. In that case, she must have her dower in- terest, the men must run their chances,and may tie Lord have mercy on them !’’ “Shut i$ off ! Shut it off I’’ oried the widow, and when this was done she went on angrily. ‘‘Oh, the treacherous man ! The cruel thing! That will never shall be produced.”’ ‘‘You bave nothing to say about it,” retorted the son. ‘Do you think I am going to let my money be tied up because some disagreeable things are said about you? That will must be produced in or- der to be broken so that we may all get what is coming to us. Let’s hear the rest of it.” The lawyer moved the lever and the phonograph continued : “In case my wife elects to take her dower interest outright, and cabnot be legally prevented from doing so, I desire that the rest of the estate shall remain in- tact, in accordance with the plan hereafter outlined. My daughter’s share I would have preferred to leave direct to her, but I am averse to having it invested in yellow silk bonnets and green velvet gowns—’’ ‘“Horrible !’’ interjected the daughter. *‘—and from what I know of her taste this is what would happen. Ihave had no confidence in her judgment since she se- lected a husband, whose main ambition is to enjoy a pink satin existence on a calico salary—"’ ‘‘He consented to the marriage !”’ cried the daughter. ‘“—_but perhaps I should not judge her harshly in this. One cannot always get just what one wants—"’ ‘I refused six before I accepted John, and you know it,”’ expostulated the daugh- ter, addressing the phonograph. ‘—and possibly she did as well as she could reasonably expect, in view of all the circumstances. Still, I hesitate to entrust the management of any considerable prop- erty to one who invested one hundred and fifty dollars in old bric-a-brac that was turned out of a Connecticut factory ata cost of about three dollars and twenty- eighs cents.’’ “Stop it ! Stop it!’ cried the daungh- ter. ‘I never could hold up my head again if the neighbors heard how I was cheated in that matter, just when I was going to be so swell.” ‘‘Go on,’’ said the son. ‘‘What does it matter, so long as we get what’s due us ?”’ “As for my scapegrace son,’”’ went on the phonograph, at which the son winced a little, ‘‘it is better that the property should be held in trust than that he should fly to Paris with it. I know too well what would happen. He spent two months in New York shortly before his marriage—?’ ‘‘Hold on !”’ cried the son. ¢‘_and heretofore I bave been consider: ate enough to say nothing of what it cost to get him back without a scandal. A young man who thinks a slight knowledge of a stock-farm equips him to operate in a stock-market—?’ ] “Quit! Quit!’ commanded the son. ‘“—and whose only ability so far has been displayed in the direction of invest- ments in colored shirts and patent-leather shoes is not one to be entrusted with the management of any part of an estate.’ “I don’t want to manage the old es- tate !”” ' roared the son so angrily that the lawyer stopped the phonograph. ““There is more,’’ said the lawyer. “I don’t want to hear any more,’’ re- turned the son. ‘Tt has some reference to the three good- salaried positions that you have had and lost, and also to that little affair at the sea shore.”” ““Well, we’ll stop right here,”’ asserted the son. *‘As I have said,’ went on the lawyer, ‘I have no doubt that you can break this will.” “But, to be broken, it will have to be produced,’ suggested the widow. “It will have tospeak for itself in court,’ said the lawyer. “There is no way of avoiding it ?”’ “None, except by agreement in acoord- ance with the terms of the statement I first read.” ‘And this cylinder ?'’ “Will be destroyed when the agreement is properly executed.” “I agree,’’ said the widow, with a sigh. ‘So do I,’? said the son. ‘And I,”’ said the daughter. Then, suddenly, they looked at each other visibly startled, after which they all listened intently. “It certainly sounded like a suppressed chuckle, ’’ said the son—By Elliots Flower, in Cosmopolitan. Two Ladies Flustered. Two ladies entered the cable car in Edin- burgh at an hour of the day when seats are a possibility. One was an elegant dowager in regal magnificence of attire; the other was evidently her daughter. ‘Shall I pay the fare, mamma? I have my purse with me,”’ said the young lady sweetly. ‘‘Ob, no; change.’’ Thereupon she leaned sideways and com- menced the intricate and hampered process of searching her rich draperies for her pock- et. After a minute or two of fumbling, during which her face grew an apoplectic red, she exclaimed, tragically : ‘Laura, what shall Ido? I have been robbed. My purse is gone—my pocket is entirely empty.” ‘‘Perhaps, madam,’’ said the gentleman by ber side, into whose coat pocket she had thrust her hand—‘‘perbaps if you search your own pocket instead of mine you will be more likely to find your purse.’’—Scot- tish American. I’ll pay. I have plenty of Easy and Effective. ‘‘Before I consent to let you have my daughter,’’ said the square-jawed captain of industry. ‘‘I want you to answer a question. What would you doif I were to give you $1,000,000 ?”’ After the coroner had viewed the re- mains he decided that death was due to heart failure, caused by a sudden shock. Mark Ant'ny’s Plaint. He Carries the Mail. But Has Received no Pay. Unique Report of the Macon Postmaster to the Post Office Department. ; Mr. Harry Stillwell Edwards, who has gained some fame as a writer of negro dia- lect stories in the south, is the postmaster of Macon, Ga., and his reports to the oifi- cials of the department are of a highly in- teresting character. Instead of being writ- ten in the dry, prosy style affected by the majority of government officials, Mr. Ed- wards endeavors to add something in the nature of human interest to his reports, and in so doing has afforded much amuse- ment to the Post Office Department offi- cials in Washington. It appears that afew weeks ago a negro mail carrier named Mar- cus Anthony filed a complaint with Mr. Edwards to the effect that he had received no pay. It was Mr. Edward’s duty to make the matter known to the Depart- ment, which he did in the following ‘‘re- port,”’ with the added information that more would be forthcoming within a few weeks, but that this effusien was sent in order that the Department officials might know just what the condision was in Georgia : HIS TROUBLES. He was black and deeply concerned. Both facts became evident as soon as he entered the office. ‘‘Boss,’’ he said, *‘kin I git satusfaction of de govor’ment here ?’ *‘Depends on the kind of satisfaction and theamount you want, ’’said the Macon post- master, amiably viewing his visitor’s club with interest. ‘‘What’s troubling you ?”’ ‘yWell, I bin er carryin’ de mail down yonner in Twiggs county ‘twixt Iram an’ Bullards sence last June; goin’ up an’ down and down an’ up er sandy road three times er week, an’ nobody ain’t paid me nair nickel—not nair nickel. Huccum I'm hyar is I wanted know how ’bout it. Is I er workin’ fer wages or is I er workin’ for nothin’ ? IsI hired out to anybody or is I des natchully got er loos’ job ?”’ ‘“Who hired you ?”’ ‘‘De postmaster down at Irma gimme de job, an’ he tell me hit ’ud be all right when de boss man come erlong. But he ain’t never come erlong yit, an’ hit don’t look all right ter me. Huccum I’m hyar is, I wanted know erbout it ?’’ “Did you take the oath ?’’ ‘‘No, Sah, I ain’t took no oath in my life. Ain’t no man ever hear me swear. I’m er wrastlin’ deacon in de Shoal Creek Church, an’ er treas’rer of de Breedin’ Doves of Isr’el. No, sah !—"’ “Did anybody go on your bond--any- body stand for you ?”’ “Yes, sah; Mr. Tom Bond down at de Sto’ stan’ fer me ter git er little meat an’ bread—"’ “Did you sign a bond, I mean ?”’ * “No sah, I tech de pen now an’ den long in de summer fer fus’ one man an’ ernuth- er. Dey des gimme de yole leather sack three times er week an’ tell me to hit de grit on dat sandy road. How many times a year, boss, does the gover’ment pay man git eroun’ ? An’ how in de name o’ Gord is er nigger gointer live fum June tell Christmas on er sandy road lessen he get es vittuls ?”’ : “What can I do for you, old man— speak out !”’ ‘‘Dat’s what I’m er doin’, boss. Huec- cum I’m hyar is des ter speak de Gord’s truf, I want you ter write er letter up fo Gen’l Rosewell, de head man, an’ ’splain de case right. Tell im Mark Ant’ny Mar- cus is got de oneasiest job an’ de po’est pay of anybody on de line an’ is tired out look- in’ up an’ down dat road fer de man what pays off de mail toter ! Tell ’im fer Gord sake ter hurry dat man erlong ! Hyar tis mos’ Christmas an’ no money yit. Tell ’im ef some’p’n don’t happen putty quick Marcus 'll be bleege ter hang up dat sack an’ go ter splittin’ rails. An’ den what’s de white folks gointer do fer dey letters an’ dey newspapers an’ dey seed ? Yes, sah, dei’rs sho’ gointer be troublesome times; ’cause de job done got er bad name, and when I drap hit deir ain’ pair nigger in Twiggs ’ud totch it wid er forty-foot pole. Mr. Ed’wards, you know how ’tis erbout er nigger. ‘He ain’t got sense ernuff ter ask de right question, an’ when hit comes ter ’splainin’, do mo’ he ’splains de worse hit gits. I ain’t nuthin’ but er country nig- ger, but hit do look like ef I’m er workin’ fer de riches’ man what is I orter git er word fum ’im ’bout dat ‘money. Looks ter me like he done forget Mark Ant’ny Marcus es er workin’ fer im ! Mr. Ed’- ards, huccum I'm hyar is I want you ter write a letter up yonner ter Mr. Rosewell an’ tell ’im ’bout it ! . He done gone yon- neran’ turn dem Cubians loose an’ plant er terbacker patch fer de las’ one of ’em; an’ he done sot de Phillistines free an’ gi’ em er one horse farm all ’roun’ ! ' An hyar 18 Marcus right by de back do’ perishin’ fum de face of de yearth an’ er workin’ up an’ down dat sandy road wid his barefoot on de groun’. Hit warn t so bad long in de summer, when folks was too lazy ter write an’ de sack was empty, but bimeby dey got ter sennin’ out seed by de bushel, an’ books what weigh nine poun’s an’ wid corners on ’em like er plow p’int and den hit were sho’ er ’sponsible job. Long in de summer, too, hit warn't so bad ’bount rations ; watermelons growed ’longside er de road an’ plums an’ blackberries was hangin’ in reach; an’ the squirrels ’ud shake down de muscadiness at ev’ry branch but Lord ! Lord ! my foot’s on de fros’ now an’ nuthin’ in sight on dat road ’cep’n er stray rabbit what looks back over.es sholder an’ teks es foot in es ban’ when he gay ‘good-bye !” Mr. Ed’ards, Iain’t gone back on Gen’l Rosewell ner de folks what sot me free; I’m still er totin’ das sack ;but Gord knows hit looks mighty like dey done gone back on me ! You write Gen’l Rosewell an’ tell him—tell -erbout Marcus; tell him Marcus is po’ly an’ mightily pes- tered erbout de stomuck. An’ tell him mebbe he done forgot dat Christmas is right hyar—right hyar !"’— Washington Evening Star. The Hurricane in Jamaica, About 90 Persons Killed—Banana Fields Almost Wholly Destroyed. In a letter to George H. Bridgman, United States consul at Kingston, Jamaica, who is now in this country, T. Lawrence Roxburgh, the acting colonial secretary of Jamica, tells of the conditions prevailing in the colony as a result of the hurricane which devastated one end of it. He says : ““The number of persons who lost ‘their lives is not, so far as has been ascertained, more than about ninety, and while the banana fields have been almost wholly des- troyed, and very great damage has been occasioned to cocoanuts, pimento and cer- tain other products which it will take sev- eral years to completely retrieve, arrange- ments are being made to enable parties who have suffered most who are tempo- rarily without funds to restore their culti- vations, while it is hoped that persons ren- dered homeless and destitute will be re- lieved out of the funds subscribed in the colony and abroad.” F we ATRIA on The Pulgque and Mescal of Mexico. The American tourist journeying by rail over the plains of Apam, on his way to the city of Mexico, will be surprised to observe the vast plantations of the maguay which stretch away on either side as far as the eye can reach. For fifty to one hundred miles, on she different railways, will be seen little else than these Agaves, in all stages of growth from the young plants newly set out—a couple of yards or more apart—to those of mammoth size which are seven or eight years old. These immense plantations supply the Mexicans of the capital—and of other cities as well—with the drink kuown as pulque (pronounced pull-key) which is a national beverage. There are upward of a thousand shops in the city of Mexico where pulque is sold, and hardly a railway station with- in a hundred miles of the city where the traveler will not be importuned to buy from the boys and women who bring it to the trains in pitchers and jugs of red pot- tery, dispensing it at a penny or two for a cupful. On the Mexican Railway, one of the sys- tems connecting the capital with Vera Cruz, a special train is ran over the line every morning, laden only with pulque, in barrels and skins, suggesting the milk trains of this country; and it is said that the daily shipments by this train amount to over one thousand dollars. So extensive is the industry that the maguay planta- tions of the three states of Hidalgo, Tlax- cala, and Puebla are valued at nearly $15,- 000,000, while the railways have carried over 80,000 tons of pulque in a single year. Many species of the genus Agave produce pulque, there belonging to the Americana group of Agaves, though two species, poia- torum and salmina, are the most important, as I was informed by a Mexican botanical authority. The century plant, of our greenhouses, is a maguay, and one has only to imagine a century plant, with massive leaves five or six feet in length, to know how these pulque maguays look. They grow to perfection on the high plateau of central Mexico, where the elevation aver- ages about 7,000 feet above the sea level. When one of these plants reaches ma- turity its tendency is to flower—throwing up an immense mast or stalk sometimes 25 feet high, upon the branches of which, at the top, the blossoms appear. The pulque operator is always on the alert for indica- tions of a blossom bud, and when it ap- pears. he knows the proper time has come to secure the juices of the plant. To ‘‘castrate’’ the plant, as the operation is termed, a long incision is made in the heart, or central thickened portion, and the tender leaves of the unopened leaf- cluster cut away. The opening thus pro- duced is scraped and deepened until a cav- ity is made, into which the juices of the fully grown expanded leaves slowly filter. This sweetish, slightly acid liquor is known as aguamiel (honey water), and in its fresh state might suggest the odor of root beer. It is removed morning and evening, and can be collected from a plant for a month or more, about four quarts being the aver- age daily product. This goes on until the plant is exhausted and the leaves withered. The liguor is collected by means of a long narrownecked gourd, hollow of course, ‘and with a small hole at each end. Plac- ing one end in the filled cavity of the plant, and the other to his lips, the col- lector withdraws the air by inhalation, the pulque filling its place. Then, closing the upper hole with his finger, the gourd and contents are carried to a ‘waiting mule nearby, and the liquor transferred to goat- skins or other receptacles secured to the saddle. In this way he goes from plant to plant where the juices are exuding. At the depot, or warehouse, the pulque is transferred to the reservoirs, which are often lined with oxhides, and a little sour pulque added to induce fermentation, the fermented liquor becoming cloudy, as though mingled with milk. Having a wholesome fear of microbes, I did not feel equal to testing the virtues of pulque in any stage. The well-worn gourd with its mouth-hole, and the dark, greasy- looking goatskins, to say nothing of the general appearance of the peons in charge of operations, I think would deter a man with even a stout stomach. It has been stated that the distinguishing characteris- tic of pulque is the odor of decaying meat, and that in order to lesson this unpleasant smell, orange and lemon peel are thrown into the receptacles while the fermentation is proceeding. Nevertheless, the beverage is universally used, and is considered healthful when taken in moderation, espe- cially in regard to its action on the kid- neys. But many puique drinkers in Mexi- co do not use it in moderation, and in a certain stage of fermentation it is quite in- |: -toxicating. » The earliest use of pulque is said to date back to the latter half of the eleventh cen- tury, and to the reign of the eighth Toltec chief, Tepzucoltzin. Quite a different liquor is mescal, al- though it is the product of a similar plans, but with narrow leaves, for the group of plants called mescal is Agaves. Some writ- ers have stated that the mescal is distilled from pulque, but it is a mistake. The mescal distilleries are found in every por- tion of Mexico, but the best liquor comes from Tequila, in the state of Jalisco, west of Guadalajara, and is known as Tequila wine—or simply as ‘‘Tequila.’” It is a fearful intoxicant, although, aside from its fiery quality, its taste is not bad, faintly resembling Scotch whisky. The distilleries are for the most part primitive affairs, and, at Tequila especially, are interesting. Tequila is a place of some 6,000 souls, located twenty miles from the railroad, and for miles in every directions around the city there are plantations of a particu- lar form of Agave which sends forth its narrow leaves from a great bulb-like, cel- lular mass which forms the heart of the plant. This heart, when denuded of its stiff, sword-like leaves, and detached from the root, is cleft in two, and a dozen of these pieces make a fair load for a mule. Trains of mules or burros may be seen all day in the streets of Tequila transporting the Agave heads from the country to the distilleries. The firs operation that the raw product goes through is the baking or roasting. This is done in pits dug within the distil- lery inclosure. These are four or five feet deep, and considerably wider. A hot fire is built of mesquite wood large stones be- ing distributed through the fuel. The oleft heads of the mescal plants are then heaped over the burning mass until a huge mound is formed. This is covered with grass, and finally with earth, and the mass left for several days to cook. When the mound is opened the raw product is found to have changed to a dull brown in color, and the juices to have been converted into sugar. While hot and steaming the mate- rial is taken to another pit, stone-paved,on the bottom of which revolves a big stone crusher, driven from a sweep by mule power. Here it is ground into pulp,and the semi-liquid mass transferred in deep trays, borne upon the heads of Indians, to the vats, where it remains until fermented. Then it goes to the still, and finally is run off as mescal. The finished product is a colorless liquor, sometimes with a slight amber tint, though much of itis like alcohol. Some of the higher grades bear fanoy names, such as ‘‘Crema-Sauza’’—meaning the cream of production of the establishment controlled by the Sauza family—and such names be- come trade marks designating quality. Anotber Mexican liquor, called Zotol, is produced in the more northerly portions of the country. It is likewise produced from the bulbous part of an Agave, a small species with extremely narrow leaves, like the true Dasylirion. 1 have not seen this spirit, but was told it is so strong that 95 per cent alcohol is mild in comparison. Still another fiery liquor is distilled from sugar cgue. and is called aguardiente (burn- ing water.) Why these strong liquors should be so popular with the Mexicans is surprising, but it should be remembered that these people are also fond of such hot substances as ‘‘chile’’ and ‘‘tabasco.”’— Charles Richard Dodge in Scientific Ameri- can. What State Names Mean. ‘*What’s in a name ?”’ asks the poet; yet many names are full of meaning, and con- tain historical associations well worth re- membering. For example see what is to be found in the names of the States : Maine takes its name from the province of Maine, in France, and was so called as a compliment to Henrietta, the queen of Charles the First, who was its owner. New Hampshire took its name from Hampshire, England. New Hampshire was originally called Laconia. Vermont is French (Vert Mont), signi- fying ‘‘green mountain.’ Massachusetts is an Indian word, signi- fying ‘‘country about the great hills.”’ Rhode Island gets its name because of its fancied resemblance to the Island of Rhodes, in the Mediterranean Sea. The real name of Connecticut 1s ‘‘Quon- eh-ta-cut.’”” It is a Mohican word, signi- tying ‘‘long river.” New York was so named as a compli- ment to the Duke of York, whose brother, Charles the Second, granted him that ter- ritory. New Jersey was named by Sir George Carter, who was at that time governor of the Isle of Jersey, in the British Channel. Pennsylvania as is generally known, takes its name from William Penn, the ‘‘sylvania’’ part of it meaning ‘‘woods.”’ Literally, it is ‘“Penn’s Woods.’ Delaware derives its name from Thomas West, Lord de la Ware. Maryland was named in honor of Hebri- etta Maria, queen of Charles the First. Virginia got its name from queen Eliza- beth the ‘‘Virgin Queen.”’ Kentucky does not mean ‘‘dark and bloody ground,’’ but is derived from the Indian word ‘‘Kain-tuk-ee,’’ signifying ‘‘land of the head of the river.” The Carolinas were named from Kanu- - mas de Flores, or ‘‘feast of the flowers.’’ Alabama comes from a Greek word, and signifies ‘‘land af ress.” Louisiana was so named in honor of Lou- is the Fourteeath. Mississippi is a Natchez wcrd that means ‘‘father of waters.” Three or four Indian interpretations have been given to the word Arkansas, the best being that it signifies‘ ‘smoke waters,‘ the French prefix ‘‘ark’’ meaning ‘‘bow.”’ Tennessee, according to some writers, is from Tenasea, an Indian chief; others have it that it means ‘‘river of the big bend.’’ Ohio has had several meanings fitted to it. Some say that it is a Suwanee word, meaning ‘‘the beautiful river.”’” Others refer to the Wyandotte word = ‘‘Oheza,”’ which signified ‘‘something great.’’ Indiana means ‘‘land of Indians.” Illinois is supposed to be derived from an Indian word which was intended to re- fer to a superior class of men. Wisconsin is an Indian word, meaning ‘‘wild, rushing waters.”’ Missouri means ‘muddy water.?’ Michigan is from an Indian word, mean- ing ‘‘great lake.’’ The name of Kansas iz based on the same as that of Arkansas. Iowa is named from an Indian tribe— the Kiowas; the Kiowas were so called by the Illinois Indians because they were ‘across the river.” The name of California is a matter of much dispute. Some writers say that it first appeared in a Spanish romance of 1530, the heroine being an Amazonian named ‘‘California.”’ Colorado is a Spanish word, applied to that portion of the Rocky mountains on ac- count of 1ts many-colored peaks. Nebraska means ‘‘shallow waters.’’ Nevada is ‘a Spanish word signifying ‘‘snow-covered monntains.”’ Georgia had its name bestowed when it was a colony, in honor of George the Sec- ond. The Spanish missionaries of 1524 called the country now known as Texas‘ ‘Mixteca- pah,’’ and the people ‘‘Mixtecas.”’ From the last word the name of Texas is sup- posed to have been derived. Oregon is a Spanish word, signifying ‘‘vales of wild thyme.’ Dakota means ‘‘leagued’® or tribes.”’ : Wyoming is the Indian word for ‘‘big plains.”’ Washington gets ite name from our first president. : allied Her Baby’s Future. Lillian Belle Wishes the Little One Only a Con- tented Spirit. Lillian Bell, novelist and essayist, who wrote ‘‘Love Affairs of an Old Maid’’ and ridiculed men under 35, is the mother of a baby girl. The father, Arthur Hoy Bogue, is just 30. Mrs. Bogue, who is now 36, is in receipt of a letter from a New Yorker, whose name she conceals, making a pro- posal of marriage for the baby. This was done before the infant was 7 days old. Mrs. Bogue has already sketched ‘‘my wishes for my baby,’’ which may or may not interest other mothers. Here they are :— “J desire for my baby neither great beauty nor great wealth nor fame nor any- thing to mar her happiness. But give her a contented spirit, ministering hands and willing feet, that her presence may radiate joy wherever she may be. ‘‘May she care nothing for society, bub may she love her neighbor as herself. Let her motto through life be ‘Noblesse oblige.’ ‘May she never know ambition nor seek to explore life's mountain tops or . steeps, either through curiosity or great yearning, but may her little feet tread tranquilly life’s common way. ‘May she be cursed neither with bril- liance nor wit, but give her a sense of humor, a tender tact, a gracious presence and only sufficient beauty to make her face lovely to her friends.” ——1If the ideas of a man did not change with his years, what an awful thing it would be to grow old.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers