Brora alc Bellefonte, Pa., March 29, 1907. EASTER. Within a rock-bound sepulchre asleep, The mangled body of the God-man lay, Watched by the Roman guard by night and day; What though the air with lamentations deep 1s filled, the sobs and cries of those who weep Unheeded are. The angels guard their prey, Dety the foe, great Cesar’s laws obey; What power can wrest the charge they proudly keep? But, lo! the startled earth with terror quakes, A seraph from the throne of God descends, The Roman soldiers strew the ground for- lorn; The Lord of battles from His slumber wakes, A Victor! Man's redemption grandly ends; Hail, Hero-King! hail, resurrection morn ! Chazy, N. Y.—By the Rev. Joseph C. Booth, THE PASSING OF THE FRIGID ZONE. ‘‘Where are you my pretty maid?’’ Sang a gay rt aE e Staoton whirled lightly into the room. “To § Zone ry sige Mildred Gates, grimly folding her skirts. “To the frigid zone! What arctic ex- plorer has consented to be burdened with the giddy Miss Gates?’ “For mercy’s sake, Miily, don’t go off exploring any more counties. There are too many now,’’ groaned another girl, with “Physical G » to i ne Ie round face on on her “Don’t you worry, Susie. I’ve explored every nook and corner of the frigid zone ¥m going to, and I'll never be tem to write a book about it. I ought to be well balanced in regard to climate, for I spend my time in the frigid, the torrid, and the temperate zones alternately.’’ “Why, Milly, you told me you never was ous of the United States, and I am sure this country don't run into the torrid aone. YiMy dear child, I was speaking figura- tively. My summers are spent with Aant Clara—that is my torrid zone, for she fusses after me and keeps me in hos - water con- tinually about my olothes, bebavior, and life in general. She is a society woman, and considers it her duty to fashion me for balls and parties. The temperate zone is at Aunt Flora’s. She bas a whole tribe of boys and girls, and it is a fine place to live, if she basn’t much money. I spend most of my time with her, though Aunt Maria has told me more than once that she in- tends to leave all her money to me.” ‘“All the history that was ever worth re- cording happened in the temperate zone,” put in Suste, “Professor Brown said so this morning.” “Don’t interrupt the lady,’’ said Elsie, frowning at Susie. ‘‘Go on, Mildred, Tell us about the frigid zone.” ‘‘Well, that is at Aunt Maria’s,and I am packing to go there this blessed minute. Of all the chilly places I ever was in, her big elegant house is the chilliest.”’ “I am truly sorry for youn,’’ said Elsie. ‘Is must be dreadlul to visit there, and at Easter of all times in the year. It seems to me Easter should bring joy and bap. ness to every living creature more than any other season of the vear,”’ y goodness, Elsie, if you keep on like that Milly will think she is the forlornest girl in the world. You don’t either one of you know what real trouble is. This morn- ing Professor Brown said if my grades in geography didn’t improve in a harry he'd write to my paw and my maw about them. Did you ever hear of anything so horri- ble?"’ aud she refreshed herself with a fas oandy. “If I bad a father and a mother all the teachers might report me every day, for I wouldn’t have to go visiting around among my relatives. I feel sorry for Aunt Maria, and it muss be a trial for her to have me even for a week or two. Her hushand died years ago nnd she never bad any children, 80 she lives all alone, exoapt for the two faithful people who have been with her for inost of her life. I wonder why people grow stately and coid-as they get older. Perhaps when Aunt Maria was a girl she was as lively as her niece.” “Frivolous is a bitter word,” said Sasie from the depths of her book. ‘‘You know there was a time when the frigid zone was as warm as the torrid, so maybe your aunt was giddy as you are.” ‘What caused it to cool off?” inquired Elsie. “I'll examine you to see if Mr. Brown was unjust in his verdict about n “The sun shilted its position,’’ came the gis answer, and then as the two girls aughed in epite of themselves she added, ‘‘Anyway, something happened.’’ “I don’s believe even the sun's shifting its position would thaw out my arctic re- gions, If it ever does I'll let yom know, Susie. In the meantime you must admit that I am the forlornest girl in the school, if not in the whole world.” ‘‘How about little Bess Adams? Her folks live in Montana, and she is the only girl here who will have to stay during va- cation. Think of spending a week ina place where cleaning is the order of things from morning sill night. I asked her to 20 home with me, but she is such ashy little thing that I conldn’t coax her to eay yes." “I wonder if she would go with me. Misery loves company, and perhaps Aunt Maria's is a trifle better than this big build- ing when the teachers and scholars are away.” ‘Of course she wounld,”’ cried both girls. ‘She fairly worships youn.” That night, when Bess Adams was sleep- ing soundly with ber arms around chubby die Bliss, Mildred stole softiy down to the sitting room for a talk with Aunt Flora. Mrs. Bliss was darning stockings for her romping little folks’ and looking up to say, ‘ I’m glad yon came down, dear. e can have our nisit now. Is your friend asleep?’ ‘‘Yes. Did you ever see anyone so happy as Bess? It seems they have a lot of little folks at howe and she was striving to hug them, so your babies saved her life. She is an odd girl and makes few friends. Her father is quite well off and wants to edu- cate his children in the East, but itis dreadful for poor Bess.” “My dear child, if the le of Massa- chusetts conld hear you calling Ohio the East, I don’t know what they would say to you. When we lived there Ohio was always ‘out West,’ and my listle girl friends used to ask in their letters if the Indians gave us any trouble. ‘Aunt Flora, was Aunt Maria always as stately and cold as she is now?” asked Mildred, suddenly. ~ “No, there was a time when she was the gayest girl in the town where we lived, J | think you are old enough to hear her sad , and I am sure you will be more sor- ever for her. Before you were only son stole a large sum of mon- ran away. Her husband was one New Eogland Paritan descend- would allow her no communica- debs. After he 816d Maria tried Ta. every way to find James, but has never heard a word from him.”’ » “I never knew she bad any children,” said Mildred, with wide eyes. *‘So this is the reason she always seems so cold. Poor gas § : Aunt Maria!” ‘She bas never been the same woman since James ran away. I think he must bave died in the West under an assumed boy. Let us talk of something happier, so you will bave pleasant dreams tonight, Milly.” Bo motherly Mrs. Bliss told of the and candy eggs safely stored in the drawers of ber dresser, to be t out on the joyful Easter and of the beaatifal lillies to decorate the stately church, but it was jou alley midnight before sleep came to Mildred. She finally closed her weary eyes with a fervent prayer that Aunt Maria might find her lost son. Mildred and Bess arrived as Mrs. War- ren’s late in the afternoon, but that lady was in bed with a sick headache, and the house seemed gloomier than ever. The cook gave them a launch in the solemn dining room, and then they wandered to the library to read and doze the gray hours away, for a fitful rain prevented them from going ont. On one pretext or another the housekeeper, who had been in the house almost as long as the mistress, wandered in and ont ill both girls had the uneasy feeling of bei watohed. At last she said, ‘Mies Mildred, il your friend will excuse you a few minutes I'd like to speak to you. Your aunt is no better.” ildred hastily followed her from the room, expecting to hear that Aunt Maria was dangerously ili, but the instant they were alone in the housekeepei’s room the old lady said, ‘‘It is not ahout your aunt, except indirectly, that I want to speak to you. It may be that my eyes are bad, but that young girl in the library looks so much like Miss Maria's poor dead sou thas Iam afraid to bave them meet. Who is she and where is she from?’ ‘‘Her name is Bess Adams and her folks live in Montana,’ said Mildred, astonished beyond measure. ‘‘Her father is living, though.” . “It may be only an old woman's fanoy, but she is the image of poor James. The same delicate, dark face, the same eyes and everything. Your aunt will not be down this evening, so you show her the portraits in the old ily album. It may be she will speak of the resemblance, for there are many pictures of him there. Adams is a family name, too. Your aunt was Maria Adams before she was married.” It was like a dream to Mildred as she went back to the library and got down the big leather-covered book. ‘‘You look pale, Milly. Is your aunt worse?”’ asked tbe unsuspecting Bees, “She can’t come down to tea this even- Sug us Mrs. Mills thinks she will be able to be up tomorrow. Come over by the win- dow; I want to show you some pictures. When I was a little girl I always bronght out the family album on all occasions, so I'll play I'm six today. Aunt Maria hasa few of my baby faces in bere that you would never recognize.’ “I'll fixup the fire and torn on the lights,” said Mrs. Mills, hovering near as the girls established themselves hy the wisdow, ‘Papa has a picture of a lady dressed like that,’’ said Bess, looking at au old por- trait of Mra. Warren in the exaggerated style of hairdressing and the much-trimmed dress that prevailed twenty years before. ‘‘He wears it in a little locket hung around his neck. I never saw it Lut once, but I remember the lady wore a dress like this and had her bair all piled up, till I wonder- ed il it took a whole paper of pins todo it.” Mre. Mills’ fingers shook so hard that she could scarcely trust herself to bandie the costly vase in which che was slowly ar- ranging some roses and waiting breathless: Jv for Bess to see the boy pictures of James Warren that followed those of his father and mother. “Why this picture looks like papa!" Iaughed the innocent girl. *‘Isn’t it fun- ny that I thought the lady resembled the portrait in papa’s locket, and here is papa himself, only, of course, he is older now?" **What is your father’s name, child, and where is he?’ asked a trembling voice from the shadowy doorway, and Mrs. Mills uttered an involontary scream to see her iskrees standing pale and tearful before er. Bess was as much started ae the rest, but she managed to say, ‘‘Papa’s name is John Adams and we live in Montana.” Mildred and Mrs. Mills expected to see Mrs. Warren faint away, but she took the bewildered Bess in her arms and sobbed brokenly, ‘I thank Thee, O Lord, that Thou hast permitted me to see this day,’ over and over again. Such a joyful Easter as it was, after all! John Adams, ia response to long telegrams frem his mother and daughter, hastened with his wife aud little ones over the wide States that separated them to take his rightful name and place once more, while in the big mansion the mother waited im- patiently to clasp bim in her arms. "This meeting was not all accidental, as you suppose, mother,’’ said James Warren as he stood in his boyhood room and found there his treasures intact. ‘'I have kept watch over you ever since I ran away, and I sent Bess to school here in the hope that she might sometime see you and revive the love I was afraid I had crushed forever. I bave gained a comfortable fortune by my own efforts, but, best of all, I have gained your forgiveness. I am sorry it is too late to ask father’s pardon.” ‘‘His last words were of you, son. He eaid he had been too harsh, and I am sure he knows we are together now,"’ said Mrs. Warren, solemnly. ““The frigid zone is no more. The son changed his position,’ read Susie from the telegram Mildred sent. “‘It’sa wonder those stupid operators don’t learn to spell,” remarked Susie. ‘‘Sun with an ‘0’. Who ever heard of euch a thing?" But the operator was correct in his spell- ing, as e learned afterward. The son had shifted his position and Mildred’s phy lacked one zone. As the Easter Il rang out the glad message that He who died to save His people from their sins had risen again, Mildred looked from one to the other at the crowd in the pew where for years Aunt Maria had spt alone, and smiled bappily. The Sun of righteons- ness had transformed the frozen heart of her aunt into a place which henceforth should blossom as the rose.—By Hilda Richmond.—In The Christian Advocate. Kitty Gordon, who came to America to sing at a salary of $250 a week, has obtain- ed a judgment against the Accident Insur- ance Company for $5000 for a fur coat which was stolen from her. The Picture That Brought a For- tune to a Poor Painter. AN AUCTION ROOM ROMANCE. Dramatic Incident of the Sale That Brought a Dealer and a Collector Into Competition For the Starving Artist's Masterpiece. Samuel Duhobret was a poor painter whom Albrecht Durer, the famous en- graver and artist, had admitted into his school out of charity. He was em- ployed in painting signs and the coarser tapestry then used in Germany. He was about forty years of age, little, ugly and bhumpbacked. He was the butt of every iil joke among his fellow disciples, but he bore all with patience and ate without complaint the scanty crusts given him every day for dinner, while his companions often fared sumptuously, Poor Samuel had not a spice of envy or malice in his heart. He would at any time have tolled half the night to assist or serve those who were wont oftenest to laugh at him or abuse him loudest for his stupidity. True, he had not the qualities of social humor or wit, but was an example of inde- fatigable industry. He came to his studies every morning at daybreak and remained at work until sunset. Then he retired into his lonely chamber and wrought for his own amusement. Duhobret labored three years in this way, giving himself no time for exer- cise or recreation. He said nothing to a single human being of the paintings he had produced in the solitude of his cell by the light of his lamp. But his bodily energies wasted and declined under incessant toil. One morning Duhobret was missing at the scene of his daily labors. His absence created much remark, and many were the jokes passed upon the occasion. No one thought of going to his lodgings to look after him or his | frame shook with agitation; he made | remains, Meanwhile the object of two or three efforts and at last cried their mirth was tossing on a bed of | sickness. Disease, which had been slowly sapping the foundations of his strength, burned in every vein; his eyes rolled and flashed in delirium; his lips, usually so silent, muttered wild and incoherent words. In his days of health poor Duhobret had his dreams, as all artists, rich or poor, will some- times have. He had thought that the fruit of many years’ labor disposed of to advantage might procure him enough to live, in an economical way, for the rest of his life. He never anticipated fame or fortune. The height of his am- bition or hope was to possess a tene- ment large enough to shelter him from the inclemencies of the weather, with means enough to purchase one com- fortable meal per day. Now, alas, however, even that one | hope had deserted him. He thought himself dying and thought it hard to die without one to look kindly upon him, without the words of comfort that might soothe his passage to another world. He fancied his bed surrounded by fiendish faces, grinning at his suf- ferings and taunting his inability to summon power to disperse them. At length the apparitions faded away, and the patient sank into an exhausted slumber. . He awoke unrefreshed. It was the fifth day he had lain there neglected. His mouth was parched. He turned over and feebly stretched out his hand toward the earthen pitcher from which since the first day of his illness he had quenched his thirst. Alas, it was emp- ty! Samuel lay for a few moments thinking what he should do. He knew he must die of want if he remained there alone. But to whom could he apply for aid in procuring sustenance? An idea seemed at last to strike him, He arose slowly and with difficulty from the bed, went to the other side of the room and took up the picture he had painted last. He resolved to carry it to the shop of a salesman and hoped to obtain for it sufficient to furnish him with the necessaries of life for a week longer. Despair lent him strength to walk and to carry his burden. On his way he passed a house about which there was a crowd. He drew nigh, asked what was going on and received for an answer that there was to be a sale of many specimens of art collected by an amateur in the course of thirty years, It has often happened that col- lections made with infinite pains by the proprietor were sold without mercy or discrimination after his death. Something whispered to the weary Duhobret that here would be the mar- ket for his picture. It was a long way yet to the house of the picture dealer, and he made up his mind at once, He worked his way through the crowd, dragged himself up the steps and after many inquiries found the aue- tioneer. That personage was a busy, important-like man, with a handful of papers. He was inclined to notice somewhat roughly the interruption of the lean, sallow hunchback, imploring as were his gestare and language. “What do you call your picture?’ at length said he, carefully looking at it “It is a view of the Abbey of New- bourg, with its village and the sur- rounding landscape,” replied the eager and trembling artist. The auctioneer again scanned it con- temptuonsly and asked what it was worth. “Ob, that is what you please— whatever it will bring,” answered Du- hobret. “Hem! It is too odd to please, I should think. I can promise you no more than 3 thalers.” Poor Samuel sighed deeply. He had spent on that piece the nights of many months, but he was starving now, and the pitiful sum offered would give \ SURPRISED ARTIST bread for a few days. He nodded his . head to the auctioner and, retiring, | took his seat in a corner. | The sale began. After some paint- | ings and engravings had been disposed of Samuel's was exhibited. “Who bids | at 3 thalers? Who bids?" was the ery. | Duhbobret listened eagerly, but none answered. “Will it find a purchaser?” | said he despondingly to himself, Sun | there was a dead silence. He dared | not look up, for it seemed to him that | all the people were laughing at the folly of the artist who could be insane | enough to offer so worthless a plece at | a public sale. | “What will become of me?’ was his | mental Inquiry. “That work is certain- | ly my best.” And he ventured to steal ' another glance. “Does it not seem that | the wind actually stirs those boughs and moves those leaves? How trans- parent Is the water! What life’ breathes in the animals that quench | their thirst at that spring! How that ' steeple shines! How beautiful are those clustering trees!” This was the | last expiring throb of an artist's van- ' ity. The ominous silence continued, | and Samuel, sick at heart, buried his face in his hands. “Twenty-one thalers,” murmured a faint voice just as the auctioneer was tallest ¢ rant and the albatross, the frigate bird lays but one egg. It lives by fish- | ing and also by robbing other fishers of what they have caught. In plumage | the frigate bird is brownish black, with | metallic green and purple reflections. | The dilatable throat sac in the male is | of bright scarlet, while the female, of a | duller general hue, has a white patch | on the breast. It is a beautiful sight ! to watch one or more floating overhead | against the deep blue sky, the long forked tail alternately opening and shutting like a pair of scissors and the | head, which is, of course, kept to wind- | extended, though the breeze may be ! constantly varying in strength and a. | rection. | ! An Egyptian Custom. | More than 1,000 years ago Herodotus ' mangroves. Like the cor- ' rid at the theater in which he was playing “as a memento of the occasion.” “My dear young lady,” the actor re- plied, waxing sarcastic as he realized what had been the object of the at- tention he had been paid, “I would be glad to send you the seats you ask for, but, on consultation with the manager of the theater, I have been informed that the seats are all fastened down and that he is opposed to having them sent away as souvenirs In any event, so that you will have to be contented with an autograph for a souvenir of r benevolence of yesterday In- —Harper's Weekly. Beats Radium For Cost. If you object to paper money, but wish to carry big values in small com- § re about to knock down the picture. The E£YPt. At a certain season of the | pefied year the Egyptians went into the des- He Oe va ey. ert, cut off branches from the wild from whose lips those blessed words Palm and, bringing them hack to their had come. It was the picture dealer | Rardens, waved them over the flowers to whom he had first thought of ap- | Of the date palm. Why they performed plying. this ceremony they did not know, but “Fi thalers!” cried a sonorous oe This time a tall man in black | the date crop would bé poor or wholly was the speaker. There was a silence | !°5t. Herodotus offers the quaint of hushed expectation. “One hundred | XPlanation that along with these ”m Shalessl oat length Yrundered the ie- | certain flies possessed of a “vivifiv vir- “Three hundred!” “Five hundred!” | tue,” which somehow lent an exuber- “One thousand!” Another profound si- | ant fertility to the dates. But the true lence, and the crowd pressed around , Mtionale to the incantation is now ex- the two opponents, who stood opposite plained. Palm trees, like human be- each other, with eager and angry looks, “Two thousand thalers! cried the | Plants, the date bearers, were females, picture dealer and glanced around him the desert plants were males, and the mphantly when he saw his adver- ta ion “Ten thousand!” vocif- | Males meant the transference of the erated the tall man, his face crimson | fertilizing pollen from the one to the with rage and his hands clinched con- ; Other. rr vulsively. The dealer grew paler; his - The Dangers of the Mines. Great and mystically dreadful is the | earth from a mine's depth. Man is in the implacable grasp of nature, Ithas only to tighten slightly and he is crushed like a bug. His loudest shriek of agony would be as impotent as his final moan to bring help from that the crowd. It was too much for the , fair land that lies like heaven over his dealer. He felt his peace was at stake, , bead. There is ..u insidious silent en- “Fifty thousand!” exciaimed he in des- | ey in the gas. If the huge fanwheel ration. It was the tall man's turn | OD the top of the earth should stop for o hesitate. “Again the whole crowd | @ brief period there is certain death, were breathless. At length, tossing | and a panic more terrible than any his arms In defiance, he shouted, “One occurring where the sun has shone en- hundred thousand!” The crestfallen Sues down under the tons of rock. If picture dealer withdrew, The tall man @ man may escape the gas, the floods, victoriously bore away the prize. | the “squeezes” of falling rock, the cars How was it meanwhile with Duho- ' Shooting through little tunnels, the pre- bret while this exciting scene was go- ; carious elevators, the hundred perils, ing on? He was hardly master of his ' there usually comes to him an attack senses. He rubbed his eyes repeatedly of “miner's asthma” that slowly racks out, “Twenty thousand!" His tall opponent was not to be van- quished. He bid forty thousand. The | dealer stopped. The other laughed a low laugh of insolent triumph, and a murmur of admiration was heard in and murmured to himself, “After such A and shakes him into the grave—Ste- a dream my misery will seem pore : phen Crane. cruel!” When the contest ceased, he | ———-— rose up bewildered and went about Ptolemy's Big Boat. asking first one, then another, the price Ptolemy (Phiiopator) was foud of of the picture just sold. It seemed building big boats. One of these is that his apprehension could not at said to have been 420 feet long, 57 feet once be enlarged to so vast a concep- ' broad and 72 feet deep from the high- tion, ! est point of the stern. This vessel had The possessor was proceeding home- four rudders or what some would call ward when a decrepit, lame and hump- | Steering oars, as they were not fasten- backed invalid, tottering along by the ed, each forty-five feet long. She car- aid of a stick, presented himself before ried 4,000 rowers, besides 3,000 ma- him. He threw him a piece of money | rines, a large body of servants under and waved his hand as dispensing | her decks and stores and provisions. with his thanks. “May it please your Her oars were fifty-seven feet long, honor,” said the supposed beggar, “I and the handles were weighted with am the painter of that picture,” and lead. There were 2,000 rowers on a again he rubbed his eyes. side, and it is supposel that these were The tall man was Count Dunkels- i divided into five banks. That this ex- back, one of the richest noblemen in traordinary vessel ever put to sea is Germany. He stopped, took out his doubted, but that she was launched pocketbook, tore out a leaf and wrote , and used at times, if only for display, on it a few lines. “Take it, friend,” Several historians are agreed. said he; “it is a check for your money. »” Adieu.” ; . Getting Round It. Dubobret finally persuaded himself: A famous mountaineer said of moun- that It was not a dream. He became tain climbing at a dinner in Brooklyn: the master of a castle, sold it and re-| “Peaks that seem inaccessible may solved to live luxuriously for the rest be climbed by turns and twists. Mcun- of his life and to cultivate painting as tain climbing is a question of getting a pastime. But, alas for the vanity of around the bad places. Getting around human expectation, he: had borne pri- | your difficulty—that is the secret of vation and toll. Prosperity was too mountain climbing. Liszt, the great much for him, as was proved soon aft- musician, had the ability to get around - parm | they knew that if they neglected it’ branches there came from the desert | ings, are male and female. The garden | waving of the branches over the fe- | er when an indigestion carried him off. His picture remained long in the cabl- net of Count Dunkelsback and after- ward passed into the possession of the king of Bavaria. The Ruling Passion. It is an evident fact that the body when it has long been a slave to evil passions finds it next to impossible to | break its chains. The mind may pas- | slonately desire righteous living, but | the abused nervous system, fallen into | iron habits, refuses the soul's behest. | Canon Gore wrote that he was once | things; hence I am sure he'd have made a good mountaineer. Once at a dinner Liszt's hostess cried in a horri- fied voice that there were thirteen at : table. “‘Don’t let that alarm you, madam,’ sald Liszt, with a reassuring smile, ‘T'll eat for two.'” If Lion Pulls and Horse Pulls. If a lion and a strong horse were to pull in opposite directions, the horse would pull the lion backward with comparative ease. But if the lion were hitched behind the horse and facing in present at the deathbed of a pick- | the same direction and were allowed to pocket, a man who professed himself | exert his strength in backing he could to be sincerely penitent and who be- | easily pull the horse down upon his lieved in the forgiveness of sins. | haunches or drag him across the ring, He had said goodby to this world, ' 80 much greater is his strength when and the clergyman sat by his side exerted backward from the hind legs waiting for his last moment to come, | than in forward pulling.—Chambers’ Suddenly the sinking man exclaimed A Journal. in a hoarse and painful whisper: i “Look out for your watch.” : They were his last words. He had | died In their utterance, and the clergy- | man’s watch was found in his lifeless hand. He had not been able to resist the nearness of an article that could be stolen. His enfeebled will could not prevent the muscles from falling into their old habits, but his mind- his soul, shall we say ?—protested to the last.— London Standard. Polish. “You have a bright look, my boy,” sald the visitor at the school. “Yes, sir,” replied the candid youth. “That's because I forgot to rinse the wap off my face good.” I The Nursery of Statesmen. A debating society in which the members are really keen is an Institu- tion of immense value in a school or a house. Success in the school debating society is frequently the beginning of a great career. — O. C. Williams in “The Captain.” Then the Mercury Froze. “I think London is a lovely place for a honeymoon. Don’t you, dear?’ “Yes, darling,” he replied in an ab- stracted manner. “I shall always come here in the future.,”—Stray Stories, Some evils admit of consolations, but there are no comforters for dyspepsia and the toothache. —Bulwer, | pass, you might do worse than lay in | a stock of best lenses for microscopes. | Weight for weight, gold is not nearly | 80 valuable as glass In the form of powerful lenses, and an ordinary purse filled with such lenses might easily represent a fortune. The record in- crease in the value of the manufac- tured article over the raw material is probably made by this variety of glass, which multiplies itself 50,000,000 times. ; The front lens of a micro objective {n- | strument costing about £1 weighs no | more than about .0017 of a gram: , hence the value of such lenses to thé , Weight of about two and a quarter pounds would be about £600,000. The | cost of making this weight of glass ls , 13% pence to 3 pence, and thus I worked up into the shape of a lens glass has increased in value about 80, | 000,000 times.—London Express, al A Battle of Butterflies. =~ “A battle of butterflies,” said the | Japanese viscount firmly. | “Impossible!” cried the lady on his right. { “Oh,” the viscount insisted, “the thing is authenticated. It happened on | Aug. 20, 1889. Tales and poems with- out number have been written on it. | On the evening of Aug. 20 two oppos- ing armies of the butterflies fought an | aerial battle between Nojima and Ka- vasaki Mura. The fight continued till 1 sunset, when the smaller army turned and retreated, the victors pursuing it till all were lost in the rosy sunset | haze. The ground beneath the combat was thickly strewn with wounded and i dead warriors. The battle drew a thou- sand people. It occurred about thirty | feet up in the air. The spectators were amazed and horror stricken to see these gentle blue butterflies grappling and struggling furiously and silently in a blue blizzard above their heads.” i The Bookplcte, An ex libris, or bookplate, is a small | plece of paper whereon is printed the owner's name and pasted on the in- side cover of a book—in other words, it is a printed slip to denote the owner- ship of books. A proper ex libris shoull have, first of all, the name, boldly and plainly printed, and a space left for the number of volumes contained in the library; then, to make it more in- teresting and personal, some decora- tive device of the owner's peculiar and individual choice as well as some fa- vorite motto, if desired. In Europe those who have the right use family crests or armorial bearings for their ex libris. Every well regulated library should have some mark of ownership, and the ex libris takes the place of the owner's signature, 3 - ’ oF Moths and Butterflies. Some moths look very much like but- terflies, but there are two ways in which you can always tell the one from the other. Each has little slen- der feelers growing from the head, but the butterfly’s feelers, or antennae, as they ave called, have knobs on the ends. The antennae of the moth some- times have tiny feathers on them and sometimes little spires, but thy are never knobbéd. Then, too, in alight- ing the butterfly always holds her wings erect, while the moth’s droop or are nearly flat, No Longer Worried. | “I thought’ said the visitor, “I'd drop in and tell you what your hair re- stor did for a friend of mine. he started to using your elixir there were only a few hairs on his head, but now it's compietely covered.” “Indeed?” explained the patent med- icine man, “Yes: by six feet of earth.”—Catholic Standard and Times. A Martyr. The Friend—If your married life is so unhappy, why don't you get a di- vorce from your husband? Unhappy Wife—Because he would then marry some other woman and make her un- happy.—Chicago News. His Intelligence. Purchaser—You told me that parro I bought of yon was the most intelli- gent bird in your collection, while the fact is he doesn’t talk at all. Dealer— That's what I meant when I spoke of his intelligence. The Secret. He—Why did you tell me this if it was such a secret? She—But if didn’t tell it to somebody how co anybody know I could keep a secret?— Baltimore American, Age does not make us childish, as some say. It finds us true children.— ! Goethe.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers