Bellefonte Pe., January 22, 1904, THE NEW YEAR. Slipping in among the children, Bright and eager at their play, Comes the new year, sweet and shining, Just as gay and dear as they. Not a trouble yet has fallen on its merry, laughing face, Not a single wrong step taken In its hurrying, happy pace. All the beauty lies before it, Dew and rain and frost and flowers, Flying months and weeks and seasons, Woven out of dancing hours. Hail thee, lovely coming stranger, In the first bewitching day, Slipping in among the children, Just as bright and dear as they ! Youtl’s Companion. THF STATELIER MANSION. Ordinarily, Kelsie was not given to en- thusiasms, nor was the expression of senti- ment babitual to him. But as he leaned against the carriage-cushions and beheld the diminishing perspective of electric globes down the avenue, caught sight of the gray-clad police of the boulevard on their mettlesome steeds, recognized familiar edi- fices, heard the sound of feet walking with the rapid precision of those whodaily tread the highways of a great city, observed through plate-glass windows the rose-flood- ed interior of a famous clubhouse, noted the shrill ery of a newsboy offering his wares, saw the long procession of carriages rolling northward to play and rout and ball,inhal- ed that distinctive metropolitan odor—a composite odor of perfume, cigar-smoke, flowers—and through it all was conscious of a recurrent sense of youth—of that en- trancing, inspiriting’ stimulating exhilira- tion which in early winter set the blood coursing in his veins, he felt his cheeks grow hot, and involuntarily the gloved fin- gers in the carriage-strap tightened their . grip. 8 ‘‘Margaret,”’ he said, half under his breath, ‘‘home is home when all’s said. What are your Rome and Florence and Ca- pri to a man who loves his native city? Good enough for a holiday—I grant you— beautifal enough for all time. But Icould not live abroad—I couldn’t. This city has heer my home since infancy. It’s sticksand stones have significance for me. Mind, I don’t glorify Chicago—I don’tidealize it. I see its blemishes—its downright ugliness in places. I do not deny its tardiness—its vulgar affectations. I am never surprised that foreigners should consider it inartistic. It is—at first glance. Bat, if I do not pal- liate, I do defend.” “I have always heard you Chicago men were dreadfully conceited,’’ said a soft voice out of the fragrant gloom—‘‘about your city, I mean. But I had fancied it was a form of bravado. One is always val- orous in the defensive when one knows he is in the wrong.”’ ‘‘Perhaps. But a man is not prompt to perceive the faults of his mother. Affection long association, personal pride—these are the lenses through which he looks. And, after all, it is the soul of a city one seeks, —as well as the soul of an individual. One of the dearest friends I ever had was a lit- tle.blind hunehback. He saw such exqui- site visions. And he helped me to see them It was only his body that was crooked. was only his eyes that were closed. His soul was stately as a lily—and just as white. That’s the way I like to think of my native city. Only—only—"’ His voice trailed off into a silence in which there was something of abashment. It had suddenly oceurred to him that per- haps his appreciation, his eonviction of ex- istent beauty, his profound content had not been suggested by the place of his beggared youth—by the metropolis of his struggling manhood—hy the home of his successful age. If so, why was he now fluent on the subject for the first time? Ifso, why had he not earlier uttered his affectionate laud- ations? If so, why was it that the joy of living had pulsed through him in such a fine, fierce mighty tide only since the girl beside him had laid her eool hands in his and promised to be his true and loyal wife? It may be that she divined something of his thought. There was a silken sound as she moved closer to him—a deeper odor of Parma violets, as though a breeze had blown over a bed of blossoms. ‘You must not he gentimental,’’ she in- sisted—*‘not even abont—me. But did— did this city of your many deprivations and sacrifices ever—seem—so fair to you— before?’ The archness of her inquiry was deli- cious. Her voice had a soft huskinese that might bave been affected. It was as natu- ral as the bloom on a peach—and as charm- ing. ,No,”” he answered and squared around and faced her. ‘‘No!”’ He put his arm around her and drew her to him. The deliberate trot of the horses, the diguified roll of the carriage-wheels, permitted conversation, but he did not speak farther. Instead, he looked earnest- ly down on the face against his shoulder. Now, it was veiled in comparative shadow. Now, the electrio lights shining in outlined it for him in all its radiant childish beauty A listle face under a hat of rose-point and honeysuckle. _A low forehead, with hair of reddisif g waving to the level brown browgd Wide, unquestioning eyes, glowing like Purple jewels In’ the uncertain light. A curved scarlet mouth over a white, chit ingen ly S‘Marearet,’’ said Cameron Kelsie, edith. ostlyg ‘‘I thank God for- you! 1 thanked him every hour since I have. you. I wake in terror sometimes, fangy; Idwve only dreamed that you are r mine. It was so a few nights ago. It ouly when I put out my hand and-touch your own that my heart ceased its wild plunging—that I once more drew a long, ecstatic breath. Lines in a poem the boy read to me once keep coming to me often now. [I never was much of a fellow for po- etry, ‘‘laughing awkwardly, ‘‘but he was —and now I think of this— face—perhaps too thin for og ‘Ah, who am I that God hath saved Me from the doom I did desire, And crossed the lot myself had craved To set me higher 7" Then—save for the hoof-beats of speed- ing horses, the roll of carriage wheels— there was silence. A laugh broke it—a lit- tle soft, fluting, airy laugh, like the liquid lilting of a meadow-lark’s song. ‘‘And what was the boon your heart did crave ?”’ Her fingers crept into his palm, and nestled in its ardent pressure. ‘‘Con- fess—and be absolved !"’ ‘!An imperious command, Margaret !"’he said. ‘TI have nothing to confess about a woman—not even ahout other women, which is, I understand, the lesser folly in It | | He went to the devil. ; Blk 5 with an effort. is | . #Yowshall have the whole tra the eyes of a wife I’m ashamed to say my ambition was wholly sordid. I never had time to think of those things which come naturally into the lives of most men. I’ve told you what my childhood was. I was not even decently poor. When I realized that only money could give me place and power, I toiled for money. A year ago, wnen a final fluke of fortune flang me mil- lions with less hesitation than that which in the old days preceeded my throwing a bone to a dog that was hungrier than I,and I realized my utter loneliness—then I chanced on heaven—and youn !”’ The carriage rolled on. A lot of colored lanterns swung across a lawn proclaimed a celebration. The houses were not so close together. The sound of the lake came to them—murmurous and melancholy. ‘I thoughs,’’ ventured the bride,’’ there was the boy of whom you spoke to me once —the hoy whom you—"’ He finished the sentence. ‘‘Loved,’’ he said. ‘‘Yes—there was the boy.”’ ‘It is sad he shonld have been ungrate- ful when you had done so much for him,”’ she said. She looked at him with timid sympathy. Against the carriage-window his stern, clean-shaven profile was silhonet- ted—grim as granite; ‘“You did every- thing for him, did you not? You educated him.” ‘I did nothing particularly creditable— nothing, at least, that was not his rightful due. His father, you must recollect, had literally picked me out of the gutter. He gave me a start in life. Later, when he found I had ability, he let me read law in his cffice. When I made my great success at the bar, it was he who was my most con- gratulatory auditor. The day of his colos- sal failure in wheat—when at one sweep he lost all his material possessions, and com- pleted the catastrophe by taking his life—1 adopted his son. I vowed to do all for the lad that his father had done for me—and more if might be.”’ ‘“Yes,”’ she said, tentatively, ‘‘yes.’’ He seemed to forget that he was holding her hand. But he went on talking, the dreaminess of retrospection creeping into his voice. ‘‘He--hecame fond of me. I—I loved him But we never met quite on an equal- ity. He was an aristocrat—a thoroughbred I—God—I—'" His laugh was not pleas- ant to hear. ‘‘Well, the recognition of the fact did not embitter me. I should have bad to go back many generations to be what he was. The manners of the lad were the kind one associates—however absurdly —with royal blood. His reserve, his gen- tleness, his courage, hiscourtesy, his aston- ishing power of self-effacement—in short, all the hall-marks of lineage, all hereditary evidences of blood and breeding, were ex- emplified in him as I have neverseen them exhibited in anyone else.” : Again she said ‘‘Yes,” in that velvety voice and again the man talked on. ‘‘He made a splendid record at college. Although half ny age he was a mighty good companion to me. There was an en- chanting cleanliness about the hoy. It was a triple characteristic—physical, mental, moral. Still, he was anything but an as- cetic. Life at its most passionate appealed to him. He loved music, poetry, the in- tensity of existence. Hisdisdain of mean- ness, pretense, vulgarity, was superb. In reading,”’ went on the man, almost tender- ly, “‘he had a way of remembering all thas was loveliest and letting the rest go. He used to recite to me sometimes at night when we walked this very boulevard to- gether. His joy in exquisite words was al- most holy. He seemed to choose and treas ure beautiful words as one selects rare gems from a golden casket. Again there was a silence. The head of the little bride leaned more heavily against her husband’s arm. But now she did not speak. She was waiting for him to go 0. *‘I wish I knew,”’ said the man at last, and more to himeelf than to her, it seemed —*I wish to God I knew if I were right— or wrong.”’ . “You—you mean——"’ ‘Oh, it was the old story. He fell in love. A nature like his must early find an outlet for emotion. As soon hope to fetter a mountain torrent as a nature imperious and idealistic as his.’’ ‘“You did not—approve ?”’ ‘‘Approve!”’ He laughed harshly. ‘‘No —1I didn’t approve. I’d heard of the wom- an. I knew her by her stage name.” ‘‘Oh! An actress? ‘“‘Yes—and writer, and artist, aud all manner of erratic and clever individuals in one. She married a fellow I knew back East—a fine fellow. She broke his heart. She was the worss kind of a had woman, in as far as she gave oue the impression that she was a good one In the latter fact lay part of her influence over the boy. When I flared up in a rage at the sound of her name and told him what I had heard of her, his argument was that she had been sinned against. She! In his eyes she was all that was pure and womanly.”’ Beautiful ! She was beautifui, I suppose, said the womau, slowly. *“I don’t know about that. I have heard that she was—and again that she wasinsig- nificant of appearance. But no one denied her fascination. No one.” ‘“What,’’ she questioned, ‘‘was the out- come.’’ ‘Oh, we bad a stormy scene ! Come to think of it, I it was who did the storm- ing. Ours was the kind of an encounter that forces out brazen truths. Not that these seemed to have weight with him. Even the fact of her low birth, to which I referred, did vot disturb him. He—patri- cian to the finger-tips—could afford to ig- nore a matter which others must make par- amount. He was so sure of himself. He could lift her up. She could not lower him. It was a foregone conclusion that his wife could, only be all that was admira- ble... : ell 212 ag he paused. She was look- a splendor of the frosty » an K Ion, gavet: I lost roy temper -~brutal AT called him an ingrate and other thin Oh, my peasant coarseness spoke then. y mongrel breed asserted itself. That's where your blue bleed tells—in a critical mo- ment. He heard me through, stone-still, stone-white. Then he said—quite caimiy, ~—that I was mistaken. The woman who bad honored him with her affection would wait until he could claim her. Then, while thanking me with gentle courtliness for many kindnesses—he declined to receive further favors at my hands. I have not,” he ended, hoarsely—*‘I have not seen him since.”” Once more silence came between them like a tavgible thing. The rush of the waters bad a sinister soond. “What made you say,” she asked at length, ‘‘that you wondered whether you had been right—-or wrong ?’ He turned on her with sudden passion. ‘“You !" he cried. ‘‘You—beloved!” He caught her savagely to his breast. His grim brown visage hent down to hers. ‘Not until I met you did I question the sweet and. infailibility of my own judgment. With ‘love aud knowledge of you’ came humili- ty.” “I don’t understand,’’ she said a little faintly. She released berself, but like a rose resting against a mask of bronze her soft cheek touched his own. “‘1 don’t— quite——nuierstand.”’ : ‘I find myself wondering,’’ he went on more quietly, ‘‘what prompted my opposi- tion to the boy’s love-affair. Was it sprung from low and selfish jealously ®* Did I dread losing out of my life the rare person- ality which embodied all that is most at- tractive in manhood, but did not lack the one subtle and essential touch of feminini- ty ? Did I dread for his own sake that he might make a messalliance in his yoath ? Or was my stubborn attitude inspired by a hitherto nnsuspected resentment of his su- periority, which glorified in a domineering antagonism ? Which, Margaret?’ “Your motive,’’ answered *‘the voice of slow musie,’” steadily *‘was, I am sure, the noblesi—the most disinterested.” He kissed bei—almost with reverence. ‘You have answered yourself, Margaret. Only such a woman as you could be so gen erous. And perhaps—if he loved her——?? The carriage stopped. There was a clank- ing of harness. The door was opened — held obsequiously wide. ‘‘Home!’ Wel- come home, my wife !”’ said Kelsie. Then, the perfume of her violets intensi- fied by the frosty air, she passed, with a rustling sweep of silken garments, into her new dominion. She dressed in eager haste. Coming down into the splendid space of the great hall, she paused, undecided. A door to the left stood ajar. She saw the leaping light on tiers of books. That glow of rosy warmth tempted her. She crossed the room to the heartli. She sank into the tall, thronelike chair that stood beside the fire—a chair that bad once been Richelien’s. She looked slowly around the great apartment. Its ev- ery detail was plain in the flooding glow. The expanse of black, polished floor was like a gloomy lake. What flickering red reflections the fire set dancing in its duski- ness! And those serried rows of books— battalions of them ! And — “Yes, sir. He has to-night returned from abroad, sir. Will you please to wait, sir ?”’ ‘“You needn’t mention my name, Car- ter.”’ *‘Very well, Mr. Richard.”’ Then the door was closed with decorous deliberation. Cameron Kelsie’s wife rose from her chair. The man coming forward—a man young and stalwart, and somewhat roughly clad—stood still. *‘I—I beg your pardon !’’ he stammered. ‘I did not know anyone was here.’’ Something familiar in the pose of that girlish figure in the pale, glistening gown, struck him. He hesitated—then took a stride forward. ‘*Margaret,’’ be cried,sharply. He caught his breath. ‘‘Is—is it—Margaret?’’ She flang her band backward with a groping gesture. She grasped the high back of the Cardinal’s chair. Her rings flashed and sparkled in the firelight. “Dick,” she cried, ‘‘who would have dreamed-—"’ He did not seem to hear her. He was beside her—had drawn her into his passionate embrace. ‘Dearest !”’ he said. ‘‘Dearest! And I fancying you four thousand miles away !”’ His voice shook with joy. ‘Why, I have my ticket bought to go in search of you! I was to bave crossed the Atlantic next week. See!” His deep laugh of happiness sounded down the room. He took an en- velope from an inuer pocket and tossed it into the grate. ‘‘There goes my journey over the seas in quest of my sweetheart ! May all our bad Tuck go with it,love ! Now say Amen!” But she did not speak one word,only fell to trembling as though with sudden cold. ‘‘Margaret—my Margaret !”’” The arms around her tightened. “I don’t know how it is you come to be here—I don’t ask. This moment is enough for me !”’ *‘Dick ! Let me go!” ‘Never !" in despotic power of posses- sion. ‘Never again!” Save for the crackle of the fire in the room, there was silence. *‘Dick!”’ Tam not jesting ! For God’s sake let me go! first!” . His hold loogened, but he did not release her. He looked straight down into her eyes—a dawning doubt growing and dark- ling in his own. He did not speak. But she read the question in those eyes—and answered. ‘I am Cameron Kelsie’s wile,”’ she said, faintly. In that instant she knew how Judas felt. She flang herself free. Bat the next instant she was close to him—a suppliant. ‘Dick !”’ The smoldering fire in his eyes blazed at the entreaty. ‘‘Dick—kiss me— and kill me!’ : Then he was holding her once more as though be indeed would never let her go. The old seductive magnetism swayed him. The old resistless charm enthralled him. He remiembered how he had compared her to a damask-rose—that snowy flower dashed with carmine. Emblem of purity and pas- sion! Their eyes met. In that lingering look soul was merged ip soul, desire in de- sire ! ‘‘No !’’ he cried suddenly, and let her go and lifted himeelf to his full stature. ‘Kel- sie is my friend.” Let me go! But—kiss me the blackwood of theCardinal’s chair. And again the jewels flashed in the fireshine. A wind was rising. It set a twig tapping at the window-pane. ‘‘Hark!’’ she breathed. ‘‘Listen!’’ A step came along the hall. In evening dress, his gray bair silvery in the fireshine, the master of the house crossed the room. ‘‘Richard!”’ He had stopped short with a cry of incredulous delight. ‘‘Richard !”’ Richard Derrick stiffened with a jerk— his head flang backward. * “It is really you! Carter did not tell ['méd?" Kelsie sto fore him, his hands J tehed. ‘*Dgpr boy, Fouhave forgiy- ; you have gome home! Dear—old'{f Ne oie TED hatiated Tif with , Hl his br Wits: had over the fingersiof shejelfier.” sudde ! hit & some papers that are in my desk. I— | not intended to remain.’’ *‘Not remain!” ON)%§on won't go away now-—when it’s all to be so’ rent! I see that you and Margaret have beet making friends already. You have heard of my mar riage, of course?’’ ‘I had not heard, sir.”’ ‘No ? Well, our courtship was a short ove.’’ He laughed in happy embarrassment. “‘I met Margaret abroad, where she was liv- ing with an absurd old duenna—and study ing art, I believe. At least, it was in a gallery, where she was copying a picture that we met first. And—well, I wouldn’t come home without her! And that’s all there is to the story, except that we are go- ing to live happily together ever after—eh, Margaret?’’ Sne did not speak. She wished he wonld not laugh. She noticed for the first time Again her hand lay like a lily against | that he cackled when he laughed. ‘‘Let me get a good look at you,’ ’rattled on Kelsie. He touched the electric button and a flood of pearly brilliancy inundated the room. ‘Good heavens!’’ he cried, ‘buf you've chauged!”’ “Have 1?’ His lips smiled stiffly. He looked oddly white under his travel tan. *‘Yes.”” 1epeated the other, in a shocked voice, ‘you have changed. But then you've seen a deal of life, lad—the real thing. But you’ve made a rattling snccess as a war correspondent. Now that you’re here I’ve nothing more to wish for. Your old room has been kept ready for you. Never mind any other clothes. We dine en famille. Margares will excuse you.”’ *‘I cannot stay,’’ said Richard Derrick. He shot a glance at the little figure in the Cardinal’s chair. ‘‘It is imperative that I leave the city tonight.’ Cameron Kelsie hioke into impztuous protestations. ‘Nonsense, boy! There's a storm com- ing up—not that the weather would daunt you, of course. Your desk shall be forward ed. There!” The first rush of rain was elattering at the glass. ‘‘Margaret! Come here, dearest! Ask Richaid to stay for your sake, if not for mine. Then he can't refuse.’’ *‘You will siay,’’ urged Margaret Kelsie. She moved forward, her gown trailing in serpentine undulance over the dark floor. She was very pale but her eyes were full of streamivg brilliance. ‘'You will stay—for my sake!” ‘‘I cannot stay,’’ he said. A sudden scarlet stained her cheek. “Then you will come—again?’’ *‘No. There is work to be done across the ocean. I’ve a fancy to is.”’ She kuew what it meant when his lips met in that stubborn line—wben that 1ed gleam lay level in his eyes. And how fit he looked in bis magnificent youth to do the world’s work! **You are cruel,’’ she said, and her voice was unsteady. He bowed gravely. ‘‘Only,”’ he answered, between set teeth, ‘‘only—wise.”’ She was standing in the same place when Cameron Kelsie came back from the front door. How he shuffled as be walked ! She had thought only very old men shuffled. ‘‘You are disappointed in him, Margaret? But he has changed—Lord, how he has changed! I never remember seeing in his eyes the look that was there tonight!” ‘*He had the grace to divine’’—-that love- ly laugh of hers breaking upon the silence —*‘‘that he might be de trop-—"’ She eluded his arms—bhat not the smol- dering passion of his gaze. “You mean chat—tbat Margaret! It seems incredible that yon should care for me—Ilike this! Iocredible—and divine!” —By Kate M. Cleary in The Cosmopolitan. An Apple Party. A Novel Entertainment is an Apple Party. The guests at such a party are expected to wear some adornment of an apple character At the one attended hy the writer every gentleman wore a crab-apple as a button- hole bouquet. A rosy young miss had strings of dried apples festooned about her, while big, red noneanch and Baldwin ap- ples were very much in evidence as waist adornments. Each guest, on entering, was given a card bearing a letter and a number. The letter was one in a brand of apples and the number referred to the brand. For instance, pipping were numbered 3, seek-no-farthers 5, etc. Of course, in group 3 were sIX persons, one for each letter in the word ‘‘pippin,”’ while in the fifth group were fourteen persons. Each group was provided with one pencil and one sheet of paper, was assigned to a particular corner of the room and told to write a poem on its parsic- ular kind of apple. Aft the end of fifteen minutes the poems were collected and read aloud, and a committee, previously appoint- ed, decided upon their merits. The group producing the best poems was presented with a basket of assorted apples, which were immediately passed around and eaten. Then came an apple gathering contest resembling a potato race, in which twelve apples were arranged in two rows at regu- lar distances from each other, and the company divided itself into two sides. One person at a time from each side, armed with a tablespoon, tried to pick up his six apples, in hisspoon, carry each, as spooned, to the basket at the head of the row and return for another. The side which scored the most winners beat. The literary part of the entertainment, which followed this, consisted of readings recitations, songs, all of which treated of the subject of apples. These were both selected and original. Among them Were, Bryant's ‘Planting of the Apple Tree,” “The High-Top Sweeting,”” by Elizabeth Akers, selections from Holland’s ‘‘Bitter- sweet,’” and ‘“The School Bov’s Apple Tree,”’ by Hezekiah Butterworth. By this time appetizing odors were creep- called out to supper, in which the apple scheme was still carried out Lamb chops, with which were served hot rolls and apple butter, fried apples, apple fritters, and apple sauce, were followed by Waldorf salad, which, as everybody knows is largely composed of chopped apples. Then came a course of baked apples and cream, followed by an immense pan-dowdy. Apple pie and turnovers and tarts of pastry filled with sparkling crab-apple jelly followed, and then was bronght on a snow pudding, which is a kind of glorified apple custard overtopped with a quaking mound of whipped cream. Nusts, apples, and coffee wound up the feast.— Modern Priscilla. Volcano Scare Explained. Moonshiner Used Fissure in Mountain for Chimney to His Still The alleged volcano in the mountains of Rowan County Kentucky is nothing more nor less than a moonshine still.- . Morton Clark, a noted ’shiner, who has had a still r years at the foot of Sugar Loaf Moun- ain, having. heen, broken up some time since by the revenue @ficials, concluded to locate his still under thi8 pidge, som miles from Sugar Loaf Mountain. He entered a small stream from ‘sued. "He went up this cave 200 yards and himney. When the attention of the ufty was directed to the mounutain and ona: began to flock to the place and okeisgne from the crevice he drew his fires and joined thé erowddin won- dering what it meant but, yesterday be'to a Iriend the secret of the “‘voleano.”” . ——He who is most slow in marking a promise is the most faithfnl in its per- formance. i —————————————— -— Made to order weather would be all right so long as the other fellow had none ing in from the kitchen, and soon we were |, be valley § below to a cave rom which the creek is- person of f] ‘ael (Bartholom found that a fissue extended straight to the | | top ‘of the ridge, acting nicely fora A CHL of fact, 142 probable ‘four men, and possib of the say in giving the order. an HAR PLEASANT FI1ELDS OF HOLY WRIT. Save for my daily Jange the pleasant fields of Holy Writ, Amon ft despair —Tennyson. I mig THE INTERNATIONAL SUNDAY-SCHOOL LESSON. First Quarter. Lesson V. Luke v, 1—11 Sunday January 31, 1904. JESUS CALLS FOUR DISCIPLES. There was no need to ring a bell to secure Jesus an audience. People flew to him like filings to a magnet. In this in- stance it is said the people pressed on him to hear. The little company who first dis- covered him on his early morning walk by the lake, quickly grew to a great con- sourse. The Master's fertility in ex- pedients had another illustration. It only took him a moment to convert a hoat into a pulpit. Tle scene makes a theme for an artist. The lake beneath, the sky ahove, the nine considerable cities on the hill- slopes, looking down like distant observers; the mixed multitude crowding to the edge of the shore, their faces mirrored in the water as their feet, and in the fisherman’s boat, screened by the loosened sail, - the prince of all preachers speaking from the hosom of the placid lake, itself an emblem of the peace he could give. Bat the sermon was only ac incident. His real errand that morning was to call his apostles. He had already given the what might be called preliminary or pro- bationary calls. From these the disciples were afterward dismissed to attend to their worldly affairs, and while doing so in their old and familiar environments, and free from excitement of novel situa- tions to think on what they bad heard and seen. The calls were also progressive. But this one was final. Jesus had had an open rupture with the ecclesiastical es- tablishment. He must needs now organ- ize his followers. He knew where his pledged men were, and came to enlist them for active service. He prefaced the call by a thrilling pic- torial miracle. Nothing could have more significantly taught them what they were to be and do. The command, ‘‘Launch forth into the deep, and let down your nets for a draught,’”’ was a suprise. Keble voices the fisherman’s plaint: ‘‘Toiled all night, nothing taken; Full many a dreary, anxious hour, We watch our nets alone, And hear the night birds’ moan.”’ But hesitation, if there wasany, was mo- mentary. Peter quickly laid all his fisher- man’s lore at Jesus’ feet as a sacrifice to his faith. That last ‘‘catch’’ after, the old order was a symbol of the future occupation. The size of the ‘‘take’’ was a pledge of future success in the new calling. Tbat miracle took Peter and his comrades where they were, in their natural environment and every-day employment. It was all the more significant to them, the better under- stood and appreciated. The considerateness of Jesus in thus encouraging his disciples is characterisic and worthy of note. He was asking these men to join their fortunes with his, an excommunicated man, to sander ties of tribe and family, to abandon the only means of livelihood they were familiar with. Again, they were called, not merely to be learners like the followers of the average rabbis, not to be recipients, but doers. They were to launch ‘out and let down their net into the sea of human lite. They were (to trauslate it literally) to take men alive; to persuade and make converts. And that, too, under the very shadow of a great and hostile ecclesiastical establishment. If ever men needed to he heartened, it was the four men Jesus called that “day. It ever men bad immediate and divine encouragement, it was in this instance. That miracle put gimp in their backs. The moment they could get their ships ashore, they forsook all, and followed him. THE TEACHER'S LANTERN. It is helpful to recall Jesus’ previous dealings with these men. * * * * : * Daring Jesus’ forty days in the Wilder- ness, his Messianic character and work fully dawned upon him. There he evolv- ed his plans and the principles of pro- cedure, to which he adhered to the very close of his career. * * * * He came back to the vast concourse still attending the ministry of John the Baptist at the fords of the Jordan as to a human quarry from which he could select living stones as the foundation of that spiritual edifice he designed to rear. Nor was he disappointed. He found five out of the twelve. * * * * * When John saw him, he gave him a joyous welcome. No shade of jealousy crossed his noble heart. He unequivocally cast the full weight of his phenomenal inflaence upon the side of the new teacher, crying, Behold, the Lamb of God!” On the morrow, as Jesus reappeared, John repeated his significant exclamation with even increased emphasis. It was as if he had said, ‘Whoever wishes to leave me now and follow this greater Teacher, is at full liberty to do so.”” Two of the choicest spirits among his converts, John and Andrew, take the hint, aud separate themselves forever from the rugged Baptist to follow the lowly Jesus. * * * * * The Nazarene hears their footsteps; and, turning, encourages them with look and word. They are drawn to him, as iron to the magnet. Under the fresh-cnt boughs of a pilgrim-booth, or in the cool depths of some grotto, they sit at his feet, and learn of him, their hearts burning within them as he unfolds to them the principles of his kingdom. Then and there was kindled in the human soul of Jesus that love which made John evermore bis bosom com- panion. * * * * *® Andrew coveted his brother’s superior abilities for the service of his new-found Master. He rested not until he had eom- municate to him his momentous ‘‘find,’’ and bad brought him (Peter) to Jesus. The next day he saw the addition of the forth disciple in the person of Philip, who pyved the spirit of a true convert by im- diately bringing another to Jesus in the the.guileiess Israelite, Nathan- SET CRO h, * * In view of these Préions, calls, by the sea-gide was not a sudden summons as it appears. Its full meaning was under- stood. Ib was anticipated. Great would have been the disappointment if is had nos been made, i * . i that these ‘Philip and Barthol- omew, witnessed the miracles at Cana, Capernaum, and Bethesda, and the cleans- ing of the temple, and were with Jesus at the unidentified feast at Jerusalem, and in his journey through Judea and Samaria. CHILD-STUDY AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL METHODS. “Don’t bring your skillets and sauce- pans into the pulpit,’’ said old Dr. Tyne in a brusque talk to theologues. He meant that it was in no way necessary to display the tools of one’s craft before an audience. What the people want is a savory dish. They do not need or care to see the uten- sils with which it bas been prepared. That sight might spoil appetite. ' The same advice is good. for the Sunday-School teacher. Commentaries and illustrative notes are just the implements. They are to he left behind. Something appetizing is to be spread before the class. A little entirely ready and made attractive is better than a great deal underdone. The average child is more sensitive to the teacher’s method than is commonly sup- posed. Child-confidence is ashy bird; once frightened from cover, it is hard to win it back. Nothing breaks the teacher’s charm more quickly than the child’s discovery Saas the lesson is not a pars of the teacher's self. Casualties of 1903. Wiechs on Sea and Rail, Explosions, Floods and Fires Snuffed Out More Than 8,300 Lives. During the year of 1903 more than 8,300 lives were snuffed out by wrecks on sea and rail, explosions, floods, fires and other cas- ualties, Following is a record of fatalities by months : JANUARY. 69 Drowned in storm along Atlantic coast. FEBRUARY. v 19 Ferryboat capsized at Glens Falls, N. MARCH. 22 Explosion of oil tank cars at Olean, N. 600 Tuamotu Islands swept by tidal wave. 52 Storm in Eastern Germany. APRIL. 60 Eruption of volcano Deltierna Firma, Colombia. 1,500 Explosion of the arsenal at Canton, China. 16 Tornado at Hopewell, Alaska. i 10 Explosion of oil tanks as Minneapo- is. 56 Mountain slide at’ Frank, Northwest Territory, Canada. MAY. 19 Collision of the steamers Hamilton and Saginaw. a 12 Railroad wreck at Winnipeg, Cana- a. 156 Tornado in Southern Nebraska. 22 Collision of the steamers Huddersfield and Uto, near Antwerp. 15 Wreck of the schooner Gloriana, near Canso, N. S. 32 Railroad wreck near Stronie, Sile- sia. y 12 Ferryboat capsized near Posen, Prus- sia. 31 Wreck of the Hayami Maru, near Yo- kohoma. 2,000 Earthquake in Melazgherd, Asiatic Turkey. JUNE. 100 Collision between the steamers Li- ban and Insulaire, near the Maire Is- lands. 63 Wreck of the Arequippa, near Valpa- raiso. 234 Mine explosion at Hanna, Wyoming. 38 Cloudburst in Servia. 10 Railroad wreck at Raymond, Iowa. 51 Flood at Clifton, S. C. 125 Tornado at Gainesville, Ga. _ 81 Floods along the Missouri and Missis- s1ppi. 15 Lyddite explosion at Woolwich, Ar- senal, England. 19 Collapse of an apartment house at Warsaw, Poland. 10 Theatre burned at Aspang, Austria. 168 Railroad wreck at Najerilla, Spain. 24 Mine explosion at Barrateran, Mex. 497 Cloudburst and flood at Heppner, Or egon. ~ JULY. 73 Explosion in cartridge mill at Lowell, Mass. 29 Floods along the Oder, Silesia. 23 Railroad wreck at Rockfish, Va. 19 Cloudburst in Western Texas. 54 Cloudburst near Jeannette, Pa. AUGUST. 11 Coliapse of stand at Philadelphia Base Ball Park. 48 Hurricane on the Island of Jamai- ca. 89 Accident in the railway. : 23 Railroad wreck near Durand, Mich. 21 Railroad wreck near Udine, Ita- y. 692 Floods at Chifu, China. 41 Capsize of ferryboat near Heisingfords Finland. 260 Tenement house fire at Budapest, Hungary. Paris underground SEPTEMBER. 11 Warehouse fire, Christiana, Sweden. 29 Explosion on the vessel Vaskapa near Constantinople. r 21 Hurricane in Florida. OCTOBER. 36 Wreck of the steamer Savoyard, near Brest, France. : 19 Wreck of the steamer South Portland, near Marshfield, Ore. 10 Collapse of incompleted bridge at Pittsburg. _ 10 Hurricane off the coast of Virgin- ia. 54 Wreck of the steamer Progress off the coast of Japan. ‘12 Wreck of the steamer E. L. Hackley, near Marietta, Wis. 20 Wreck of the bark Mazatlan, Mexi- co. 17 Railroad wreck at Washington's cross- ing. N. J. 10 Subway cave-in, New York city. DECEMBER. 64 Railroad wreck on the B. and O., at Laure! Run. Pa. _ 10 Railroad wreck at Grand Rapids, Mich- igan. 575 Theatre fire, Chicago. Sleeps In Tent In Zero Weather, During the severe cold weather recently Rev. Dr. Charles Grise, pastor of Ebenezer Methodist Episcopal church, at Easton, Md., has slept in a tent on the back porch of his parsonage. Dr. Griee had heen in poor heaith for some time, caused by an aggravated case of catarrh. Last summer he consulted an eminent physician, who told him that the best way to effect a gure was to sleep out of doors as much as he could. ed While taking his vaeation last summer he commenced:to sleep in the open air and since his retarn home he has slept in a tent every night since. He declares that he feels better than he has for 10 years, has gained 20 pounds in’ weight and is stronger than he has gen for years. One cold morning N}} gad the mercury clear down ‘the thermometer.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers