Bemoreabi iat ———————————— Bellefonte, Pa., April 26, 1907. EE — OPERATIONS. They removed the patient's maszzard, chopped 1 his {lium away; They took out his pink appendix and his largest vertebrae; Set him breathing through a goose-quill they inserted in his throttle, Took his liver from its mcorings and preserved it in a bottle. In the lining of his stcmach they discerned a little flaw— They dispensed with it, replaced it witha throbble ostrich craw. Many another inward trinket they hacked out of him beside— All “successful operations” —but the patient eat strangely died. A “successful operation,” ia the lingo of the craft, The iny lady shook her bead. ‘‘Not much,’ she confessed. ‘‘We just took him in thelclub lass fall. We stodied a or fectly dreadful, is n't it? We a's ‘A Doll's House’ when I left,—my hbas- band’s business brought him to rather suddenly, —but it was a ocbance to bear is played this afternoon, No; I don’t know much abous wey a she tell that sort a ¢¢ ‘It is better to lie a little than to E 2% 88% I li : " g ar i 1s the one that lets them excavate your person | meas. fore and aft; Lets them makes cross-wise section of the gourd that holds your brain, Lets them whittle out the fixtures they declare were made in vain, “What a dreadful ignoramus the Creator was I" they sigh : “All these things had been omitted, were He wise as youand 1." Then they whet their little scalpels, lay your epidermis bare, And with “skillful operations" send you up the golden stair. Oh, my brother, when you find me mussing up arailroad track, With my legs and lights and sweelbreads piled up neatly on my back, Do not notify a surgeon—let me die in peace or pleces ; 1 am wearied out with reading of the numerous deceases That result when they “successfully” have op- erated on Some poor devil who has swallowed all their anaesthetic con, Gently—ah but surely !—kill me while I fight, with fleeting breath, ‘Gainst “successful operations’ that result in certain death. —Strickland W. Gillilan in Chicago News. THE DOLL LADY. Miss Caton settled back in her chair and drew a long and weary breath as the cur- tain went down on the first act. After all, it did n's pay to be so good-natured. She was not the dramatic critic of the ‘‘Even- ing Probe,”’ and she bad shown no common sense in her unresting acquiescence to the city editor's doubtful suggestion that, in view of Vincent's message, she take his work for the afternoon, and cover this absurd matinee exploiting of an actresa’s favorite protege. Dirke Vincent was too e to indisposition when unimportant end assignments were afoot. She called herself a coward of the first degree, too, as she uncompromisingly owned to herself her reasons for unresisting acquies. cence. ‘‘Evening Probe’’ was in the throes of acquiring a new technic, eo to speak, a new maestro having just taken whirlwind charge, and Miss Caton bad ber eye open for some special dispensation in the way of out-of-door work. For the last year she bad been in rebellious charge of the ‘‘Wo- man's Page,’’ and she felt bersell drying up with inavition and inaction. Hence her docile consent, for Rawson, city editor under the new management, was even more of a power than under the old. Yet this exhibition was a fearful thing. Miss Caton now and then indulged the no- tion that she was past pure enjoyment of anything any more, but she could still on occasion muster up primitive rage, and this mincing ohild, this too ambitions Nora, had got on her nerves tremendously, from her first appearance with bundles and bagsand buoyant breeziness. It added considerably to Miss Caton’s rage, too, to know that, owing to various causes which need not be entered into, this young stage debutante was to receive great praise; that if blame were hestowed, Ibsen and his “Doll's House’ must bear is. This after- noon site did not feel like faking her story. She was in a mood to write brutal truth, and ber knowledge that on this story ber paper would not stand for it enraged her. She looked resentfally about her. The audience was representative of she usual matinee crowd,—Miss Caton hated matinee crowds and matinee performances,—plus a large social element indicative of the strong influence back of the immatare amateur who dared to lay sacreligions hands upon serious drama. She in the boxes with a disgosted sweep of her fine eyes, and memorized a few of the names. Il worst came to worst, she could write up the afternoon from a social rather than from a dramatio standpoint. That would doubs- less please Miss Isabel Coulter, debutante actress, best of all. She frowned savagely at the buzz of matinee talk going on about her. ‘‘There ought to be a competitive examination,” she muttered to herself, ‘‘for admission to Ibsen or Shaw or Maeterlink, except for this, that it would relegate those three and their works to an endowed theater or nothing. Aud they called the mad king of Bavaria maddest when he sat alone ina theatre!” “But she did eat a macaroon, didn’t she?" Miss Caton turned quickly toward the voice. It belonged to her neighbor, a little woman, perhaps twenty-five years old, with lovely, childlike eyes and an unde. veloped mouth. She was beautifully gowned, aud her fars were superb. She wore a rather wonderful necklace that caught Miss Caton’s trained eye. It evi- dently had heen made outside of a conven- tional goldsmith’s shop, and was curiously built of copper and tawny orange stones. Miss Caton hunted earnestly for the name of the stones, and meantime contented her- sell with a monosyllabic “*Yes.” ‘But she told ber husband she did n't,” persisted the childish voice. “Yes,” she i Caton nodded again. said. ‘‘Then it was a lie she told. Why?” Miss Caton quoted a bit of Oriental phil- osophy. ‘‘It is better to lie a little than to suffer much,’ she remarked genially, without crediting her statement to ite source. ‘‘But why did she lie to her own hus- band?” Miss Caton turned square about and looked ber neighbor over. Of the ploture she had | on before there still remain- ed the lovely gown, the rich fars, the odd chain of Jawny states and copper, and the childish face; but the brow e the pusz- zled brown eyes was drawn and knotted into unaccustomed lines. Miss Caton soent- ed novelty ahead. “Do you know Ibsen?’ she inquired gently. ; “she Miss Caton’s eyes lighted up at the final- ity of the tone. She decided ona little meas. ps ever7bedy ics. ! Sho amerted. ‘y 1 ou lie, everybody lies. Ae oro eyes before ber widened and darkened in amazement and ismay. *‘Why,"’ the voice came at last in reply Ever body lea. snd Mise Caton agai n, Bln pn. Ton than in assertion. A sudden flash of resentment leaped into the brown eyes. ‘‘Not my hosbaod,’’ the tiny lady asserted loyally—‘‘not G George never lies. e could n’s lie, not even in rifles. Why, I say to him, ‘George, are your feet cold?’ and he says, Se, they 're not cold; they ’re just chil- y. Winifred Caton almost gasped aloud as she turned again and etared at ber flushed and lovely neighbor. She seemed to see George before her, so marvelously bad George's tiny wife drawn bim. She knew George, it seemed to her, as she had known few men. “And I lie,” the tiny creature went on, inarush of wild confusion. ‘I never saw it before, but I lie. Io just such little trifles—I told a lie %¢ my little boy this morning. It was something he could never find out was n't true, and it saved him from a frightful crying spell,and came true right away,as I knew it would. Do you think that was wrong? But was it right? I just said is. I never thought about it at all. I just said is because it seemed best. Is the best thing always the right thing? 1’d never tell a lie just to tell one or be- cause I was afraid to tell the truth. Do you think Nora lies because she likes to or because she ’s afraid?’’ ‘ *‘Wait,”” urged Miss Caton, gently. “I just saw the cunrtain-signal—there it goes up now. See whether you think she was afraid.” Miss Caton was intensely interested in the second act. She bad long combated Dirke Vincent's pes theory that Ibsen is an actor-proof playwright. She bad longed to make that theory the texs of her ‘‘write- up'’ of this fearful performance, and, through Miss Isabel Coulter, knock it into a cocked hat; yet was she not watch- ing that stilted young person strike Ibsen straight home to one awakening soul? Vincent's theory, hefore her unbelieving eyes, was being proved. As she curtain fell, she heard again an eager question: *‘Do youn think a woman is very right in telling any sort of lie to her husband?" Miss Caton answered, perforce, acoord- ing to her lighs, which was of she world. The brow of her interlocutor wrinkled perceptibly. ‘‘I doun’s know about it,”’ she confessed doubtfully. ‘‘It seems to me that when a woman has such a good haus. hand as I have, even as Helmer was—he was gocd te her, you know he was.” “Certainly he did not heat Nora,” as- sented Winifred Caton, reflectively. “No, indeed he did n't,’ said the tiny woman, swiftly. ‘‘He told her the truth, 00, just as George tells me. Perbaps—I don’t know. I never thought ¢o hard in all my life. I wish she would n't lie so much to him." “Wait a bit, my dear,” orged Miss Caton. ‘‘You ’ll soon hear Nora telling some truths *’ “And I must do the same thing,”’ mar- mared this small doll with a stirring soul. “I must tell George I lie—why, how much I lie you have no idea. It’s just like her. And T must tell him all aboas is.” Miss Caton leaned over quickly and pus ber hand over her neighbor's quivering one. She looked into the bright eyes— brighter with a sudden rush of brave tears, “Don’t,” she said with tender werri- ment—*‘‘don’t yen do that. Don't tell George.” **Why not?” Miss Caton sighed. ‘‘Because,’”’ she ex- plained patiently, ‘‘one should wvever choose for a judge one who can’t sin her sin. If George can't lie, don's tell George. Don's.” The brownp-clad woman hent forward suddenly. ‘‘Are you married?” she asked swiltly. “No,” smiled Winifred Caton; ‘‘I'm not married. But don’t tell George.” The tiny lady sank back distressed. ‘‘I thought you were,” she murmured. “I was sure you were. You talked all along like you knew so many things—about men, you know. I don’t know what I ’ve said to you that I ought n't te have said—"’ Miss Caton laughed a little. ‘‘Don’t be troubled,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Ah, now you are going to hear Nora tell the whole Sathetrith the sad consequences there- She smiled merrily to herself as the cur- tain rose on the last act—a smile the merri- ness of which became tinged with grimness in exact ratio to the deepening of the vital ethical problem which suddenly presented itself. Had she or had she not a right to Jurleia an involuntary interview? She rowned a bit as the negative side of the question presented itself, for a wonderfully inspiring path out of her maze of trouble over the afternoon’s assignment was open- og on: What critio could want greater . bjs Nan Wis, fituae tor bad un ngly given e opening sentence of her flashed into os first words her new acquaintance bad ut- tered. What a stunning thing is would be: ‘‘But she did eat a macaroon, did n’s she?’ A Doll Lady at “A Doll's House!” With that much of her story accounted for, Miss Caton’s tiny ethical qualms vanished. In any case, the ‘‘Evening Probe” would never be perused by the wife of such & man as the truthful George, she told herself. It : § § i i : H Eek af 4 1 HE 3 ve finality upon Winfred say good-by to you blere,” “I don’s know you—I never 5g - g § : on wonderfully. Bill, I've never seen you before to-day, and I bope I ’Ill never see you again. The first edition of the ‘‘Evening Probe’’ was already lying on Miss Caton’s desk when she a office the next morn- ing, aod she picked it up with a faint in- terest in the fate, edi and typograph- ical, of the only story she bad written in months ich vitalized by 4n sors of personal sympathy. Before she to write it, the afternoon before, she gone over to Rawson, city editor with a question pot unosually. She did not ask, ‘‘How much do you want on this story?’ bas ‘‘How much space can I bave?’’ “More than I can spare,’’ that geutle- man had growled. ‘It ’s not worth a stiok. Half a column mebbe, if youn can get it spicy enough. So she had n to write, pulling her- sell up short twice, and then giving her- self free rein, until, when she had finished, is was a column 8! She bad taken it over to Rawson herself. “Is 's a good deal longer than you order- ed,” she told him calmly, ‘bas it’s good stuff. I wish yon would read it yourself before you let the copy desk maul it up.” “All right,” Rawson had answered. ‘‘Pat it there, and I 'll send it out.” Therefore, this next morning, she open- ed the paper almost nervously atthe dra- matic page. There it was, her complete story, in the dramatic column, a double column at that, signed with her name, and with a characteristic ‘‘Prohe’’ head-line: “‘George's Cold Feet—Side-Lights of Ib. sen!” Only so much did she perceive just now, for almost immediately the men in the office began to wander over with ap- perciative remarks. Even Rawson stopped in his morning hurry to say: ‘‘Glad you let me see that first; itall went in.” The Spotting editor offered to let her write np the vext vital event in the sporting world, purely in the best interests of the paper, and not because he had any doubts but she would throw him down as she bad ‘‘swatted’’ Vincent at his own game. He offered to bet any sum that Vincent alone would see no merit in the story. When she was left to herself at lass, Miss Caton read the story over twice, once critic. ally, once appreciatively. Her own rane judgment told her it was a good story, an interesting one, and foll of meas. Then she turned disgustedly to her pile of mail and the hated task of making up the “Woman's Page’’ for the next day. She was not yet through with her letters when an interruption came. An office-boy brought a message from Mr. Marvin, new owner of **The Probe.’”’ Marvin would like to speak to Miss Caton at her earliest con- venience. . She got up with a listle thrill of antici: pation. This summons, her first one from the great wan, taken in connection with the fact that her name was blazoned on the dramatic page of every of the first edition, meant something. Her mind fled first, of course, to flaws. But the story was good, —that she would stand by, —it was good. She went out into the ball, past the brate MceKinlook’s office, with the woide “*Mauvaging Editor” displayed on ita door, and on down into she anteroom of Mr. Marvin's offices. There she found her way almost embarrassingly smooth, for without announcement the private secre- tary waved her into his nce. As she entered she cast a practised eye ahout fog indications. True enough, on Mr. Marvin's desk lay a copy of the first edition of **The Probe,’”’ open at the first dramatio page. ‘I should have eaid more about the No- | Pe® ra,’ she mused regretfolly. ‘‘He probably knows her and intended a bigger write-up for her. Bas is's good.” ‘Please he seated, Miss Caton,’ suavely remarked Mr. Marvin as she said “‘Good morning.’”’ «‘I have just read thie rather remarkable criticism of yours on yester- day's Ibsen performance. I shall not say it bas not been fall of interest, but yon have certainly made Miss Conlter merely a feeder to—the Doll Lady, I believe you call her.” So her prognostications of evil had prov- ed true. Bot Winifred Caton had long since learned the lesson of standing by what appeared over her name. ‘‘Had you heen in my place yesterday, Mr. Marvin,” she said, ‘you would have understood why the Doll Lady dominated ‘A Doll’s House'—made the latter, in fact, at all endarable. Miss Coulter is ambi- tious and has talent, but she has been ill- advised. Fraukly, the afternoon was Ib. sen and the audience. The players were virtually eliminated from the affair.” “Doubtless,” smiled Mr. Marvin, ‘had I occupied your place yesterday I should have been taken up with the Doll Lady to the exclusion of ‘A Doll’s Hoase’—not be- ing fond of Ibsen, Miss Caton, or his sort. And the moral you point here is a great one, poignantly sharpeved, that certain types of femininity can bardly digest Ib. een and the like, however adorable and charming those types may otherwise be. It is a cleverly written story, Mise Caton, and one that I appreciate to the last word— notwithstanding the bead-line man bas made the deceived George take precedence of the Plazwrisht himself. Will you take this card of mine, Miss Caton, and kindly glance at it?” . Miss Caton obediently took the card and looked casually at it ; then she in hysteric dismay. She looked at her chief, then she stared at those glaring head-lines, then she stared at the card. It read: Mr. George Marvin ‘“The Doll Lady faithfully tried to fol- low your excellent advice, and succeeded short, \thas she cut out Ibsen and any like bim. To which request she most du- tifully yielded.” Winifred Caton sat in hideous silence, ber 33a on Sous resin) bead lines. ‘1 can only say—''she began. ‘ ” broke in her chief, “in consideration of the Doll Lady’s dreadful sufferings over those scarlet sins of bers, those & must not be increased. | must add this, that she is vitally interest«d in ber busband’s work, and ully reads ber husband’s every evening, and that be really does tell her the truth too consistently to make 18 ble for him to keep this night's blication from her is Sights » the obiefs blue pencil lingered regretfully above the story, and then slashed through it, ‘‘shis story ie killed.” He glanced up at her. ‘“This is the only reason,” he cheerfully, ‘‘thas your criticism will not appear in any later edi- tion. It was due the cleverness of the story that the cause for its killing be ex- plained to its writer.” “We live and learn,’ said the clever Miss Caton, tiitely. *‘I imagined I bad George's measure to a fraction.” Her chief la a little. Then his eyes softened n. ““There are certain women,” he said. ‘“‘who by very foice of their perfect faith in pess and charity and purity and love compel a partial living-op to their own white standarde. This is all, Miss Caton, unless you can give me the name of some woman of ability and judgment fis. ted to take your work, We shall need you on the live part of the 3 “I know just the woman,’ she said, quickly. ‘‘May I send ber to you? She ueeds the work. And for mysell—"’ *“Then this in all, Miss Caton,” and he rose with gallantry and bowed her hack to the local room.—By Edna Kentov, in Cen- tury Magazine. College Standards of Honesty. Cheating on examinations and written ‘work is far too common in both public and private schools. In most cases it seems impossible to stamp the babit out. The eentiment of too many pupils, if nos active- ly favorable to cheating, is always feeble against is, regarding it an a practice to be winked at and evidence of enperior clever- ness in outwitting the teacher. Few pu- pils are ever expelled from an American school becanse they are guilty of cheating. | P! Geverally parents would make it very un- comfortable for teachers and principals who shoanld take a stern view of this fault. In spite of all the talk ahqut ‘‘honor sys- tems’’ in college, the same state of things is prevalent in many universities. The student who would refuse to help a mate in an examination, although he did not care to cheat himself, would be considered =» prig. Few cases of chearing are ever hand- led severely by college faculties. They are inclined to give the offender ‘‘another chance;' they accept in extenuation the plea that cheating was the habit in the school where he came from. The is no reason why the student cheater or grafter shonld not he dealt with more firmly. It is not good sente to protest that cheating is a youthful fault, and will be dropped as soon as the student graduates and faces ‘‘real life.”’ Although many men, who follow the vdstom and cheat in school and college, are honest enough where they meet the laws of the land, the habit of youthful dishoaesty must be morally weak- ening. A few expulsions widely reported would do much to correct student opinion on this point. A young cheat isa poten- tial grafter. De Note Oak Doomed. The famous great oak in ths beautiful park surrounding the Tampa Bay Hotel, and which is known as the De Soto oak, for the reason that De Soto camped under it when first he landed at this coast, is doomed to death, says the Tampa corre- spondent ol the Cincinnati Enguiirer. It has been attacked by a parasite which has killed whole forests in Fiorida. The parasite is in a sort of moss which blows off other trees with the wind. What- ever tree it lands on, there it aticks. The parasite burrowe into the tree. It breeds very fast, and the moss it makes grows just as rapidly. Whenever it lands on a tree, the beginning of the end for the life of that tree is a settled fact. Strangely enough, too, it produces a plant in the branches of the tree very much like a water lily in ap- rance. It blooms and produces a re- markable effect when the flowers are on. In time the moss hangs down in great con- fusion from every branch of the tree and all over its trank. The sap is sncked from the tree and its death ie but a question of time. The De Soto oak is going by the boards the same way. And it seems a great pity. It is a giant among all the great oaks of the universe. It is over 30 feet around at its base and well up its height, rears its head several hundred feet, and bas gigan- tio branches reaching out, as straight as a chalk line, for a distance of over 50 feet. It is known to be over 300 years old. But it is an ill wind that blows nobody good. The stringy moss, not much wider several strands of hair from a horse’s mane or tail, is put throngh a cleaning process in Florida and is shipped North to factories, where it is used as a substitute for hair in the stuffing of sofas and mattresses for beds. Dreams are the pirates of the sea of sleep. What should be a pleasant voyage through the night becomes a fearful strog- gle against hideous foes. Dreams are often symptoms of disease. When the stomach and organs of digestion aod nutrition are in a disordered or diseased condition the sleep is commonly broken and disturbed. To sleep well isa necessity to health. Sleep is Natures ‘‘sweet restorer,” and “‘knits up the raveled sleeve of care.’”” One of the re. sults of the use of Dr. Pierce's Golden Med- ical Discovery is sound, refreshing sleep. The ‘‘Discovery’’ heals diseases of the stomach and digestive and nutritive organs, and purifies the hlood, thus removing the common cause of weakfalness and distarb- ing dreams. It contaias noaleohol, neither opium, cocaine nor other narcotic. It cures ninety-eight per cent. of all those who give it a fair and faithful trial. Fishing Vs. Haunting. The man who can sit for hours in a boat wai for a bite may have but he is the fortitude 4 ed by the hunter who squats for hours in a cold marsh waiting for a wild duck to come his way. —A man can break ous of jail, but he's got to die to ges over having a big nose. —-There would bea of virtne in the world if there was more fan in it. — RR . The practical forest- natural adviser of companies in of new foress lande. An extensive railroad on recent- its futare supply of ties and pos. The forester was requ $0 exam- pe the tract of land in question and make his report. The report was against the ex- periment, and the forester was given a check for $1500 for his swo months’ work which would probably save the railroad company many thousands. Instead of dropping the matter there, the company requested the forester to go ahead and selecs suitable land and to rec- ommend she right trees so raise on it. The man secured a tract of land which bad heen denuded of large chestnuts and oaks, and advised its reforesting. This the company Jrovieden to do under the direction of the orester, who is retained as a salary of $4000 to develop the young forest. Another forester who was formerly in the employ of the Government now repre- sents a syndicate of timber companies who are on a still hans for all available forest land, Jonng or old. This syndicate pro- poses to follow the advice of its five-thous- and-dollar expert in all purchases. So much trust is given to him that in emer. gencies be can close bareaine with owners of wooded tracts that often involve direct expenditures of over fifty thousand dollars. Not only 18 his recommendation followed in purchasing new forest land, bus he is required to secure old denuded forests and second-growth timber land for reforesting. Several other practical foresters are en- goged today by American lomber concerns to explore the wilds of Canada for similar purposes. American $imber companies ex- peo, within the next twenty years, to get much of their lumber from the Dominion, and those which control the forest lands willbe in a Pixjtivn to control the markets for lumber. en the routes for the new Canadian transcontinental railroad were surveyed it was found that American inter- ests controlled a good part of the forests, and that, even more than the grain farm- ers, the lomber owners would profit by the projection of the new lines. Canadians ex- ressed great bitterness in this discovery, but the land was obtained in the odin way of purchase. Foreseeing the possibili- ties of this great Northwestern region, the lumber companies bave been steadily buy- ing the forest lands under the advice of ex- pert foresters. The forester is thus a man who not only understands how to cultivate the old for- ests and to reforest denuded land, but who has a shrewd business eye to the possibili- ties of great tracts in respect to their future marketing of products. A ical forest. er recently undertook to make sarveys on bis own account. He spent two years in the woods, and then emerged from obliv- ion to make propositions to a number of large lumber companies. Without disclos- ing the location of his discoveries, he ex- hibited maps with the rivers, lakes, woods and possible markets, and then offered to secure the forests at reasonable figures— not for a salary, or a lump som, but fora certain percentage of the profits. Today he is drawing an income from several com- panies much in excess of any salary he could get—an income, too, which will steadily increase as the lumber possesions are developed. The head of one of Michigan's largest lumber companies is a practical forester. He started in to eu.vey tracts of almost virgin and abandoned forest land five years ago. He offered to sell his know ledgejto two or three companies, but they did not place much faith in the value of a forester, and he was turned away from office after office. Finally, in desperation, he under- took to raise the funds among his friends to purchase the land which he knew would. rove so profitable within a few years. ith twenty-five thousand dollars in J he secured options on the forests which to- day are valued at over half a million dol- lars. He is not only at'the head of one of the largest lumber companies of the North- west, bus he is steadily outdistanciog all competitors by she novelties be is introduc- ing to increase the growth and output of bis forests. His practical knowledge of forestry has thus made him a rich man and a power in the lumber councils of the Northwest. His is not a single, isolated case. One of the most active partners of a Canadian lum- ber company is an American forester who learned his Dratession under the direction of the United States Forestry Bureau. He is considered the hess technical expert in the Dominion on all matters pertaining to forests. Many have been the large salaries offered him by railroads and other corpora- tions interested in forests. But bis services cannot be porchaved. He is interested in developing his own valuable forest tracts, and bas no time or inclination to barter his services for a salary. This suggests one of the new lines of de- velopment of modern forestry. Many of the large lumber companies are anxious to admit expert foresters into partnership with them. By giving them an interess in the husiness they secure their services inde- finitely. When a man has spent five or ten years in the great timber districts be bas acquired knowledge of a peculiarly valuable, technical nature, and this prac- tical information could easily be used great- ly to the disadvantage of any rival lumber company. What is more natural than to take the expert into the firm and secure his special knowledge for all time? The lumber companies of the future will thus be made up largely of expert foresters, practical woodsmen and shrewd business men. Such combinations are difficult to heat.— George E. Walsh. ——A doctor forbidding a patient to drink aleobolic beverages, the patient re- plied, ‘‘But, doctor, you yoursel! drink alcohol.” ‘Yes, my friend, but not asa doctor. When I do drink I do so ouly as an ordinary man.” ——*‘Poets usually Lave sad lives," said the sentimentalist. “Well,” answered Mr. Camrox, ‘‘wnt- ing the kind of things they do, I don’t see BOW, Ye would expect to be very oheer- ——Instead of sending a friend on a fool’s errand, go yourself. ——Find fault with your friends and it will make them faultier. — If & man is a loafer he bas but little to live for. Drinking Power of the Camel and the Connecticut Cow. The Christian Advocate some time ago contained an article on the camel which was a short time ago reprinted in the WATCHMAN. It seems to bave led to this en- tertaining and instructive correspondence : : KENSINGTON, CONN, Editor the Christian Advocate, Dear Sir : The article in The Chrisiian Advocate en- titled “The Ship of the Desert,” contains one statement that greatly surprises me. It is this : ‘Is (the camel) has swallowed seven gallons of water at a time.” Now I have always supposed that camels drink great quantities of water. This is the statement also of the writer of that article. But I certainly do not regard seven gallons asal quantity to be drunk by an ani- wal as large as a camel. On the contrary, I should call seven gallons a very small drink. In proof of this I have experiment- ed with a cow that was watered regular] yesterday. This morning at seven o’cl sabe was given an ordinary pail fall of wa- ter—oertainly not less than two gallons— which she drank. A$ 11 a. m. she was given free access to water which had been carefully measured, and as that time she drank seven and one-ball gallons, making nine and one-balf gallons within four hours drunk by an ordinary cow under ordinary circumstances. I bave bad no experience with camels, but I have had some exper- ience with cows from which I declare un- hesitatinly that a cow sometimes drinks as much as ten or twelve gallons at once. And if a camel drinks only seven gallons at once he must oat of the list as the champion big drinker. He ought to drink seventeen galions to make it worthy of mention,and he should drink at least twen- ty-seven gallons before he makes his boast a8 a big drinker. I am convinced thas there is a mistake somewhere in the article. Can you enlighten me on this matter ? (Rev.) J. L. RoLLINS. The editor referred the matter to Direc- tor Hornaday, of the New York Zoological Park in the x, who speaks with au- thority. His reply is appended : Editor Christian Advocate : In reply to your Togquiry regarding the drinking ca- pacity of a camel. T heg to state that she amount varies according to the species of camel, and according to the conditions. A thirsty camel will drink far more than one which is not so much distressed. A camel which bas carried 400 pounds of freight for five days without being watered, will drink from fifteen to twenty gallons ; hut this is mush above the normal amount which a camel is supposed to consume, and such a Suanshy nearly always renders the animal ill. A camel which has been three days ary | without water is usually allowed to drink about four gallons, after which he is fed, and in a few hours permitted to drink again, when he consumes about the same amouns. After three or four daye labor without wa- ter, a camel drinks from ten to fifteen gal- lous, provided the heat is great and the work has been bard. If the weather is cool and the work less, hall that amount is sufficient. W. T. HORNADAY. The camel seems to come off second best in this contest. His superiority lies not in the quantity of liquid taken hut in his unique facilities for storing the water against time of need. Party Colors. In this conntry stump-speakers some- times call their opponents ‘‘black’’ or ‘‘yel- low,”” but our parties have no regular badges of a color as in England, of which the London Speaker writes : Party colors seem to have first sprung into importance during the seventeenth century. The Levellers, we know, sported green ax their distinotive badge, and Bus- ler’s line, *‘ "Twas Pieshyterian true hlne'’ gives vs another picce of evidence. At this period, in fact, party colors were in a sense literally “‘bortowe? from re- ligion.”” Spaldiog says of the Covenauting army that there were few of them without a blue ribbon, and that at the battle of Bothwell Bridge their flag was edged with blue, while Dryden confirms this in the title to his ‘‘MacFlecknoe, or a Satire on the True Blue Protestant Poet Thomas Shadwell.” Clearly, therefore, it is the Whige who had the real title to be called ‘‘true blues,’ and the t traditional which as- signs yellow to the Liberals blue to the Conservatives has reversed the old order. The shaoge was made, probably,at the time " the Bovalution a y- Yalow was opted by the asa punning com- pliment to the Prince of and the combination of blue and yellow, which several important Whig families acoe » survives today in the cover of the in- burgh Review : “Yet mark one caution ere thy next Review Spread its light wings of saffron and of blue," as Byron sang, and Trevelyan’s lines in ‘“The Ladies in Parliament :’ “While blue and yellow streamers deck each Tory convert's brow, And bold the Carltons raise the shout: “We're all reformers now,’ * carry the same allusion. Still, the final distinction, such as it is, was not made until a century later, when Fox copied Washington's uniform and habitually came to Westminster in his famous boff waist- ooat. A scarlet waistcoat with gold buttons then indicated an admirer of Pitt, a buff waistcoat a follower of Fox, and zealous Whig ladies would appear with foxes’ tails asa headdress. From that time on the Blues and the Buffs bave kept in the main to their tradition. The politicians at the Eataoswill elections had no doubts about the matter,and other writers who described election scenes during the Jast century were ually emphatic. ‘“‘Brooke of “Tipton,” who, as readers of Middlemaioch will re- member, was a moderate reformer, ‘‘felt his heart tolerably light under his buff waistooat.”’ Again, in Endymion we are told that ‘‘the borough was suddenly pla- carded with posting bills in colossal char- acters of true blue, warning the Conaerva- tive electors not to promise their votes, as a distinguished candidate of the right sort would certainly come forward.” A still more emphatic reference comes in Popanilla, in which Disraeli satirized mod- ern England under the name of Vray Bleu- sia. And if one last example may be quoted we would ask our readers to fight over again "with us in imagination those glorious elec- shin g scenes Mee Colonel Se) e, Shas on uncompromising toleration, i routed Sir Barnes for all his blue es and brass bands.—Christian Ad- ——You can nearly who is making money doesn’t feel he has to spend it ——After inducing a man $o make a of himeelf a woman gives him the laugh. «When a sour-tem| we are reminded of woman talks ed tongue.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers