BET Demorrait icon Bellefonte Pa.. February 10, 1905. monn. A PRAYER FOR THE PEASANTS. Lord God of Liberty, just and all-merciful ; Father of Freedom and Author of Light ! Guide with Thy wisdom a down-trodden people, Lead them and guard them and lend them Thy might ! Long have they suffered and long have they striven, Vast are the odds that they stand against now ; Give them the strength of Thine arm, who are driven Under the rod of oppression to bow ! Paint in the cold sky that roofs their low dwellings, a Visions celestial of freedom and right. Thus lead them on in their holy heart-swellings To blaze paths to Morning where all has been Night ! Dull the deep sting of the despots’ last striving, Quench every pain in remembrauce of Thee ; Speed them to victory, righteously driving Tyrants and Czar to Oblivion’s sea ! Soothe peasant hearts that sit lonely in sorrow, Longing for loves that were lost to the cause. Cheer them with thoughts of a splendid to- morrow— Freedom to speak and be, food and fair laws ! Lord God of Liberty, just and all-merciful ; Ruler of Rulers and Light of all Love ! Bend to Thy poor, faithful children and whisper Courage, and pour them down strength from above ! — Leigh Mitchell Hodges, in the Philadelphia North American. PEGGY'S COUNTER PLOT. A note from Peggy arrested Lawrence on his doorsteps, as he was about starting down town. He took the little blue bis, in Peggy’s writing and Peggy-sweet, from the postman, in a good deal of surprise and a little alarm. It was not Peggy’s way t0 send notes. She dearly loved to telephone. Besides, he had seen her late last night—or was it eatly this morning ? ‘‘Dear Phil, come quick!’ he read, and paled. But it was better farther on: ‘‘Oh, no; I don’t mean I’m dead, you poor dear. But I’ve got to see you or I shall die. Come——mercy, not here! This is the last place! Come to Aunt Jolly’s immediate- ly on this receit—oh, Philly,I dont know but there ought to be a ‘p’ in there, and, oh, I don’t care if there ought to be a bush- el of ‘p’s’! All care is for you to come— come. I've discovered a Plot. Yours, distractedly, “Peggy.” He went at once to Aunt Jolly’s. Aunt Jolly was created with a soul—she was no- where in sight or sound. It was only Peggy he found. “Ob, but I'm relieved!’ she sighed, after certain opening ceremonies; “I’m so glad you came at onze—shall you always come ab once, Philly, after——after——’ ‘‘Always,’’ promptly. “But you’ll never—I didn’t suppose you’d ever be away from me,” pouted Peggy adorably. ‘Never!’ he swore. “Well, anyway, we uneedn’t think of anything now but the Plot—Philly, Tess bought fifteen yards of white satin ribbon yesterday!’ ‘‘Gracious!’’ he ejaculated feebly, ‘“‘only fifteen!” He was in the dark—terribly in the dark. How was he to know the right thing tosay ? He wasn’t to know: he had said the wrong thing. : ‘Philip Lawrence, do you mean to say you want our—er—your trunk done up in more than fifteen yards of white satin rib- bon!’ demanded Peggy witheringly. Then of course at sight of his dear blundering old face she relented. ‘‘There! you don’t know what white satin ribbon is, poor dear; you're nothing bus a plain man.”’ _Hecould not deny it, but it didn’t seem kind in Peggy to throw it up to him—at this late hour anyway. Of course she was an angel to be willing to marry a plain man, and all that—but things had gone so far now it didn’t seem Peggy-like to men- tion — ‘‘Men know so little!’ sighed the little bride elect. ‘‘Poor things! It’s lucky they bave wi—er—I mean——? . ‘* ‘Wives’ is all right, dear; you can’t improve on that.”’ With such badinage they settled down gradually to business. Peggy explained about the Plot and her own eapecial, bril- liant, to-be-praised little Counter Plo. *‘It all comes of baving two sisters and a brother and marrying a man with two brothers and a sister, “she sighed, by way of introduction; ‘‘you might know they’d get their wicked heads together and devise Plots with capital P’s. And they have,— Philly, they’re bent on making our lives miserable for us Thursday !”’ Thursday was to he their wedding-day. He began to understand better. *‘They’re dears, of course, the whole six of them. Bat they’re bad; they baven’t any consciences nor—nor—sympathies. 1 woaldn’t trust them out of sight! Tess bought all that ribbon to loop our trunk all up in, Phil!” She said “our trunk” now withoat flinching, and he radiated pride from every line of his dear, homely ace. ‘‘They’re going to festoon it and tie it in ridiculous great rows and let it fly in ridic- ulous streamers. Oh, never mind how I found ous,—I tell you thaw’s their plot ! And they’re going to festoon the handsom- est hack at Schell’s, too, and the whip and the driver and the horse! Your sister's in it, too; she’s bought white ribbon.’’ “I'll ix Nan!’ he vowed sternly. Bat to his surprise, Peggy was laughing now. She looked pleased! Women-creatures— little pink-aud-white, adorable ones,—are too much for a man’s comprehension. ‘Oh, you wait! You wait!" laughed Peggy, mysteriously. “I’m coming to that preety soon! The rest of the Plot is—rice. Pounds of it—or quarts—I don’t know whiob you buy rice by. The boys are go- ing to see to that pars,—we’re to he del- uged,—simply deluged.’ } “Ur r-r I” he growled for lack of suita- ble—Peggy-sunitable—words. *'Oh, but are we ! Are we?" inscrutable Peggy oried, with dancing eyes. ‘Yon dear old stupid, listen to this ! Here's my Conn- ter Plot: There’s a nice shabby old trank up attio,—oh, as shabby as anything! I think it will have to he festooned with Jape ! And we're going to he married in is! “The dev—the dickens we are!” ‘“Annt Jolly’s on our side,—['ve ex- plained to her. She’s going to stay Wed. nesday night up home to help me dress. And Wednesday night—when it's all creepy-still and safe—she’s going to change the things from the nice new trunk to the nice shabby one! Don’t you begin to see light, Philly ? Oh, it’s a lovely little Coun- ter Plot !”’ “‘Go ahead,—hurry up,’”’ he entreated. “Well, the nice new trunk is to be filled with old comforts and quilts and a pillow or two,—that’s what those Wicked Plotters will tie up with their fifteen yards of white satin ribbon ! You see, the trank was to be all strapped and locked the night before to save confusion—Mother’s set on that. So Aunt Jolly’s coast is clear. And now Philly—are you listening with both ears, Philly? For here comes in your part—’’ “I'm listening,—don’t keep a fellow in suspense !"’ You are to see that Old Black Joe’s dear, shabby, shaky, old rattletrap of a hack is behind Mrs. Emslie’s, next door,—behind, mind, at ber back door,—at the right time, waiting for that old shabby trunk and us. And the right time, Philly,” — Peggy paused rhetorically for better dra- matic effect,—‘‘And the right time will be twenty-five minutes before we meant to start, you know. We shall have to dress in a rush, that’s all, and slip down the back stairs in our traveling things, while the Wicked Plotters are plotting down the front stairs, and the lovely, shiny carriage is on its way to the front door! It’s all ‘as plain as anything. There's a train twenty- five minutes ahead of our train that was to be. It isn’t a Pullman train, but who cares ! Let ’em load those old quilts and comforts on to the Pallman!’”’ And quite out of breath, Peggy collapsed on Aunt Jolly’s little baircloth sofa and indulged in a gleeful dive into the cushions. Philip Lawrence stood regarding her with undis- guised admiration. Peggy a brilliant little plotter! He had never thought of Peggy in that line before. Hedrew a long breath. *‘Good for you!’ he ejaculated, man- wise. | : ‘Ob, Philly,—oh, Philly, won’t it be lovely to outwit ’ em!” came, muffled, from pillow depths. ‘‘Won’t it besweet ! And to think somebody heard Tess say how they’d take the time while we were in our rooms getting into our traveling things to steal np to) the landing and tie up that trunk—the pillows and quilts and comn- forts ! Ste-al up, just as soft and easy! Philly, save me, I’m strangling !”’ Philip Lawrence did his pars. Old Black Joe rattled subduedly up to Mrs. Emslie’s hack gate and waited patiently there. Al- ready Aunt Jolly had done her part, and a shabby old trunk stood at the back stairs, waiting too. In the flower-bedecked parlors, mean- while, waited a hushed little company in whispering awe. Into the sweetness of the flowers and the hush came Peggy, shy and downcast, and Philip Lawrence, to be made man and wife. A few earnest words, a bit of a prayer,—it did not take long. Then the stillness broke into low laughter and the buzz of many voices. “Why did you let him kiss you ?”’ breathed Philip in his little bride’s ear. So soon he had grown masterful ! “Philly! The minister always does !”’ breathed back the little bride. : ‘‘Oh—always ? How many times have you been mar—"’ “Sh! Be a good boy now for your life, Philly ! They’re coming up to congratu- late yo—us.”’ : 8 Half an hour later a bevy of six, equally divided into skirts and coats, floated to- gether in a remote corner of the great room. They were all covertly excited. “Isn’t it time—Tess, isn’t it time ?’’ *‘Can’t we go now, Tess ?”’ ‘Yes, yes, Tessie, they’re out of the way for a good long time,—Peg’s going-away dress is perfectly awful to get into !”’ “Then come on—ready!”’ marshaled Tess, mysteriously. ‘‘Remember,—drop out of the room casually, ope at a time ! Everything depends. ”’ Upstairs, after the briefest possible change of toilet, two other conspirators slipped quietly away. Some one was tak- ing an old trunk down the narrow back stairs and they followed hurriedly. ‘Oh, Philly, doesn’t it feel lovely and creepy ! Don’t you feel—hark ! Oh Philly, some one’s coming !’’ ‘Pick up your skirts and we’ll run for it, littly wife. Here goes !”’ It might have been less exciting and thrilling if Old Black Joe’s ‘‘rattletrap’ had not broken down half way to the sta- tion. There are times when delays like that try the sonls—the soul, for they were one now,—of even a radiant bridegroom and a dainty little bride. ‘Oh, why didn’t I remember that it al- ways breaks down !—why dido’t you re- member, Philly ?’’ groaned Peggy, dis- tranght. Philip’s head was out of the window. A rueful voice filtered into the old carriage through the spaces around his broad shoul- ders.—the voice of Old Black Joe. ‘‘Sho, sho! Who’d done thunk she’d a- broke dere ! Ain’ I done nail her up las’ minute—'' ‘‘Man alive, stop tinkering! there on two wheels if necessary, but for heaven’s sake go ahead ! There's only four minuates left.” There was only one left when the old ruin staggered into the station aud its oe- cupapts tumbled out on the platform. Philip caught up the satchel and Peggy and ran for it. ¢ Get the trank down,—I’ll be back,” he called over his shoulder to the unruffled old darkey. And to hissarprise—good for Old Black Joe !—there it was waiting to be checked, when he came dashing back. Old Joe had outdone himself. The train was thrilling into readiness to start. The mau of jingling checks stood near by. ‘Clap a check on here !”’ puffed Philip, thrusting out his tickets which he had tak- en the precaution to procure earlier in the day. ‘Quick, man,—good ! Thank you,’’ and he was off to Peggy. A little shabby thing in the seat across the aisle from Peggy wae on tenterhooks of anxiety, too. Suddenly she darted across the narrow space and thrust her head out of a window. “Jim!—ob, you’ll get left, Jim, you’ll get left!”’ she quavered sbrilly. “Never mind the trun—oh, yes, do mind it! There, there it is, where that old colored man’s standing, don’t you see? What is it?—what ? Oh, never mind about the ropes,—of course that’s ours. There, we're going to start—run, Jim !”’ Peggy was wriggling on her own tenter- hooks. With a gasp of relief, she caught the dear, familiar coat lapels,laughing hys- terically, ‘Oh, Philly, I was afraid I'd have togo all alone on my wed --7’ ‘‘Sh!”” he cautioned softly. ‘‘You know youdidn’t want anybody to saspect any- thing.” Peggy stiffened into exaggerated dignity. “I'm thankful you're back, my dear,” she said clearly. Then, in an undertone— *‘‘Mv dear’ every time, mind! No- body’d «ay ‘my dear’ on a wedding trip.”’ The train jolted,--jarred into motion. They were off! They were safe! The Counter Plot had succeeded. The Wicked Plotters— ‘‘Oh ! Philip, will you look! coming round the corner—qunick. All six of ‘em! Get us, Where is my handkerchief ?—ob, give me yours, Philly, quick !”’ Six hurrying figures—equally divided, coats and skirts,—were panting round the station into view. Six of them, wildly ag- itated. At one of the windows of the mov- ing coaches appeared two faces, calmly tri- umphant. A big white handkerchief wav- ed wickedly. ‘‘Phillie, this is magoificent!”’ *‘Glory,”’ trinmphed Philly. *‘We’re ahead,—ahead,—ahead,’’ mur- mured Peggy, with thiece separate, happy sighs. But she did not know the courage of the Wicked Plotters. She was to know. The shabby couple across the aisle came in, after a while, for rather more thao their share of notice. They were so very shabhy —they looked so ridiculously happy in spite of their shabbiness. ‘‘But of course they aren’t happy really,” murmured really happy Peggy, snuggling infinitesimally nearer to Philip. ‘How could they be—she, anyway, in that terri- ble little hat?’’ Peggy’s hat was beautiful. ‘Its out of reason. He’s Jim, Philip,— make you acquainted? What should yon suppose he was—a bricklayer?’’ *‘No,”” happy Philip considered judic- iously. ‘I should incline to say a carpen- ter. He looks like a carpenter.’’ After a space: ‘‘Philly, do you suppose she ever had any nice clothes?—and, oh, that makes me think, I do hope Aunt Jolly didn’t ges mine mussed? My lovely things! —if she did—"’ ‘Whisper, dear, hadn’t you bette1?’’ he cautioned gently. ‘‘Mercy, yes! Do you suppose anybody heard?’’ breathed Peggy in alarm. ‘So far we’ve been sach lovely married folks. Nobody dreams we’re just married, Phil- ly.” “Never!” he assured her, calmly menda- cious. For he had encountered more than one pair of amused, kindly eyes. Who could help knowing Peggy, in her dainty blushes and toggery, was a bride! ‘*You’d as soon imagine—why, that Jim, over there, and his shabby wife were on their wedding trip!’’ laughed foolish little Peggy, snuggling a very little nearer still. “Do you know, Philly, I was always cer- tain I should carry it off like this when the time came. ’’ ‘‘Peggy,’’ suddenly, a quiver in his voice, ‘“look out of the window, quick, or go on talking of the Jims—or I shall kiss you; as I live, I shall! Then your little jig is np— don’t look at me like that!’ They were very happy on their side of the aisle, and the Jims were happy on theirs. ‘‘How we keep stopping! I declare I'd forgotten we weren’t in a chair car, Philly, hadn’t you? Think of going on our—you know—in a common car that stops at every station! But its worth is—the fade- less glory of having outwitted those six children!” And even as she said it the car was stopping and the revenge of the Out- witted ones was already approaching. A brakeman appeared in the car door ahead, on the heels of the incuming passen- gers. His arms were piled up high with splendid Bride roses conspicuously, gener- ously tied with white ribbon. His face was grinning enjoyingly above the mass of flowers. Before he spoke Peggy understood; she scented Tess and the other five had ones in the awfal thing that was descend- ing upon her and Philly. This was their re- venge—they had telegraphed it out ahead. The brakeman was speaking in his dreadful ‘‘carrying’’ voice. ‘‘Is there a newly married couple in this car?’’ he sang out stridently. ‘I was to give these roses dai yy ‘‘Philly, look out of the window—don’t you dare to look like a newly married couple!”’ agonized Peggy under her breath. “I’ll never marry you again in this world if you do! Look as if you'd been married ten years—twenty-five—fifty—’’ But they agonized in vain. For across the aisle, Jim, red and radiant, was standing up and claiming she brakeman’s lovely load! The little Jim beside him was staud- ing, too—red and radiant, too. ‘‘It’s the boss done it, Mamie—I bet it was the boss!’’ Jim cried. ‘‘He’s stoppin’ somewhere about here, but I never thonght he’d up 'n do this!’ ‘Oh, no; I never either!’ echoed the other Jim. “‘Oh, Jim, if ’twas him, don’t you ever, ever strike again as long as you live! Here, give ’em to me and set down— everybody’s lookin.” But I don’t care— not while I got these to bide in!” ‘‘Glory be!’’—on the other side of the aisle—‘‘They’ve saved us, Peggy. Go ahead and breathe.” But Peggy, because she was a woman— the inconsistency of them all!—was inclin- ing rapidly toward indignation. **They’re ours, Philly,” she whispered. ¢‘ ‘Boss’! No ‘boss’ ever chose those! He'd have chose) chrysanthemums or—dahlias, or something. It was Tess ordered those by telegraph or telephone,—you needn’t tell me! They belong to us.” Philip made as if to rise. ‘‘Shall Igo across and demand them?’ he asked, calmly. ‘‘Philip Lawrence, if you dare to!” Bunt it was irritating to sit there and smell the warm, sweet whiffs that came over-aisle to them. Peggy said it made her cross. She demanded a change of seat; but the Jims’ unexpected departure at the next station saved them that trouble. It was a distinct relief to see the Jims depart. “Thank goodness !’ breathed Peggy. ‘Now, I'll be good again, you poor dear. But I simply couldn’t be with that ridicu- lous little Jim devouring my lovely roses! ““Whe’d have dreamed that they were new- ly married, Philly?”’ ‘‘She looks a sort of nice little thing,’ commented Philip, kindly; ‘‘and she was so proud of the flowers, Peggy!"’ Instantly mercurial Peggy veered about. “I'm an old selfish!’ she repented. ‘‘The idea of grudging the little creature the only beautiful thing she ever had—I know it’s the only one, Philip! I feel it in my hones. She never had any nice clothes—any nice times $ill now—any roses in her life, Let ber have my beautiful Brides—she’s wel- come, Philly,’”’ What Philip answered is not to he re- peated. Only Peggy heard—Peggy smiled. At five they reached their journey’s end. Not till then had it occurred to them that they might be ashamed of their shabby old trunk. It certainly occurred to them now, as they descended upon the platform of this gay summer place. It required real nerve for fastidious Philip Lawrence to own the poor old affair and direct that it should be sent to one of the great hotels. **Oh,’’ had groaned Peggy at sight of it, ‘‘its worse than I thought—it’s a fright, Philly! What made you let them tie it up with a rope? 1 didn’t know it looked as awful as that! Let’s sit down on it, quick, and hide it!” ‘It’ done us a good turn, sweetheart— we mustn’s go back on it now. It wasn’t a bad trunk in its day, I'll ray that for it. They used to he very popnlar made like that: we had ove just like it at home, I think. I’ve seen a good many enough like it to be own sisters.”’ way iii — Peggy was anxions to unpack her beauti- ful clothes as soon as possible. Her mind was uneasy lest they should be badly press- ed an injured. . ‘‘Unlock it quick, Philly,” she demand- ed when they had finally reached their destination, ‘I want to shake the things out.” **Doesn’t need unlocking—good! That’s why they roped her up. I call this a pretty fair kind of a trunk, Peggy. No stuck- upedness about it—all open and above hoard.”’ He was unknotting the awful rope—he was raising the lid. ‘‘Oh!—Oh, Philly, look! Oh, look!” shrieked Peggy, then fell into horrified silence. ‘‘Great heavens!’ . Then they both stood looking together, beyond further speech. There were no words big enough. Conspicuous in the tray of the trunk lay, folded neatly, a man’s blue overalls, quite spruce and new. Beside them, in friendly proximity, lay a folded print wrapper, brave with roffles. Peggy, in that first horrified glimpse,had caught sight of course lace edgings peeping from the neat piles; Philip had seen a box of paper collars. The mystery explained itself to them as they gazed. The Jims’ trunk—they did not need to tell each other. They did not need to ask who had their trank. The little Jim at last had beautiful clothes. The silence grew oppressive—grew un- bearable. Philip broke it resolutely. He lifted and shook out the spruce new over- alls. His face was grave up to his eyes, but the gravity ended there. ‘*Come, dear,’’ this wicked bridegroom said, ‘it’s getting late. We must dress for dinner !” Grizzly Bears and Panthers. Afraid of Man, Says Wyoming Hunter, Dangerous Only When Attacked by Man. ‘‘In the moutains of Wyoming, where I have hunted for years, you can find most any kind of savage animals that you can get in America except alligators. Grizzlies, black bears and mountain lions are com- monly killed there,’’ says Hugh Sniverly, of Sheridan, Wyo.,in the Louisville Herald. ‘“‘Some of the men that come out here to hunt think that if they stir 100 yards away from camp they must be armed to the teeth for fear of being attacked by a bear or a ‘painter’ and killed. There's a heap more danger of getting killed on ac- count of leaving your gun at home when you go down Market street. Some one might shoot you on the street in a big city, but its dead sure that a bear or a mountain lion will never attack you unless you drive him to it. “I've hunted through the best districts for big game in this country, and I’ve seen a good many grizzlies, but I’ve never seen one of them go after a man unless he was cornered or wounded. If you run into a grizzly bear in a lonely place you'll hear a grunt something like that of a mammoth hog, and there will be a mighty crashing of underbrush as he makes off in an oppo- site direction as fast as he can go. All yoa can generally see of a mountain lion isa tawney streak as he makes off at incredible speed. If he has any intention of going after you it must be his intention to go around she world and catch you in the rear, for if you are standing to the east of him he is sure to go due west. ‘‘Mountain lions in the winter time will follow sleighs at a distance, wailing as they go bunt there is nothing in that to inspire terror, for I don’t think they have ever been known to close in on anybody, Their terror of human beings is the thing which makes them bard to shoot. In all the time that I have been in the mountains I bave never been attacked by a wild animal that has been left strictly alone, Bot I’ve known men to be killed even by deer when the brute was driven to desperation. ‘Grizzlies are the best game in the world. When you once get their dander up they are savage fighters, and the hun- ter’s life is in danger every minute unless he is a good shot and has a steady nerve. It you ever get within reach of the grizzly’s paw you are a dead one. These stories of men killing them with knives in hand-to- hand fights are about as reasonable as it would be to talk of stopping a locomotive by getting in the way of the train. If the big fellow gets a chance te deliver one blow it is all over. There was a grizzly up our way that the cowboys called ‘Big Ben,’ who killed about one hundred and filty steers before he was finally shot. He would break: the steer’s neck with one blow, and then he would lift him up and carry him off to a secluded place. Griz- zlies look awkward, but they are mighty light on their feet, and can beat any man in a foot race.”’ No Sheriffs As Hangmen. HARRISBURG, Jan. 24.—There will be no more hangings by Sheriffs or in county prisons after June 13th next, if a bill introduced in the House today by Mr. Troxell, of Lycoming County, becomes a law. The measure aims also to prevent publication of the details of hangings. The bill provides that all hangings after June 13, 1905, must take place in the East- ern or Western Penitentiaries, the exact time to be fixed hy the warden of the in- stitution. The week in which the hang- ing is to ocour must begin not less than four weeks nor more than eight weeks af- ter the sentence. No announcement of the time is to be made. Within ten days after the Governor issues his warrant the pris- oner must be removed to the penitentiary, where he shall be kept in solitary confine- ment until the day of execution. _ The bill limits those entitled to witness the execution to a Supreme or Superior Court Judge, District Attorney and Sheriff in the county in which the conviction was had, a physician, tweive adult citizens, wo ministers or priests, if desired by the condemned, and assistant wardens and deputy sheriffs, and excludes newspaper men. The Sheriff, with the concurrence of the | county cours or a Supreme Court Judge, may impanel a jury to inquire into the prisoner’s sanity, and if it be found that he is not of sound mind the sheriff must sns- pend the execution until the Governor acts. Unless the body is claimed by relatives, it shall be immediately buried in the prison graveyard, with a sufficient quantity of quicklime to consume the corpse. No religions or other services shall be held over the body, except within the walls of the prison where the executien took place, and then only in the presence of the officers. The immediate family of the con- demned is to be admitted to the services. The warden who violates thie provision of the act shall be gnilty of a misdemeanor. The county sending the condemued to the prison shall pay $25 to cover the cost of the execution. ——Bacon—Why does he call his dach- gchund Procession. Egbert—DBecause it takes him so long to pass a given point.— Yonkers Stateman. Unknown Dangers. Peril Lurks in Tinted Wall Papers and Dress Fabrices. One of the most snbtle methods of tak- ing buman life, little known to the gen- eral public, is that recognized by the laws of Massachusetts in establishing a limit to the amount of arsenic that may be used in wall papers and fabrics. It bas been f ound that these articles, as well as others such as playing cards and materials used in furnishing the home, are injurious in that they either set up a continual cumulative irritation by throwing off arsenical particles, as in dress goods, which poison is absorbed by the formation of volatile compounds that are breathed and which set up serious poisoning of the system; the neglect to remove the sources of infection eventually undermines the health and the subject succumbs. DATA ON ARSENIC POISONING. The experts of the Department of Agri- culture ‘‘are fully convinced from data which has been published that volatile compounds of arsenic can be set free from wall papers, and, therefore, that cases of poisoning by this class of substances are due both to the formation of volatile com- pound and to the actual dusting off of arsenic into the air of dwelling places, or to either of these causes.” The authors of the Government pam- phles, ‘“Arsenic in Papersand Fabrics,” are so thoroughly convinced by the data they bave collected that arsenical poisoning from papers and fabrics is of common oc- currence that they only quote a few dozen cases out of the many bundied that have come to their notice, devoting a large part of the space to the results of analysis of wall papers sold on the American market. The analyses were carried out by H. J. Warner, assistant chemist, Bureau of Chem- istry, and the collaboration by J. K. Hay- wood, chief Insecticide and Agricultural Water Laboratory. . The cases cited are astonishing. The patients, sometimes in- dividuals in a house, at other times whole families, aud occasionally inmates of whole institutions, develop organic disturbances. After being treated first for one thing and then another, without relief, and constant- ly growing worse, with symptoms aggra- vated, the trouble is finally located in the wall paper, or in the uniforms of the nurses, or in some similarly impossible source of infection. The patient complains of pains in the eyes, nose and different parts of the body, restless nights and a feeling of lassitude and depression in the day, with dyspepsia in one form or an- other. PARIS GREEN ON THE WALL. The case is cited of a physician who had suffered for several years from occasional attacks of gastric and intestinal disturb- ances, attended with fever and inability to do either mental or physical work. Dar: a period of housecleaning the walls of his office, which were covered with a hand- some green velvet paper, were swept down with a broom. The doctor, who was an ob- servant individual, noticed a dark-green powder on the floor along the walls among the sweepings, which, upon analysis, was found to be‘‘almost pure paris green.’’ A paper hanger was sent for to re- move the paper, and ‘‘after working a few hours he was seized with all the symptoms of acute arsenical poisoning and was oblig- ed to desist. Another who took his place to finish the job suffered the same way on the following day. It was discovered that at some former time the ceiling had been covered with paris green and subsequently a coat of another color had been laid over it. The servant who attempted to wash this was confined to his bed for three days with cramps and acute intestinal trouble. Finally the two members of the doctor’s household, who had taken considerable interest in what was being done, were at- tacked with similar symptoms, and he him selfbad one of his old familiar attacks. Since repapering, now six months ago, be has bad none of his old trouble.” POISONED BY NURSES UNIFORMS. Another case ocourred in a Massachu- setts infant asylum, where the wholesale arsenioal poisoning of the children and nurses was traced to some blue dresses adopted as a uniform by the nurses. Much of the arsenic was found to be loose in the cloth. The authorities had the dresses thoroughly washed, thinking to therehy elimirate the poison, but upon their re- samption by the nurses there was another outbreak of alarming symtoms among the babies, so that the dresses had to be dis- carded; since then the trouble has entirely disappeared. ; Ten years ago the use of arsenic in col- ored wall papers and house farnishings was very common. Some official tests in Massachusetts at that time showed that about one-third of the papers examined con- tained more or less of the poison, and the proportion of arsenical house furnishings, prints and ginghams was as great, or great- er, Silks and woolens were comparatively free. Asa result the Legislature of Massa- chusetts passed a law limiting the amount of arsenic in papers and woven fabrics other than dress goods to 0.10 grain per square yard, and the amount in dress goods and articles of dress to 0.01 grain per square yard, or just one-tenth as much as is allowable in wall papers, owing to the liability of fabrics coming into inti- mate contact with the body. Recently there has been a popular agi- tation in England in regard to arsenical beer, and the Department of Agriculture, recognizing the great importance of the question, has made a representative col- lection of goods purchasable in the open market in Washington, D. C. with the idea of warning the public of their danger. The Massachusetts law has been quite ef- fective in raising the wall paper standard throughout the country. . Game of Noted Men. The hostess begins by saying : *'I know a celebrated poet, the first part of whose name is very black, and the last is an ele- vation.”’ : The player, - responding ‘‘Coleridge,” in turn describes the name of some other noted person. For instance, ‘‘Shakespeare.’’ saying : ‘‘I know a noted author and poet, the first part of whose name people do when cold, the last part is a weapon of warfare.’’ Only give the profession, nothing else. The following names readily lend them- selves to this simple but instructive little game :— Words-worth, Shell-ey (Shell-lea). Charch hill, Webh-ster. Wal-pole. Washington. Longfellow. Blackstone. Isaac Walton (Eye-sack-wall-ton). ——'‘Your account has heen standing a long time, Mr. Dukey.”’ “Then give it a seat, my dear Shears.’’ ‘Very glad to, sir. receipt ?'’—7%d- Bits. Shall we make it a BREAKING THE ICE. We had some offish neighbors once that moved in down the road, We reckoned they was *bont the proudest folks we'd ever knowed, An’ when we passed 'em now an’ then we held our heads up high To make dead sure they couldn’t snub us if they wag to try, It really made me nervous, so I jes’ braced up one day Au’ thought I'd go ahead an’ show my man- ners, anyway. On Sunday, ’stid o’ turning round an’ gazin’ at the view, I'looked at them an says, “Hello I” An’ they says, “Howdy-do !” Jt wasn’t the cold and formal greetin’ that you've sometimes heard ; They smiled and said it hearty, like they meant it, every word, It’s solemn to reflect on what we miss along life’s way By not jes’ bein’ natural an’ good-humored day by day. There’s lots o’ folks who fling the simple joys of lite aside Because they dread the shadow of their own unconscious pride, And nine times out of ten yow'll find the rule works right and true— Jes’ tell the world “Hello I" and it'll answer ‘“Howdy-do ! — Washington Star. All About February. How it Gained its Name and How it Lost its Day. The people who lived in Rome hundreds of years ago, used to havea festival, to which many people went. Everybody took with him goats and a dog. These animals were killed and offered to a god. After that two young men were brought to the altar. Their foreheads were touched with a bloody sword; then washed off with wool dipped in milk. The people then had a great feast. When that was done, each cut a whip from the skin of the animal he had brought. Then those who took part in the festival ran about the city whipping everyone who came near. Februatio was the name of this rude fes- tival, and the whips were called Februa; 80 when the old Romans wanted a name for this month they thought of their festival held at this time of the year, and called it February. This is the shortest month of the year. It bas only 28 days. Do you know the rea- son? Tt is this: The Emperor Agustus, for whom the month of August was named, wanted his month to have as many days as any other month of the year. You know six other months have 31 days. So he just took a day from poor February, which al- ready had one day less than any other and added it to August. You know ail she months are of the same length every year except February, which has 28 days every three years and 29 days in the fourth or leap year. You may not all know the reason. When the Romans were making the months and years they found that a year had 365 days and nearly six hours in it. Now, every one of yon knows that four sixes make 24; and that 24 hours make a whole day. So at the end of every four years there wasa whole day to spare. What did they do with it? Just what you would bave done, They gave it to Febru- ary, the shortest month. Mr. Groundhog, Even the country folks have no idea of the groundhog’s real name. They call him woodchuck. But in the world of science heis known as ‘‘arctomys monax.’’ What does he look like? Much like a rat. He is from 15 to 18 inches long. His color is grizzly gray and black above, and obestnut red below. His feet are dark and his short, bushy tail is sometimes marked with gray rings. He has a broad flat head, thick body, small eyes and ears, short neck and legs, and long whiskers. He is not very handsome, you see. But he is a brave fighter and can whip any dog of his own size. Because the woodchuck has such a habit of burrowing in the ground and is such a big eater, he was given the name ground- hog. He digs deep holes in the fields on the sides of hills, or under the rocks in the woods ; in a slanting direction at firss, to keep out the water. His honse under the ground has several rooms and more than one door for him to get in and out. He spends the winter sleeping. The story goes that the ground hog has chosen Feb. 2nd as the day when he awakens from his long winter sleep. On this day be comes out of his hole, it is said, to take a peep at the weather. Bnt if he finds thesun shicing, strange to say, be hurries right back into his nest for an- other six weeks’ nap. The sight of his shadow cast by the sun, it is said, frightens the groundbog. So a clear, fire, sunshiny day on Feb. 2nd is thought to mean six more weeks of winter. A stormy, wes and cloudy day keeps the groundhog in. That means that winter will soon be gone. Dangerous Mexican Plants. Their Use, it is Said, will Make Men Insane. Marihuana is a weed used by the people of the lower class; and sometimes by the soldiers; but those who make larger use of it are prisoners sentenced to long terms. The use of the weed and its sale, especially in barracks and prisons is very severely punished, yet it has many adepts, and In- dian women cultivate it because they sell it at rather high prices. The dry leaves of the maribuana, alone or mixed with tobacco, make the smoker wilder than a wild beast. It is said imme- diately after the first three or four draughts of smoke the smokers begin to feel a slight headache; then they see everything moving and finally they lose all control of their mental faculties. Everything the smoker sees takes the shape of a monster, and men look like devils. They begin to fight, and, of course everything smashed is a monster *'killed.”” But there are imaginary beings whom the wild man cannot kill, and these inspire fear, until a man is panio stricken and runs. Nos long ago a man who had smoked a marihvana cigarette attacked and killed a policeman and badly wounded three others; six policemen were needed to disarm him and march him to the police station, where he had to be put into a straightjacket. Such occurrences are frequent. There are other plants equally dangerous and among them is the ‘‘tolvache,”’ a kind of loco weed. The seeds of this plant, boiled and drank as tea, will make a person insane. Among some classes of Mexico, it it is stated that Carlota, the empress of Mexico. lost her mind because she was given tolvacee in a refreshment. ——Mrs. Greene—My hushand’s actions have made me a nervous wreck,bhut I don’ see why Clara should be the same; she hasn’t any men to worry her! . Miss Keene—That’s just what’s worrying ber.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers