Democratic Watcha
Bellefonte, Pa., April
AT THE CLOSE OF
Dear little hands, that I can hold
Within the hollow of my palm ;
Dear little frame that I can fold
Within the comfort of my arm ;
God grant those hands may ever be
Faitkfal to him, and true to me.
Dear tired feet, enchained by sleep ;
They've traveled miles at home today ;
I pray tliat God those feet will keep
Within the paths of truth alway ;
Great Guide, that they may ever be
Faithful to thee, and true to me.
1lay my boy down in tke bed,
And kiss the yieldiog fingertips ;
Dream angels throng about his head,
And slumber seal the noisy lips,
God grant those lips may ever be
Faithu! to him, and true to me,
Heart of my heart, my child, my son, ;
Thy mother's flesh is like to thine ;
1 yield thee to a mightier One
To keep thee in His strength divine—
My Samuel to God I bring,
Behold thy servant, Father—Kiog !
—Mary L. Loomis, in Good Housekeeping.
BIJIE.
Bijie sat in the cabin doorway, his chin
deep in bis hands, his eyes on the sunset
pageant. Miss Carmichael turned from the
road into the bard listle path that ran
through the doglenuel and up to the cabin
door, but be failed tosee her. Chain on
chain, towering tier on towering tier, the
sunset ranges stood out against the west.
It seemed that all the gold and scarlet and
purple the world held, or could ever hold,
had been powdered fine as dust and rolled
into the sky in one magnificent wave of
color.
When it ebbed, fading as qajekly as it
came, fomething within the little boy went
too, hurrying away through the air with
the vanished sunset.
‘‘Bijie ?”
Bijie started.
It was the lovely lady who had bought
his berries all Summer. She was walking
with buoyant footsteps, and she was com-
ing straight to the cabin door.
Bijie’s little brown face dropped down
into his little brown bands. Bat Miss Car-
michael bad seen the look she loved on his
face. Noone had ever looked at her as
this little boy did. Bijie looked up at ber
as we look up at a parting io the rain
clouds that shows us the sun once more.
Then he bad sooght shelter. He worship-
ped, but she dazzled him.
The lady laid her gloved band on the
patched shoulder of Bijie’s faded pink calico
shirt. “What were you thinking of ?'’ she
asked. ‘““Why was your little face so
solemn as the san went down 2"
‘“ Bout nothin’,” he said;
nothin’ "tall.”’
The words spoken, he lived through an
awful moment in which the hlood ham-
mered in his ears and bis throat pulsed
thickly. The night before he had eat in
‘meetin’ and heard the fate of liars. His
litle body had grown rigid with terror as be
listened. When the preacher bad cried
out iu an awful voice, ‘No liars air in thet
kingdom,” he had almost falled off the
bard, backless beneh. And now he bad
lied. He had lied !
Bijie stood up straight and stavch in the
doorway. He mes the lady's eyes bravely.
There was yet time to save lis immortal
seal.
‘I wuz pretendin’ I wuz a bird,” he
said gravely; *‘an’ I wuz flyin’ ter the top
o’ the mountings an’ lockin' over ter see
whar nit drapped to. I allus did wane ter
see hit drap other side”
Miss Carmichael’ gay langh rang out.
Miss Carmichael was past ber first youth,
but her lasgh was like a girl's. *‘Bijie,”
she said, “yon are delicious !"’
That first morning after Miss Carmichael
had come to Summer at Marsville and had
set up housekeeping for hersell,—Miss Car-
michael’s friends who owned the little
home in the mountains were summering
abroad, —Bijie bad stood at the open door,
a tin pail of berries in one band, the other
holding the fat fingers of the last year's
baby. It was then Miss Carmichael had
said those very words. ‘‘Little boy,’ she
said, ‘‘you are delicious. Which year's
baby are you?’ She bad then engaged all
the berries Bijie could pick the loug Sam-
mer through.
Miss Carmichael thought of those first
quaint words she had heard Bijie utter as
she entered the cabin. Only now she did
not laugh. The lass year's baby and the
babies of four other years flung themselves
at their mother. They retreated behind
her dingy calico skirt and clung to its dark,
ugly folds in five separate small agoniesof
sbyness. In spite of them, the woman got
to her feet, her three-montis’ baby in her
arms, and stood in awkward but sincere
hospitality, waiting for her guest to be
seated.
Standing there, her shoulders and hips
sagged weakly. At hest she bad never been
strong, and multiplied motherhood had
wasted her. Life was just a thing of dishes
that were never quite washed, of floors thas
were never quite swept, of cares that cor-
roded, of poverty that bit deeper year hy
year, but she took it all uncomplainingly.
She had taken the last baby uncompiain-
ingly, and he was her ninth year’s baby.
Unlike most mountain women, when she
bad resumed ber seat she opened the con-
versation. She showed no self conscious.
ness in the presence of one from the world
** hous
beyond the mountains. “I'm glad ye
Some, ") she said. “'Bijie set a sight o’ store
ye.
‘‘It’s about Bijie that I've come,’”’ Miss
ichael said simply. Soddenly she
leaned toward the mountain woman and
began to speak in an eager, impulsive, al-
most girlish way. ‘I've never seen such
a dear little boy,”’ she said; *‘and I’ve some
to ask you to give him to me. You bave
don’t you think you could spare
The mountain woman was silent, bat ker
hand on the calico slip the baby wore
OR rer bgt A
ow it sounds ” Miss
ichael oried. Her ed
rapidly about the disordered room. *‘I
know it sounds selfish for me to say it, hut
I'm tho of too. I da
tly tot tt uw.” Ho ‘wil
never or
with me. will be sent to the Bocet
school in the land and up to be a nse-
“And still the mountain woman i
ber hand Yuilhiog ob i rchn
Jamas s loge 1
hand. Sae had speak, bus, ouri-
A ts tg ls vests she. oid
spoken by her visitor. They ran a sort of
.
journey through her consciousness,
‘Here he has no chaoce,—not one, nof one,
NOT ONE!”
Miss Carmichael leaned forward aod aid
the soft white band from which she had
taken her glove on Bijie's mother’s rough
“Give him that chance,” she pleaded.
‘I reckin bit 'ad be the only/chancefbe’d
ever git,”’ the mountain woman said. She
had found a voice. It wasn’t her own, but
it would do. ‘‘Sometimes they ain’t no
bread here; sometimes they ain’t no meat;
sometimes they ain’t nothin’ here but
babies—jest a empty hoase full 0’ habies—
not thet I ain’t willin’ ter take what the
Good Man sends.”
A sudden pity pierced Miss Carmichael’s
heart. ‘‘You poor, poor thing !"’ she cried.
“‘Give one to me—Bijie. Ob, I'll be good
to him !”’
*‘I know ye will,” the mountain woman
said simply. ‘An’ when he gits terbea
scholar be kin write me a letter naow an’
then.” At the thought of her little boy's
being a scholar a sudden glow ran over her
plain, worn face. ‘‘Ye'll not fin’ him dilly
tarned,’”’ she said, ‘‘efl he does pinch the
baby when Igit him ter bol’ him, an’
throw the cat at thet leetle fellar thet is
afeared o’ his shadder, an’ bide behin’ the
pig-pen w.en I holler fer a bucket o’ wa-
ter.”
Bijie’s brow crinkled into anxious little
puckers. His mother’s acid truths were
drifting ont to him on the door step. She
was telling Her. He got up from the door
step and went in. is imploring little
hand plucked at Miss Carmichael’s skirt.
“I'm a master ban’ ter feed the pig,’”’ he
said. ““An’ Itote in asight o’ chips.”
Miss Carmichael emiled down at him, a
sudden mist in her eyes.
The last year’s baby and the bahies of
four other vears clung to their mother’s
ekirts as she accompanied her guest to the
door. They pulled in five separate ways,
creating five separate and distinet physical
discomforis.
“I'll bev him ready,” the mountain
woman said as parting. “I'll send him
termorrer evenin.”’
ye won't fail in a early start.”
‘‘Son,’’ the mountain woman said to
Bijie the next afternoon, and she spoke
solemnly, “‘allus remember that ye air of
pore hut hones’ folks.”” She held oat a
limp hand and said gocd-by. The woun-
tain woman was not a demonstrative wom-
an.
The wother followed with straining eyes
the little figure that went its eager way to-
ward the glory of the evening san. Now
it was just a blur on the landscape; now it
was swallowed up in the distance. Night
that bad crouched on the hills in the east
rose up and lighted the stars with silent
bands. And still the woman stood, strain-
ing ber aching eyes into the distance. The
babies cried. They came to the door and
pulled at her skirte. Bot she drew away
from them roughly.
The children had kindled a fire and were
gathered about it when the woman turned
into the cabin. As she looked at them, she
drew a breath that shook ber. Bijie could
have slipped in among them anywhere.
Bijie was only seven and little for his years,
but ob ! the gap he had left about that
crowded fire place !
Hall way across the cabin the woman
stopped. Bijie's discarded pink ealico
shirt lay in her way—Bijie’s soiled and
faded shirt. A damb, eloquent thing, it
cried out to her. She lifted it from the
floor. “Lord, Lord,”’ she whispeied,
sep we. Oncet a woman suffered fer
e." .
No knight ever rose from his accolade
with a more shining countenance than
Bijie's as he steered into thas glowing
west. On the morrow the journey into the
unkoown was to begin. He had always
wanted to travel. Oace his brother had
gone into an adjoining county aud had re.
turned to eat up a piece of pie that was for
Bijie, and the little hoy Lad sobbed oat
“Mommie, mommie! when he hed travel
ed, an’ I ain't never ben nowhar!” Now
he was going to the city. There would be
streets shining with gold. And there
would be houses high as mountains and
great high gates. Sbining angels would be
sitting on all the gates. My ! hut it would
shine—~the city ! Aud there would be no
night there. No night there. It puzzled
Bijie. Bas the thought slipped away. He
was going to learn and learn. “Figgerin’
and writin’ and geogerphy. I'm goin’ ter
larn a heap afore I die.”’ he #aid out loud,
his steady eyes on a little scarlet clond
that had curled up to show its golden lin.
ing. And jonrneying thus, accompanied
% his fancies, he came to Mis« Carmichael’s
oor.
Mis« Carmichael was there, waiting. She
pathered the radiant little figure up, out-
landish coat made from his mother’s old
blue dress, outlandish tronsers made from
bis fathei's old green velveteen hreeches,
scarlet woolen stockings, ciumsy shoes,
lank old carpet-bag and ail, and bore him
in.
It was after supper that Miss Carmichael
asked Bijie if he would like to have her
olay for him. He nodded shyly. She
looked xo beautiful as she «at at the piano !
Now and then she turned her head and
smiled at Bijie. A wave of warm red blood
flooded up to the roots of his bair when she
turned and smiled at him,
And then she sang! Bijie had never
heard a woman from Miss Carmichael's
world sing. His little body on the edge of
the sofa, rigid and aching with cmbar-
rassment, relaxed. He nestled back among
the cushion pillows, his eyes on her face,on
her soft white throat,on her moving fingers.
He wanted to his shy little face
agalus Shoes 0 Sahing Sogers,
e yearning grew in throbs of long-
ing. Once he stood up—be almost dared
to doit. Bat he dropped back among the
cushions.
Mies Carmichael carried Bijie upstairs
and laid him on the big white bed in the
room next her own. She took off all the
queer, outlandish things, a beautiful look
on her face. A strange new tenderness was
in ber eyes as she hent over and left a kiss
on Bijie’s cheek. He was here—all hers !
Oat of her richer life she bad pitied the
mountain woman, the mountain woman
who had been richer than she.
Bijie waked in the night and sat up in
bed. He put out a small band that tremb-
ied, for the darkness pushed and crowded
He'll be thar so thet |
cow would come down from the mountain
pasture, and go by, lowing and clanking
her bells merrily. There was no cow at
Bijie's home. They were too poor for such
a loxury. Bat the big old speckled hen
would fly down from her roost in the pine-
tree, and the little red buntie would come
out from under the lean-to, leading her
brood of hungry chickens, and followed by
the lazy old dog.
Quite without warning something fell
with a dull little thud into Bijie's heart.
| He didn’t know the name of the aching
| thing that had settled there; he only knew
its pain. He sat up in bed.
Outside, in the weird hall-light the trees
were swaying. Why—they were beckon-
ing. They were beckoning to him—Bijie,
And the white road was waving up and
down. It was calling to him, too.
Bijie gave a little gasp. His heart began
to swell. How it swelled ! Maybe it was
| going to burst.
Bijie’s bare feet struck the floor witha
thud. He knew why his heart hart, knew
why the trees called, why the road called.
He was coming—coming in answer to the
call.
A sudden dismay overspread his face.
He couldn't answer that call. He was go-
ing to the city to learn readin’ and writin’
and geogerphy. Banjo Branch’s rippling
waters would laugh out, but never again
because he splashed through them. The
hirds woud sing as if they meant to split
their throats, but he would not hear them.
When the sun lay hot and bright on the
chou!ders of the great hills, and the shad-
ows made hy a flying bird and drifting
cloud passed over them, he wouldn't be
there to see.
Wouldn't he ! With masouline contempt
for snoh feminine idiocy, Bijie flung off the
lney negligee Miss Carmichael had pat on
him. Miss Carmichael bado’t known what
to put on him. She had no previous knowl-
edge of litele boys unacquainted with night
clothes.
His iran little hody fairly flang itself
into his clothes. Fully dressed, carpet.
hag in hand, be stood in the doorway that
[1d from his room to hers. She had deft it
{ open,
She was asleep. Her hair was tombled
| a'wut her face. Her soft white breast was
| riving and falling under its burden of lace.
| Her hand, the one that was covered with
| shiny rings, lay on the coverlid. She look-
ed very hieautiful. Bijie's mother was nos
heautiful when slie slept. The yearning of
the night before overtook Bijie again. If
he only dared!
Bijie dropped the carpet-hag and crept
into the room stealthily. His heavy «hoes
made np sound ou the soft jugs. He drop-
ped down heside her,
| fingers,
he didn’t want to leave her !
He uttered the softest little ery of pain,
but it reached her. Her eyes flattered
open. DBijie bardly breathed.
was a dream and go back to sleep.
may he, maybe,
know.
Her eyes fluttered shut again.
picked up the old earpet-hag.
through the open window and dropped to
the gronnd below,
the cabin’s open door.
toil-ronghened, faithful
Her bands, the
hands that had
that only mothers know, were elutching
the door-jamb. She seemed afraid to let it
un. Her eves were on the long, long road
that Bijie bad taken the night before.
When the little dark moving speck ap-
peared on the road, so hright in the morn-
ing light, the woman shaded her eve« and
look at it fixedly. She could distinguish
that it was a clnld. When it resolved itself
into a hoy, into a hoy with a carpet-hag,
she trembled,
He came neater. The mountain woman
drank down the vision as one who is thirsty
swallows a great draught of sparkling wa.
ter.
When the child saw the mountain wom-
an he began to run. The wountain wom.
an ran, too. She opened her arms wide—
arms from which this year's baby and the
last year’s baby and the babies of other
years had pushed Bijie.
With the little sobbed-ont cry : *““Mom-
mie, mommie, I'd 'a’ ben a scholar ef I
conld bev. Bot Icouldn’t stan’ hit,” he
went straight into the oatstretched arms.
The mountain woman tried to speak,but
her lips would not move. She had put her
face down on Bijie's face, and it was wet,
Far and near, chain on ohain, towering
tier on towering tier,dazzling in the morn-
ing light, the mountains hung against the
sky.—the mountains that shut the two in
from the strange, hig world.—By Sara
Lindsay Coleman, in the Delineator.
Where the Patch Helongs.
A New Englander had occasion to engage
a gardener. One morning two applicants
appeared, onea decidedly decent looking
man and the other of moch lest prepossess-
ing appearance and waunner,
After very little hesitation the man of
the house chose the latter applicant.
A friend who was present evinced sur-
prise at the selection, asking :
‘‘Has that man ever worked for you be-
fore?"
‘‘No,”” replied the other. ‘‘In fact, I
never saw either of them until today.”
“Then why did you choose the shorter
man ? The other had a much hetter face.”
‘‘Face !"’ exclaimed the proprietor of the
place in disgust. ‘‘Let me tell you that
when you pick cut a gardener you want to
go by his overalls. If they're patched on
the knees, you want him. If the patoh is
on the seat of his trousers, yon don’t.”
—Success Magazine.
Ratsing Chickens.
Little Girl—Mrs. Brown, ma wants to
know if she could borrow a dozen of eggs.
She wants to put "em under a hen.
Neighbor yon've got a hen setting,
have you? I didn’t know you kept hens.
Little Girl—No, ma’am ; we don't, but
Mrs. Smith's going to lend us a hen that's
going to set, an’ ma thought if you'd lend
us some eggs we'd find a nest ourselves.
to have ac automobile ?
Eva—That’s something I wouldn’t per-
mit under any circumstances. Mourning
colors don’t become me.
"How do Supp the
bridge over orisis Bui
‘Well, not by means of their peers.”
EE ———————
One of the keenest traits of a oon.
summate rascal is a general mistrust of his
| Presently, as it grew lighter, the Joyner’
For one delicious |
moment his cheek lay on the soft, cool | ished hat.
He tried 10 breathe their perfame |
down deep into his laboring little breast |
where «0 many emotions fought for mas- |
tery. He didn’t want to leave her. Ob, |
If he kept vers still she would think it t
But | and a hot iron
when she waked she would |
| seam,
Bijie slipped back across the floor and | ed and ironed and the hat is placed on a
He climbed | lathe and polished with a stiio of velvet,
Lita illiaut gloss,
The mountain ‘woman was standing in
served her children with a sell-effacement |
| form and slizhtly enried. The edge of the
¢ ——Alice—I hear your husband is going | ghe
The Story of a Silk Hat.
|
Iu the making of the silk hat, that in- |
dispensable accessory of fashionable mas |
culine attire, comparatively little use is |
made of the marvels of modern machinery |
that play so important a part in most of |
arts and manufactures. The construciion |
of a silk hat ivclades five stages: making |
the foundation ct body (called in French |
galelle, that is ‘pie crust’' ), covering. rhap. |
ing, sewing the silk plush cover, aud, |
finally, lining and trimmiog. The body |
i= composed of several thickuesses of very |
five muslin which are wrapped around |
wooden forms (biceks) representing the
styles of the season. The muslin, before nt
is put on the blocks is stretched on frames |
brushed with a solution of shellac in wlew- |
hol containing a little ammonia, and dried |
in toe open air or in well-ventilated 1oome, |
according to the season and the weather, |
The foundation, or body, thus constructed |
is varnished. It is as hard as wood, very |
light aud absolately water-tight. If is 1s
thrown on the floor it will rebound with- |
out becoming deformed. In order to make |
the foundation exactly fit the wooden block, |
which 1 smaller in the middle than a: the |
ends, the first strip of muslin is cut bias. |
The innermost layer of the top of the hat |
consists of satin or watered silk. To this |
the prepared muslin is applied iu one or |
more layers. The foundation of the bnim |
is made of two or three layers of mouter |
muslin coated with shellac, which ate
pressed together and smoothed by a ma- |
chine which consists essentially of two!
cast-iron rollers mounted on a heavy iron |
frame avd heated by gas. This machine |
is rolled several times over the still flat
brim foundation to which it gives the 1e-
quired stilfness. The brim is then clamp-
ed between a wooden plank and a zine
plate, in each of which isa hole shgitly
larger thao the inside of the finished har,
and the jouer edge of the bnim which jito-
jects beyond the plank and zine plateis
bent at right angles by the application of a
hot iron of peculiar shape and timmed with
knives to remove the irre, ularities produe- |
ed hy this operation. The short tube thos |
formed inside of the brim foundation is
fitted to the foundation of the crown and
the two are fastened together by the apple
cation of a hot iron, the hatmaker's nsost |
important tool. Tian the entire bods re-
ceives another coat of varuish and. ofter
drying, it is ready to be covered with «ilk
plush,
The covering is in two pieces, a circle
and a rhomboid. The illustiation shows a |
gir! tracing the ontlines with cbalk on
the back of the plosh and another |
girl cutting ont the pieces. A wkiliful |
needlewoman then sews the pices togeth- |
er, for the seam must nor show in the fin- |
The plush 1s stretched tightly |
and the nap is brushed over the seams, i
In the operation of govering the hat, cash- |
mere ix glued ou the lower mide of the brim |
anid +ilk plush on the upper vide. Then the
1
| wooden block alieady used, which is com: |
i
pred of five sections, is wiapped with cos: |
ton wadding and forced into the hat body
avd smoothed and made to adbere by the
application of a wire brush, « damp sponge,
Then comes the most dil-
fienlt and delicate task of ali, the joining
of the side to the brim by an invisible
The entire surface is again dampen-
which cleans the plash perfectly and gives
The inequalities in the crown caused by
the tive parted forin on which is was forced
are removed by placing it and turning
it on a gallows-shaped heated iron tool, an
operation which requires great strength as
well as skill avd taste. The crown is now
covered with paper to protect the surface
and the flat brim is molded to the desired
brim is then sharpened with knife and
plave, covered with silk braid and finally
shaped to suit the particular style desired
or the taste of the wearer, if it has been
made to order. The final operation, per-
formed by girls, is the ivsertion of the
leather sweat band and the silk lining.
The slik bat of the twentieth century can
defy the elements. It is less ornate than
its ancients prototype of soft felt garnish-
ed with plumes, but it 1s far lighter and
more durable.
Cost of Laying Dust.
The Road Protection League, which has
been formed in Europe for the purpose of
promoting differents questions relating to
the suppression of dost and the tariing of
roads, recently held a meeting at Paris. M,
Guglielmenetti, she secretary of the league
and a leading authority on soch matters,
made some interesting statements on the
question of applying liquid watter on the
roads. According to the official reports of
the government eugineers of the city of
Paris, the Department of the Seine and
other distriots, the four years test of the
new tarring system bas given excellent re-
sults from every standpoint and quite justi
fies the expense. The latter is estimated
at $0.03 to $0.04 per square yard. Ona
main avevue of the town of Melon among
others, the annual economy resulting from
the tarring process has heen estimated at
$0.02 per square yard on the decrease of
wear and as $0.01 on the watering and
cleaning of the road, so that in fact the
cost of she new treatment is not over what
the untreated road wonld cost, and we
have the advantage of no dust or mud.
Besides the usual processes of preventing
dust, a new method has been brought out
by a French chemist, P. Delair, and it can
also be used for laying the dust inside of
houses, where coal tar cannot be employed.
The experimenter had ocoasion to make
long researches on the use of cholride of
magnesinm for laying dast. It can be pro-
cured at a very low price. As itis very
deliquescent when in solution it is very
slow in evaporating. Thus certain bodies
which are impregnated with it are able to
keep moist and thus will attract the dust
and small debris of all kinds, keeping
them down but without sticking. It seems
well adapted for floors and also for roads
on this account. Although it does not sup-
press the powdered matter, it gives ita
certain density which prevents it from
rising and dispersing different kinds of
germs. A strong solution applied twice in
two days isenough for treatinga floor.
After two hours the solution sinks into the
wood. Then the s can he done
under the bess conditions. Thedust when
raised falls
a
| tions,
Next Primery Will be June Ist.
According to the provisions of the new
primaries act which will be generally ob
served in the state, the spring election in
this and other counties will he held Satnr-
day, Juve 2, at which time candidates for
all officers to be filled até the general elee-
tion next November, with the exception of
those nomivated by national and «tate con-
ventions, wili be voted for as well as the
| officers of the various political parties.
The election will be conducted in the
various districts by the regular election
officers, who shall receive one-balf of the
com pensation allowed them as regular elec-
The polls will be open liom 2 to 8
p.m. while all licensed places must be
closed from 109 p. m
The conuty commissioners are required
under the act to provide the hallows and
other necessary supplies All the expenses
incurred through the election are to he
paid hy the counsy, which in tarn will he
reimbursed by the «tate out of funds nos
utherwise appiopiiated and expended.
All candidates for county officers, in-
cluding sheriff, (register of wills, poor
director and district attorney must file pe-
titions with the county commissioners at
least three weeks before the primary elec
tion. Fach petition most have at least
filty signatares of qualified voters. The
county commissioners shall have on file in
their office, atv least one week preceding
the primary, open to public iuspection,
forms of the ballots whicl shall be used in
tach election district within the county.
The qualification of electors entitled to
vote ata primary shall he the same as tive
qualifications of electors within the elee-
tion district where the primary is held.
Each elector shall prove his qualifications
and his identity io the same manner in
which electors in the same election in
which he offers to vote are, or hereafter |
may be, required hy law to prove their
qualifications or identity, or election day.
Each elector shail have the right toe.
ceive the bailot of the party for which he
asks. Inthe event he is challenged he
shall be required to make oath or affirma-
tion that, at the next preceding ge eral
election at which Lie voted, he voted for a
majority of the candidates of the party for
whose ballot he asked.
One of the changes which goes into effect
at the June primary is “that no elector
shall be permitted to receive any assistance
tn making his ballot anless he shall first
make an affidavit that he cannot read the
names on the ballot, or that by reason of
| physical disability he is unable to mark
his Ballot.’ Next year on account of ita
being a presidential year this primary will
be held the second Satarday of April.
The Special Delivery Stamps.
Congress at its last sescion passed a hill
abolishing the use of special delivery
stamps after July 1, 1907, and providing
that 10 cents in ordinary postage will caniy
a special delivery letter to its destination
if the word special iv written on the envel-
ope. Many people have misunderstood the
{ new law aud as a result are mailing special
delivery letters under the conditions of the
new law with the result that the postal an.
thorities can only let the letters take the
usual enurse. Many soch letters have heen
dropped at the local office. Notices will be
sent to the snbpostal stations that until
July 1 letters for special delivery must
hear the regular special delivery stamp.
Czar to Abdicate Says un Authority,
LoxpoN —The Daily Mirror claims to
be in a position to announce on the ‘high
est aathority,’’ that the Emperor of Rus.
sia purposes to abdicate ard that Grand
Duke Mitchell will be appointed regent
daring the infancy of the Czareviteh.
For the past three or four weeks, the
paper says, the events in this direction
have heen proceeding with lightning rapid-
ity in St. Peteishurg, butthe secret has
been well kept. The Daily Mirror says;
“Lately the Emperor's wind kas given
way even more completely, and he has
shown himself incapable of preforming the
smallest duties of his rank.”
To Count 175,000,000.
Fearing that some of the $175,000,000
upsigned bank notes in the vaults of the
treasury may have been stolen, Secretary
Corsleyon, at the request of the comptrol-
ler of the currency, assigned experts to
count the notes. This action is the idrect
result of the robbery of the Chicago sub-
treasury of $193,000, The task will re-
quire six clerks and 18 expert counters two
weeks to perform. There bas not been a
count for more than five years,
There bave been only two losses in the
history of this bureau. The last was in
1869, since which time there bas heen is.
sued to the banks 3 000,000,000 without
the loss of a dollar.
The Cutdoor Boy.
Let the boy learn to hit the bi t
spot with a rifle, and if war comes
can hit the button on the coat of an
enemy the first shot and does not have
to be taught to shoot over again after
he enlists. If he is familiar with guns,
boats, water and the wild woods, he
will be handy anywhere, and you can’t
lose him. Any boy who has got a fa-
ther who won't do the right thing by
him and give him a chance to love the
woods and the water and the free,
clean alr that God serves free, when
you get far enough away from man’s
city can come along with me some
e, and I will show him how to have
time of his life.—Outer's Book.
He'll Get the Girl.
Tommy Rattles was turned
when he asked Elsie’s father for
consent. The old man said that Tom-
a good boy, but lacked per-
was
cy.
t Is Tommy going to do about
it?
He goes to the old man and asks him
for his daughte. three evenings every
week.—Cleveland Plain Dealer.
His Reformation.
“Yes,” sald the reformed cannibal
chief, “I used to eat every missionary
t came out here.”
“That wae before you got religion,
eh?” queried the new missionary.
“No; before I got indigestion.”—Cath-
olic Standard and Times.
Learning.
I won $50 from Bings last
EES
ey, ow Bug know Bow
t playing
?
Sle To yet.—Lippincott's Maga-
to
sine.
FALSE ALARM OF FIRE.
A Peril Always to Be Met Promptly on
Board Ship.
It was ou board the Northern Light,
says Captain Osbon in “A Sailor of
Fortune,” that a false alarm of fire
was sounded and disaster prevented
only Ly prompt action. A passenger,
looking down through the boiler hateh,
saw the red painted bLoller fronts and,
seeing the flamelike color amid a cloud
of steam, shouted, “Fire!” Immedi-
ately the whole vessel was in an up-
roar, and a dangerotis panic was im-
minent. I was one of the underoffi-
cers.
The climax came when the quarter-
master saw a minister of the gospel on
the rail trying to lower the bow of one
of the ship's boats. I ran to him and
ordered him to come down on deck.
The minister paid no attention, and I
seized his coat tail to drag him down
by force.
Perhaps it was an old coat, for the
geams parted, and a second later I had
the ministerial coat tail in my hands.
He came down then. He was angry
and was likewise a spectacle to look
upon.
He started to call an indignation
meeting, but most of the passengers
had recovered from their fright by this
time and were inclined to be merry at
the reverend gentleman's expense.
He went raging to the captain, who
summoned me to appear. I came, still
carrying the coat tail in my hand.
“Mr. Osbon,” he said, “what are your
orders in case of a false alarm of
fire?”
“My orders,” I said, “are to stop it
by any means necessary. I may knock
a man down, throttle him or split him
wide open.”
The captain turned to the irate min-
ister.
“Those are Mr, Osbon's orders,” he
sald. “You are fortunate that it was
only your coat that was split open.”
The danger from the false alarm of
fire on shipboard is second only to
the real thing and is always a peril to
be met promptly.
SPEED OF FISHES.
Tarpon, Shark and Mackerel Are the
Swiftest of Swimmers.
When scientists desire to find out
how fast a certain bird flies, it is neec-
essary only to set up poles and note
by stop watches the time the bird re-
quires to cross the interval. The speed
of fishes is more difficult to ascertain.
Nevertheless, as the Saturday Even-
ing Post explains, estimates have been
made showing that the mackerel, con-
sidering its.handicap in size, comes
close to being the champion racer,
Unquestionably the mackerel travels
sometimes as fast as an express train
at high speed—say, at the rate of sixty
or possibly seventy miles an hour.
Other things being equal, the larger
the fish the faster it swims, just as the
huge steamboat is able to travel at a
speed much greater than the little har-
bor tug.
Undoubtedly the energy employed
by a fish of great size, such as n thirty
foot shark. when traveling at its best
gait is something tremendous. An or-
dinary tug, which represents a maxi-
mum of energy in a minimum of bulk,
utilizes about 2C0 horsepower. Of
course it is only a guess, but it would
not seem to be over the mark to sup-
pose that a seventy foot whale makes
use of 500 horsepower when it propels
its huge bulk through the water at a
rate of thirty miles an hour.
A whale, which is a mammal and not
a fish, might be compared to a freight
train if the shark is a cannon ball ex-
press, but it can beat the fastest “ocean
greyhound” in a speed contest.
The tarpon Is probably faster than
the shark. It is believed that a tarpo!
in a hurry can travel at the rate o
eighty miles an hour.
An Interrogation.
While dining with friends in Cam-
bridge, Bishop Phillips Brooks de-
scribed with much enthusiasm a col-
lege service he had recently attended.
“It was an inspiration to see all those
young men singing so heartily. Es-
pecially they seemed to throw their
whole souls into the hymn:
“Am I a soldier of the cross,
A follower of the Lamb?
Even Dr. X,, the president of the col-
lege, sang as If he felt the contagion
of inspiration.” “Dr. X. sang that?’
broke in an incredulous listener. “Does
Dr. X. believe that?’ “Oh, no,” re-
plied Bishop Brooks quickly. “He was
merely asking for information.”
An Act of Heroism.
On one occasion General Lee, while
making an observation, stepped to a
somewhat exposed position to secure
a better view and thus stood for &
moment at personal risk when General
Gracle, who was in the party, quietly
stepped before General Lee without
obscuring hig view and remained thus
covering the body of his superior until
the fleldglass was lowered and the
danger over—a simple, qulet act, but