THE PATH OF LIFE.
There is many a rest on the path of life,
If we would only stop to take it,
And many a toue from the bitter land,
If the querulous heart would make it.
To the soul that is full of hope,
And whose beautiful trust ne’er faileth,
The grass is green and the flowers are bright,
Though the winter storm prevaileth.
Better hope when the clouds hang low,
And to keep the eyes still lifted,
For the sweet blue sky will soon
through
When the ominous clouds are rifted,
There ne'er was a night without a day,
Or an evening without morning.
And the darkest hour, as the proverb goes,
Is the hour before the dawning.
peep
There is many a gem in the path of life,
Which we pass in idle pleasure,
That is richer far than the jeweled crown
Or the miser’s hoard of treasure,
It may be the love of a little child,
Or a mother’s prayer to heaven,
Or only a beggar’s grateful thanks
For a cup of water given.
Better to weaver in the web of life
A bright and golden filling,
And to God’s will bow with a ready heart,
And hands that are swift and willing,
Than to snap the delicate innate thread,
Of our curious lives asunder,
And then blame heaven for the tangled ends,
And sit and grieve and wonder.
A SELF-MADE COURTSHIP.
Even the bright beauty of the Jane
morning failed to have its effect on Migno-
nette as she stood on the doorstep of the
low little farm house. The tops of the lilac-
bushes by the gate were fast changing each
day from crimson to pale purple; squadrons
of white clouds sailed across the blue deeps
of the sky; the grass, green and short, was
starred with yellow dandelions; but to-day
the girl did not notice them, for this was
Saturday, the day of all the week that she
most dreaded. As she lingered at the door
she heard her mother’s voice, impatient yest
tender.
‘‘Mignonette, are you still there ? Hurry
child, and don’t forget to call at the post-
office for letters.’
The girl hurried down the path which led
from the whitewashed house to the white-
washed gate, ber cheeks flushing at her
mother’s reminder, for of all the hateful
weekly trip into the village she hated that
part most. The postoffice was always full
of people who stared at her curiously, and
who hardly waited for her to go before they
began discussing her.
Mignonette’s mother was a French wom-
an, who bad left her beloved Quebec to
marry a New England farmer. Her new
neighbors had pronounced her odd and
‘‘furin’’ ; she made no friends among
them, and since her husband’s death bad
drawn more and more apart, until, living
in complete isolation, she had learned to
manage her tiny farm alove and unaided.
The girl had grown up with no other com-
panion than her mother, timid and shy as
a wood pigeon. She hated the weekly
walk into the little village, and always
hurried through her errands, feeling strange
and shy among the strange faces which she
never knew any better.
Asshe made her purchases at the store
to-day she kept her eyes downcast, and a
delicate color wavered in her cheeks, which
deepened to a glow as she turned to pass
into the adjoining postoffice. This was a
tiny shed which the storekeeper had added
when he attained the dignity of postmaster,
and it was the favorite lounging place of
all the village.
Here, Mignonette thought despairingly,
was the young man, son of the postmaster,
and soon, it was said, to succeed him, who
always distributed the mail. He stared at
her, too, like the others; but no, not like
them—differently—almost as if he pitied
ner.
He turned now hurriedly as he saw her
enter, leaving a red-cheeked country girl;
and in answer to her timid question hand-
ed her a newspaper addressed to her
mother.
‘*Sorry, Miss Foster; that’s all,”’ he said
with awkward kindliness; ‘‘wish I bad an
interestin’ letter for yourself instead.’
*‘Like to keep all the pretty girls sup-
plied, wouldn’t ye, Tom ?"’ said an old
farmer standing near; ‘‘even if ye had to
write em yerself.”” And the old rogue
chuckled over his own wit, with a wink at
his nearest neignbor.
Mignonette flushed deeper than ever at
the old man’s words, and seizing the paper
with a murmured ‘‘thank you,’”’ hurried
through the doorway into the open air. in
an ageny of shame and humiliation. Young
and inexperienced, her quick imagination
saw depths of meaning in their remarks
that would have amazed the speakers. The
young man pitied her because she got no
letters as other girls did; and the old one
‘bad suggested that he should console her
by writing her oue himself.
Wounded to the depths of her timid and
sensitive soul, she spent the next week de-
vising all sorts of schemes to redeem her
pride in the yonog man’s eyes, and as last,
with many fears, settled upon a pian. She
would take an envelope, fill it with a blank
sheet of paper to look like a letter, and ad-
dress it to herself. No one need know
where it came from; she, poor child, know-
ing nothing of postmarks, or the close
scrutiny of a country postoffice.
The next Saturday she bought a little
paper and some stamps, giving the young
man, as she did so, a defians look from her
brown eyes, effectually upsetting a half-
formed plan he bad for opening a pleasant
interchange of talk—the preliminary, he
had hoped, of a further acquaintance.
Then she harried home, feeling that she
bad taken the first steps toward righting
herself. ‘ 3
She waited until ske had . finished her
work, never very hard, for her mother
spared her as much as possible; and as goon:
as her mother had gone out into the garden
to weed in the cool evening light, she flew
to ges the pen and ink. With a thrilling
sense of haste, which did not prevent her
- writing her best,not to disgrace the imagin-
ary correspondent, she addressed the enve-
lope to herself. ;
Often through the week she peeped at
the envelope guiltily, and on Sasnrday
morniog her mother looked at her flushed
cheeks and sparkling eyes, thinking with a
half pang thas Mignonetie was getting too
pretty to send alone into the village, where
there were always idle people to put non-
sense into a yonng girl’s mind. And she
meant her Mignoneste shouid be a nun, like
the good religions woman who had ht
her in her youth,and whom she herself had
almost joined. She always felt an uneasy
sense of guilt over her own failure, and her
daughter should repair it by giving up her
life to the good God. After all, women
were happier so. She herself had suffered
in the loss of her husband as she would
never have done in the quiet life of the
convent, where human love was put out of
sight. And Mignonette ? Well, Mignonette
was always willing. The child had no
thought of anything else.
Mignonette, as she tripped along the
dusty road, had very absorbing thoughts
of other things, chief of which was the
humbling of that young man who had
dared to think she had no friends. She
hated the thought of him; perhaps that
was why she could not forget him,dwelling
on the recollection of his langhing eyes and
sunburnt face, with its thatoh of rough
brown hair.
She went to the postoffice first, instead
of leaving it till the last as she had always
done. She was rewarded, for her enemy
was absent; and she waited till bis old
father went into the shop to serve a cus-
tomer, and then she slipped into the letter
box the envelope addressed to herself.
Her cheeks burned consciously as she did
her mother’s errands; and not until she was
well on the road home did she feel safe
from discovery.
What if he should yet find out what she
had done to deceive him ? For it had been
deceitful; she realized this acutely as soon
as her object was accomplished. She had
committed a sin, all for the sake of saving
her foolish pride in the eyes of a strange
young man, who no doubt despised her.
Or if he did not now he would when he
knew how sly she could be. She worried
all the afternoon over her act,in its various
aspects; worried all the more acutely be-
cause she had accomplished her end, and
secretly knew that she would do it over
again if need be.
She washed the dishes, almost uncon-
scious of what she was doing; and then
wandered out to the garden after her moth-
er, who always worked there until it was
too dark to tell the weeds from the plants.
Then she would go to bed, using every
minute of darkness in her wise economy to
Store up more strength for the daylight
toil.
But Mignonette could not talk, nor bear
the longer silences in which she could al-
most hear her own hurried thoughts; and
she wandered down to the gateway at last
and gazed up the road in the coming dusk.
Sometimes people passed late on Saturday
evening.
Presently she made ont a moving figure
coming toward her down the road. Watch-
ing it}idly, suddenly she stood rooted to
the spot, and her heart began to beat vio-
lently, for she thought she recognized the
rapidly approaching figure. Was it—yes,
it was the young man at the postoffice.
Then he had found her ou$,and had come
to accuse her. Mignonette did not stir
until he came up, then she started away,
but stopped when he spoke.
‘‘Good-evenin’, Miss Foster. There was
a letter came for you after you left this
mornin’, and I thought it a pity to let it
wait 8 week, knowin’ you only came on
Saturdays; go I fetched it out to yon my-
self.
And he held out her letter, her guilty
letter, with a pleasant smile. Mignoneite
blushed to the roots of her yellow hair as
she took it, and then, as the young man
did not move, stood hesitating with it in
her band.
He, watching her, put out a hand to the
bush inside the gate.
‘Lilacs! My, how I like ’em. We
don’s have ’em at home, though.”’
This artful conduct had the desired ef-
fect. Mignonette unfroze at once over the
pitifulness of his lot. Loving lilacs, and
not able to get them. With an impetuous
movement she began to gather some of the
fragrant spikes.
‘You can bave all you want. We don’t
use ‘em all,and they just fade on the bushes
after a while. I’ve often wished to give
some to somebody.” Then, as she held
them out to hia, she added shyly :
‘Smell nice, don’t they ?’’
He buried his sunburnt face in the cool
blossoms, and as he took them reluctantly
their fingers met over the thick stems.
Mignonette withdrew hers hastily, thrilled
with the contact. He looked at her again;
then, seeing her shy embarrassment, said :
‘Well, I'll say good-night, and thank
you for the flowers.”
‘‘Good-night,”’ said Mignonette softly;
‘‘and thank you for bringing the letter.’’
She heard her mother calling her, but
went past swiftly to her little room, taking
with her the first secret ever kept from
that loving scrutiny.
She thought all the week of that evening
at the gate, of her daring, wicked act which
had brought him there, and of how she
would never do such a sinful thing again.
But as the days slipped by she felt a strange
sinking at her heart. She would not geta
letter this Saturday evening—and the lilacs
had begun to fade. Each evening she went
down and looked at them, beginning to be
tipped with brown, with a wistful smile,
and hesitated. Then, on Friday night,she
lets her place by the lilac bushes and hur-
ried into the house. By the fading light
she got out her mother’s pen and ink and
addressed another letter to herself.
She bravely mailed her letter this time,
and her heart did not beat nearly so fast,
80 accustomed do we grow to our hardiest
acts. And when, in the summer twilight,
he brought her letier back to her, they did
not notice the lilacs of which he was so
fond, at all. L
Once begun, Mignoneste’s ocorrespond-
ence with herself became a settled thing,
and the little heap of unopened envelopes
grew steadily larger in the corner where
she kept them. She could nos bear to
destroy them; she loved the senseless paper
so that she even kissed each one as she laid
it upon the last.
Bus one evening when the harvest moon
was full, and the perfume of her namesake
flower filled the air with fragrance; when
the bright day faded into the bright night
with hardly any change, he did not come.
Mignonette waited long at the gate, her
hears sinking with fear, vague and unde-
fined. "What could keep him ?.
A dozen times she thought she head his
footsteps; once. she thought him so near
that she drew back into the shadow of the
lilac bushes, determined so punish him
for his tardiness; only so come forth again
in the sickening silence ‘to strain her eyes
down the white.lit road. But he never
came; and at last she crept into the house
and np to bed with au aching heart.
All night she lay awake, writhing under
the torture of this new sorrow, like noth-
iu she bad ever known before. Alas, was
this what her mother means when she told
her that women were happier alone, and
tbat men brought more suffering than joy
into most women’s lives? Poor little
Migoonette, as she moved her yellow head
restlessly on her tear-wet pillow felt that
her punishment had surely overtaken her.
Next day she looked so ill that her moth-
er let her do no work, but on Monday she
went abcut her tasks again with a feverish
energy.
She was busy in ‘the house, when her
heart stood suddenly still at the sound of a
man’s voice outside, talking to her mother.
Not his; she knew that in a moment, but
still, what did any man wants there? Then
she heard ber mother’s voice.
‘‘A letter for my daughter? You muss
be wrong.’’
“No, ma’am,’’ returned the other. “My
son brings em often.’”’ Then, as Mignon-
ette’s frightencd face came in sight, he
added : ‘“Here she is herself. My son Tom
went into the city on husiness Saturday,
and he must have missed his train; so I
thooght I'd bring it myself.” And he
held her self-addressed letter out to her.
Bat her mother interposed.
“Stop.”” Her voice was cold and hard.
‘“Who has been writing letters to you,
child ?”’
Mignonette, pale and trembling, stood
speechless 1'2fore the curious eyes of the
old man, and her mother’s, angry and sor-
rowful. She could not confess what she
bad done.
Her mother spoke again. ‘‘Mignonette,
you have disgraced me. You have set the
whole village talking, writing to some
strange man who laughs at you in secret.
Tell me the truth. Who wrote you those
letters ?”’
She held out her hand for the unopened
letter, but her daughter, witha cry of
anguish, snatched it hefore her. The
mother, with the quickly-aroused passion
of the French woman, seized her by the
shoulder and shook her roughly.
Mignonette felt her world falling away
from her before these awful new exper-
iences. Then another voice, one she knew
too well, struck on her ears.
‘Wait a minute, Mrs. Foster. I heard
what you were saying. Nobody knows
anything about it. I wrote those letters
to Mignonette, and brought every one to
her myself.”’
And he stood facing the angry mother
and his still more surprised father.
“You wrote them ! and what for, may I
ask ? Why were you writing letters to my
daughter ?’’
The young man flashed. ‘‘To tell her
that I loved her. There wasn’t any other
way. You kept her too close.’’
He took a step nearer to Mignonette.
‘And now I’ve been up to the city to see
about getting the postoffice in father’s
place; and I’ve got it, and I’ve come to
ask her to marry me.”’
Mis. Foster with an angry gesture turn-
ed away; bus his father, beginning to re-
cover from his own surprise at the turn
things had taken, interposed.
“‘Come, come, Mrs. Foster. Young folks
ain’t old folks, and he’s a good match for
any girl, though I say it. Don’t make it
$00 hard for them. Ask the girl what she
thinks.”
Her mother stood silent for a moment,
then turned quickly to Mignonette. ‘‘Say,
my child,do you care for this young man?’’
The girl, flushing and paling, cast her
eyes down; then threw herself into her
mother’s arms with a half-articulate ory.
Her mother held her for a woment, then
turned to the young man with a quiet
dignity.
‘“Take her,’’ she said. ‘‘The mothers
are forgotten when this time comes; and
she good God wills not as I planned. No,
child,” she added, as Mignonette clung to
her with a sob; ‘‘you but tread in the steps
of your mother, and I was wrong to expect
aught else.”’ ?
Later, when they were alone, the girl
turned to her lover reproachfully.
‘Why did you say it—that you wrote
those letters ? It was wrong, and useless.”’
‘“‘But‘?’ he said, ‘‘I did write them.”’
She looked at him.
“You wrote them ! There was nothing
in them. They were blank.”’
He laughed confusedly.
‘Then you didn’t open them. I half
thought you didn’t. Why, is happened
this way. The first one you mailed was
open, and I was a bit curious, and a bit
jealous, and I don’t know what, and I
looked inside and found the blank sheet.
That puzzled me; and I studied about it
until I thought I guessed. Then I dared
to write a little bit to you inside the next
one, and always after that I put a letter in
myself. Bat I sort of suspected that you
never opened any of them. Bot we didn’t
need ’em, did we, sweetheart ?’’
So Mignonette found them, all her love
letters, unopened; and only to he opened
when they were needed no more.
‘And after all,’’ sighed the little French
woman, as she watched the two figures by
the gate, ‘‘the good God knows best. And
if He meant her for a wife and mother I
could not make her anything else. And
maybe, ia she end, all the sorrow and suf-
fering, with love, is better than a long and
peaceful life without it.”’—The Love Story
of a Simple Country Girl : By Luoy M.
Thornton, in the Ladies’ Home Journal.
The Lightning Rod.
Many boys and girls have wondered, no
doubt, why a lightning rod is always
pointed, instead of having a blans end, and
also why the point is made of metal that
does nos easily corrode.
The object of a lightning rod is to empty
a cloud of its electricity noiselessly and
harmlessly, and it must be pointed because
a point offers no resistance to the discharge.
The degree of resistance is in proportion to
the surface of the object, and a point has
the least possible surface.
If the rod had a ball or a knob onthe
top, the discharge would be violent. The
difference is shown in discharging a bat-
tery, says the New York Mail. You will
be surprised to hear, perhaps, that the full
charge from a large battery may be passed
barmlessly through your body if it be re-
ceived through the point of a needle, The
same oharge, received through a ball-tip-
ped discbarger, would kill you instantly.
Besides, a point attiacts the lightning,
and thus keeps it from atriking other parts
of the building. The point is made of metal
that does not easily corrode because cor-
rosion, or rust, increases the resistance, and
a rusty point, therefore, might cause a vio-
lent and destructive discharge.
If you have a lightning rod on your house
no doubt is has emptied many a cloud of
its electricity without anybody’s knowing
anything abous it. ex mb OER
Why He is an Optimist.
The Bishop of London is an optimist who
always bas a good word to say for every-
body, even if the person under discussion
may seem to have no admirable qualities
says the Scottish American. One day, when
he bad been standing up for a particularly
disreputable Spesien of. bumanity, a
friend said to him :
*‘How is it that you can always think
of something pleasant to say about every-
bad} under the sun ?”’
e Bishop laughed.
“Well, you see,’’ he said; ‘‘there is so
much in the worst of us, and so much
bad in the best of us, that it does not be-
come any of ua to speak ill of the rest of
us.
gates
Why the Yellow Fever Spreads.
Americans took considerable credit to
themselves for banishing yellow fever from
Havana after it had rioted there unopposed
for 200 years. We are taking steps to ban-
ish it from Panama when we aie disturbed
and alarmed by a fire in the rear. Are we
to have another yellow fever epidemic in
New Orleans? It has made a bad beginning
with 165 cases since July 13th, and more
than one-quarter as many deaths. New
Orleans is justly alarmed and the Gall ports
are enforcing a strict quarantine against
the city.
Yellow fever used to visit Northern citjes
occasionally with direful consequences.
Once it even got as far north as Quebec. Im-
proved sanitation, probably, far more than
quarantine regulations has kept it out of
Northern cities for many years. New Or-
leans has recently improved its sanitation,
purified its water supply, established a sew-
erage system and made the city more mod-
ern and American than it ever was before.
This kind of treatment has checked and
even banished yellow fever in Northern
cities. Will it be cqually effective in the
semi-tropical zone?
Apparently cleanliness is not enough if
the conditions favor the breeding and mul-
tiplication of the yellow fever mosquito,
the stegomia fasciata. New Orleans is sur-
rounded hy swamps impossible to drain
and prolific in mosquito propagation. This
fact has made it slow to accept the mosqui-
to theory of yellow fever inocnlation, and
now the people think they have made a mis-
take. The Mayor of the city has issued a
proclamation advising everybody to screen
against the mosquito, the communicator of
yellow fever, and prevent its breeding.
The stegomia is a house mosquito. It
breeds in cisterns, water tanks and barrels
about the honse. The New Orleans Times-
Democrat says: —
It is because New Orleans is one of the
few cities where the above-ground open cis-
tern still prevails, and possibly the only
one where these cisterns are not screened,
that it is in the greatest danger from yel-
low fever when it is introduced. If is prob-
able that we shall conclude to screen the
cistern in futare. All the work done in
that direcsion now will decrease the extent
of the fever and help the work of crushing
it out. Every citizen should see to his own
cistern. The Board of Health is organiz-
ing a corps of oilers, but it will take a long
time to get around to all houses. If you
wish to make your home safe against the
yellow fever you can render it reasonably
so by pouring a cap of coal oil once a week
in your cistern and wherever else there is
water.
Open cisterns in the climate of New Or-
leans would in the nature of things breed
mosquitoes by the millions. For their own
comfort we should suppose its people would
make an effort to cut off this source of mos-
quito supply, which must add to the annoy-
ance of the people, even with yellow fever
ahsent, more than all the suburban marsh-
es. New Orleans is probably full of the
stegomia, and the yellow fever imported
from Central America gave them the oppor-
tunity to multiply and spread the disease.
An open cistern in the mosquito months
would he a public nuisance anywhere. Mul-
tiply it by the thousands with a single case
of yellow fever in the city and you bave
the exact conditions for an epidemic of that
deadly disease.— Phila. Press.
Big Chicken Business.
The largest chickery in this section is the
principal feature on a 350 acre farm in
Woodward township, on the line of the
Linden R. F. D. No. 3says the Williams-
port Sun. It is operated by Ned Piper,
James Lawson and James Gamble all of
Williamsport under the firm name of the
Williamsport Poultry company.The build-
ings, especially adapted for the hatching
and rearing of chickens, occupy a slightly
inclined hill side, facing the south, and
consists of fifteen separate breeding pens
and one building about 150 feet by 200 feet
aleo divided into separate pens. A new
building 20x300 feet is just being complet-
ed.This will give fifteen additional apart-
ments. At one end of this is a building
32 feet square, to he used as the cooking
house. The incubator cellar is 19x50 feet
and 9 feet deep, all nicely cemented and
clean as a new pin, with a testing room at
one end. There are seven incubators, each
with a capacity of 200 to 300 eggs. The
company has now been in operation three
months and they have 300 laying hens and
1,200 chicks. They have five varieties, viz:
White Plymouth Rocks, Barred Plymouth
Rocks, Black Minorcas, White Leghorns
and Buff Orpington. The last is a compar-
atively new breed in' this country,baving
lately been imported from England. Itis
claimed for them that they have the size of
the Plymouth Rocks, with laying qualities
somewhat better and meat mach more del-
icate. The young men are not, however,
devoting their entire time to chicken rais-
ing as they have about 50 head of O. I. C.
and Berkshire pigs and a balf dozen head
of dairy shorthorn cows with a registered
leader to the head, 15 months old and weigh-
ing 1,100 pounds. The weighs of his sire
is 2,400 pounds.
A Town Fenced In.
A few miles from Spangler, on what is
known as Moss Creek, a branch of the
Susquehanna river, near Nicktown,
Cambria county, is located a coal town
named Marstellar, after J. E. Marstellar,
an official of the Pennsylvania Coal and
Coak Company. The town consists of
about 100 houses and has a population of
700. It is provided with a water system,
an electric light service and everything
usual in an up-to-date town except a li-
cenred hotel.
Every foot of ground and every building
is owned by the coal company, and the
affairs of the village are conducted by it in
a sort of fendal style. Such towns are not
uncommon in the coal regions, Wehrum
being another inatance; but Marstellar en-
joys a distinction unique among them all
in the fact that it bas been surrounded
by a high board fence, and provided with
ates. . It is.said that in-order to get in or
out of the gates a pass from the officials in
charge is necessary, unless the person ask-
‘ing admissson-is-know
! WD.
is peculiar condition . of affairs has
attracted a deal of attraction, and
various surmiges have been made as to the
motive of the coal company in thus ex-
slulis from the precinots of its town the
general public. It is generally supposed
to be a desire to keep all the trade in the
place for the company store, and the de-
sire to keep out labor agitators may bave
something to do with is.
At any rate, it is poseible that in Mar-
stellar, Cambria county, is the proud pos-
sessor of the only “‘walled town’’ in Penn.
sylvania.
Just so,
Mrs. Sorappington—*‘‘There are sermons
in stones, you know, and—"’
Mr.—‘‘Yes; I think myself that our pas-
tor preachers like a petrified man.”
Roping A Camel.
It is known that for many years a herd
of camels bas been roaming the desert of
Arizoua. Several ineffectual efforts have
heen made to capture them and an exhibi-
tion is now being planned with the purpose
of maxing prisoners of the bump-backed
rangers. Of the success of the plan *‘Clem”’
Miller, a well-known ranchman of Gila
City, bas his doubts, based on his own ex-
perience. He says that four years ago he
aud his cowboys set out to round upa
bunch of wild camels which he knew to he
in the vicinity. He sent two of his men in
one direction while be and a cowboy nam-
od Manuel rode in another. He says:
‘‘Manuel and I crept along a big pile of
sand on our horses so carefully that we got
within a few yards of three of the camels
before we saw them or they saw us. They
were standing in a nook in the sand dune.
The surprise was mutual, but I recovered
from the shock before the camels and let
go my coil of rope with my old time speed
and accuracy. The rope settled fardown
over the neck and chess of the animal hefore
the rope became fully stretched. My cow
pony settled back on its baunches, but to
my surprise, the camel - walked right off
with him.
“Then followed such a race as I never
before witnessed. The camel didn’t seem
to be running, but I'll be blamed if it did
not carry my pony along at what seemed
to me the speed of a locomotive. My pony
sat down on his hannches for a short dis-
tance, but the dragging effects were too dis-
agreeable and he managed to get up, and
the way that camel made him ron was mar-
velous. The pony simply had to run or be
dragged to death. The rope was looped
around the pommel of my saddle and was
drawn so tight that it was impossible for
me to loveen is. I felt in my pockets for
my knife to cut the rope, but it wasn’t
there.
‘There was only one thing for me to do,
and that was to get off that cow pony and
leave him to his fate. It seemed to me that
he was being pulled along by that camel
at the rate of a mile a minute when I drop-
ped off into the sand. The fall shook me up
considerably, but I was thankful to get out
of it alive. I sat up and watched the cam-
el and pony disappear in the far distance.
I looked back and saw my three cowboys
coming out toward mie. None of the other
camels were in sight. = We rode back to
the ranch without any camels, and I have
never had any desire to domesticate those
desert animals since then.”
$1,200 From a 2 I-2=Acre Farm.
Oliver R. Shearer, residing just beyond
the outskirts of Reading, has done more on
2% acres of ground than any other farmer in
the country. He supports his family and
has an income of $1,200 from its products.
The national government has become in-
terested in Mr. Shearer’s methods. He rays:
‘I raise in a season from 5,000 to 7,000
heads of lettuce, 30,000 to 50,000 small
onions for bunching, 1,500 bunches of red
beets and 400 stalks of asparagus.
*‘These are all marketed in time to raise
a second crop consisting of 5,000 heads of
endive, 5,000 heads of lettnce,800 stalks of
tomatoes, 1,500 bunches of red beets and
10,000 to 20,000 stalks of celery.
‘Economy of land is an important mat-
ter, and it is my constantstudy how to pro-
duce the most on the smallest space. An
onion patch, 20 by 30 feet, netted me $40
for the year.”’
Tarantula ' Non-Poisonous ?
Experiments to determine acourately the
character and effects of the poison of the | J
tarantula have been carried on for the last
few weeks in the University hospital by
Dr. Philip Samuel Stout, assistant demon-
strator in pathology in the medical school.
Dr. Stout has become so enthusiastic over
the subject that he will allow a tarantula
to hite him to study the effects.
Up to the present Dr. Stout has found no
verification in his experiences of the popu-
larly believed fatality of the tarantula bite.
On the contrary, a dog which was suffering
with chorea and was subjected to the bite
of the tarantula was temporarily so much
benefited that Dr. Stout believes it may be
eventually found that the tarantula’s
““poison’’ is an antidote for certain diseases
affecting the nervous system.
——Senator Depew was condemning an
elderly millionaire, who,baving lost a law-
snit, had declared heatedly that the courts
were unjust and the entire Government
rotten to the core, says the Buffalo En-
quirer.
‘‘He is nos taking his defeat very grace-
fully, is he?’’ said the Senator. ‘‘He is
like the old bachelor whom the widow
refused.
‘“There was an old bachelor who, after
a brief courtship, proposed to a widow.
But the widow very politely and coldly
declined his offer.
‘¢ ‘I can never,’ she said, ‘be more than
a sister to you.’
*“The bachelor dropped her hand in a | Wil
huff.
‘* ‘Ab, madam, indeed you can,’ he mur-
mured in a strange voice.
‘¢ ‘No, I cannot, said she.
‘* ‘But you have daughters,” said the
bachelor. ‘You may yet be my mother-in-
law.’ ” . :
Keeps the Room Cool.
Cool rooms are raid to be assured by
the invention of a Brooklyn man. More-
over, the cool air is rendered dry and pure
as well. : :
The plan, which has received experi-
mental demonstration at a Brooklyn hotel,
oonaists of the use of a solution of brine.
The brine is carried through pipes around
the room, being forced very much as heat
is forced in winter, and the more intense
the pressure the lower will become the
temperature. The moisture is taken from
the air, being congealed on the pipes from
whiob it is then removed,and the humidity
is thus destroyed.
Hard on Norah.
Scene: The Wilsons’ dining-room.
Norab, the slovenly cook, puts. her head
in at the door.
Norab—*‘Plaze, ma’m, will ye be afther
tellin’ me whin I'm to know whether th’
puddin’s baked or not?”
Mrs. Wilson—''Stick a knife into the
middle of is, and if the knife comes out
clean the pudding is ready to send to the
table.”
Mr. Wilson—‘'And, Norah; if it does
come out clean, stick all the rest of the
knives in the house into the pudding.’’
Corrected.
Little Sister—'‘Obh, mamma, I've gota
canker on my toe!”
Big Brother—'‘That isn’t a canker. A
canker is what they throw overboard ona
ship to make the ship still. What you've
got is a popcorn!”
Committee Wants Correct Names of Cen-
tre Connty Soldiers.
In order to secure absolute accuracy in
the names and spelling thereof on our sol.
diers’ monument, we will publish from
time to time the lists of certain companies
80 as to enable those who are interested to
suggest changes in initials or spelling, and
also to suggest the names of any persons
who may have been omitted from the alls.
This is the last opportunity which will be
given to our people and to the survivors or
friends of deceased soldiers who served from
Centre county to have these names correct.
ed. The Committee, therefore, appeals
very earnestly to all who are interested in
the subject to carefully scan all the names
to ascertain.
1st, whether any have been omitted ; and
20d, whether the names of those already
contained in the rolls are properly spelled.
It is also very important that the names
of soldiers who enlisted in organizations
outside of the county or State should be
secured, in order that they may find their
place among the nation’s defenders upon
the monument. Thisis perhaps the most
important thing which the Committee has
in charge, the organizations from our own
county being already well known. If,
therefore, any person, in or out of the coun-
ty, has knowledge of a citizen of Centre
county who enlisted in organizations out-
side of the county and State, it is especially
important that their names should be as-
certained, so that they nay find a place
among those who enlisted at home.
Any communication in regard to these
names addressed to Gen. John I. Curtin or
William H. Musser, Bellefonte, will re-
ceive prompt attention.
FIELD STAFF JOHN H. STOVER, COL. SIDNEY
L. MUFPLY 12TH LT. AND ADJ,
COMPANY E, 184TH P. V. V,
Francis Jones Sergt.
Thomas Shaffer
John R. Tate ..
Isaac Reynolds
Samuel Ribold 1
William C. McCauley *
William H. Shank .
‘
George W. Strarver Corp.
Daniel Jones ’"
Frederick Smith “
James Harkins 5
Stanley Watson ”
Alexander Park *
John A. Close oe
Stephen Cannon by
PRIVATES.
Wm. H. Albright 1saac Henry
Joshua Armstrong John Henry
John C. Baker T.ewis Henry
William Barger
George M. Barrett
Samuel Beamer
Frederick Beamer
John H. Bennett
John Bottorf
William C. Bridge
Henry Carpenter
Henry Curver
Michael Fetzer
William M. Fetzer
Lafayette Klick
Joshua Folk
Michael Freal
Matlock Fry
Nicholas Gay
David Ginger
Henry Groddie
John Haines
John Halderman
David Henderson
John Sennett
John Shaffer
Michael G. Shank
Daniel C, Spitzer
William E. Stauffer
Jacob Steel
ohn B. Stine
Lewis Stingle
J. I. G, Kays
Alexander Loder
William Lucas
William N. McMullen
Elias Markle
Christian Mull
John E, Murphy
Theodore F. Musser
James Park
Salomon Penrose
H. C. Pennington
Isaac Powers
Joseph Rhine
David Rhine
John Rider
Daniel Roar
Sampson Roar
David Robinson
William Robinson
Simon P. Roush
William Seemore
George Walker
Georg Watson
John W tson
Thomas Watson
Walker C. Welch
Asa H. Walters
John E. Witmer
James L. Worley
Henry Swineford Fisher C. Wolf
Thomas Turner Jacob H. Wolf
John H. Young.
COMPANY G. 184TH REGT.
PRIVATES.
William L. Foust John Stickler
Samuel Gault, Jr. Samuel Shirk
John Benninger Joseph L. Thomas
COMPANY G,20TH P, V. V,
William P. Palmer Captain
John Berry 2nd Lieut.
John Barber 1st Seargt.
John Palmer .e
William 8. Shires hi
John C. Faber "
Andrew H. Foust Corp.
Richard Newman 1
Potter Tate “
Robert R. Pott i
Thomas T. Palmer Muc.
PRIVATES.
David Baree Israel Osman
Samuel E. Campbell Jacob Rocke
Lot R. Evans Solomon B. Raymond
John Karstetter Washington Shaffer
Edward J. McCloskey William H, Stover
John H. McCormick William H. Loner
Henry C. Oberdorff James B. Watson
John C. Oberdorff John Wilkinson
NAMES oF MEN WHO BELONG TO CENTRE Co.,
PA., AND WERE MEMBERS OF 18 U, S. INFAN-
TRY.
William 8. Burd, Co. C,
. Mark Williams, Co. F.
William Hessic, Co. C.
John H. Ban Co. C.
Hugh W, Riddle, Co. C.
CuMPANIES F AND G, 6TH U. 8S, COLORED REG'T
PRIVATES.
Benjamin Lee
Lewis Mills
Alexander Delige
Hartsock Delige John Whitten
Washingt’n JohnstonAaron C, Worley
Moses Johnston Thomas Taylor
Norice—The Soldiers or their friends will
please report to Committee the names of
any who have been missed in the above
list; also any that were in the one year
Regt. 200 and up. It isnecessary to have all
names and corrections in as soon as possi-
ble Jo close up the matter and make a cor-
rect list.
William Derry
liam Green
A Bit of Domestie Science.
The fact thas table knives gradually lose
their hardness if they are habitually wash-
ed in hot water suggests thas the transfer
of carbon from the hardening to the cement
state may occur at very low temperatures.
Pretty Sure of That.
‘‘He’s bought quite a lot of that stock, I
believe. Do youn think he'll realize any-
thing from that deal 2”
“I think he’ll realize whata chump he |
was,”’ :
© Hardly!
Fargonu—*‘I asked your danghter to
marry me, and she just langhed as me!”
Mr. Billyans—* ‘Well, did you want her
to go into hysterics?’
be ee eed
—— “Why do you sell watered milk ?"’
asked the dry goods dealer.
‘‘For the same reason you sell watered
silk,’ answered the milkman. ‘I need
the money.” :
——Every wowan is of the private opin-
ion that the only reason her hushand
never bought a white elephant is that no
pretty woman ever tried to sell him one.
——Subscribe for the WATCHMN.