a —————————— ————E——E———————————— sD LL... Bellefonte, Pa., June 2, 1905. A BET TEI, AT THE MINK, “Jove!” said the Colonel softly to him- sell, ‘‘that makes me feel like a boy in!’’ ““What?’' I asked, though he bad not spoken to me. ““That.”’ He pointed down the bank. “‘About twenty rods from our clump of trees a gang of men were laying the rails for a new road. The gang was made up altogether of Poles, heavy, brutal fellows, with the strength and, seemingly, the minds of oxen. The Colonel was the civil engineer in charge of the road and I was his est. Ee the Colonel was Vermont bred, and I wondered how those dull Slavs and the arid plains of Arizona could remind him of the Green Mountains and the keen young Americans who must have climbed them with him. ; “Some of them are young,’”’ Isaid at a venture. The Colonel smiled and Shook his head. ad gone wide of the mark. 1 Von I was a lad we had the idea America couldn’ do things much so I studied my profession in Germany,’’ the Colonel was willing that I should come in for one of his stories, evidently, ‘I was young when I graduated, awfully young, but I didn’t know it, and so I took my un- sommon luck in getting an appointment at once without a blink. I was second assist- ant on a small railroad being built from a station to a mine in Southeastern Poland, German Poland. “They were a hard set, those Poles! These here have canght a little American spirit already, and even Poland itself must have progressed a bit in half a century. My chief carried a dog-whip always,and lashed them like dogs t00, yet they never resented it. I thought them little more than ani- mals, strong and patient and plodding, but without loves or hates, gratitude or resent- mens. You seel was young. “When the work was half finished the chief was laid off from an accident. An Englishman took his place. I liked the fellow pretty well, he was young, too. It was after he came that I found out Polish peasants had feelings. They didn’t ges on wel! with him. I never discovered the rea- son, either; maybe it was his German, which was outrageous, even for an English- man. I’ve seen him bawling at the men from the top of a car till he was purple in the face, they staring at him all the while, with hanging jaws and codfish eyes. Well, one hot day in August the usual thing was on, Renn shouting like a pirate and the gang getting under way. One of the men dropped his pick and as he bent to get it he said something that sent the others into a roar of laughter. I couldn’t understand his villianous German, but the word ‘‘Englishman’’ and the tone wens for enough. “Ges along there lively, my man,” snapped out Renn, mighty near mad. The man put his pick down carefully as if it were a baby , lumbered upright in his heavy peasant way, and stared at Reon. I could bave laughed, it was exactly like a bull, insolent yet bovine. ‘‘But Renn didn’t feel funny. He drew off, and with the toe of his monntain boot kicked the fellow into the mud. The gang roared again, this time at him, instead of with him. Somebody hauled bim up. Blood was running down his cheek and all oneside of his face was turning black. He bad struck against his pick. *“This row had a good effect on the rest of the gang, they obeyed orders quicker after that. As for the fellow himself— Salo was bis name, a queer one for a Pole —he came back in a day or so none the worse, and with no malice toward Renn. The others joked him a good deal about his defeat. [ I rather liked the fellow, he had something more like a mind than the others. “Is must have been about six weeks after that one Saturday when we paid off the men and locked the office. It was raining and blowing great guns. ¢ ‘Sgeiner,’’ shouted Renn, as we start- ed toward the town, ‘‘if this kind of thing keeps on I'll want you to go up the hill with me to see if the dam holds.”’ ‘Steiner was the third assistant, a ‘German. ‘All right,’he yelled back against the wind, ‘want any men?’ The men were still around the office having just received their wages. They spoke ia German, for Steiner didn’t know English. ‘‘Renn shook his head and we made off in the storm. - ‘‘ ‘Thunder! I’m tired! exclaimed Renn after dinner, ‘I’m going to turn in. Call me at nine if thie storm keeps on.’ ‘‘At nine the rain had ceased but the night was as dark as the pit and howling with wind. Renn was sound asleep. He bad worked bard in the open all day while I'd been in the office. Although it was his month of night duty I decided I'd go in his place. I looked for my rain coat and son’-wester. Then I remembered I bad left them up in the office, Canningly I sneaked Renn’s cardigan jacket— sweaters were yet to be—and his sou’- wester. The jacket was fiery red and the hat a strange sickly white, you could tell Renn anywhere by them. ‘* ‘Where’s Mr. Steiner?’ I asked the landlord of the crazy inn where we then lived. ‘Steiner had been sent for in hot haste by some of the men to get a doctor for one of them who had hart his foot. I looked out in the pitchy night and I didn’t like my job a little bis, but the dam was across an ugly mountain stream close to our un- finished line; if it overflowed or broke, good bye to a month’s work. I thought of taking ove of the men, what was the use? It would only be dragging him out in the storm; if the mine was broken I would ring the mine alarm bell which would bring all bands. ‘‘It was a beastly climb up that hill. I remember it yet, wind a gale, mud go thick I could bardly pull my feet out of it, and go dark not even the mine lantern could make things show up. I was dripping with sweat and dead beat when I reached the dam. ‘That good old girl had held ous. I crawled around the edges, took the depth of the water and decided she was all se. rene till another storm. I was in no kind of mind to plongh down that hill yet awhile, instead I went on a few yards farther to the office to rest. ‘‘Ricketsy old place the office was it looked mighty comfortable to me when I got the door shut on the gale and the lamp lighted. The room was as oold as out- doors, and to avoid a chill in my heated state I kept on my jacket and hat—Renn’s jacket and bat rather. ‘Superstition and such old wives’ tales haven’s any hold on me, bus yon can’t langh me out of the be- lief that I had a presentiment that night, the bigest kind. There was no watchman for He didn’t care; just grinned. | the mine or the office nights, I was abso- lately alone on that hillside, but I'd stayed there fifty times before, sometimes till after midnight. I badn’t an enemy in Poland—or the world—and all the money was kept in a safe at the station. Just the same I began to feel a8 jumpy asa school girl. Every time a shutter banged ora window rattled I gave a start and looked around. Finally I got up and locked the door. I langhed when I did it, yet I felt happier as I sat down at the desk. Itook out some papers and began to work. Pretty soon I grew interested in my work and forgot to shy at noises. ‘‘Have you ever heard you can wake a sleeping man or make a man turn ina crowd just by looking bard at him? I've seen it done. There wasn’t a sound ex- cept that infernal wind, yet somehow I knew, faintly at first,then with all my mind that somebody besides myself was in that room. The idea came gradually, so I didn’t start or make any sign, just raised my eyes slowly. ‘‘My desk had its back to the door and the two windows. In front of it was blank white walls reflecting the light from the lamp on the top of the desk. There on the vacant space, like the picture thrown by a magic lantern, was the gigantio shadow of a man. He stood a little to my left, his left hand clenched, the right rais- ed high, holding a dagger ready to strike. “‘Isn’t it the Red Badge of Courage fel- low who says the first dead soldier he saw on the battlefield had his eyes set ina glare of incredulous amazement. That’s what I felt--no terror, no anger, just ‘What the devil does this mean? ““The rest was just instinct, I had no more to do with is by my will than you. “I dropped my eyes to my work, I laid down my pen, I took hold of the leaf to turn it. Then like lightning I leaped up, seized the arm holding the dagger, bent it back and hurled the man from me. My theory is that the lamp was in such a re- lation to him that he conldn’t see his own shadow on the wall, that he was deceived by my looking down into believing I had not seen him, and that he was completely surprised at my attack. He wens over like a ninepin. So did the lamp. The room be- came absolutely dark. “I’ve been in some ugly places in my life, round Virginia about the years ’62- ’63, and out here in Arizona when the noble Apache was at large a little more than he is now, but I’ve never felt such sick terror as in that silent, black room. You see he had a knife, perhaps a pistol, I hadn’t so mnoch as a stick, nor anywhere to get one. If I struck a light he’d shoot’ or spring; if I even fumbled about the desk I'd give him the range by the sound. If I jumped for the door he’d be on me hefore I could unlock it. That thought pulled my mind around to how the fellow got in, and then I grew colder still; he’d crawled up behind me without a sound, he might be making his way to me now. I felt his hand on my throat already. I listened till the cords of my outstretched neck seemed to crack. I could not here a breath. Yes somewhere only a few feet away in shat little, locked room another man lurked for my life. It was horrible. ‘‘What a man in less of a state of desper- ate fear than I would have done I can’t say. I waited till I couldn’t endure the strain a second longer, then slowly and softly I stole my hand into my trouser’s pocket, stole it out again clutching a match and held it, flaring, out in front of me. There waa no pluck in this, it was the act of a fool rather, but I had got to see my man. “An instant’s sight, then the dark again. He faced me, his hack to the huge com- pany safe. I struck another match at once. Then I stepped behind the desk and lighted the extra lamp. My second match had shown me enough. My enemy was wedged in between the desk and the safe. One hand gripped a long, keen knife like a butcher’s cleaver. His head dangled forward like a pear on a broken stem, his eyes were set in a hideons blind stare, his jaw hung slack. Yet I knew him at once. “It was Salo. Then I remembered Renn’s jacket and cap—known to every man in the gang—and understood. “When I bad hurled him from me he had stuck the point of the safe, one of the oldfashioned kind as tall as a man, and had broken his neck. For the rest the small space between the safe and the desk, and the rigidity of his muscles, set as he sprung on me, had kept him upright. ‘I left Poland in a week, the work was finished, and I’ve never had anything to do with Poles since till this crowd was brought out from the East.’’ “Well, sorr—?’ we both jumped. Ken- nelly. the gang boss, a leather-faced little old Irishman, stood on the bank beside us.'‘They’re a pacefal lookin’ set o’ bastes, but Oi’ve heard your story an’ Oi’ll not be turnin’ me back on th’ laste wan o’ thim from this day on.”’—By Mary Dwight, in the Vogue. : Cotton in Australia. ‘‘Is is certain that Australia in the near future will become one of the largest cot- ton producing countries in she world.’ ‘Cotton has been succesefuly grown in several parts of the country, and the fact that the manufacturers of Great Britain, althoogh preferring to supply their wants from countries under the British flag, have been dependent upon foreign pro- ducers, has aroused their interest in the success with which cotton raising has been accompanied in Australia. The British Cotton Association recently sent agents to Queensland, where most of the cotton now is raised, to acquire knowledge of the adaptation of the soil and climate to the cultivation of the plant, and every aid was given them by the Government officials of Queensland to examine both new districts aud districts where cotton has been grown. In 1892 Great Britain imported over $200,- 000,000 worth of raw cotton from foreign sources, and while only $2,800,000 worth was imported from British possessions the United States supplied as much as $142, 500,000. It is the aim of the British Cot- ton Growing Assoeiation to make British manufacturers less dependent on Ameri- can growers and speculators, and as the oil and climate of almost all parts of Aus- tralia are well adapted ‘to cotton growing she association sees no reason why a large supply should not be obtained in a short time from that country.” It Certainly Was. She—See anything about that painting you admire? : He—Yes, the frame. ‘‘But the frame is not the picture?’ ‘No, but it's about the pioture, ien’t it?’ — Yonkers Statesman. Nothing to Prevemt ft, ‘Mrs. Elderly reems to he a person of advanced ideas.” Well, Why not? In these daye an old woman may bea new woman and a new woman may be an old woman.'’—New York Press. % Love and a Charcoal Furnace. Mr. Robert Bridges in Colliers for May 13th, 1905, says that Mr. Edward Uf. fington Valentine, the poet of ‘‘The Ship of Silence,’’ has turned to fiction and has in ““Hecla Sandwith’’ written an unusual first novel. He has reproduced a vanished phase in the life of Central Pennsylvania, in the neighborhood of Bellefonte. All over the State to-day, in remote regions, you come upon the ruing of the old stacks of open-hearth charcoal furnaces. Before tbe war they were all ablaze—each the centre of a little community of strong men —ironmasters, charcoal burners, miners, puddlers, foundrymen. These furnaces were generally the property of a single family, often the descendants of the pioneer who had taken up the original land grant. The life of these little communities was, as Mr. Valentine aptly says almost feudal —and furnishes an ideal subject for fiction. Modern scientific methods bave changed all this; the Trust has taken the place of the ironmaster, and the charcoal furnace has gone out forever. : Heocla Sandwith is the daughter of one of these feudal iron-lords, and the story has for its central motive her efforts to preserve intact the historic old furnace property which has been in her family for several generations. It is all interwoven with a love story of a iather repellant kind, but not uncharacteristic of the two stern races that were mingled in Hecla— the Quakers and the Scotch-Irish. The prevailing tone of the story is, how- ever, Quaker gray. Itis sombre and mo- notonously serious. Itisa pity that the Scotch-Irish were not given more of a chance in the tale. All critics to the con- trary, they could he counted upon to give Hecla aud her friends a strain of humor, of rough kindliness, and a kind of hard-head- ed wit. Those qualities would have helped the story immensely. Even a little more of the Pennsylvania German strain would have lightened the shadows. The few touches of these people that Mr. Valen- tine has put in are bright spots in the gray landscape. The novel is written with great refine- ment of style, and elaborated with the leisure and care that belong to a man with a literary conscience. It is original in con- ception and is deftly realized, but it is not always interesting, or even amusing. Famous Woman Dies. Mrs. Mary A. Livermore, the well- known writer and reformer, died Tuesday May 23rd, at her home in Melrose, Mass. Biouchitie and a weak heart hastened the end. Mrs. Mary Ashton Livermore was born in Boston December the 19th, 1820, and was the daughter of Timothy Rice. In 1845 she was married to Rev. D. P. Liver- more, a Universalist clergyman who died in 1899. In 1857 she moved $o Chicago, where her husband became editor of a Uni- versalist paper, Mrs. Livermore acting as associate editor. Mrs. Livermore was the first president of the Illinois woman’s suf- frage association. In 1899 she became edi- tor of the Agitator, but in the following year, she returned to Boston and was edi- tor of the Woman’s Journal for two years. As the time of her death she was president of the Massachusetts Woman’s Association. Mrs. Livermore was active in the anti- slavery agitation and Washington temper- ance movement. Daring the Civil War she took a leading part in the work of the United States Sanitary Commission. In the course of her work on the platforn she delivered lectures all over this country and in England and Scotland. She also was the author of many books. A New Anaesthetic. The London mail of recent issue is re- sponsible for the following: ‘‘Chloro- hydrate of Dimethy lamino-benzoylpen- tanol.”’ Such is the awe-inepiring title of the latest anaeatheic. In order not to un- duly alarm his patients, Dr. Fournean, its French discoverer, has renamed it ‘‘Stov- aine.” 1¢ is injected into the spinal fluid, and within five minutes produces complete anaesthesia in the body below the point of injection. The patient, however, does not lose consciousness. Its effects last for an hour and a half, and no unpleasant results have yes been observed, though it bas been tried for some time in more than one Paris hospital. Eoglish doctors are reluctant to experi- ment with it. ‘‘Once you bave injected your ‘Stovaine’ into the spine,’’ said a rominent F. R. C. 8. yesterday, ‘‘you ave no more control over it, bus with gaseous anaesthetics it is possible to stop administration before the danger point is reached. As the quantity needed of any anaesthetic varies with the individual pa- tient, the importance of this control may be easily realized. “In addition, there is always a danger of septic poisoning in hypodermic injeo- tions, aud in this form of injection—into the spinal fluid—the consequence would be most disastrous. Origin of Memorial Day. It was a Philadelphia woman who sug- ested the observance of a Decoration day. he was Mrs. Martha G. Kimball, who bad been an army nurse attached to Sherman’s army during the civil war. The sentimental side of the nature of this devoted woman was touched by the many nameless graves of those who had fallen in the years of struggle and suffering that passed in the civil war. Her idea wae to decorate with flowers the graves of soldiers who bad fallen in the war of the sixties, and especially the graves of the unknown dead. Her sug- gestion appealed to General Logan, and his famous ‘‘Order No. 11" followed. Thus was established she observance. It appealed to the heart of the whole na- tion. A flood of flowers swept over the soldiers’ graves of our country, and this, in some degree, brought surcease to the anguish of bereaved hearts. Up to this point it was simply Decoration day; the strewing of flowers on soldiers’ graves. Then followed ceremonial services, appro- priate = memorial observance which ohanged the name of the 30th of May to Memorial day, a legal holiday. The dec- orations have keps pace, flags and flowers being in many instances wrought into wonderful elaborations. Yet, after all, one of the most beautifal ways of decorating is the simple strewing of loose, cut flowers on graves, just as the sacrificed soldiers of the sea are now commemorated hy the strewing of flowers upon the waves. Mrs. Kimball is herself boried in Wess Laurel Hill Cemetery. She lived at No. 4703 Kingsessing avenve, and after her death a towering flagstaff was raised there and dedicated to her memory. : ——Subscribe for the WATCHMAN. "Memory of Dead Heroes. Special Correspondence of the Record. ‘WASHINGTON, D. C., May 27.— Within the last balf-dozen years great sums of money have been expended by many States of the Union in the erection of memorial monuments to their soldier dead on various historic battlefields. The work is still go- ing on, and the Government is doing much to help, $61,500 being given by Congress recently in one lump to pay for suitable cenotaphs in honor of regular army organi- zations which fought at Gettysburg. The finest monuments on any of our bas- tiefields are now being put up at Vicks- burg. One of them, erected by the State of Illinois at a cost of $200,000, is of gran- ite and bronze. It hasthe form of a tem- ple, nearly circular, 48 feet in diameter at the base and 58 feet high, with a sort of porch, upheld by columns. Another, by Iowa, is equally beautiful in its way, con- sisting of a balf-oircle of columns, with elaborate decorations, including tablets. At Antietam all the States that were represented by troops are erecting monu- ments. Not long ago Ohio dedicated 10 such memorials to her regiments in one bunch on that field. Perbaps the moss interesting of them wasa buge granite block, witb a bronze tables, which repre- sented in quasi-piotoral fashion a hoy mak- ing coffee at a camp-fire. The hoy was William McKinley, at that time seventeen years old, who, finding nothing else so useful for him to do, spent his time duoi- ing the battle in preparing a great qnanti- ty of the hot and stimulating beverage, so that is might be ready for the worn-out soldiers after the fight was over. It was typical of bis thoughtfulness for others—a trait dominant in his character throngh life. The States have spent over $2,000,000 for regimental monuments at Gettysburg, where the work has been going on for 25 years. In most instances where such a me- morial was to be put up the State has con- tributed a certain amount of money and the survivors of the regiment have furnish. ed the balance. The Chickamauga Chattanooga Park was started with the idea of representing both sides impartially. Every Southern State has had a commission of its own to help in the enterprise, and Kentucky, Missouri, Tennessee and Maryland, be- cause they had troops fighting for both North and South, have put up monumerts to both Union and confederate regiments. Twenty-eight States have spent over half a million dollars on such memorials, scat- tered over the historic area, which really comprises seven battlefields, and the Gov- ernment has expended $1,300,000 there, not including the cost of nine structures set up in honor of organizations of the regular army. MANY MONUMENTS AT SHILO. Many States are now putting up monu- ments at Shilo, particularly Indiana, Ohio, Illinois and Pennsylvania. The historio field iz heavily wooded, and rans along the picturesque hanks of the Ten- nessee River. On this battlefield the spot where any brigade commander fell is marked with cannon and piles of cannon balls. At Chickamauga the same purpose is accomplished by the erection in each case of a pyramid of 10 inch shells. Wherever batteries were stationed on any of the battlefields they are represented by mounted guns, which whenever piactica- ble; are the’original and veritable cannon that were engaged in the fights. W ith the exception of Gettysburg, all of the battlefield parks are very new, and as yet they are far from complete. Presum- ably many years will elapse before all of the monuments considered requisite as memorials to the soldier dead are put up hy patriotic sarvivors. Distemper Among Horses. Distemper is a disease common to hoises that as a rule, requires no treatment, as it runs out and the animal gets well in about ten days. It is recognized hy swell- ings under the jaw and sometimes below the ear, that form abscesses containing pus, and if not lanced will in time barst them- selves. The animals should not be work- ed, but fed on good food, with plenty of fresh water, and if bowels are constipated a quart of raw linseed oil should be given care- fully as a drench by the mouth, never by the nose, and if the kidneys are sluggish give a teaspoonful of powdered saltpeter once a day for several days.— Midland Farmer. None Among Them Has Ever Attain- ed Real Greatness In Poetry. Though the quality and range of her genius were deep, generous and wide, Elizabeth Barrett Browning cannot be described, if language is to be used ac- curately, as occupying a place among the poets justly designated great. In no tongue hitherto has any female writer attained to that supreme posi- tion, and were this the appropriate mo- ment, which it is not, it would perhaps be possible to explain why no woman is likely ever to do so. Not a few fe- male writers are in effect in the front rank of novelists. But prose-romance is one thing and poetry quite another, and there is a chasm between them; nor does the circumstance of novels be- ing in this age more popular than po- etry affect in any degree the inherent and immutable difference. Elizabeth Barrett Browning was, “Aurora Leigh” notwithstanding, essentially and al- most exclusively a lyrical poet. It would be easy to add almost indefinite- ly to illustrations of her being one of those who “learn in suffering what they teach in song,” not one of the greater poets who pass through that experience but end by getting beyond it—Alfred Austin at Unveiling of a Bust of Mrs. Browning. Rabinstein’s Charity. Rubinstein probably traveled more than any other virtuoso. In his time he made many fortunes and gave them away to the poor in Russia. During a famine which raged among the Rus- sian peasants he journeyed to Vienna, Moscow and St. Petersburg to play for charity. The price of seats rose to un- heard of figures, but every penny of the money went to the starving farm- ers. It is said that in the course of twenty-eight years the sum which he thus disposed of amounted to $250,000. Inadvertently Omitted. “Let me see.” said the great man. “Did I say anything about the crux of the position?” “I don’t see anything,” said the sec- retary, glancing over his notes. “H’m!” murmured the great man. “I ‘meant to work that phrase off some- tiow.” RG It Is the Greatest Moving ivorce sm the Business World. One of the greatest millionaires of our country lived before he made his millions on $8-a week and at a time when his income was $10,000 a year. He saved all the rest of his salary for judicious investments. He had been a poor boy, accustomed to a frugal mode of life. He began his career in the city sweeping out a store for $3.50 a week. Later he was advanced to $7.50. The mode of living which he was obliged to adopt as a boy he considered quite good enough for later years, especially when he saw that by denying himself for awhile longer he might make the experiences and hard knocks he had gained count for more than a mere liv- ing. He might have argued that he was doing pretty well to earn $10,000 a year and that he deserved to enjoy it. But he preferred to use his earnings to make more money that some day he might be able to dispense with a sala- ried position altogether. And this man had a wife, too, who was farsighted enough to be willing to live on a small sum when it meant an easier road for both by and by. Ready cash is the greatest moving force in the business world. It speaks with the loudest voice, and its posses- sion represents business acumen. Of course there are exceptions in cases of inheritance, etc., but the exception on- ly proves the rule. Cornelius Vanderbilt worked day and night, saving every penny, until he had $3,000, the nest egg about which gath- ered one of the largest fortunes ever amassed-in America. The principle of thrift inculcated by those hard, self de- nying years made him a great finan- cier.—New York Commercial. A Comical Study of the Extreme of Animal Stupidity. The utter stupidity of sheep is per- haps nowhere more strongly evidenced than in the perfect satisfaction with which a ewe that has lost her lamb will take to a strange lamb around which has been. fastened the skin of her dead offspring. Considering that the skin of the dead lamb is often merely thrown loosely over the back of the living lamb, some- times hanging almost to the ground on one side or the other and making the lamb appear the quaintest kind of ani- mal imaginable, the ewe’s gullibility in this respect is remarkable. There can be no other explanation of her satisfac- tion than that she really thinks the muffled little stranger is her own prog- eny; otherwise she would give it no at- tention whatever. Its appearance does not seem to count, nor even its voice. Its smell is every- thing, which may be seen in any flock of ewes and lambs, for while the moth- ers certainly appear to know the bleat- ing of their own children, the identifica- tion is always completed by the ewe sniffing the coat of her lamb. I have been looking at two such quaint families in the lambing pens re- cently, and the picture of a sedate ewe placidly attending to two weird little creatures which look as if they have been half flayed (one of them was ac- tually dragging its second skin in the straw) was the most comical study of animal stupidity which could be imag- ined.—London Express. Beauty and the Beast. “How do you do, Mrs. Venus?’ ex- claimed a gentleman of that lady’s ac- quaintance. “Pray, what brings you out so early in the day?” “Oh, I've just been to the photogra- pher with my pet pug Pongo” (which she carried in her arms), “and we have had our portraits taken together, haven't we, Pongo? Beauty and the beast, you know, Mr. Johnson,” with a _ saucy little laugh. “And what a little beauty he is, to be sure,” replied Johnson inadvertently as he tenderly stroked poor Pongo’s cranium. And then he suddenly remembered and became hot and cold in turn, and they parted strangers forevermore. Scholarly Version. On the campus of Emory college, in Oxford, Ga., thére is a table to the memory of Ignatius Few, the first president. One day a freshman was crossing the campus with his cousin, who asked him to explain the inscrip- tion on the stone. “ ‘Vivit — non — mortous — est,’ ” she read slowly. “What does that mean, win?” : “That,” said the freshman easily, “oh, that means, ‘He lives—no, ‘he don’t, he's dead.’ ” An OCdd Epitaph. The following epitaph is to be read on a tombstone at Saragossa, Spain: “Here lies John Quebecca, precentor to my lord the king. When he is admit- ted to the choir of angels, whose so- ciety he will embellish and where he will distinguish himself by his powers of song, God shall say to his angels, “Cease, ye calves, and let Me hear John Quebececa, the precentor to my lord the king.” She Made Good. “I don’t see what sense there is in you women dressing so expensively.” “That’s just the way papa used to talk.” “Talks that way yet, doesn’t he?” “No, indeed. When I caught you he admitted that there was method in my madness.”—Houston Post. Prophetic. Pat—Did ye hear that old Hogan was dead, Mrs. Ryan? Mrs. R.—Is he, thin, poor man? Sure, I always knew that would be the end of him. The more erroneous a fool's judg- ment the more firmly he holds it.—Bal- thasar GGracian. ; ¢ His Conclusion. Knicker—Jones has joined a debating club. Bocker—No? Whom did he mar- ry —Brooklyn Life. The Story of a Loan That Brought Success and Wealth. When the outlook was the blackest and this indomitable captain of men, IJdarcus Daly, had exhausted his re- sources and his credit a fortunate ac- cident placed in his hands a small but sufficient sum of money to transform inevitable defeat into certain victory. Lloyd Tevis, the California lawyer, and his mining partner, J. B. Haggin, who had been visiting their properties at Homestake, stopped at Butte on their way home to California to take a look at the new camp. Marcus Daly knew Messrs. Haggin and Tevis well, for he had worked for them in the old Califor- nia days. He visited them at their hotel, not the gorgeous palace of gran- ite, marble, precious onyx and mahog- any which adorns Butte today, but a humbler wooden structure more in keeping with the squalid surroundings of the new camp. In Haggin's bed- room, the only place available for a private conversation, Daly made a clean breast of it to his friends and appealed to them for aid, explaining his theory fully and citing many ad- ditional facts which had developed dur- ing his mining operations in Anaconda that went to strengthen it. It was thoroughly characteristic of the man that he did not attempt to haggle over the terms of the loan, but stated merely the facts and closed his' negotiations with the words: “Now, gentlemen, that is a correct statement of the situation of my affairs and the condition of my mine. I must have $20,000, and I must have it at once to meet next Saturday’s payroll and ‘cur- rent bills and to provide for the ex- penses of operation for another six months or so. If I do not get it I am flat broke ‘and will have to close up. I have told you what I have got and what I think and what I think I am’ going to get when that shaft is down another 100 feet or so. Make your own terms, but let me have the money.” They gave him the $20,000, and, of course, being astute business men, a contract was drawn up and signed then and there transferring to them the con- trolling interest in the property. But up to the date of his death Lloyd Tevis always declared that, though he believ- ed thoroughly in Marcus Daly's integ- rity, both he and Mr. Haggin thought! that he was chasing a chimera, that the theory upon the elaboration of which Marcus Daly had spent so many sleep- less nights and all his substance was fallacious and that no gold-copper de- posit would ever be discovered in the bowels of Butte mountain. In fine, Haggin and Tevis let Daly have $20,000 because they liked him. They certain- ly never dreamed that Anaconda would prove a more veritable bonanza than the Comstock lode. As for Daly, he had never doubted his ultimate sue- cess, and when three months after that meeting in the hotel bedroom the matn| shaft of Anaconda penetrated, as hehad| always believed it would, the richest and most extensive gold-copper deposit! in the known world he conveyed the in- telligence to his partners in California in this most matter of fact telegram: ‘We have reached it. Come out and look at it.”—Public Opinion. They Don’t Want Respect, but Insist Upon Their “Rights.” To the American settling in London nothing is more confusing than the at- titude of English servants, their con- tempt for the slightest consideration of their feelings and their fury at the least infringement of their rights. At first sight it seems that in spite of their dignity they accept extraordinari- ly small wages, but the American finds housekeeping in London quite expen- sive, for not only is the work so spe- cialized that an immense number of servants is required to do it, but they consume a great deal of time and food in five meals a day, which is consider- ed their right. , Class distinctions below stairs are regarded much more scrupulously than above, and the unfortunate mistress of a house has to understand the grade of every one she employs, from the house- keeper to the scullery maid. Woe be- tide her if she confuses an upper and a lower servant or gives an order to the wrong one. : An American woman married to an Englishman and settled in London told me that she installed a dumbwaiter in the hope of saving trouble to both her cook and her butler. At the end of a month she found it unused and on in- quiring learned that as it was not the traditional duty of either a cook or a butler to send such a thing as a dumb- waiter up and down both refused to touch it, and her food continued to be carried by hand from her remote kitch- en. Trouble was nothing to them in comparison to the danger of compro- mising their position.—Ainslee’s Mag- azine. The Vice of Idlemess. Of all vices to which young men be- come slaves idleness is by no means the least. It is a vice easily contracted in youth and hard to throw off in man- hood or old age. Unfortunately it is not generally looked upon as an evil in the sense that drinking, gambling and debauchery are evils, yet its influence is no less certain in breaking down character and sapping physical and in- tellectual strength. — Portland Orego- nian, It Wasn’t Help That Was Wanted. Mrs. Hiram Offen—Insert this adver- tisement for a girl, but for goodness’ sake don’t put “Help Wanted” over it. Clerk—No? Mrs. Hiram Offen—No. That implies that I expect to do most of the work myself. The last girl I got this way held me to that.—Philadelphia Press. Identifying the Speakers. “The lady in the purple waist is out of order,” announced the presiding of- ficer at a recent woman’s convention. “The lady in the gray foulard has the floor.” ‘Who says women are not parliamen- tarians?—Pittsburg Post. a ——
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers