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.