sss ERC ee eee Democratic: Walco Bellefonte Pa.. March 3, 1905. For THE WATCHMAN THE IDEAL LAND. Thoagh dark is the sea that we sail on, And our craft is weighted with care; It often is tossed by the billows, And seldom the weather is fair. We hopefully steer for a haven Far over the turbulent sea, The shores of an ideal country— The land where the soul is free. Though often the tides are against us And often the winds are adverse, While the storms raging wildly around us Our bark in the depths would immerse. Yet we will steer for that haven That only by faith we can see ; The shores of that ideal country— The land where the soul is free. At last on the distant horizon, Will that fair land come into view ; The eye will find rest in the vision, The heart will its courage renew. At last we shall enter that haven And ours forever will be, To dwell in that ideal country— The land where the soul is free. ° —M. V. Thomas. THE PRICE OF TEDDY. During dinner Anne Ridgely observed ber husband with a new interests. He talk- ed more than usual, when he talked at all; aud in his absent-minded silences, his eyes flickered with half-concealed amusement, aud bis mouth lines relaxed and tightened in a shrewd humorousness peculiarly his own. She was wont not to question him in regard to his affairs. So she merely con- tented herself with watching him, now, and occasionally wondering what was the reason for his mood. : She talked on for a while of the happen- ings of her own day, a woman’s luncheon she bad attended, the need of a plumber in the kitchen, the blossoms on the chrysan- themums in the back yard, the report that there was to be a new rector in the parish and Teddy’s fit of temper at Sallie, the maid. After dinner was over and the boy Ted- dy, whom Ridgely adored, was put to bed, Anne moved her chair to the fireplace where Carter sat puffing on a sweet old briar pipe. They were congenially silent for some time, until Anne spoke suddenly. ‘By the way, Carter, the Jackson house next door has been taken.’’ ‘That 80?’’ he responded, the pipe stem between his teeth. ‘Yes, they've moved in to day—Anson— a man and his wife.”’ Ridgely removed his pipe slowly. ‘‘An- son? H’mm! What Anson!” His voice deliberately uncurious in tone. ‘‘Henry A. Anson, so the grocer’s boy told Sallie. They lived in New York be- fore they came here. She came over this morning to borrow tbe hammer and my ad- vice about butchers. She’s really very nice, I think. Do yon know him, Carter?”’ Yes.” His answer was brief enough to cause her to look ap. ‘Why, isn’t—aren’t they nice people?’’ “I guess 80.” ‘‘He and I have been in the same line of business—chemicals—for a long time,’’ he added abruptly, with an undertone of deep- er meaning. “You speak as if—as if—isn’t he quite honorable in his business, Carter?’’ Ridgely smiled grimly. *‘O, yes! O, yes, he’s honorable enough—he’s a little slow— that’s all; some day be’ll wake up and find himself dead?” ‘In business, I suppose you mean? “Well, I'm glad we’ve got some decent neighbors at last; those Boyds were really 00 —. ‘‘Annie if I were you, I wouldn’t bank ton much on the Anson proposition. Un- less I miss my guess in about a month or maybe a week, they won’t want to play in our back yard.’’ Anne glanced at him sharply. ‘‘What do you mean, Carter?’ He sat silent for some time before he an- swered, staring inscratably into the bed of glowing embers. Presently he refilled his pipe, lighted it and leaning back in his chair, looked at his wife with a thoughtful, half-doubting eye. “I wonder if yon’d understand, if I told you?’ he deliberated. Apne had never seen Ridgely in this mood before, but she betrayed no surprise. ‘‘You might try,’’ she suggested with a quizzical smile. *'Can you keep a secret?’”’ Ridgely asked peremptorily. ‘“‘Carter'—and I your lawful wife these seven years!” He grinned boyishly. “You'll do, Aune. Well it's this way.” Ridgely hesitated again as if deliberating with himself whether he was no getting a liitle fcolish in telling a woman something ire doubted she would find the least inter- est in. He glanced quickly at her. ‘Wait, Carter, until I see if Teddy’s window is open, and let me get my sewing. I never can think as clearly as when I'm darning stockings. It gives me a perspeo- tive.” “Well, Anve, its this way: For the last three years I’ve been interested in bauxite. That’s a chemical thas is used presty largely and its going to be used more and more, as I see it. I won’t bother $o explain what the stuff is for you prob- ably —? Anne interrupted. “I koow, Carter, something of it. I heard you meution it once to someone, and I looked it up. It’s very important and it’s mined abroad, isn’s it?" ‘Exactly. Glad you know. It’s mined abroad and the foreign miners have never done the right thing by us in the way of prices and opportunities of handling is, The stuff, over bere, has been almost en- tirely in the hands of wus. Charles H. Meredith's firm and myself have worked together on it. We represent a sort of a tittle trust. You know what a trons —"’ “*Yes, of course, Carter, it’'s—."’ “All right then. And Anson—Henry A. Apson—represents the independent in- terest, those outside the trast, see!”’ Well, I can’t explain the details to you, bus aboot a month ago my foreign agent sent us word that the miners abroad were wak- ing up to the fact that if they wanted to do business on this side of the water they had to make concessions in prices. Meredith heard the same thing, bus he didn’t take much stock in the thing. I got my men to work and the upshot of it all is that in ten days there is to be a meeting of the producers in Paris. Meredith was kept practically in ignorance of it until today when he gets a cable from his representa tive to hotfoot over to Paris if he wants to be in the deal. It's toolate. He can’f get away. He’s all up in the air about “it. Been telephoning all day’’—Ridgely laugh- ed grimly—‘‘hut he can’t do anything. Meanwhile my man, Ladew, has his pas- th. Nis, yi EE A pepe a. ; ¢ sage all bought, and sails day after tomor- row at nine. Ridgely knocked out his pipe and gazed trinmphantly at bis wife. ‘‘Now do you see anything?’ ‘‘Wait, Carter—what does it mean? I see what yoa’ve said, but——"’ ‘‘Mean! My dear girl, it means just this—if Meredith can’t get away, then I’m the only firm represented at the conference. I’ve got Meredith under my thumb now. He’ll have to do as I say—have to.”? And Anson——.”’ ‘“There you are! Anson doesn’t know one word, I believe, of what’s going on. He basn’t a man in Paris. He’s relied ab- solutely on his power here at home (and on Meredith and me). See that? Anne, if this deal goes through; if Anson doesn’t hear of it until too late for him to sail; if all this comes out as I plan, we’ll be rich, old girl, rich, for there are thousands of tons boughs, and Anson—— well, Anson will be ruined in a year, or will do as we want him to.” The possibility of the thing took hold on Anne’s brain, her eyes sparkled and her bands twisted nervously. *‘In a year we'll—we’ll go to Paris, too, Anne, and we’ll have our vacation—yon and I—and the boy. And we’ll see all the blooming dukes and dukesses and castles, and whatever else they’ve got to offer over there.”” Ridgely laughed. “0, Carter!” ‘‘Sure we will. The thing can’t fail. ‘Why, it means thousands of dollars to me. I’ve worked for this for years—and now its come.”’ ‘Carter, you’re—you’re wonderful,’”’ Anne cried excitedly. ‘‘You’re bully.’’ After a moment he subsided apologetic- ally into his chair and took up his pipe. “We'll see, we'll see.” Anne suddenly looked straight into his eyes. ‘‘Carter, is it—quite—it is quite fair to Anson, isn’t it? That is, it isn’t anything not quite—quite—.?*’ “It’s business, Anne,” he answered curtly. ‘‘Business. The way men make and break each other. Fair? I guess it’s fair enough when everything’s considered. He tried to drive me out of it and hurt my business. He’ll get a dose of his own medicine. ‘‘And if it goes through,”’ he finally concluded, ‘I’m going to be in a position to declare the prices of bauxite in the United States. Me—alone—Carter Ridge- ly. How about that! Eb?” ‘0, it’s splendid—it’s a man’s splendid chance. But doesn’t it make a woman’s schemes seem little and trifling and petty?’’ Ridgely lavnghed patronizingly and went abous shutting the house for the night. ‘“You see now why Ansons won't be likely to be neighborly, Anne?’ II. Teddy Ridgely tiptoed quietly down the stairs and through the hall to the front porch. Once there, be sighed with relief and felt the tension of his dread ease up. His mother evidently had not beard him. Most likely she was asleep, as she supposed him to be. Teddy was seven and he felt the shame of an afternoon nap keenly. He paused irresolutely and then went back into the house with nervous caution. When he again appeared he bad his fire en gine with him. “I’ll p’tend a fire,”’ he said, beaming on the cat. Teddy was not too deeply absorbed in an imaginary conflagration behind the chrys- anthemums that he was not acutely aware, after the lapse of some fifteen minutes, that Mr. Saunders bad come in his new auto- mobile to call upon the young lady who was visiting in the house opposite. Hence be left his fire engine capriciously and watched with deep fascination while Mr. Saunders slowed up and leaped out of his machine. ‘‘Hello, Teddy,”’ said Mr. Saunders. Teddy approached. ‘“‘Lo,”” he muttered go?’ Saunders laughed. ‘‘Gasoline. Ever hear of it? Youn pull this and push that and steer her with this—and off she goes. Great, eh, Teddy?” “‘Gee,”’ said Teddy, with awe. Teddy had never seen an automobile when it was peaceful and at rest. After Mr. Saunders had been in the house oppo site for some minutes, the boy came closer and scanned the great, flaming-red mon- ster. Presently with a comprehensive glance about him he clambered in; his fin- gers itched to touch the shiny levers thas Mr. Saunders bad touched; Teddy pushed cautiously on them. With a snort, all un- noticed by Mr. Saunders-and the young la- dy, the mechanism rolled swiftly down the street. And in it sat Teddy. . Anson came home early that afternoon. He was tired and worried. There seemed to be something untoward abead of him; and he had not been able of late to keep an eye on Carter Ridgely; today certain matters had come up in a talk he bad had with Ridgely that troubled him exceeding- ly; Somewhere, something was going on that he had not foreseen. He felt oust of sorts and irritable as he stepped off the train. “I'll go for a walk—that will clear my head,’’ Anson said to himself. ‘‘Confound that Ridgely.”’ He struck off into the country, made a circuit of the village and was coming up the river road when he saw an automobile in the distance. As it came nearer Anson heard above the rattle and pant of the car a child’s shrill scream. Standing up in it wavered a slight listle fellow with stream. ing yellow hair and staring, terror-stricken blue eyes. His hands were stretched out piteously in front of him. How he came to do it Anson never knew. But over his short, stocky, iron-muscled frame shot such a wave of strength as he bad not felt since the days he “bucked the line’’ in Yale. He insisted afterward that she felt the muscles of bis body hard- en like steel first, then came the thought that 1f the kid in the machine went on at that devilish speed another five hundred yards he'd be smashed to pieces or drown- ed, for the river bridge was being repaired that day and the planking was completely gone. ; ‘*‘The rushing scarlet devil was almost on Anson. As it swerved horribly from side to side the boy grew more and more terri- fied and his grasp ou the seat weakened. Anson set his teeth. ‘‘God,”’ he muttered. Anson jumped to the middle of the road ; with the sure keen eye of an athlete and the lithe quickness of a mountain cat, he sprang straight as the machine, For an instant the shock blinded and stunned him, then he knew that he had made it. Clutching desperately at the front of the car he crawled up into it heside the boy. *'Can’s yon stop her?’’ Anson gasped. The hoy shook his head fearfully. “I don’t know how to do it either! Good God!” The man looked helplessly at the lad. The bridge was not two hundred feet away. “What makes it Anson’s face settled into heavy, dull ex- tightened like ropes. Something hetween a prayer and a curse stuck in his throat. He snatched off his coat ard wound the boy in it. “Keep still, hoy, and don’t struggle. We're going to jump for it,”” he command- ed rapidly. He poived himself fur the jump on the edge of the antomobile. The lad was sob- bing hysterically. ‘God help us,’’ Anson cried. When Anson iegained consciousness some one was bending over him and wip- ing the blood off his head. He felt a siok- ening sensation of pain and hurt. Present- ly be knew the trouble was in his left arm. ‘‘Is the kid all rizht?’’ he asked wearily. ‘Yes. He's not much hurt—just shaken up and bruised. Here he is. My name’s Saunders. The little devil got in ny ma- chine when I was making a call and got it going. You're better now, eh? That arm —that’s bad—ab!"’ Saunders raised Anson a little and gave bim some brandy that he bad obtained at a neighboring house. “They say you jumped in and jumped ont, old man, while she was going. Gad, that’s a nervy thing. A man saw you do it. But I don’t know your name, do 1?” ‘‘Anson i®* my name. I'm new here. Who is the boy?” “That?—that’s Teddy Ridgely— Carter Ridgely’s son." *‘Ugh,”’ grunted Anson feebly. ‘Yon saved his life, I reckon. The ma- chine’s in toothpicks on the river bed now.”’ ‘Mr. Saunders—I—I’d like to get home; and thas kid needs his mother. Cau’t yom geb us somewhere, soon.”’ II Anpe Ridgely stood on the front lawn peering anxiously up and down the street for Teddy when shesaw Saunders approach- ing, Anson and the boy lying on the bot- tom of the farm wagon he had borrowed. Even befoie he was near enough to speak to, she knew with intuitive sense that things were wrong and her heart for a sec- ond stopped. Saunders tried to wave his band in a re- assuring gesture, and shook his head cheer- fully. In a moment her faintness was gone and she was hurrying to the curb. Teddy put his head importantly out of the wagon; His yellow curls were matted with blood and his face was scratched and dirty. “I’m hart,”’ he announced eagerly try- ing to scramble ont, ‘‘an’ so’s he.”’ ‘It’s Mr. Avson, Mrs. Ridgely,” said Saunders. ‘‘And I suspect he’s saved this boy of yours from a pretty bad accident. Teddy ran away with my machine, the rascal.”’ Anne put down Teddy upon the ground, having, in hasty examination, assured her- self that he was more dirty than injured. “Mr. Anson! O, I am so grateful! What are you going to do with him Mr. Saun- ders? Mrs. Anson is away for the after- noon. I saw her drive away. She’s in town, I think.”” Aune spoke rapidly. The braised man in the wagon raised his head and eyed Anne with wan pleasantness, “I'm all right,—it is Mrs. Ridgely. isn’t 11? That boy of—yours—is—.”’ Then he fainted weakly. When he opened his eyes again he lay comfortably on the leather couch in the Ridgely’s little library. Anne was deftly washing his face and bands, for the gravel of the road bad ground into his flesh cruel- ly. She hastened to give him a stimulant. He lay silent for a time, glad for her gentle care. Presently he tried to rise. The ef- fort was too much for him and he sank back with a laugh. “Can’t make it just yes, Mrs. Ridgely. I'm foolshly knocked out—but—in a min- ute—I’ll be all right.”’ Anne tried to thank him brokenly but it was not the time for words. He stopped her with a gesture. ‘*’Twasn’s anything. Please don’t.” Anson closed his eyes again and rested gratefully. As she looked down at him, ghastly white of face save where the angry red bruises had swollen and discolored, Avnoe’s heart was wrung. The sight of a strong man helpless is enough at any time to arouse a tender woman’s deepest pity, but when that man bas got burt from a deed that saved a precious life there is no limitation to the emotions. And back of her tremendous sense of gratitude, there was another emotion strug- gling in her heart. ‘‘He’s saved Teddy's life,” she kept re- peating, holding back the real issue Irom ber brain. ‘‘How can we ever repay him? 0, what ought I to do?’’ She lefts Anson for a few moments to at- tend to her hoy. Teddy looked up at her from his bed where Sallie had put him and “nile feebly. His arms stole around he: neck. “0, muddy, muddy,’’ he sobbed, ‘I thonght once when I was init thas I was never going to see you again.’’ Anne buried her face in the bed clothes and cried with him, nervously and excited- ly, while Teddy told ber as best he conld how it all happened. ‘Mother's going down stairs, Teddy,”’ she said presently, ‘‘to see if she can help the blessed man who saved your life.” “I’m going to tell him about thas Paris thing. I can’t bear it not to. Bus it’s nos my secres, it’s Carter’s. He must tell him, himeelf; bus, O, what if he shouldn’s want to. It’s business not to, hnt—No—I mastn’s be disloyal. O, I can’t bear to see him ly- ing there like that, and to know thas we're trying to get away his money. It’s awful. But Carter—O, dear, O, dear—.”’ All thie ran rioting through Anne's mind as she descended the stairs. In the ball she made her resolve. I shall tell him.” Anson was standing a little shakily when she entered the library. “0 you mustn’t,’’ she cried anxiously He laughed. ‘I'm perfectly fit now, Mrs. Ridgely, and I'm going home. I think Mrs. Apson will be there now. I've been a great nuisance to you. Forgive me —aud, please, not now--don’t thank me— please, not now—don’t thank me—please,’’ he protested. She tried to tell him then how great was ber debt, but he jestingly refused to listen. All at once matters were on a new basis. With his strength back, Anson seemed more the stranger, the man of the world. She could not mother him now. Their relations bad advanced from weakness to strength. = Anne could not tell this man in cold blood that her hushand bad on. foot a plan to ruin bis business. She bowed her head wearily. “Some day, Mr. Anson, I'll try to—to —tell you—what is on my mind. I—I cannot—now. Anson accepted a stick of Ridgely’s for support and walked slowly homeward. As he went out of her sight, Anne collapsed on the leather couch where he had lain. “0, it’s terrible,’’ she cried. Teddy called to her from above, “Muddy, I'm—I’m sorry I was nanghty. Bus you're glad I'm here, aren’s youn ?"’ The little voice smote her afresh. In her gray eyes flashed the shining light of pur- pose. . “I'll tell him,’’ she said. “It may he too late, but I'll tell-—it’s the price of pressionless lines; the cords in his neck ' Teddy.” wi ¢ - She ran after Ansou, calling his name. ‘That kid of yours had a close shave to- day,’’ said the expressman as Ridgely lefs the train that night. ‘'‘What do yon mean ?’’ asked Ridgely sharply. *'O he got mixed up with Al Saunders’ auto. Got in an’ got it goin’ an’ like to ron straight to kingdom come. Would, too, if that new man, Anson. badn’s a done a circus act with him.”’ **Is he—hurt ?”’ stammered Ridgely, his face ashen. *‘No—hardly any. Anson’s done up, though.”’ “My God, that’s awfal, Thomas. He went on the run down the street. At his door he met Anne. “*Well——tell me!’ he cried. *‘T-t-ted-dy’s not—h-hurt much—he’s asleep now,’’ sobbed Anne excitedly, as she flang herself on Ridgely. ‘Bat, O, Carter, Mr. Anson’s awfully bruised and —h-his arm—-his left one—-is hurt teriibly --and—O, dear--Teddy was--very nanghsy, very—and Mr. A-Anson s-s-saved his life, they say, by jumping from it--and it was going fifteen or twenty niles--an hoar--just picked him right up and jumped--and the river was right there.”’ “There, there, old girl, don’s cry so,” soothed Ridgely. Anpe suddenly straightened ap and faced him solemnly. *‘Carter--there’s something else, too, I told him what you told me not to tell lass night. I don’t care. I coaldn’s help it. 1 had to. After he’s saved Teddy's life, I didn’t care what happened. I'd rather al- ways be poor.” Ridgely eyed her keenly. **You told, eh,’ he said slowly. “Yes.” He picked up his hat and turned toward the door. “‘Guess I'll go to see how Anson is. May- be I can do something for him,” said Ridgely. ‘He'll bein on the deal,’ he added. —By Emery Pattle. in the Pilgrim. With the Japanese Army. In the advance of the Japanese army down the peninsula, telephone linesmen bearing on their shoulders coils of thin cop- per wire, not much larger and of no more weight than a pack-thread, followed through the kaoliang fields on each side of the commauder. The moment he stopped, a table was produced, a receiver was snap- ped on the wire and a telegrapher stood ready. More remarkable was the advance of the telephone into the contested redounbs of the Eternal Dragon, where a station was placed and operated for four months, with the Russians holding trenches only forty meters distant and on three sides. At this station, along the front of which twenty men a day were slain by sharp-shooters, mail was delivered every time that a trans. port arrived, which was almost daily. Men on the firing line received postal cards from their sweethearts and mothers an hour before death. Telephone aud postoffice followed the flag; the Red Cross preceded it. The medi- cal corps came, not in the wake of the army, but close on she heels of the pioneers. Before even the infantrymen entered a Chinese village it was explored, the water of its wells analyzed, ite houses tested for bacteria and the lines of encampment laid down. This unusual sanitation is looked upon hy surgical authorities as perhaps the chief cause of Japanese success —From Richard Barry’s ‘the New Siege Warfare at Port Arthur’’ in the March Century. Taking Care of Them Herself. ‘‘Yes’m, she’s pretty well, mother is,” said the old man, pausing with his foot on the wagon wheel to answer an inquiry concerning his wife ; ‘‘pretty well, if only 'swa’n’t for worryin’ aboant the children. 'Lizabeth’s up to Conway this season, and mother’s all the time afraid she’ll he took sick away from home. Samuel's got a good place at Tanfield,and he’s doing weil, t00, but his boardin’ place is across the river. Sometimes he goes hv ferryboat and sometimes he goes by skiff, and moth- er, she can’t get over the feelin’ that he’s likely to be drowned. The two younger ones is home yet, but she says she’s anx- ious about the time John’ll he wantin’ to strike ont for himself, and she’s always been afraid we’d never raise Car’line. No’m, there’s nothing special the matter with any of ’em now, and the truck garden bas done fine this year. Mother haint had a touch of her rhenmatism all summer, and she’d be pretty well off il ’twasn’t for worryin.” Christian ? Bless yon, yes, this forty year ! She aint afraid but what the Lord will take care of her and all the ress of the world, but seems like she ain’t got faith yet to b’lieve He's to be trusted with the children.— Well:pring. Where Licorice Grows Wild. A bundle of licorice root—slim, rough sticks of tobacco-brown wood —lay on the counter, and the sailor took one up and began to chew its end. : “I have seen the place where this stuff grows wild,” he said. ‘‘Do yon know where that place is ?’’ ‘‘Can’t say I do,’’ replied the druggist. *‘It is along the banks,’ said the sailor, ‘‘of the Tigris and the Euphrates. The licorice is & wild plant in them parts. Is stands three fees high, and its 100ts reach the water. For miles and miles the lico rice patches spread, and the smell of them fills the air. Itis a sweet, heavy smell. ‘In them parts they ous the licorice plants regularly, and they use the poor, crooked, imperfect sticks for firewood. The good, clean, straight sticks they bundle up —just like this hundle here—and ship to England and America. Some of the sticks £0 to druggists, to besold cheap or given away, but most of them, nearly all of them, £0 to the snuff and tobacco mar ufacturers. What for ? Why, to be used in adulter— I mean in flavoring tobacco and snuff.” Wild Silkworm Superior. It is a curious bust well-authenticated fact that the wild silkworm produces a silk which is declared to have a better lustre and stronger fibre than that of the captive silkworms. It was assumed that the confinement of and solicisous care re- ceived by the cultivated variety bad pro- duced a race which bad lost some of its original vigor. Recent experiments, says the Kansas City Independent, seem to in- dicate that she effect so apparent is due entirely to the different food of the wild and the domestica ed silkworm. The {eaves of the wild mulberiy resalt in larger growth at each stage of development and a larger and heavier mature worm, and one that produces a filament of superior quality. —— Margaret, who is hall-past three, is fond of corn, which she had been ac- customed to eat off the cob One day this summer some cut-off corn was passed to Margaret. . : ‘Oh, I don’t care for that,’’ she said ; “I want the corn with a handle to it.”’ Telephones for Farmers. A Co-operative Scheme which Makes Telephone Serv- ice Possible for the Farmer at Ncminal Cost— Clubs Now Forming. Nothing in recent years has come to oar attention that we believe can exceed in in- terest the present proposition of the Bell Telephone company for furnishing tele- phones to farmers. We have looked care- fully into the plan and for the information of our readers, presant herewith the salient features. The development of the telephone in the last decade has been truly wonderful, and the present time finds almost without exception, each community of any inport- ance whatever, connected by telephone wires with the great Bell system. Like all the great innovations of science which have been susceptible of application to commerce and social usage, the develop- meus of the telephone has naturally been along the lines of the greatest demand, and as was to be expected, its promoters gave their first attention to the thickly settled territories where its progress was as- sared at the moss rapid rate. Now-a-days this development has cov- ered almost every city, borough, village and hamlet in the country and to-day the great problem which the telephone people are striving to solve, is how to connect the farmer with their telephone system at so little cost and in such a manner as will make it nos only a luxury in convenience, comfort and usefulness, but will indeed render it an absolute necessity for him: for from the very natare of his isolated life, the farmer has more need of the telephone than almost any other class of persons. Heretofore the makers of different styles of telephones have advertised them for saie to farmers, but after buying his set of telephones the farmer was absolutely limited in his use of them and they were dependent for usefulness to him, only in exact proportion as he had neighbors equipped in a similar way. Heand they bought their telephones and built their lines and could talk together and no more. Is is the distinct step in advance of the old arrangement that makes the proposition of the Bell Company of such vital interest to the farmer. The Bell Company’s plan is as follows" THE BELL PLAN. The Bell Company will build a line to a given junction point, probably such point being at the outskirts of the borough limits of the towns where their Exchanges are located, and will assign certain wires from their switchboards to this junction point for the exclusive purpose of there connect- ing up with the farmers’ line. The farmers are to organize in conven- ient groups or clubs, and are to jointly build their own telephone line as faras this junction point, where the Bell peo- ple will attach to it and so connect the group or club of farmers’ telephones with their system. The Bell Company will at very low prices, either sell or rent all the necessary apparatus required for installing the in- straments and will rent their telephones and transmistters—the actual speaking parts—at very nominal rates, offering a choice of several arrangements for service with their Exchange and their Exchange subscribers. These arrangements are plan- ned to cover all the different conditions to be found, and each club or group of farm- ers wonld be privileged to select the one best suited to their own particular needs. One arrangement contemplates unlimited service between the telephones on the farm- ers’ line and the telephones in the Bell Company’s Exchange, and another arrange- ment contemplates unlimited conversations between the telephones on the farmers’ line and a small switching charge for each connection with a subscriber in the Com- pany’s Exchange. The prices which the Bell Company will establish are to be very cheap and will he graded to cover the different plans of service. : By allowing the farmers to build their own liner, the Bell Campany has taken a step which will assure to the farmers telephone service at the lowest possible cost. The farmer by erecting his own line is freed from any necessity to pay returns upon an investment of a telephone com- pany. His line is his own, he builds it himself or jointly with the help of his friends and neighbors, and almost invaria- bly a group of farmers clubbing together for the purpose, can farnish from their own place without an expenditure of any kind, practically all the materials including the labor, necessary for the construction of the line, with the possible exception of the wire. Ouoe man contributes from bis wood log, trees to make the poles; another sup- plies oak or other hard wood for the cross- arms; even the pins on which the insula- tors are placed are made from wood cut on the farms. Men who do not contribute material send their teams to do the baul- ing, and others set the poles and string the wires. The pole line is in place before it is necessary to spend a dollar. Ouly the instruments and the wire remain to be pro- cared. The Bell Company hae prepared a care- fully gotten up pamphlet for guidance in building rural lines. Any set of farmers can successfully build a country line by following its suggestions, and the expert assistance and advice of the Bell people can always be had for the asking. WHAT TELEPHONE SERVICE MEANS TO THE FARMER. The farmer is enabled by this connection to be of easy access to every other Bell tel- ephone user in the United States and he will also be able to get market reports and prices for his products before his produce is loaded upon his wagons. In case of fire the farmer can quickly arouse his neighbor by telephone and se- cure assistance to put it ous. In case of sudden illness he can imme- diately communicate with the doctor and learn just what should be dome temporar- ily to alleviate the pain, or possibly even prolong life until he can reach she sick room. If prices rise or if the farmer is expeot- ing them to rise or fall, he can call the nearest market town and buy and sell ac- cording as it is to his advantage to do so. When tramps cowe to the door while the men are ous in the field and the women are alone, the sound of the telephone bell will protect them from harm. The cows may ges into the corn or pigs in she clover, or a horse may get in trouble, with only the women at home; the tele- phove will usually bring a willing neigh- bor. While the farmer is in town he might unexpectedly be detained. How con: venient to call up his houose and tell the anxious wife the cause of his delay; also to ask how things are at home. What a comfort and saving of time to be able to go to the telephone and call up your friend, ask the questions, deliver the message or plage the order, instead of stop- ping work for the hest part of the after- noon, hitching up a horse that ought to be resting. and driving miles over muddy, frozen or snow-bonud roads. The telephone pays for itself by just such economies of time, energy, horse flesh, wear aud tear ou harness and wagons, be- side the neighborly feeling and protection it gives the housebold. Surely the rural free delivery of the mail and this liberal solution of the question of telephone service for farmers by the Bell telephcne company, mark a new era in the bistory of our times. We predict that nothing has been originated in recent years that will appeal more directly to the farm- ers or be more greatly appreciated by them, than the placing of these two great modern couveniences—the mail and the Bell tele- phone at their thresholds. Lobster Mortality High. A lobster lays thousands of eggs, most of which hatch, hut few ever live to grow up. This is nos the fault of the mother, for she carries them ahous with her for vearly a year, and with admirable instinct gnards them asshe does her own life. When the young are set free, her duty is done, for they must then shift for them- selves. Though bardly larger than mosqui- toes, being about one-third of an inch long, the little ones leave their parents on the bottom and swim toward the light—to the surface, where, from one to two months, if fortune favors them, they lead a free, rov- ing life. The open sea is a poor nursery for such weaklings, which become the sport of every storm and the prey of numberless hungry mouths. Oat of a brood of 10,000 it would be a rare chance for more: than one or two lobsters to reach maturity, or finally to end their career in the kitchen or the chafing dish—From Nature and Science in March St. Nicholas. “Now I Lay Me” is Tabooed. The good old prayer, ‘Now I Lay Me,” dear to the hearts of childhood, has been ta- booed by the Westside Women’s Council of Chicago, who hold that it is depressing. They take especial umbrage at the line ‘If I should die before I wake.’ Mrs. Edgar A. Hall, president of the council, said: ‘‘The idea of dying in the night is horrible, and I never use it.” She submitted this substitute: Father, we thank Thee for the night, And for the pleasant morning light; For rest, and food and loving care, And all that makes the world so fair. The council sighed with content when these lines were read. ‘‘They are 80 resi- fal and tranquilzing,’’ said the members. One little woman objected to dispensing with the prayer and Santa Claus and all the dear traditions, but she was sternly sat upon by the modern mothers, who were strongly in the majority The Largest Diamond in the World. News comes from Johannesburg that the largest diamond ever found has been taken out of the Premier mine. It weighs 3,032 carats in the rough. A few years ago a large black diamond was found in Brazil, which was somewhat larger. This gem was of no ornamental use, however, and was eventually cut up and used in making diamond drills. Except for this, the gem just found is three times larger than any hitherto discovered, The stone weighs about a pound and a-balf. In cutting it from forty per cent to sixty per cent will be lost. The stone’s value will depend, of course, upon its quality and shape. Approximately, the new stone weighs about 621.56 grammes, or about a pound and a-half avoirdupois. The last diamond of any note found in recent years was the ‘‘Syndicate,’’ dug up in the DeBeers mines. It weighed, uncut, 960 carats. Surprise for Spitters. Rapid enforcement of ‘Chicago's anti- spitting ordinance led tom.ore than fifty arrests a day in the retail business dis- trict. Among those who bave been arrest- ed are business men from other cities. Business men, clerks, workingmen and messenger hoys hurrying along all are lock- ed in jail. Some of those arrested were let off with small fines, some were discharged without fine and some were released on bond to appear later. ——Wee Hostess—Mamma, shall I in- vite Lucy Littnay to my party ? Mamma—Certainly. She is the min- ister’s daughter. ‘Do minister’s daughters get invited everywhere ?’? “Always.” ‘‘They has lots of fun, I’pose? I wish my papa was a minister ’stead of a miser- able sinner.”’ ——Listle Bertie saw his mamma oil the hinge of the kitchen door when it squeak- ed. That evening when he heard a cricket chirp he said : ‘“What is that noise, mam- ma?’ ‘‘That is a cricket, Bertie,” his mother answered. Then suddenly Bertie ran for the machine oil can and said : ‘“‘Let’s oil it, mamma ; is squeaks.’ -— Mamma—Harry, youn have again failed to do as yon were told. I'm afraid that everything I tell you goes in at one ear and out at the other. Harry— Well, mamma, why don’t you stop one of ’em up ? Worried. ‘‘Your son William always impressed me as being such a thoughtful boy.” ‘‘yes, his pa and me are worried about him a good deal. We're afraid he’s going to be a scholar.”’ How to Economize Coal. Coal that is keps in adry and airy place will burn much longer than thas which is kept in a cluse cellar with no ventilation. When coal is kept in an airless place it gets rid of its gas, and the absence of this renders it less powerful and more wasteful when burned. ——O0Id Gentleman (to little girl who is weeping bisterly)—Why, what are you orying about, little girl ? Listle Girl—Oh, I don’c know, I’m a woman, I 8’pose, 'Caase ——There’s quite a difference between convincing a man that he is wrong and convincing him that you are right. The Coming and the Going. I heard a mother croon to her child A song as I wandered by, A song that would sing the stars to sleep In the cradle of the sky. [ saw an old man close his eyes In restful sleep—God send As sweet a rest for my weary frame When I come to my journey’s end, And I thought of the years that lay between— Of the darkness and the doubt ; But God is good —there is peace at the gate, When a soul goes in or out. —Jean Mohr, in November Era.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers