Berl fata Bellefonte, Pa., June 29, 1906. Man and Maule, The mule is a gentle beast, And so is man, He's satisfied to be the least, And so is man, Like man he may be taught some tricks, He does his play from eight to six, The mule—when he gets mad he kicks, And so does man, The mule—he has a load to pull, And so has man, He's happiest when he is full, And #0 is man, Like man he holds a patient poise, And when his work's done will rejoice, The mule—he likes to hear his voice. And so does man. The mule—he has his fanits, ‘tis true. And so has man, He does some things he should not do. And so does man, Like man he doesn't yearn for style, But wants contentment all the while. The mule—he has a lovely smile, And so has man, The mule is sometimes kind and good, And so is man. He eats all kinds of breakfast food, And so does man, Like man he balks at gaudy dress, And all outlandish foolishness, The mules accused of “mulishness,” And so is man, BETWEEN THESE TWO. ‘And so ‘the night before’ "has come at last,” said Huntingdon. “To-morrow is surely the twenty-first,” she eaid, ‘‘and you are here, and I am bere, and—"’ ‘‘And here is the pledge, " he finished for ber. On the palm of hand lay the plain band of gold. She bent over it, touching it with shyl a fingertip. His nd *‘Not till to-morrow, dear,’ he said. “‘It is bad luck, you know.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘‘You goose! You old goose! You really believe in that ? So there are things about you I have yet to earn ? ‘‘Perhape,’’ he said, quietly; ‘‘but the chief thing you have known always. And just because we bave been #0 sure of it from the first, we are not going to take the smallest chance now.’ ‘Oh, very well,”’ she answered—"‘if you feel that way. Of course, time is left. You can change your mind, if you wish to ’ ‘Edith !"’ he pleaded, and leaned over and kissed her. There was a kncck at the door, and she drew away from him. She was pushin away a log which had fallen on the heart! when a mau-servant entered with a tray. Upon it lay an oblong package, wrapped in white paper, tied and sealed. Hunting- don was seated at the outer end of the deep bench which curved about one side of the fireplace. He lifted the package from the tray, and held it to the reflection of the flames. In the flickering light the address upon its cover was indistinct. Bat the handwriting he recognized at once and every muscle set itsell rigidly. His glance darted to the girl. She was still bending above the hearth, and on the impulse of a possible hope be caught the package to him—to hide it somehow, anywhere. Bat just then the door closed behind the servant, and at the sound she straightened up, ‘'What is it? For me?" she asked. ‘‘For you? No—that is, yes. I think it is for you," he explained. “I was trying to read the name.” He still held the pack- age and made no offer to give it to her. He | was looking into the fire. ‘‘Let me see.”” She extended a band. She was not conscious of the fact that she bad to draw the package from his grasp aod thas be did pot apeak. She taroed the package toward the glow, and read aloud ber own name. ‘‘Why, this is very plain,” she raid. “And iv was addressed by a woman. Bat Ido not seem to know the | haodwritiog.” Her flogers sought the | fastenings of the package. At the rustle of the package, he turned closed on hers. 0 | be abroptly, aod cried out: “" a t His voice was so sharp, so strain+d, that she started, and the package sli to the floor. He stooped and A up. *‘Wait !"” he repeated. At first amazement held her mate. Then, the ahsardity of the thing her. “Why, Trafford I’ she said. *‘One would think you suspected it was dangerons— something an enemy bad sent me, a wicked charm. Isthatit? How exciting?" He irish Jnagh with her. “I didn’t mean to be alarming. As for the kage, why. it ie—I dare say, somebody hap ly know—bas been reminded by the wed- divg-cards to send you. Anyhow, I should think you were tired of opening paskages by now. I confess I am tired of seeing | P them opened.” A little shadow crept across her eyes; bat «he refosed to recognize her momentary feeling as disappointment. “I am sorry yon are tired,’ she said. ‘‘And I will for- eet the te—after I eee this one. May- be it will be the lass.” Bat be remained unmoved. ‘No, there will he plenty more—when we come home. Wait till then. Besides, this evening— thi« evening yon promised should be oor very own. And I have so many things to sav. One of them is—'' ‘First the package!" she persisted, smiling. ‘‘Just a moment. Please !"’ Still be held it from her, and tried to fini<h what he bad begun to say. . Hat she insisted. ‘Oh bat I must see it. I'm eure you're right about it. And the une: is always the most delight- ful 4 "’ She mavaged to take the pack- age from him, and slipped a finger heneath | perbaps the string. He yielded a little because he saw that be must. ‘“‘Cariosity. thy name—'' he quoted. Then, with indifferent pretense, he lightly laid a baod upon hes. *‘Welil, il I am overruled, at least let us get some fan out of the thing. Let's see if we—if you can guess who sens is. I'll give you five, yes ten, minutes to think it over.” ‘I never was good at gnessing,” she said; ‘bus of course I'll try.” She laced ber fingers, and from over the bridge of her haods regarded the package as it lay acro 8 her knees. “I am wure the haod- wiiting is not familiar to me,’ she said. I think I remember how everyone of my relatives writes, and none of them writes thi« way. As for my friends, they— No, none of them wrote that.” She pansed. He did dot seem to hear her question, and she asked it again. ‘‘My family #'’ he said then. *‘I do not think—no, I am sare did not send this.” er eyes danced with anticipation. **The mystery grows! How delightfal !"’ He made no reply, and for a little while a atv an se ere a not , n: “You see, it must be from some one who a ao tee. si to ea very to me, so wrapped and sied and addressed the kage hersell. No one in a shop ever did up a parcel like this.” She looked at him for indorsement of her reasoning; but he was staring at the fire, “Why, you're not interested the least bit!" she complained. He pulled himself together with a jerk. “Bat lam,” besaid. ‘‘I was thinking— trying to Belp uso. ‘And you have no guess to make ? Then 1 shall come back to what I said at the start. This holds something omi- nous; something I am just vain enough to suspect an envious rival has sent me. Bus who 1s she ? Speak !"’ He shook his bead. ‘Bat you must help. So itis that wicked charm youn spoke of. You shculd guard me against it. ‘That's the way it used to be, or, if it wasn’t, should bave been. So I call on you.” “Then I shall destroy it !"’ he exclaimed and thrust out a hand. But she soatched away the package. ‘No, no!” she declared. ‘‘That would never do. It is too late for thas.’ Her face was flushed. ‘We must plan. must be met by subtlety, not force. And first we muss have a theory. I must insist that the plotting be your part. Why, you are a novelist. Plotting should be easy to you. So, tell me the story of this pack- age from the heginning, or I shall open it at once. . He shrugged his ahonlders and tried to laugh. Bat still she waited lor his answer. At last, ‘‘Must there always be a story ?"’ be asked laboriously. She hesitated for the briefest moment. Something warned her. Then, with a lit- tle lifs in voice which was intended to help her faltering courage, she returned : “Why, yee. You said once there was a in everything, if only one kvew it. Besides, I have begun this story for you. ‘Once there was a woman.’ Come, I am listening for the rest.’”’ She pulled at the string of the parcel. “Yes, yes,” he said. Wait just a minute. I am thinking." He leaned forward, drop- ping his head between his palms, his elbows on his knees. Then,suddenly he straighten- ed up, avd, locking his hands, but not looking at her, he began. Out of the ssill- ness his voice came as if it traveled from afar off : ‘‘And he thought he loved her. She was said to be beautiful; she had traveled a good deal and was clever. She was always glad #0 see him, and by and by it came to him why he liked to be with her. Then he asked himsell a question, and, because the answer seemed #0 easy, he grew fearful. Bat one evening she said something to him which gave him courage; and when he went away that evening it seemed to him that life had just began. They were en- gaged to be married. There was a little sigh from the girl— faint, bus plain to Huntiogdon's ear, and it sounded piteous to bim. He faltered and stopped. But he did uot look at her; be was conscious that if be did look he wonld not go on, and he had made up his micd to ®0 on. Presently he said : ‘‘You see he was very young. All this was three years ago, and he was fresh from college. It seemed to him that she was nearly what a woman should be, and if at times he missed in her listle things which bis dream-days bad prowised him, he dismissed the thought of these from his wind as disloyal. She was ' a clever woman, I say, and—yes, she loved him, aud Le thought he loved her. Bat, at the end of tbe year, the chance came for him to do a great deal for himself by going to another city, and she told him he mass go. She trusted him, and he trusted hiw- self. Is was understood thas he was to be married as soon as be made a foothold for himself. Until then the engagement was to bea secret. He went away. In three montbs be bad learned thas he did not love her.”’ The girl beside Huutingdon wade a quick little wovemens. It wight bave been of doubt; it might have beeu of expectave, or joy, or fear, or ail of these. **No, no, you don’t nuderstand me,’’ he said. ‘She had nos changed. If there was auy fault, it was hie, and be tried with all his might to make himself think of her as he bad dove once. But he couldn’s and soon she found this ont. She did not let him see that she knew it, aod for awhile she forced bim into trying to deceive her aud deceive himself. Then ove day it all came out, because he could not hold it back any longer. And then he was pun- ished for whatever mistakes he had made.” As if his fingers were upon his pulse, he felt her heart quicken its beat, and though her lips were hidden from him he knew that they bad pated in presentment. “Yes,” she #aid, ‘‘she refused to believe that he meant what he said,” and she leaded with him : notin many words, but in the thousand listle ways in which a woman opens her heart to a man and shows him himself as her love has recreated him. And from one thought she never allowed him to escape : It was he who bad taunghs her to believe in him. Do you know how that thought made bim feel ? It made him doabt himself. It neatly drove him back to her; hat it did not drive him back. Nothing could do that, and at last he be- gan to think that her pride would save them both. Then—then—"" Huntiogdon's voice trailed off, and though his lips moved, no sound came from them. All at once he felt that Edith bad turned ber face and was looking at him. Abruptly he began to speak : ‘‘Then the man met—a girl, and everything was changed for him. Aod she first thing he did afterward was tc tell the other woman the truth. He tried to be nonest with her; be was hovest. But she gave no sign that be was—then. She was v quiet; sc quiet tbat it made bim tremble, for whas he did nos know. She told him to go. Alter awhile, she said, she would return to bim something that was his. You remember, they had been living in different cities for a long time, and there had been letters—a good many of them." Huntingdon came to an abrupt stop, bis bands fell from his face,and he straightened op. It seemed to him that he had made is clear. But after a minute Edith asked : did she send these—the letters ?"’ ‘*Not to him.” His eges rested on the package on the girl's kuees, and drew her eyes to it. Saddenly she stiffened and pulled away her bande. A little grasp broke sharply “And ‘‘But your family ?'’ she asked. ‘Could it come from any of them ?"’ from her lips. Huntingdon reached to- ward her, then checked himeell. Some- f thing beld bin back. He remained awk- wardly fate Sor seand, kis mogth ser, trying desperately to speak. e wanted to help ber. He wanted to thrust himself between her and this dasger from which she bad shruok. But he knew that he was too late, and did not know what to say. “Edith!” be whispered, and that was all, Ideas whirled throogh his brain—at first ,» almost without relevance to him- | self. Somehow, she was apart from bim— her life without relation to his own. And it was only of the effect upon her of what be had told, of what she might yet decide to see for herself, of her ness that he thought. Even then it was not as if she was Edith, the woman he loved, that he thought of her; but rather as i! she was the girl of a story, which was only a story though its ending meant a great deal to her. Bot graduoally this eense of detachment lefs him. As though coming out of a dream, his ideas began to p themselves about realities. He awoke to bimsell and to the fact that the woman who had promised to marry him to-morrow sas beside him, and that the ending of the stors, which was no story at all, lay with her. No, not with ber entirely. He knew her too well to think that. She would do as be asked. And now she was waiting for him to speak. It be asked ber to allow this package to remain no ed, to destroy it in its wrap- per, he believed she would do so. And why not? He had told her everything. He could not remember that he had iwissed anything. Yet she was waiting for him to say to her : * the package!’ Yes, for all her belief in him, that was what she expected him tosay to her. And if she did open it? Instinctively his arm was lifted | iss as if to ward her from a blow, and he real- ized that, though he might tell this story over and over, again and again, in every little circumstance be could recall,it would never mean to her what the written words would. Men, since the beginning almost, had written such letters a thousand times, avd would write them again: but it was he, Huntingdon, who bad written these letters, and they were to another woman. Into their dead ashes she would plunge her bands to find the lingering coal with which she might torture ber breast. Why should she be allowed to do this? It was folly. i must ngver see the letters—never read em. And yes, if she did not ? It would never be quite the same. He was sure of that. All ber faith, all his honesty, would never prevent her wondering. Always, when he called her by those httle nawes which bad been so dear to him and to her, she wonld be asking herself a question. Always over his shoulder she would see the face of the other woman smiling at the recollection of a secret—a secret which she, Edith, did not share. No, vo, tbat would never do! From tbe start there must be no question asked and unanswered. “‘Edith,”’ he said slowly, ‘‘those are my letters to her. I never thought she would send them to you. Somehow, even now, I cannot think of her doing the thing. But they have come, they are herc—to-night. It is a part of my punishment, I suppose. And yon—youn must suffer with me. If I could only put this away from you ! Bat I can’t. The letters were mine—they are mine. I give them to you. I want you to read them. it is best, dear; believe me, it is.” For a minute afterward the girl was mo- tionless and did not speak. Then she tarned her face upon him. In her clear gaze was no question, no douht, only peace aod understandiog. Her hands sought the package and lifted it. Bending forward, she laid it npon the smouldering loge. The paper smoked and glowed, the string binding it burned through. Then the wrapping hlazed and fell apart, and upon the hearth dropped a little reliquary of wrought silver, within its frame the head of Saint Agnes painted on ivory in the fad. ed c-lors of age. Fastened to the trame was a card which hore only the name of the other woman.—By Churchill Williams, in the Sunday Magazine. Wedding Customs. Brides who wish to be lncky always com- ply with the old adage, in wearing : Something old and something new Something borrowed and something blue. An old rhyme guides many a bride in the choice of a wedding day : Monday for health, Tuesday for wealth Wednesday the best day of all! Thursday for crosses, Friday for losses, Saturday no luck at all, Yet castom and convenience have changed the superstition about the day of the week, and Satarday is frequently chosen. [Iustances are known where brides who have chosen a day in defiance of the old verse have met with prosperity, while those who have conformed to the rule in selecting the “‘best day of all,”’ bave met with reverses of fortunes. Another tradition, which is not always true in its fulfilment, is Who chauges the name and not the letter, Marries for worse and not for vetter, And still another which is foreboding and whieh originated, no doubt, as a warn- ing to those who would bid defiance to proper custom, tans thus : it married in Lent You are sure to repent, Contradictory as it may seem, a few tears shed by a bride on the wedding day are supposed to siguify happiness in fatare. It is claimed that a bride whe would be lacky must not try on the entire bridal costume, veil and all, before the time to dress for the wedding ; nor must she per- wit the bridegroom to see her in her bridal array until he meets her at the altar, or very near that hoar. “The bridesmaid who is so fortanate as to catch the hride’s houguet when she tosses it among her hridesmaids, before going away, will be the first one to be married. An old saying is, ‘‘three times a brides- maid never a bride,” yet a popular girl may be chosen and may accept in spite of this rule, but must then serve seven or nine times as bridesmaid in order to do away with the superstition, a y is the bride that the sun shines on,’ is an ancient saying. Although the good omen of sunshine is one for which a TY | bride looks on the wedding day, she may feel that even if clouds threaten, or storms hreak on that day, she may yet go forward with sweets hope and courage, bearing in ber heart the streagth and loyalty which will make a radiance of sanlight in the life she is about to enter. —— They were playing a little social game of poker in the patlor, the young gentleman acting as ivetructor to the ladies. “Ie is not your turn to het now, Miss Primleigh,”’ be remarked. ‘‘You have the advantage of not having to het until the others have all said.” “Why 8.2" «he inquired. ‘‘Becanse you bave the age on us,” he responded. She was hia hitterest enemy from that time on. | Oar New Standards of Living. There areeven in these days a good | maoy families in the United States who | find it possible todo a certain amount of | moderately pig 3hialking and still calti- | vate some of life, says a writer {in Seridmer's may be obl to live simply, and yet may not ueed to ase up all r vitality in manual lator. True, they must walk when others tide, they most take thought to their ap- parel, that it be presentable at small cost, and when they entertain “Yeir lriends they muss do it simply. Bat they bave time to read books and they have money to edu- cate their children. Oftener than not they are persons whose family traditions incline them to fastidiousness in social matters. They and their forhears have heen accus- tomed not only to well-bred, hot interest. ing people and have kept in touch with what was goivg on in the world ; in short they have a taste for the best society. Twenty-five years ago there was no rea- son why they shouldn’s maintain their in- herited or acquired right to it, but the ten- dency on the pars of certain of their fellow- citizens to what has been characterized as *‘the habit of getting rich’’ has changed all that. Itis not only that the accumula- tion of colossal fortunes restricts the finan- cial chances of the moderately ambitious majority, but it deprives them of some in- novent and legitimate comforts and pleas- ares to which they thiuk themselves rea- sonably entitled, hy increasing so tremen- dou~iy the cost of lising while the »tandard of luxnry is raised in propotion. This, to he sure, is an oid ery. hut to the impecuni- ous majority it does not cease to be a live ne. Yet one cannot find fanlt with the peo- ple who have made money for wanting to spend it; one cannot be sarprised if their (ideas are crude and if they fail to appreci- ate a refived siroplicity. Most of ue spend all the mouey we can afford and we should not thank anyone who should presume to dictate to usas to what we ought to buy with it. The very rich do not in the least intend to make life hard for the rest of the world. Infact, from their kind-hearted desire to give pleasure we get some singn- larly bad resulte, such as, for instance, the poor girl with rich tastes, who, although she need not always be a Lilly Bart, yet is always in an vooatural and demoralizing position, and the yong man who goes to the dogs 10 his effort to keep np the pace with his rich mates. Remains of Buffalo. The buffalo should be preserved and re- newed in the forest preserves. The number remaining are hus few. Fortunately writes Hoo. Joho F. Lacey, in the Outing Maga- zine, the little flocks in captivity are wide. ly scattered, #0 that no nuexpected epidem- ie can suddenly complete their extermina- tion. The Austin Corbin herd at Meriden, N. H., pow nowivrs 154 fine animale, one- ball of which aie males. The new herd in the Yellowstone park was started a few years ago with 18 cows from the Flathead herd, and three bulls from the Goodnight herd, in Texas. Three calves have since been captured from the wild herd in the mountains and the total number is now 43. Tkey are inclosed in a large field near the Mammoth Hot Springs, and form one of the most interesting spectacles in the park. The wild buffaloes in the park at the time of its reservation numbered about 400. The poachers and head hunters pursued them remorselessly until tardily enacted laws put an end to the opefarions traffic. Concealed in the moss unfrequented part of the park, the calves exposed to wolves and monntain lions, the number has steadily declined. Six were found dead in the deep snow last spring, and only 20 remain alive. The Flathead herd in Montana, when di- vided and partly sold a few vears ago, had increased to vearly 300. They were the progeny of about 35 calves saved by the Iu- dians at the time of the final slaughter, | when the hide hunters were engaged in their deadly work. It was a profitable husiness venture, for the animals are now | worth $250 and upward apiece. Hon, James Philip (hest known among | bis friends as ‘‘Seotty’’ Philip, ) has a herd | near Fort Pierre, 8S. D.. which has increas- | ed from abont 33 to 118. They are in a | climate and locality admirably adapted to | the buffalo, among the bluffs of the upper | Missouri river. These animals are magnif- | icent specimens of the Sar plains breed. | The Goodnight herd in Texas now numbers 44. All That Harvard's Old Clothes, Every spring there occurs at Harvard College a corions convention of the old clothes, as it might be called, at which, says Modern Women, the cast-off garments of hundreds of college undergraduates meet and mingle for the last time before starting out on an odd and practical philanthropy. The affair is conducted by an under: graduate organization known as the Stu. dent Volunteer Association. Everything in the way of clothing is included —under- wear, suits, even an occasional dress coat, stockings with all the variegated splendor that clivgs to undergradnate ankles, plain and faucy waistcoats and hats literally too numerous to mention. During the week of the collection the old Harvard yard is full of moving bundles, all tending toward Phillips Brooks House, where the various religions societies of the sollege have their headquarters. Here the bundles are opened, the various articles sorted, arranged and finally distributed to local and distant charitable centres. Boots and shoes, for example, are what might he called the Tuskegee specialty at Harvard. Several hoxes of them go anna- ally to Booker Washington's institute, where the shoe shops are immediately use- ful in mending them up and starting them on a new career of utility. The Salvation Army in Boston gets practically all the derby hats, The Badger and His Work. Deep down in his burrow on our west. ern plains and prairies the hadger sleeps during the daytime, bat with the first twilight shadows he goes forth on hia pight’s foraging. He isa dreaded enemy of the prairie dog and the ground squirrel. says St. Nicholas, and when he begins to excavate for one nothing but solid rock or death can stop him. With the long, blant claws of his forefeet he loosens up the dirt. Dig! Dig! Dig! He works as though his life depended on it, now scratching ont the sides of the hole, then toruing on his back to work overhead, At first he throws the dirt ont hetween his hind legs, but soon he is too far down then turns ahont, and using hischest and forward parts as a pusher, shoves it out be- fore him. He works with such rapidity that it wonld be somewhas diffienit for a man to overtake him with a spade. —Subsoribe for the WATCHMAN. for that, so he banks it up hack of bim, | I The Largest Check. will certain! reas one of the most valoable in the “‘loss” column. It is, of course, by no means the largest ever drawn, report bad it that a six- figure check draw by a London firm of tea merchants eclipsed record. Then, again, Mr. J. Pierpoint Morgan was said to have the mark with one for foar million five hundred thousand pounds. This in turn was bettered by one bearing Mr. Carnegie’s sigratare, and worth four mil- lion six bondred thousand pounds and odd. But these fall far short of record. The original of the most valuable check ever drawn remains to-day at the Bank of England. It was drawn May 7, 189%, payable to the Japanese Minister in Lon. doo, was the final installment of the Chi- nese indemnity, and was for eleven mil lion, eight thousand, eight handred and fifty-seven pounds, sixteen shillings, and nine pence. Cinderella, From the New York Globe. It was in ancient Egypt that the story ol Cinderella originated. = Moderns, however. owe the familiar norsery story directly to the Frenchman, Charles Perrault, whose “Cendrillon’” appeared at the end of the seventeeth century. Perrault took his Cinderella from earlier versions, which came, no doubt, from the story of Rhodo- pis’ bath. That Egyptian beauty had ap- peared to bathe, when an eagle swooped on one of ber slippers, carried it to Memphis, and dropped it on the lap of King Psam- metichns as he sat administering justice, He admired it, bad Egypt searched for ite WD, married ber and lived happy ever after. Old Horse Cars for Consumptives, The idea of utiliziog old horse tramway cars for consumptive patients bas heen car- ried into practical operation in Leith, says the London Hospital. In a field witha southern exporure, near the Pitton Hos- pital for Infections Diseases, four old cars have been stationed. Very little has been done to them. Mere- ly the window glass has been knocked out on the south side, and one of the seats fit- ted up for two bunks. On the top of the cars the fixed seats are cleared off and gar- den chairs placed ready for the patients when the weather is sufficiently favorable to allow of them sitting without shelter. Truly Rural. From Harper's Weekly. The seventeen-year-old daughter of a certain Wall street man recently visited for the first time the five farm in Duchess county for the past year owned by her father. The girl immediately hecame greatly interested in the prize cattle that are the especial pride of ber parent, and she asked many questions relative to their breeding, ete. One evening, just at dusk as the girl was standing on the veranda of the farmhouse, talking to the manager, there came the low, mournful note of a cow. ‘Just listen to that poor cow,’ said the gitl to the manager, ‘‘mewing for her colt.’ “Mixed Wives, In the early part of the last century there lived in an old New Englar 4 town a Mr. Chureb, who in the course of bis earthly life was bereft of four wives, all of whom were buried in the same lot, In his old age it became necessary to remove the re. maine to a new cemetery. This he under- took himself, but in the process the bones hecame hopelessly mixed. His “New England conscience’ would not allow him under the painful circumstances to use the original headstones, so he pro- cured new ones, oneof which bore the following inscription: ‘Here lies Hannah Church and probably a portion of Emily.” Another: **‘Sacred to the memory of Emily Church, who seems to he mixed with Matilda.’ Then followed these lines: Stranger, pause and drop a tear, For Emily Church lies buried bere, Mixed in some perplexing manner With Mary, Matilda and probably Hannah, — Harper's Weekly Years Ago. ‘‘Mother Goose''was a real character of olden days and not a mere fancy dame, says the Detroit Free Press. As Elizabeth Foster she was born in 1665, and in 1693 she married Isaac Goose, became a member of the Old South church, Boston, and died at the ripe age of 92 in 1757. The earliest edition of her wnorsery rhymes, which she used to sing to her grandchildren, was published in Boston in 1716 by her son-in-law, Thomas Fleet, under the title ‘* Mother Goose's Melodies.’ The greater part of her life was spent in a low, one-storied house with dormer win- dows and a red tiled roof, built much after the fashion of an old English country cot- tage. MDibden first used ‘‘Mother Goose’ as the title for a pantomime, A Molting Lobster. Recently at one of the aquarium tanks in Loudon, Eoglaud, says the “Mail,” a large lobster cast his shell. The process, which was sai to have been witnessed by an interesting group of spectators, lasted about a half hour. A split appeared in the thiv shell just in front of she first joint of the tail (abdo- men ), and throogh this opening the lobster slowly withdrew the fore part of his hody, legs and feelers, Then with a jerk the tail was withdrawn. The old shell was left intact and absolutely perfect. The Chief Mourner a Lame Hosse. When a prince of Austrian 10yal family dies his horse follows the funesal, covered with a black cloth, and lame in oue hoof. The lameness is produced hy driviog a pail through the horseshoe. This is a sign of the deepest possible mourning. ~—*‘Now,"” said the hest wan alter they bad rehearsed the wedding [or the sixth time, ‘‘there's only ome more thing to do.’ “What's maid of honor, “Seud for the lawyers and go through the motions of the divorce trial.” that?” asked the ——**A hurglar came to my room and took my diamonds, and I lost everything possess,” sand the actress. “Why dido’t yon use your voice?” asked the reporter. “Oh, I lost that 100.” Miss Fiesh--Pretty Polly! Polly want a piece of cake? The parrot--Did you bake it yourself. BLAZING METEORS. The Short Lived Splendor of an Shoot ing Star, A small body as large as a paving stone or not as large as a marble is moving round the sun. Just as a mighty planet revolves in an ellipse, so this small object will move round and round in an ellipse, with the sun in the focus. There are at the present mo- ment inconceivable myriads’ of such meteors moving in this manner. They are too small and too distant for our telescopes, and we can never see them except under extraordinary ecircum- stances, At the time we see the meteor it traverses a distance of more than twenty miles a second. Such a velocity Is almost impossible near the earth's surface. The resistance of the air would prevent it. Aloft in the emptiness of epace there is no air to resist it. In the course of its wanderings the body may come near the earth and within a few hundred miles of its sur- face, of , begins to encounter the upper surface of the atmosphere with which the earth is inclosed. To a body moving with the appalling velocity of a meteor, a plunge into the atmosphere is usually fatal. Even though the up- per layers of air are excessively at- tenuated, yet they suddenly check the welocity, almost as a rifle bullet would be checked when fired into water. As a meteor rushes through the atmos- phere the friction of the air warms its surface; gradually it becomes red hot, then white hot and is finally driven off Into the vapor with a brilliant light, while we on the earth, one or two hun- dred miles below, exclaim: “Oh, look! There is a shooting star.” A FISH HOOK. The One You Should Buy and the Test You Should Try. The most common flaw is the temper of the hook. Some hooks are brittle and break easily. There are other books still that bend, and bend so easi- ly that they “straighten” on every big fish, and yet o! hooks that bend, but bend so bard that a big fish never flexes them, and they only straighten and come away when the full tension of the line is laid upon them if caught on a tough snag or tree bough. These last are the hooks to buy—if you can find them—and the hard breaking hooks classifies next in merit. Tests by the eye are quite useless, as so many hooks carry exactly the same tints in blue or black. Test the hook instead by the hand, catching the point in a firm bit of wood and trying it out both by the hard, firm pull and by the jerk. Wateh particularly in this trial for weakness at the foot of the barb, where the wire is apt to be attenuated over- much and the whole point give way i a strong fish, especially if hooked in bone or very hard gristle. What vasty lepths of angling profanity, in spirit f not in word, have been stirred in joat and on bank when the pointless look comes away from the hard played fish must be left to memory.—Outing lagazine. Telling Time by Flowers, “With a little time and labor it would be possible to construct a garden whose fowers would combine to make a first rate clock,” said the botanist. “It is § a. m. when the sow thistle opens,” he continued. “It is 5:30 when the dande- lion opens. It is 7 when the white lily opens. It is 8 when the hawkweed opens. At 11:12 a. m. the sow thistle closes. At noon precisely the yellow goat's beard closes. At 2 p. m. the bawkweed closes. At 5 the white lily closes, The dandelion closes at 8 sharp. Since Pliny's time forty-six flowers have been known to open and shut with great punctuality at certain hours of the day and night.” Bills of Different Birds. The bill of the canary is built for crushing seeds—has strength, but in many of the doves the bill is slender and weak. Many of the pigeons and doves that feed on seeds have gizzards taat are large and muscular—crushing and grinding being accomplished in taat way. It is difficult to say how much birds experience taste, probably in a small degree. Ducks and parrots have soft, feshy tongues, but in most birds much of the tongue is sheathed in horn. Food may be selected by intuition as to what is wholesome, more than by taste.—St. Nicholas. Purity of Milk. In Paris the municipal chemists ac- cept milk as pure when it contains one ounce of butter and four ounces of solids per quart. At Bern milk must contain at least 8 per cent of butter and may contain 90 per cent of water. At Berlin the police seize all milk of- fered for sale which is below the legal- Iy required standard of 2.7 per cent of fatty matters. This allows the daliry- men to add with safety from 10 to 13 per cent of water to fairly rich milk. . Safer. “Of course, I don't want to criticise, but I don't think it was altogether right for David to say ‘all men are liars.” ” “Well, at any rate, it was safer than to pick out one man and say it to him.” —Philadelphia Ledger. An Old Clock. The great clock at Rouen has been measuring time and striking the hours and quarters for over 500 years and, it is said, has been running all this time without interruption. Modern Gallantry. The Man (in the street car)—Take my seat, madam. The Woman--Thank you, but I also get out at the next cor- ner.—Chicago News. Calumny is the worst of evils. In it there are two who commit injustice and one who is injured. —Herodotus. rm ——
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers