Bemorralitiaicone Bellefonte, Pa., Oct. 27, 1905. nates HUNTING TIME. They're comin’ from the city to the country rus- set brown, ‘With their rifles and their shotguns to hunt the farmer down. The law is off the squirrel, an’ now I’m tellin’ you, Them city hunters 'pear to think its off the farm- er too. Soon the landscape will be punctured with a lot of bullet holes, An’ everybody will be dodgin’ to save their pre- cious souls, For when them city fellers go cavortin’ with a gun, An’ plug somebody full o’ lead, they call it “hav- in’ fun.” An’ then somehow it seems to me they allers pear to fail “T'o make a fair ‘discrimination *'twixt a farmer and a quail, For anythin’ that rustles if it shows a tail or head, An’ isn’t plainly labelled, they'll pump it full o’ lead. An’ when a charge o’ double-B has taken off the crown Of your old hat, they'll calmly swear they didn’t know you're roun’, An’ sometimes when you are absorbed in the field a-pullin beans, You’ll be mightily surprised with a bullet in your jeans. They’ll come an’ board with you, then some : mornin’ 'fore you're up, When they’re out a-huntin’ lions, they'll shoot the brindle pup. : Oh, its strenuous times we’re havin’ in the coun- | try jes® bout now, An’ if ’twan’t for new inventions we'd be hidin’ in the mow. But don’t you for a minnit think the farmer hain’t progressed, An’ traveled long in the procession with the spirit of the rest. A country store these later days is fairly out o’ date, Unless it keeps upon its shelves suits lined with armor plate. An’ now we're all a-watin’, really want to geta chance, To demonrtrate the quality of our antibulle pants, So you come along, you cily dudes, with your goggles an’ your gun, We've got on our iron trousers, an’ we're ready for the fun, Don’t hesitate a second, but come out an’ help us laugh, : While you ponder on the difference ’twixt a farm. er and a calf. ———— ECONOMY IN FOOD. Director of the Sheffield Scientific School of Yale University Author of “Physiological Econo- my in Nutrition.” (Begun in Last Week's Issue.) It is of course understood that there can be no absolutely fixed standard of diet smit- able for all persons, even though there is a close degree of uniformity in habits of life, since differences in body-weight, as well as in the personality of the person, must of necessity introduce some degree of varia- tion in the real food requirements. There is undoubtedly what may be termed a per- sonal coefficient of nutrition, a personal idiosynorasy, characteristic of each person, which controls in some measure the extent of the nutritive process. While there is no evidence that this factor modifies in any general way the trend of our conclusions, it is probable that much physiological dif- ferences do exist which may manifest them- selves by slight variations in the actual needs of the body for one or more of the different classes of food-stuffs. With a fall recognition of this possibility, the fact re- mains that so far as experimental evidence goes, the average man, whose life is spent in mental rather than physical activity, does not require more than one half the amount of proteid food called for by the minimal dietary standard. Further, it is evident from the foregoing statements that we are now in a position to determine what constitutes an excess of food. If the body can maintain its equilib- rium, with continued health and strength, on an average consumption of 50 grams of proteid per day, it is certainly proper to class all proteid food heyond this amount as an unnecessary excess, for which the body has no real need. Moreover, it can- not well be considered illogical tourge that such excess is not only wasteful, but must inevitably be a sonrce of danger which prudence would counsel us to avoid. To make more emphatic, and perhaps render more intelligible, the full signifi- cance of these conclusions, we may add that the full requirements of the mental worker for food are easily met by a very simple dietary. In fact, some of the subjects vol- un tarily restricted the taking of food to two meals a day. Thus, one man, with a body-weight of 127 pounds, for many months partook of a daily diet of approxi- mately the following com position: Breakfast: One small cup of coffee, with oream and sngar. Lunch: One shredded wheat biscuit, or other cereal product, ahout one ounce, with three ounces of cream; one wheat gem, one ounce; butter, one fourth ounce; one cap of tea, with one third ounce of Sugar; cream cake, or other sweet, two ounces. Dinner: Pea soup, four ounces; the lean meat of one lamb chop, one ounce; boiled sweet potato, one and three fourth ounces; wheat gem or biscuit, three ounces; butter, one half ounce; a cake or sweet pudding, two ounces; demi-tasse coffee, with one third ounce of sugar; cheese-crackers, one half ounce. Such a diet contains 6.7 grams of nitro- gen, or ahout 42 grams of proteid matter, and bas a total fuel value of only 1750 cal- ories; yes for nine months this person lived essentially on such a diet as this,—i.e., on a diet containing approximately this quan- tity of nutrients,—and indeed he has not varied much therefrom for a period of swo years. The fuel value of his daily food has rarely exceeded 2000 calories, while the amount of proteid food has heen kept con- stantly within very narrow limits, and with maintenance of body-weight and ni. trogen equilibrinm, thus showing that the daily food has been quite sufficient for the needs of the hody. Further, he asserts that under no circumstances would he retarn to his former habits of living, so much better ie his bodily health, and so much greater his capacity for mental work. New habits of living bave heen formed, and there is no craving for the excessive quantities of pro- teid food that formerly his system seemed to demand, and which our presens dietary standards assume to be essential for health and strength. ; A man of greater body-weight, and per- haps doing more wuscular work, would naturally require a somewhat larger amount of food, especially non-nitrogenous food, owing to the need for greater fuel value; but the same great economy in the amount of proteid or albuminous food. Thus, an- other university professor, of 160 pounds weight, leading a very active life, lived for a period of six months on a daily diet of which the following is a fair sample: Breakfast: One banana, six ounces; one cup of coffee, with one ounce of cream and two thirds of an ounce of sugar. Lunch: Bread, one ounce; potato oro- quettes, nine ounces; sliced tomato, five ounces; Indian meal, four ounces; syrup, one and one balf ounces; one small cup of coffee, with three fourche of an ounce of cream and half an ounce of sugar. Dinner: Bean soup, four ounces; bread, one ounce; bacon, one fifth ounce; fried po- tato, eight ounces; lettuce-orange salad, one and one half ounces;prunes, five onnces; one cup of coffee, with one ounce of cream and two thirds of an ounce of sugar; one banana. This ration, which, as can easily be seen, is more bulky than the diet of the preced- ing subject, contained 8.3 grams of nitro- gen, or 51.8 grams of proteid, and had a total fuel value of 2450 calories. On a dies of this general character, though naturally varying somewhat in its make-up from day to day, bat with essentially the above com- position as to nitrogen and calorific value, this sobjeot maintained weight, general health, strength, and vigor, together with nitrogen equilibrium, for a period of seven months. Farther, after the experiment was closed, there was no disposition to alter materially the character of the daily food, so beneficial to the system had become the diet of the preceding months. It may be said quite justly that diets such as the above are exceedingly simple and donot afford sufficient variety to satisfy the requirements of a cultivated taste. In reply it may be said that the above dieta- ries are simply samples, and thatas great variety as is desfred may be introduced, without necessarily increasing the quantity of nutrients therein. Further, it is obvious that where bulk is desired there must be an excess of vegetable food relatively poor in proteid, though perhaps rich in carbohy- drates. The experience of the subjects under investigation,however, indicates that where simplicity in diet is practised until it becomes a habit, with a reduction of the proteid food to a level somewhere near the actual needs of the body, there is gradually acquired a strong liking for simple articles of food, together with a distaste for large quantities, thereby suggesting that the body finds it easy to adjust itself to the new conditions, while the improved state of health and increased efficiency for work enggest that these conditions are more in accord with the natural habits of the body. However this may be, the chemical and physiological evidence from these experi- ments is quite strong that the body of the mental worker can be successfully and satisfactorily maintained on these compara- tively small quantities of food, and with every indication of a betterment in the physical and mental condition of the per- son using the simpler dietary. THE PHYSICAL WORKER. In our study of the food requirements of the physical worker, a detail of soldiers from the Hospital Corps of the United States Army served as subjects, Through the courtesy of the War Department, these men lived in New Haven for a period of six months under command of Dr. Wallace DeWitt, first lientenant and assistant sar- geon in the United States army, being under strict military discipline, performing the daily duties required of soldiers in their positions, and in addition taking a regular amount of systematic exercise each day at the university gymnasium, under the supervision of the gymnasium instruc- tors. Of the twenty men detailed, thirteen men of the detachment took part in the experiments, the others being non-commis- sioned officers, cook, cook’s helper, eto., who looked after the household and other affairs of the detachment. The men ranged in age from twenty-one years and six months to forty-three years. While all of these men had volunteered for the experiments, knowing what was de- sired of them, and no doubt willing to undergo, if necessary, some personal incon- venience, yet, it could not be expected that they would take that zealons interest in the experiment which the members of the preceding group did. Consequently, in gradually reducing the quantity of food, it was necessary to keep the men thoroughly satisfied with their daily dies, so thas there might be no complaint from pangs of hun- ger, insufficiency of food or monotony of diet. Farther, it mast be remembered that these soldiers were accustomed to a very abundant meat diet, and they also la- bored under the delusion that physical strength and vigor could be obtained only through consumption of meat, a mental prejudice that had to be gradually over- come. On a preceding page is given the daiiy diet of these men when they first re- ported for the experiment. At that time they were taking each day more than the 118 grams of proteid called for by the men doing moderate muscular work, and more than the 3000 calories, the supposed re- quirements in fuel value. Contrast now the daily consumption of food by these men daring the last five months of their stay in New Haven. The experimental evidence gradually accumu- lated showed that these soldiers were quite able to maintain their body-weighs, their bodily strength and vigor, and their nitro- gen equilibrium with a daily intake of about 55 grams of proteid, and with a total fuel value in their daily food equal to about 2500 calories. The eleven subjeots of the detachment who remained through- out the experiment were thus able to keep up their physiological equilibrium and to preserve their health and strength with a saving of full fifty per cent. or more in pro- teid food, and with considerable saving also in the consumption of non-nitrogenouns food. The dietaries of three days may be given as illustrating the character and quantity of the food consumed, remembering that these men had to be supplied with some- what bulky food in order to avoid the sug- gestion of any restriction in diet : Breakfast : Fried Indian meal, four ounces; syrup, three ounces; baked potato, nine ounces; butter, three-fourths ounce:’ one cup coffee. . Dinner : Thick tomato soup, with po- tatoes and onions boiled together, eleven ounces; scrambled egg, two ounces; mash- ed potato, eight ounces; bread, two ounces; buster, one-third onnce; one cup coffee. Supper : Fried bacon, three-fourths ounce; boiled potato, eight ounces; buster, one-third onnoce; bread pudding,six ounces; sliced hanana, eight ounces; ane oup tea. This day’s diet contained 8 4 grams of nitrogen, or 52,5 grams of proteid, and bad Fy fel alge of 200 ajorjes. reakfast: Fried rice,six onnces; syrap, $wo ounces; baked potato, six ounces; bnt- ter, one-third ounce; one cup coffee. Dinner :* Thick pea soup, ten ounoes; boiled onions, six ounces; boiled sweet po- tato, six ounces; bread, three ounces; but- ter, two-thirds ounce; one cup coffee. Supper : Celery-lettuce-apple salad, dve ounces; crackers, one ounce; cheese, one ounce; Saratoga chips, three ounces; rice custard, four ounces; one cup tea. This day’s diet contained 7.8 grams of nitrogen, or 48 8 grams of proteid, and had a total fuel value of 2280 calories. Breakfast : Boiled hominy,seven ounces; milk, five ounces; sugar, one ounce; baked potato, six ounces; butter, one-third ounce; one cup coffee. Dinner : Hamburg steak, with much bread, fat, and onions, six ounces; boiled potato, ten ounces; bread, three ounces; butter, one-third ounce; one cup coffee. Supper : Bread, three ounces; butter, two-thirds ounnce; jam, three ounces; sapioca-peach pudding, ten ounces; one cup tea. This day’s diet contained 8.7 grams of nitrogen, or 54.5 grams of proteid, and had a total fuel value of 2380 calories. While this comparatively simple dietary, persisted in for five months, thongh natur- ally with daily variation in the character of the food, was quite foreign to what she men bad been accustomed to previously, they had at the end of this period become 80 habituated to the new order of things, and were on the whole so well satisfied with their condition, that it is very doubt- ful if they would have made voluntarily any radical change in their habits. Cer- tain it is that at the end of the six months’ period, three of the men weighed more than when they came to New Haven, while five others were of essentially the same weight as when the experiment commenced. The others, with one exception, loss only three or four pounds, which loss was on the whole more beneficial than otherwise, since they had some surplus fat. Further, when there was a loss in body weight, this occurred at the outset of the experiment, when the change in diet was first made, after which the body weight remained virtually constant. Perhaps the most noticeable result of the experiment with this class of men was the fact that all the subjects, without a single exception, showed a most marked gain in bodily strength, as determined by appro- priate dynamometer tests, thus indicating that not only were they able to maintain unimpaired their health, strength, and vigor with this great economy in diet, es- pecially in the use of proteid food, but that the simplicity and temperance in diet were 80 beneficial thas the muscular ma- chinery of their bodies was able to work more advantageously. Indeed, the notice- able gain in physical strength, the greater ease and skill in bodily movements, the general good health of the men, together" with the maintenance of equilibrium, all suggest the possible advantages of a daily dietary more closely in accord with the true physiological requirements of the body than the habits of the majority of mankind prescribe. THE ATHLETE. The athlete, or the man who makes extra demands upon his body for excessive mus- calar work, must obviously need in his daily diet a larger fuel value than is called for by one whose habits of life do not lead to great muscular activity. While this must be granted as a self-evident truth, it by no means follows that there is any real occasion for the large amounts of proteid food usnally consumed by the man in train- ing for athletic work, or for the large fuel value in his daily ration. In order to throw light on this problem, a group of eight uui- versity students, college athletes, was ob- tained for an experimental study of the possibilities. of physiological economy in connection with athletic work. The nyen selected represented different types of ath- letio activity, and they were all in the pink of condition physically when they entered upon the experiment, and were all trained to the highest degree of perfection for their athletic contests. They were men of recog- nized standing among their fellows in the university; many of them were ‘“Y”’ men, indicating that they had been successful in athletic competition. These men, following the ordinary tradi- tions of training, were at the time the ex- periment began consuming per day amounts of food corresponding at least to the stand- ards set for ‘‘men with hard muscular work,” namely, 150 grams of proteid per day, with a total fuel of 4150 calories in their daily food. Yet these men, gradually reducing their intake of both proteid and non-nitrogenous food, soon established equilibiiom at a much lower level, but ex- perienced no difficulty in keeping up their athletic work during the period of five months that the experiment was continned. Indeed, one man gained a much coveted in- tercollegiate championship while on the restricted diet, and many of the men com- mented on the greater ease with which their athletic work was accomplished. Furthermore. every mun of the group at the close of the five months’ period showed a marked gain in physical strength, as in- dicated by the dynamometer and other tests, clearly suggesting that the body was better off without the large surplus of food they had been io the habit of consuming. How great the economy in daily food was may be indicated by a statement of fact. One man, with a body weight of 150 pounds, was in equilibrium on a daily dies of 56 grams of proteid, with a total fuel value of abont 2500 calories. A sec- ond athlete, weighing 175 pounds, was in equilibrium on 71 grams of proteid food per day, with a total fuel value of 2800 calories. A third subject, with a body- weight of 162 pounds, maintained equi- librium on 72 grams of proteid daily, with a fuel value of 3000 calories. It is surely no exaggeration to say that these men dar- ing the five months of the experiment prac- tised an economy in their daily food equal at least to a saving of 50 per cent. in the amount of proteid, and with an added economy of at least 30 per cent. in the con- sumption of non-nitrogenous food. One or two samples of the daily dies made use of by these men may be added as showing the general character and quantity of their food, which, it may be stated, was the result of their own choice : Breakfast: One banana; wheat roll, two ounces; butter, one-half ounce; one cup of coffee, with four onnces of cream and one and three-fourths ounces of sugar. Lunch : Boiled eggs, four ounves; bread, two ounces; hutter, two-thirds of an ounce; apple sauce, five ounces; one cup of coffee, with two ounces of cream aud one-half ounce of sugar. Dinner: Bacon,oneand one-half ounces; potato croquestte, two and one-half ounces; macaroni, two and one-fourth ounces; bread, one ounce; buster, one-fourth ounce; water ioe, four and one-half ounces; one cup of coffee, with two ounces of cream and three- fourths of an ounce of sugar. This day’s diet contained 8.4 grams of nitrogen, or 52.5 grams of proteid, and bad a total fuel value of 2400 calories. Breakfast: One orange, five ounces; baked potato, six ounces; butter, one-half ounce; wheat roll, one and three-fourths Lunch : Macaroni, six and one-half ounces; mashed potato, six ounces; fried rice, four and one-half ounces; syrup, two ounces; bread,two ounces; buster, one-half ounce; ice oream, six ounces; cake, one and one-half ounces. Dinner : Cream of celery soup, six ounces; baked chicken, three and one-half ounces; fried sweet potato, two ounces; spinach, one and one-balf ounces; hoiled potato, two ounces; strawberry short-cake, eight and one-half ounces. This man took only water with his food. Thisday’s diet contained 10.7 grams of nitrogen, or 62.8 grams of proteid, aud had a total fuel value of 2780 calories. As with the preceding subjects, we see that the characteristic of the daily dietary is especially the low content of proteid; bat since all the men under experiment were virtually able to maintain nitrogen equili- brium throughous the long period of ex- periment, it would seem obvious that the body had no need fur any larger quantities of proteid food. How, otherwise, can the tissues of the body maintain their weighs, their equilibrium, and show the noticeable gain ia strength with these smaller qoan- tities of proteid food ? JUDGMENT AND REASON IN MATTERS OF DIET. The writer is not inclined to draw too sweeping deductions from the results ob- tained, though they have heen secured by most painstaking care and with all neces- sary precautions for the avoidance of error. The physiological evidence, however, is quite plain and decisive, to the mind of the writer, that all the needs of the body can be met by amounts of food, especially of proteid foods, far smaller than the daily habits and customs of mankind ordinarily prescribe, and far smaller than the so-called standard dietaries call for. There is every treason for the belief that temperance in diet—i. e., the daily use of a regular and simple diet, ‘limited by every man’s ex- perience of his own easy digestion’’—will result in benefit to the health, strength, and vigor of the user. It is clearly she part of wisdom for us to bave some definite knowledge of the real necessities of the bodily machinery in order to guard against undue consumption of food with its attendant dangers; for excess means not only waste, but, what is of far greater importance, it entails a useless ex- penditure of energy on the part of the vari- ous organs and tissues of the body in tak- ing care of the excess, to say nothing of possible ill effects from the action of the numerous waste products which result from the combustion or oxidation of this uncall- ed-for surplus. In this day of enlightened knowledge and roientific progress, mankind may rea- sonably expect benefit from the results of scientific stady. Many of the causes of disease bave been made clear to us. We bave learned to identify pathogenic micro- organisms and to avoid or successfully com- bat their incursions into our systems. The typhoid fever bacillus is no longer a myth, bus a reality, and the intelligens people of a community take every care to avoid con- tamination by such a dread household visitant. We fully appreciate, ordinarily, the knowledge gained by modern methods of research, and are glad to take advantage of the remedies afforded, even though there is involved a sundering of our faith in old. time traditions. Why should we not like- wise apply the results of acquired knowl- edge in the physiology of nutrition to our every-day life ? Progress inevitably carries with it a shat- tering of old idols, and introduces new points of view that are not always easy of acceptance. In matters of diet we are apt to possess strong convictions, and we have great faith in our knowledge of ourselves. Is it not possible, however, that we may profit by a fuller understanding of our real dietetic requirements, and that our in- stincts and our cravings may be advanta- geously modified by the use of reason and the application of that intelligence which is the crowning glory of enlightened man ? For the good of the individual and the benefit of the community, there should be a just appreciation of the part which the daily dies plays in the rubning of the bodi- ly machinery. The burning of more fuel than is really necessary is as wasteful in the nutrition of the body as in the running of the boiler and steam-engine. The pru- dent engineer knows to a fraction the pres- sure of steam he needs to carry, and he does not intend to waste fuel or endanger his boilers or engines in heedless manage- ment or reckless disregard of actual re- quirements. Man, on the other hand, is rarely inclined to consider the application of these principles to his own bodily ma- chinery, with its even greater complexity of structure and fonction, and with its in- finitely finer adjustments. He ordinarily allows appetite and craving to determine the character and quantity of his daily fuel, quite satisfied so long as the machinery stands the strain. Economy in food does not imply prohi- bition. It is neither vegetarianism, fruitar- ianism, nutarianism, or any kind of “‘ism.”’ It means simply temperance in diet, with the application of available scientific knowledge; the use of reason and intelli- gence, combined with a due appreciation of the dignity of the body and the neces- sity of meeting the daily wants withont imperiling that high degree of efficiency which helps to render man physically and mentally supreme. Practically, this im. plies the avoidance of the large quantities of proteid food so commonly made use of by civilized man, with the substitution of a dietary characterized by a predominance of the lighter vegetable foods. In this re- spect it leans somewhat toward vegeta- rianism. The heavier meats of our daily diet can be advantageously replaced in part by lighter articles of diet less rich in pro- teid, and with more frequent addition of green vegetables, fruits, and corresponding articles of food, less prone to yield objec- | tionable decomposition produots. Finally, we may venture the belief that a daily diet, characterized by simplicity and temperance, so constructed as to har- monize more fully with the true needs of the body, with habitual avoidance of un- due excess of food, will eventually lead to a betterment of the physical and mental condition of the human race; with the add- ed probability that not only will greater health and strength be secured for the in- dividoal, but that man’s years will be multiplied through the increased saving of energy now wasted in caring for the large surplus of fuel nnwisely introduced. — The Century Magazine. —— Mr. Slimsky—*‘I don’t believe the city water is safe. I notice it has a clond- ed appearance this morning and tastes sort of—milky—and—"’ Mrs. Starvemm—‘That glass contains milk, Mr. Slimsky; the water is at your left. And, by the way, your board bill wns due yesterday.’’—Cleveland Leader. ——*‘I bate to have anything ou my con- science, don’t you ?”’ she mused. ‘I never bave,”” he replied, quickly. ! “Mine isn’t working.” THE MASK. (For THE Warcuyax.) You speak of my life as all sunshine, My past as a beautiful dream. You think that, in acting lite’s drama, We always are just what we seem. Because you have known me for years, And I have not spoken of strife, You think I have “Lain in the lilies And fed on the roses of life.” Ah! During our gay conversation, Today, when I laughed at your joke, You kuew not I choked back the tears At the memories of old it awoke. Say I am a wilful deceiver, Accuse me of wearing a mask, If I wear the smiles for your pleasure, Then pray, for the tears, do not ask. Old Earth teaches us by example To hide deepest sorrow with wiles. On the graves of the dead in her bosom She wears the bright flowers, her smiles. M V. THOMAS. HER ANSWER. There were women in pink that woald bave shamed a rose petal, women in green, like sea nimphs, women in gauzy clouds of blue, women in drifts of lavender and lace, women in black that served, as it was in- tended, to make more dazzling the sheen of | diamonds and perfect necks. All the wo- |! men of social prominence in the city were | to be seen that night in the splendid ball- room, their charms reflected in the mirrors, glimpsed elusively among the palms and orchids, displayed in the whirl beneath the central canopy of lights to the music of the Venetian band—for Mrs. de Costro’s ball was one of the events of the season from which no woman of social prominence should be missed. There were the belles of that season and the belles of seasons past, but the figure among them all that the. eyes of the knots of onlookers followed of- tenest was that of a tall woman in white who stood surrounded always by a throng of men o1 moved like a wraith among the dancers. “There she is,’ was the whispered com- ment that could be heard to pass from lip t0 lip. ‘‘That’s Celeste du Bois! Mrs. de Costro’s heir!” Everybody knew her history. It was the wonderful beauty of this girl alone that bad made her Mrs. de Costro’s protegee and bad opened to her the door of the inner cir- cle, for she had no other fortune and her family was obscure. She was said to have worked in a factory as a negleoted little child. But she had knocked at the door of society when she came into the conquering glory of her womanhcod, and the inner circle bad howed down. Her lack of fam- ily and fortune was a favorite topic of dis- cussion among many of the fair sex, al. though never in her presence nor in Mrs. de Costro’s. The eyes of the men, however, bad followed her ever since she came among them as they followed her that night —her head, whose gold no artifice could imitate,moving amid the galaxy like a star of great magnitude; her eyes, darkly blue and filled with the light that drew men to her, resting on them as she passed them with an indifference that drove them mad. The sons of magnates had courted her, bus it was said that Celeste dn Bois had never cared for any man. She was known as ‘“la belle dame sans ceeur.’’ Among the throng of those who watched her there was one man, however, who thought that she was notindifferent to him. This was the young and handsome Baron Mechlenberger, who was leaning against one of the pillars wreathed with smilax, twirling a rosebud in his hand. He had spoken, on the evening hefore, as he bent over her, promenading in the foyer at the opera, and, although she had not said yea, neither had she said him nay. Rumor bad it that Celeste du Bois had never before been at a loss for a reply. And ber man- ner, which invariably betokened an un- moved composure, was perturbed. He made his way, when the dance was over, toa lit- tle alcove into which he had seen that she and her partner had withdrawn. Her pars- ner had left her for a moment to get her an ice. He waited until the yonng man had disappeared and took bis place beside her. *‘Iam to bave yaar answer tonight, Celeste?’ he said. ; She looked down like @uy Dpervous de- butante and closed and unelosed her fan. “I will give it to you,” she 1eplied at last, ‘‘after we have bad our dance. 1 dance with you—the sixth, is it not? Until then do not look for me again.” When the time for the sixth dance arriv- ed he came to claim her. *“Whither?’’ he whispered, his eyes roam- ing over and beyond the brilliant throng that was gathering at the first strains of the waltz to the conservatory, whose lan- terns twinkled distantly throngh the green. Bat she laid her band on his arm. ‘‘We will dance first,’ she said. Her glance rested on bim oddly for a moment as they whirled into the maze. She leaned dreamily on the young bar- on’s arm, appearing, as they floated in and out among the others, to have abandoned herself utterly to the intoxication of the waltz; looking up at him, ber glorious head tipped back, through balf.veiled eyes. When it was over she suffered him, with a sigh, as though reluctant, to lead ber from the room. . *‘Before I answer you,’’ she said, when they found themselves alone, ‘‘there is something that I want to ask you. You must not say anything until after I have finished. My answer will depend on yours.’ The conservatory was deserted except for themselves. The lights and figures in the ballroom beyond them could be seen dimly through the green. Dark leaves and great clusters of azalea shut in the little rockery in which they sat, and ferns and sprays of flowering jasmine, transparent in the light from the lanterns that were half concealed among the foliage, hung like a ghostly eur- | tain overhead. Celeste du Bois, on the rockery seat, her white figure outlined against the green,seemed to the man beside her, in her surpassing beauty, like the nymph of the place. And yet, as in the alcove and throughout the dance, there was something about her that perturbed him. ‘‘You must promise not to interrupt me,’ she said. : Her gravity, the tremor of her voice dis- turbed him farther, for be still twirled the rosebud, acquiescing, and still smiled, It was a moment or two before she spoke. ‘Before [ ask my question,’ she went on finally, steadying her tones, *‘I want to tell yon something of my life. About the part of it about which everybody knows— and does nos know.” She reached up and broke a spray of jasmine and drew it back and forth hetween her hands. ‘I was a poor little child,’ she said. ‘‘I came from poor people—miserable people, | although the blood hack of them was good. My father drank and my mother died. I worked, from the time I was six until I was sixteen, iv a factory, as all the women love to tell each other, although they do not speak of it to me. There is much more that I will tell them if they ask me. Be- fore I went into the factory I carried my father’s pail, and the pails of the men who drank with him, to the saloon for beer. If I did not ges it back in time to please them I was cursed and struck.” She lifted a curl from her white forehead and left him see a scar. “That,” she said, ‘is my father’s mark. But that is not the deepest mark that was left upon me when I was a child. My heart was branded with hate and fear. I was afraid of the men who drank with my father and were always with him. I was afraid of the men in the saloon who laughed and jeered at me when I came in with my pail. I was afraid of the men in the street. It was the good blood in me that made me run away and hide. I was afraid of the men in the factory when I went to work there. I came to know well what men were in those days. They hunt- ed me because of my eyes and bair and skin. They have been bunting me, and I have been hiding from them all my life.” The dance was beginning, and the music came in to them through the leaves. Ce- leste du Bois pulled the petals from the flowers on the spray of jasmine she held. ‘Alter I came to know Mrs. de Costro,”’ she continued, ‘‘after she bad taught me and spent her money on me, that I might be made ready, I came to know what men were—here;’’ : She paused, and Baron Mechlenberg broke the stem of his rose into little pieces and dropped them on the floor. His band- some face no longer smiled. The silence between them was filled with the rythm of the dancing feet. *‘I have not found them, ?’she said, “any better. They wear fine clothes and talk with cultivated voices, but they are the same. They are whispering to the women who are dancing with them, now, what they have just been whispering to me. They say that I am heartless. It is they who have no heart. They look at me only for my beauty, and for Mrs. de Costro’s money, which they know that some day I will have. If Mrs. de Costro should dis- own me, if I should cease to be beautiful, if sickness should take away the color of my hair and skin, or any accident disfigure me, Ishould be a cast-off thing. Ishould be merely the girl without a family, who had worked in a factory. They do not care for me.” . The glow on het cheeks could be seen even in the shaded light. She brushed the petals of the jasmine from her lap and turned passionately to the man beside her. “No one has ever cared for me,’ she cried, leaning toward him. ‘‘And you? How do I know that you are any better than the others? How do I know that you are one to whom a woman who has suffered as I have suffered, who las longed for happiness as I have done, would dare intrust her hope of it? I have known you in the ballroom, in the drawing-room, which is not to know you in the least. You say that you love me, you worship me. So do the rest. Are You any worthier of a woman’s love than they? What will you do for love of me? What will you suffer? What will you give up? Ce *‘Ob,”’ she said, ‘I have been cold and hungry. I have starved. But I was never colder nor hungrier in my attic”’—she stretohed out her arms glittering with dia- monds—‘‘than I am in these. My soul is starving for some one to whom to pin its faith!”’ She caught her breath, sobbing, and grasped him by the hands. ‘I love you; I have never cared for any other man But do you’’—her eyes, lnoking into his, were not those of the courted beauty, but of the piteous little child—‘‘do you, know- ing all that I have told you,knowing your- self, do you advise me to marry you?" The man looking back at her heard his own words as though someone else where speaking. ‘‘No,”” he said. ‘‘T do not. I do not!”’ No one else would. have recognized the voice as that of Baron Mechklenberg. ‘I am no hetter,’’ he said, ‘‘than the others.’ He drew his hands from her and put them before his face. On the other side of the little bower of plants the music and the dancing still went on. More than one of those whose names were on the card thas lay, forgotten, at her feet had been looking vainly for Celeste du Bois. He who sat beside her with bowed head at last raised his face,and she conld see that it had been wet with tears. He lifted a fold of her white scarf and touched it to his lips. ‘Shall we go,”’ he asked, ‘‘and find your partner? We must not stay bere any long- er.’ He rose and stood looking down at ber from over his folded arms, in the anguish and surprise and, like a strange new thrill, the glory of having found that he loved an- other better than he loved himself. ‘‘I shall leave the city,”’ he said, ‘‘in the morning. I cannot stay where I shall see you. I shall not see you alone again before I go. Good-bye!” Celeste du Bois had risen also. The di- amonds sparkled on her arms, her bosom, in her hair. Never had she seemed to the man before her so wonderful. He regarded ber intzntly, as t hough to fix her image on his wind. She stood with eyes averted, toying with the leaves. ‘‘Are you not going to wait,’’ she said, ‘60 let me thank you for what you have done?”’ ‘‘Is there any need?’ he oried with bi terness; bus she held up a detaining band. *“There is something that I wish to say,”’ she said, ‘‘before we go.” She looked up and he saw what she had hidden from him, the light in her eyes, ‘‘You bave said,’’ she went on, ‘‘that you are no better than the others. You may not have been, perhaps. I do not know what you may have been, but though you never were before, you are to- night better than the others. = You are the only man whom I have found capable of faith.’ She stood before him in the soft light, re- garding him with head held high. The mu: sic and the murmur of the throng outside seemed to him suddenly to have receded far away. “I was afraid,’’ she said, ‘‘to weigh you in the balance, but I have not found you wanting. [asked you what vou would give up for me, and you have shown me that you cared enough for me to give up self!”’ She took a step toward him. The leaves and the lanterns swam in a blur before the young baron’s eyes. No man, among those who knew Celeste dn Bois, had ever seen that expression on her face. “I told you,’ she said, ‘‘that my answer wonld depend on yours—and it is yes.” — By John Earl in The Smart Set. ———————— ——*‘‘And have you any special terms for summer girls “when they come ina party?’’ asked the pretty brunette in the mountain hotel. “Yes, indeed,” replied the clerk, suavely. ! {*And what are they?” ‘* ‘Peaches’ and ‘dears.’ '’—Chicago News. - =———Subscribe for the WATCHMAN. —r
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers