Bellefonte, Pa., October 9, 1903.
EE
CUTTIN’ CORN.
Foiks may hanker all they keer to
Fer th’ country in th’ fall,
They may rave about th’ beauty
Of the autumn leaves an’ all ¢
They may talk about th’ glory
Of th’ sunshine an’ the haze,
They may gush about th’ grandeur
Of th’ gold an’ purple days,
But they’s just one reckollection
Makes me glad, as sure‘s your born—
Gee, I'm glad ’at I'm not out there
Cuttin’ corn!
Spanish needles in yer jumper
An’ yer threadbare overalls ;
Cockle-burrs as thick as hops that’s
Growin’ on the garden walls :
Dead ol’ blades that keeps a rawin’
At yer blistered neck an’ ears—
I recall it just as easy,
Though it’s been a heap 0’ years
Since I ust t’ take my cutter
An’ go growlin’ out at morn
To put in a whole long day at
Cuttin’ corn !
Heap o’ things a man don’t fancy
In this city life o’ ours,
Where ye’ve got t’ keep a-spurrin’
At yer min’s an’ body’s powers;
Sleep don’t find yer eyes so easy
As it did when you was tired
With the long day's tug an’ rustle
That th’ farmin’ work required,
But ye’ll never catch me frettin’
Ner a pinin’ round forlorn,
While I realize I'm safe frum
Cuttin’ corn !
—&8. E. Kiser in Chicago Record-Herald.
THE END OF THE TASK.
I
The sewing-machines whirred like a
thousand devils. You have no idea what
a noise thirty sewing-machines will make
when they are running at full speed. Each
machine is made up of dozens of little
wheels and cogs and levers and ratchets,
and each part tries to pound, scrape,squeak
and hang and roar louder than all the
others. The old man who went crazy last
year in this very same shop used to sit in
the cell where they chained him, with his
fingers in his ears, to keep out the noise of
the sewing-machines. He said the in-
cessant din was eating into his brains, and,
time and again, he tried to dash out those
poor brains against the padded wall.
The sewing-machines whirred and roared
and clicked, and the noise drowned every
other sound. Braun finished garment af-
ter garment and arranged them in a pile
beside his machine. When there were
twenty in the pile he paused in his work—"
if your eyes were shut you would never
have known that one machine had stopped
—and he carried the garments to the count-
er, where the marker gave him a ticket for
them. Then he returned to his machine.
This was the routine of his daily labor from
seven o’clock in the morning until seven
o’clock at night. The only deviation from
this routine occurred when Lizschen laid
the twentieth garment that she had finish-
ed upon her pile and Braun saw her fragile
figure stoop to raise the pile. Then his
machine would stop, in two strides he
would be at her side, and with a smile he
would carry the garments to the counter
for her and bring her the ticket for them.
Lizschen would cease working to watch
him, and when he handed her the ticket
she would smile at him, and sometimes,
when no one was looking, she would seize
his hand and press it tightly against her
cheek—oh ! so tightly,as if she were drown-
ing and that hand were a rock of safety.
And, when she resumed her work, a tear
would roll slowly over the very spot where
his band had rested, tremble for an instant
upon her pale cheek, and then fall upon
the garment where the needle would sew it
firmly into the seam. But you never
would have known that two machines had
stopped for a moment; there were twenty-
* eight others to keep up the roaring and the
rattling and the hum.
On and on they roared. There was no
other sound to conflict with or to vary the
monotony. At each machine sat a human
being working with hand, foot, and eye,
watching the flashing needle, guarding the
margin of the seams, jerking the cloth
hither and thither quickly, accurately,
watching the spool to see that the thread
ran freely, oiling the gear with one hand
while the other continued to push the gar-
ment rapidly under the needle, the whole
body swaying, bending, twisting this way
and that to keep time and pace with the
work. Every muscle of the body toiled,
but the mind was free—free as a bird to fly
from that suffocating room out to green
fields and woods and flowers. And Braun
was thinking.
Linder had told him of a wonderful place
where beautiful pictures could be looked
at for nothing. It was probably untrue.
. Linder was not above lying, Braun had
been in this country six long years and in
all that time he had never found anything
that conld be had for nothing. Yet Linder
said he had seen them. Paintings in massive
gold frames, real, solid gold, and such
paintings ! Woodland scenes and oceans
and ships and cattle and mountains, and
beautiful ladies—such pictures as the
theatrical posters and the lithograph ad-
vertisements on the streets displayed, only
these were real. And it cost nothing to
look at them !
Nineteen —twenty ! That completed the
pile. It had taken about an hour, and he
had earned seven cents. He carried the
pile to the counter, received his ticket and
returned to his machine, stopping only to.
smile at Lizschen, who had finished but
half a pile in that time and who looked so
white and tired, yet smiled so sweetly at
him—then on with his work and thoughts.
He would take Lizschen to see them. If
was probably all a lie, but the place was
far, far up-town, near Madison Square—
Braun bad never been north of Houston
Street—and the walk might do Lizschen
good. He would say nothing to her about
the pictures until he came to the place and
found out for himself if Linder bad told
the truth. Otherwise the disappoinment
might do her harm.
Poor Lizschen ! A feeling of wild, blind
rage overwhelmed Braun for an instant,
then passed away, leaving his frame rigid
and his teeth tightly clenched. While it
lasted he worked like an automaton, see-
ing nothing, hearing nothing, feeling noth-
ing save a chaotic tumult in his heart and
brain that could find no vent in words, no
audible expression save in a fierce outcry
againgt fate—resistless, remorseless fate. A
few months ago these attacks had come up-
on him more frequently and had lasted for
hours, leaving him exhausted and ill. But
they had become rarer and less violent;
there is no misfortune to which the human
mind cannot ultimately become reconciled.
Lizschen was soon to die. Braun had re-
belled; his heart and soul, racked almost
beyond endurance, had oried out against
the horror, the injustice, the wanton
cruelty, of his hrown-eyed, pale-cheeked
Lizschen wasting away to death before his
eyes. But there was no hope, and he had
gradually become reconciled. The phy-
sioian at the pablie dispensary bad told him
she might live a month or she might live a
year longer, he could not foretell more ac-
curately, but of ultimate recovery there
was no hope on earth. And Braun’s re-
bellious ont-bursts against cruel fate had
become rarer and rarer. Do not imagine
that these emotions had ever shaped them-
selves in so many words, or that he had at-
tempted by any process of reasoning to
argue the matter with himself or to see
vividly what it all meant, what horrible
ordeal he was passing through, or what the
future held in store for him. From his
tenth year until his twentieth Braun had
worked in factories in Russia, often under
the lash. He was twenty-six, and his six
years in this country had been spent in
sweat-shops. Such men do not formulate
thoughts in words : they feel dumbly, like
dogs and horses.
The day’s work was done. Braun and
Lizschen were walking slowly up-town,
hand in hand, attracting many an inquir-
ing, half-pitying glance. She was so white,
he so haggard and wild-eyed. It was a de-
lightful spring night, the air was balmy
and soothing, and Lizschen coughed less
than she had for several days. Braun had
spoken of a picture he had once seen in a
shop-window in Russia. Lizschen’s eyes
had hecame animated.
“They are so wonderful, those painters,’’
she said. ‘‘With nothing but brushes they
put colors together until you can see the
trees moving in the breeze, and almost
imagine you hear the birds in them.”’
“] don’t care much for trees,”’ said
Braun, ‘‘or birds either. I like ships and
battle pictures where people are doing
something grea$.’’
‘Maybe that is because you have always
lived in oities,”’ said Lizschen. ‘‘When I
was 4 girl I lived in the country, near
Odessa, and oh, how beautiful the trees
were and how sweet the flowers! And I
used to sit under a tree and look at the
woods across the valley all day long. Ab,
if I could only——!”’
She checked herself and hoped that
Braun had not heard. But he had heard
and his face had clouded. He, too, had
wished and wished and wished through
many a sleepless night, and now he could
easily frame the unfinished thought in Liz-
schen’s mind. If he could send her to the
country, to some place where the air was
warm and dry, perhaps her days might be
prolonged. But he could not. He had to
work and she had to work, and he bad to
look on and watch her toiling, toiling, day
after day, without end, without hope. The
alternative was to starve.
They came to the place that Linder bad
described, and, surely enough, before them
rose a huge placard announcing that ad-
mission to the exhibition of paintings was
free. The pictures were to be sold at pub-
lic auction at the end of the week, and for
several nights they were on inspection. The
young couple stood outside the door a
while, watching the people who were going
in and coming out; then Braun said :
“Come. Lizschen, let us go in.
free.”’
Lizschen drew back timidly. ‘They
will not let people like us go in. It is for
nobility.’”” But Braun drew her forward.
“They can do no more than ask us to go
out,” he said. ‘‘Besides I would like to
have a glimpse of the paintings.”
With many misgivings Lizschen follow-
ed him into the building,and found herself
in a large hall, brilliantly illuminated,
walled in with paintings whose gilt frames
shone like fiery gold in the bright light of
numerons electric lamps. For a moment
the sight dazzled her, and she gasped for
breath. The large room with its soft car-
pet, the glittering lights and reflections, the
confused mass of colors that the paintings
presented to her eyes, and the air of charm
that permeates all art galleries, be they
ever so poor, were all things so far apart
from her life, so foreign not only to her ex-
perience; but even to her imagination, that
the scene seemed unreal at first,as if it had
been taken from a fairy tale. Brann was
of a more phlegmetic temperament and not
easily moved. The lights merely made his
eyes blink a few times, and after that he
saw only Lizschen’s face. He saw the
blood leave it and a bright pallor over-
spread her cheeks, saw the frail hand move
convulsively to her breast, a gesture that
he knew so well, and feared that she was
about to have a coughing spell. Then, sud-
denly, he saw the color come flooding back
to her face and he saw her eyes sparkling,
‘dancing with a joy that he had never seen
in them before. Her whole frame seemed
suddenly to become animated with a new
life and vigor. Somewhat startled by this
transformation he followed her gaze. Liz-
schen was looking at a painting.
“What is it, dear ?”’ he asked.
“The picture,’”’ she said in a wnisper.
“The green fields and that tree ! And the
road ! It stretches over the hill! The sun
will set, too, very soon. Then the sheep
will come over the top of the hill. Oh, I
can almost hear the leader’s bell! And
there is a light breeze. See the leaves of
the tree; they are moving! Can’t you feel
the breeze? Oh, darling, isn’t it wonder-
ful? I never saw anything like that be-
fore.”’
Braun looked curiously atthe canvas.
To his eyes it presented a woodland scene,
very natural, to be sure, but not more nat-
ural than nature, and equally uninterest-
ing to him. He looked around him to
select a painting upon which he conld ex-
pend more enthusiasm.
“Now there’s the kind I like, Liz-
schen,”’ he said. ‘‘That storm on the ocean
with the big ship going to pieces. And
that big picture over there with all the
soldiers rushing to battle.”
He found several others and was point-
ing out what be found to admire in them,
when, happening to look at his compan-
ion’s face, he saw that her eyes were still
fastened upon the woodland picture, and
he realized that she had not heard a word
of what he had said. He smiled ut her
tenderly.
“Ah, Lizschen,”’ he said, ‘if I were rich
I would take that picture right off the wall
and give them a hundred dollars for it,and
we would take it home with us so that
Lizschen could look at it all day long.”’
But still Lizschen did not hear. All
that big room with its lights and its bril-
liant colorings, aud all those people who
had come, and even her lover at her side
had faded from Lizschen’s consciousness.
The picture that absorbed all her being had
ceased to he a mere beautiful painting.
Lizschen was walking down the road her-
sell; the soft breeze was fanning her fever-
ed cheeks, the rustling of the leaves had
become a reality; she was walking over
the hill to meet the flock of sheep, for she
could hear the shepherd’s dog barking and
the melodious tinkling of the leader’s bell.
From the moment of their entrance many
curious glances had been directed at them.
People wondered who this odd-looking,
It is
ill-clad couple could be. When Lizechen
became absorbed in the woodland scene
and stood staring at it as if it were the
most wonderful thing on earth, those who
observed her exchanged glances, and sev-
eral onlookers smiled. Their entrance,
Lizschen’s bewilderment, and then her
ecstasy over the painting had all happened
in the duration of three or four minutes.
The liveried attendants had noticed them.
and had looked at one another with glances
that expressed doubt as to what their duty
was under the circumstances. Clearly these
were not the kind of people for whom this
exhibition had been arranged. They were
neither lovers of art nor prospective pur-
chasers. And they looked so shabby and
so distressingly poor and ill-nourished.
Finally one attendant, bolder than the
rest, approached them, and tapping Braun
lightly upon the sleeve, said, quite good-
naturedly : :
I think you’ve made a mistake.’
Braun looked at him and shook his head
and turned $0 Lizschen to see if she under-
stood. But Lizschen neither saw nor heard.
Then the man, seeing that he was dealing
with foreigners, became more abrupt in his
demeanor, and with a gran, pointed to
the door. Braun understood. To be sum-
marily ordered from the place seemed more
natural to him than to be permitted to re-
main unmolested amid all that splendor.
It was more in keeping with the experi-
ences of his life. ‘‘Come, Lizschen‘’’ he
said, ‘‘let us go.”” Lizschen turned to him
with a smiling face, but the smile died
quickly when she beheld the attendant,
and she clutched Braun’s arm. ‘Yes, let
us go,’’ she whispered to him. and they
went out. Tt
On the homeward journey not a word
was spoken. Braun’s thoughts were bit-
ter, rebellious; the injustice of life’s ar-
rangements rankled deeply at that mo-
ment, his whole soul felt outraged, fate
was cruel, life was wrong, all wrong. Liz-
schen, on the other hand, walked lightly,
in a state of mild excitement, all her spirit
elated over the picture she had seen. If
had been but a brief communion with na-
ture, but it had thrilled the hidden chords
of her nature, chords of whose existence
she had never dreamed before. Alas! the
laws of this same beautiful nature are in-
exorable. For that brief moment of hap-
piness Lizschen was to submit to swift,
terrible punishment. Within a few steps
of the dark tenement which Lizschen call-
ed home asudden weakness came upon
her, then a violent fit of coughing which
racked her frail body as though it would
rend it asunder. When she took her hands
from her mouth Braun saw that they were
red. A faintness seized him, but he must
not yield to it. Without a word he gath-
ered Lizschen in his arms and carried her
through the hallway into the rear building
and then up four flights of stairs to the
apartment where she lived.
Then the doctor came—he was a young
man with his own struggle for existence
weighing upon him and yet ever ready for
such cases as this where the only reward
lay in the approbation of his own con-
science—and Braun hung upon his face for
the verdict.
“Tt is just another attack like the last,’”
he was saying to himself. ‘‘She will have
to lie in bed for a day, and then she will
be just as well as before. Perhaps it may
even help her! But it is nothing more
serions. She has had many of them. I
saw them myself. It is not so terribly
serious. Not yet. Oh, it cannot he yet—
Maybe, after a long time—but not yet—it
is too soon.” Over and over again he
argued thus, and in his heart did not be-
lieve it. Then the doctor shook his head
and said : ‘‘It’s near the end, my friend.
A few days—perhaps a week. But she
cannot leave her bed again.”
Braun stood alone in the room, upright,
motionless, with his fists clenched until
the nails dug deep into the skin, seeing
nothing, hearing nothing, feeling nothing.
His eyes were dry, his lips parched. The
old woman with whom Lizschen lived
came ont and motioned to him to enter the
bed room. Lizschen was whiter than the
sheets, but her eyes were bright, and she
was smiling and holding out her arms to
him. ‘You must go now, liebchen,’’ she
said faintly. ‘‘I will be all right tomorrow.
Kiss me good-night,and I will dream about
the beautiful picture.”” He kissed her and
went out without a word. All that night
he walked the streets.
When the day dawned he wens to her
again. She was awake and happy. “I
dreamt about it all night, liebchen,’’ she
said joyfully. ‘Do you think they would
let me see it again ?'’
He went to his work, and all that day
the roar of the machines set his brain a-
whirring and a-roaring as if it, too, had be-
come a machine. He worked with fever-
ish activity, and when the machines stop-
ped he found that he had earned a dollar
and five cents. Then he went to Lizschen
and gave her fifty cents, which he told her
he had found in the street. Lizschen was
much weaker, and could only speak in a
whisper. She beckoned to him to hold his
ear to ber lips, and she whispered :
‘‘Liebchen, if I could only see the pic-
ture once more.’’
“I will go and ask them, darling,”” he
said. ‘‘Perhaps they will let me bring it
to you.”
Braun went to his room and took from
his trunk a dagger that he had brought
with him from Russia. It was a rusty,
old-fashioned affair which even the pawn-
brokers had repeatedly refused to accept.
Why he kept it or for what purpose he
now concealed it in his coat he could not
tell. His mind had ceased to work co-
herently : his brain was now a machine,
whirring and roaring like a thousand
devils. Thought? Thought had ceased.
San was a machine and machines do not
think.
He walked to the picture gallery. He
had forgotten its exact location, but some
mysterious instinct gnided him straight to
the spot. The doors were already opened,
but the nightly throng of spectators had
hardly begun to arrive. And now a strange
thing happened. Braun entered and walk-
ed straight to the painting of the woodland
scene that hung near the door. There was
no attendant to bar his progress. A small
group of persons, gathered in front of a
canvas that hung a few feet away, bad their
backs turned to him, and stood like a
screen between him and the employees of
the place. Without a moment’s hesita-
tion, without looking to right or to left,
walking with a determined stride and mak-
ing no effort to conceal his purpose, and,
at the same time, oblivious of the fact that
he was unobserved, Braun approached the
painting, raised it from the hook, and, with
the wire dangling loosely from it, took the
painting under his arm and walked out of
the place. If he had been observed, would
he have brought his dagger into use? It
is impossible to tell. He was a machine
and his brain was roaring. Save for one
picture that rose constantly before his
vision, be was blind. All that he saw was
Lizschen so white in her bed, waiting to
see the woodland picture once more.
He brought it straight to her room. She
| den.
was t00 weak to move, too worn out to ex-
press any emotion, but her eyes looked
unutterable gratitude when she saw the
inting.
“Did they let you have it?’ she whis-
pered.
“They were very kind,’”’ said Braun. “I
told them you wanted to see it and they
said I could have it as long as I liked.
When you are better I will take it back.’’
Lizschen looked at him wistfully.
pered.
Braun hung the picture at the foot of the
bed where Lizschen could see it without
raising her head, and then went to the win-
dow and sat there looking out into the
Lizschen was happy beyond all
Her eyes drank in every detail of
the wonderful scene until her whole being
became filled with the delightful spirit
night.
bounds.
that pervaded and animated the painting.
A master’s hand bad imbued that deepen-
ing blue sky with tho sadness of twilight,
the soft, sweet pathos of departing day,and
Lizschen’s heart beat responsive to every
shade and shadow. In the waning light
every outline was softened ; liere tranquility
reigned supreme, and Lizschen felt sooth-
ed. Yet in the distance, across the valley,
the gloom of night had begun to gather.
Once or twice Lizschen tried to penetrate
this gloom, but the efforr to see what the
darkness was hiding tired her eyes.
Iv
The newspapers the next day were full
of the amazing story of the stolen painting.
They told how the attendants of the gal-
lery had discovered the break in the line
of paintings and had immediately - notified
the manager of the place, who at once asked
the number of the picture.
“It’s number thirty-eight,”’ they told
him. He seized a catalogue, turned to No.
38, and turned pale.
Twilight !”’ he cried.
ble foris !”’
The newspapers went on to tell how the
police had been notified and how the best
detectives had been set to work to trace the
stolen painting, how all the thieves’ dens
in New York had been ransacked and all
the thieves questioned and cross-question-
ed, all the pawnshops searched—and it all
had resulted in nothing. But such excite-
ment rarely leaks into the Ghetto, and
Braun, at his machine, heard nothing of it,
knew nothing of it, knew nothing of any-
thing in the world save that the machines
were roaring away in his brain and that
Lizschen was dying. As soon as his work
was done he went to her.
hand in his. All day long she had been
looking at the picture; all day long she
had been wandering along the road that
ran over the hill, and now night had come
and she was weary. But her eyes were
glad, and when she turned them upon
Braun he saw in them love unutterable
and happiness beyond all description. His
eyes were dry; he held her hand and strok-
ed it mechanically; he knew not what to
say. Then she fell asleep and he sat there
hour after hour, heedless of the flight of
Suddenly Lizschen sat upright, her
time.
eyes wid. open and staring.
“I hear them,’’ she cried. ‘‘I hear them
Don’t you, liebchen ? The sheep
are coming ! They're coming over the hill !
plainly.
Watch, liebchen; watch, precious !”’
With all the force that remained in her
she clutched his hand and pointed to the
painting at the foot of the bed. Then she
swayed from side to side, and he caught
her in his arms.
“Lizschen !? he cried. ‘‘Lizschen !”
But her head fell upon hisarm and lay
motionless.
The doctor came and saw ata glance
that the patient was beyond his minister-
ing.
Braun. At the sound of a voice Braun
started, looked around him quite bewilder-
ed, and then drew a long breath which
seemed to lift him out of the stupor into
which he had fallen. ‘Yes, it is over,”’
he said, and, according to the custom of
the orthodox, be tore a rent in his coat at
the neck to the extent of a band’s breadth.
Then he took the painting under his arm
and left the house.
It was now nearly two o’clock in the
morning and the streets were deserted. A
light rain bad begun to fall, and Braun
took off his coat to wrap it around his bur-
He walked like one in a dream, see-
ing nothing, hearing nothing save a dull
monotonous roar which seemed to come
from all directions and to center in his
brain.
The doors of the gallery were closed and
all was dark.
bell, and after several ineffectual taps oun
the door began to pound lustily with his
Several night stragglers
fists and heel.
stopped in the rain, and presently a small
group bad gathered. Questions were put
to Braun, but be did not hear them. He
kicked and pounded on the door, and the
noise resounded through the streets as if it
would rouse the dead. Presently the group
heard the rattling of boltsand the creaking
of a rusty key in a rusty lock, and all be-
came quiet.
frightened watchman appeared.
“What's the matter ? Is there a fire?”
he asked.
A policemen made his way through the
group and looked inquiringly from Braun
to the watchman. Without uttering a
word Braun held out the painting, and at
the sight of it the watchman uttered a ory
of amazement and delight.
“It’s the stolen Corot !”’ he exclaimed.
Then turning to Braun, “Where did you
get it? Who had it? Do you claim the
reward 2’ 3 3
Braun’s lips moved, but no sound came
from them, and he turned on his heel and
began to walk off, when the policemen laid
a hand on his shoulder.
“Not so fast, young man. You’ll have
to give some kind of an account of how
you got this,”’ he said.
Brann looked at him stupidly, and the
policeman became suspicious. ‘‘I guess
you’d better come to the station-house,’’
he said, and without more ado walked off
with his prisoner. Braun made no resist-
ance, felt no surprise, offered no explana-
tion. Aft the station-house they asked him
many questions, but Braun only looked
vacantly at the questioner and had noth-
ing to say. They locked him in a cell over
night, a gloomy cell that opened on a dim-
ly-lighted corridor, and there Braun sat
until the day dawned, never moving,never
speaking. Once, during the night, the
watchman on duty in this corridor thought
he heard a voice whispering, ‘‘Lizschen !
Lizschen !”” bat it must have been the rain
that now was pouring in torrents.
Vv
“There the wicked cease from troubling;
and there the weary be at rest.
“There the prisoners rest together; they
hear not the voice of the oppressor.
“The small and the great are there; and
the servant is free from his master.’’
It is written in Israel that the rabbi
must give his services at the death-bed of
even the lowliest. The coffin rested on two
stools in thie same room in which she died;
oe AT
“1
will never be better, liebchen,’’ she whis-
‘It’s Corot’s ‘Spring
*‘It cost the owner
three thousand dollars, and we’re responsi-
She smiled at
him, but was too weak to speak. He seat-
ed himself beside the bed and took her
“It is over, my friend,” he said to
Braun looked in vain fora
The door swung open, and a
beside it stood the rabbi, clad in somber
garments, reading in a listless, mechanical
fashion from the Hebrew text of the Book
of Job, interpolating here and there some
time-worn, commonplace phrase of praise,
of exhortation, of consolation. He had not
known her; this was merely part of his
daily work. .
The sweat-shop had been ciosed for an
hour; for une hour the machines stood si-
lent and deserted; the oilers were gather-
ed around the coffin, listening to the rabbi.
They were pale and gaunt, but not from
grief. The machines had done that. They
had rent their garments at the neck, to the
extent of a hand’s breadth, but not from
grief. It was the law. A figure that they
had become accustomed to see bending over
one of the machines bad finished her last
garment. Dry-eyed, in a sort of mild
wonder, they had come to the funeral serv-
ices. And some were still breathing heavi-
ly from the morning’s work. After all, it
was pleasant to sit quiet for one hour.
Some one whispered the name of Braun,
and they looked around. Braun was not
there.
‘‘He wili not come,’”” whispered one of
the men. ‘‘It is in the newspaper. He
was sent to prison for three years. He
stole something. A picture, I think. I
am not sure.”’
Those who heard slowly shook their
heads. There was no feeling of surprise,
no shock. And what was there to say?
He had been one of them. He had drunk
out of the same cup with them. They
knew the taste. What mattered the one
particular dreg that he found? They had
no curiosity. In the case of Nitza, it was
her baby who was dying because she could
not buy it the proper food. Nitza had told
them. And so when Nitza cut her throat
they all knew who she had found in the
cup. Braun hadn’t told—but what mat-
tered it ? Probably something more bitter
than gall. And three years in prison?
Yes. To be sure. He had stolen some-
thing.
“Wherefore is light given to him that is in
misery,”’ droned the rabbi, ‘‘and life unto
the bitter in soul :
*“ Which long for death, but it cometh not;
and3dig for it more than for hid treasures ;
“Which rejoice exceedingly, and are glad,
when they can find the grave ?”’
And the rabbi, faithful in the perform-
ance of his duty, went on to expound and
explain. But his hearers could not tarry
much longer. The hour was nearing its
end and the machines would soon have to
start again.
It is an old story in the Ghetto, one that
lovers tell to their sweethearts who always
cry when they hear it. The machines still
roar and whir as if a legion of wild spirits
were shrieking within them, and many a
tear is stitched into the garments, but you
never see them, madame—no, gaze as in-
tently upon your jacket as you will, the
tear has left no stain. There is an old man
at the corner machine, gray-baired and
worn, but he works briskly. He is the
first to arrive each morning and the last to
leave each night, and all his soul is in his
work. His machine is an old one and roars
louder than the rest, but he does not hear
it. Day and night, sleeping and waking,
there are a hundred thousand machines
roaring away in his brain. What cares
he for one more or one less ?—By Bruno
Lessing, in McClure’s Magazine.
Synod of Pennsylvania.
Presbyterian Body Which will Meet at DuBois
This Month.
The Pennsylvania synod of the Presby-
terian church will hold the opening session
of its annnal meetingat DuBois on Thurs-
day, October 15th. Rev. W. L. McEwan,
D. D., the retiring moderator, will preside
at the opening session and will preach the
opening sermon. One of the first items of
business and one of the most important
will be the election of a new moderator.
There is every likelihood that Rev. George
8. Chambers, D. D., of Harrisburg, will be
elected to the position if he will permit his
friends to use his name. Dr. Chambers was
acandidate last year when Dr. McEwan was
elected. Dr. Chambers has been a member
of the synod for twenty-five years.
One of the chief problems that will
come hefore the synod will be the overture
to be introduced by the presbytery of
Parkersburg for the division of the Pres-
bytery into two presbyteries and the for-
mation of a third preshytery in the con-
fines of West Virginia from the churches of
Washington presbytery in West Virginia
and lastly for the erection of a West Vir-
ginia synod. This overture will meet with
much opposition because Washington pres-
bytery will not consent to lose balf of the
churches in the presbytery and there is
much doubt whether the time is yet ripe
for the erection of a synod in West Vir-
ginia.
The new moderator will administer com-
munion during the first evening and he
will preach in the church in which the
synod will meet on Sunday morning.
Home mission work in the synod and es-
pecially among foreigners will be discussed
at a popular meeting and foreign missions
will be the topic discussed in another pop-
ular meeting. The various boards and
committees will present reports of the
work for the past year. The synod will
convene in the First church, Rev. J. Ver-
non Bell, pastor.
Woman Spotted an Burglar.
Light in One Hand, She
nized the Intruder.
Followed and Recog-
Vinemont, a small village on the out-
skirts of Reading, is hoasting of a woman
who is not afraid of a burglar.
This was demonstrated on last Thursday
night, when Mrs. H. H. Bricker was
aroused from her sleep by strange noises in
the house. She started up, and in the dim
light of the lamp she bad left burning she
discerned the figure of aman. It was nob
her husband, nor was it her son; buf it
was a strange man. Mrs. Bricker jumped
up and ordered the man to ‘‘git !”’ and he
“got. ??
Pluckily she followed him down stairs
with light lamp in hand and cornered him
in one of the rooms long enough to have a
good look at him, but he escaped before
help came.
The woman said she recognized her visit-
or as a brakeman on the Reading & Col-
umbia road, and a warrant has been issned
for his arrest.
Cuplid’s Victim at 101.
Centenarign Makes His Sixth Matrimonial Venture,
Choosing a Bride of Ninety Nine.
The Rev. Samuel Tucker, of Guam-
point, Ohio, has filed a marriage certificate
in which it is stated that the bridegroom id
101 years and one month old and the bride
ninety nine years old. For the bridegroom
Jerre Bosarth, of Kenner’s Brook, it was
the sixth matrimonial venture, and the
fourth for the bride, Mrs. Julia Aun Jen-
kins.
The ceremony was performed on Friday
in Parkersburg.
Juvenile Offenders.
Information came recently to Secretar
Kalbfus. of the state game ng
the effect that a 12-year-old hoy, who had
wantonly killed a deer out of season, had
been discharged by a Centre county justice
on the ground that no punishment could
be imposed on so young a boy, the age be-
ing under the limit fixed by the act of
April 23rd, 1903, generally koown as the
juvenile court act. The secretary wrote
Attorney General Carson, calling his atten-
tion to this case and adding that he was in
constant receipt of letters complaining of
violations of the game laws by boys under
the age of 16, especially in the matter of
killing game and insectiverous birds. And
he asked whether the magistrate acted cor-
rectly in the first instance and whether
boys offending against the game laws are
subject to arrest and punishment. The
attorney general says :
*‘I answer emphatically that the magis-
trate did not understand his duty. He
was strangely imposed upon by the argu-
ment of counsel. It should be distinctly
understood by all magistrates, as well as
by all children, whether boys or girls, and
by parents and guardians, that children
under the age of 16 are not privileged to
violate the game laws or any other laws
of the state. If such notions should pre-
vail generally, there would soon be a large
and constantly increasing class of juvenile
law-breakers. The laws must be respect-
ed and observed by children as well as
adults.
The juvenile court act was intended to
cover just such cases. Children are classi-
fied as ‘‘dependent,’”’ neglected,’’ “‘incor-
rigible’’ and ‘‘delinquent.”” The statute
expressly says ‘‘The words delinquent
child’ shall mean any child, including such
as have heretofore heen designated ‘incor-
rigible children.’ who may be charged with
the violation of any law of this common-
wealth, or the ordinance of any city, bor-
ough or township.” The powers of the
court of quarter sessions of the peace, as
provided in the act, may be exercised.
Nowhere in the act is any authority giv-
en to a justice of the peace to discharge a
delinquent because of his age. On the
contrary, it is expressly declared by Sec-
tion 11 that ‘‘Nothing herein contained
shall be in derogation of the powors of the
courts of quarter sessions and oyer and ter-
mines to try, upon an indictments, any de-
linguent child who in due course, may be
brought to trial.”” It wasthe plain duty
of the magistrate to commis the child, and
set the machinery of the court in motion
by a proper certificate under Section 2,
Class 2, of the act. The burden would
then have been thrown upon the court,
whose section is regulated by the statute.
You are at liberty to pursue the ordinary
course of making an arrest, no matter what
the age of the offender, provided the evi-
dence be such as to satisfy you that it is
your duty to act. The further disposition
of the case must then conform to the pro-
visions of the statute.’
o The impression that boys who wantonly
violate law cannot be punished because of
their tender vears has gained considerable
currency and has done much to increase
the number of youthful offenders. The
letter of Attorney General Carson is a very
timely treatment of an important subject
and is earnestly commended to the atten-
tion of parents and guardians. In other
matters than the game laws boys are dis-
regarding the statutes. Consideration for
their future welfare should lead officers
everywhere to arrest the most notorious
offenders and bring them in contact with
the law which they violate.
The last legislature passed an act which
eventually became a law forbidding the
use of Flobert rifles, air guns and all simi-
lar weapons within the limits of a town or
city. The act was needed. Yet it is not
being obeyed. In this city it is not diffi-
cult to observe its violation almost every
day. This is merely a sample case. Oth-
ers would not be diffiuls to find. The at-
torney general points the way; let the offi-
cers of the state follow his advice.—A4l-
toona Trtbune.
Teachers for the Philippines.
Good Remuneration Paid to Competent Young In-
structors.
The civil service commission has just re-
ceived a call from the Philippine govern-
ment for 150 male teachers, with salaries as
follows : 25 at $1,200; 70 at $1,000, and 55
at $900 per annum. It is desired to secure
these teachers without unnecessary delay,
and an examination will be held on Octo-
ber 19-20 in various cities.
Peace has been established in the Philip-
pines and the conditions of living are im-
proving every month. This examination,
therefore affords an excellent opportunity
for young men to enter an attractive serv-
ice which affords excellent opportunities
for promotion. Teachers appointed are
eligible for promotion to the higher grades
in the service, the salaries ranging from
$900 to $2,000 for teachers and from $1,500
to $2,500 for division superintendents. The
commission suggests that those, who apply
for this examination should be devoted to
their profession and conscientious, energet-
ic and successful workers.
For appheation blanks and further infor-
mation concerning the scope of the exami-
nation, transportation, conditions of em-
ployment, etc., applicants should apply
to the United States Civil Service commis-
sion, Washington, D. C., or to the secretary
of the civil service board at any postoffice,
where letter carrier service has been estab-
lished.
Persons, who are unable to file their for-
mal applications in order to receive admis-
sion cards to the examination will be aun-
thorized to take the examination, if they
notify the commission by letter or telegram
in time to ship examination papers and ar-
range for their examination.
Why Should We Work?
Work is activity in some phrase of our
life. Lifeis manifested in astivity, and
inactivity would be stagoation, which
would be fatal to life.
In the universe wherever there is life
there is activity. This is true in the vege-
table, the animal and human worlds. This
activity is a necessity tbat runs through all
organic life. The life that is not crowned
with ennobling work of some kind, either
for one’s own livelihood or for the good of
others, is an empty life—an abnormal life.
Work is natural; idleness unnatural.
Work builds up, and inactivity tears down.
Idleness is a violation of our being. Hence
it is unmoral.
There are manifold reasons why we
should work and no reason why we should
not. Those who are not obliged to labor
for their daily bread should always choose
a work of some kind in obedience to the
universal law that we see running all crea-
tion.
He who was of the opinion that ‘‘man
who does not work should not eat,’’ real-
ized the demoralizing influence of a life
spent in idleness.