Pa., May 24, 1907. Bellefonte, FOUR DOGS. There were four dogs one summer day Went out for a morning walk, And as they journeyed upon their way They began to Isugh and talk. Said dog No. 1, “I really think My master is very wise ; For he builds great houses tall and grand That reach clear up to the skies,” Said dog No. 2 in a scornful tone, “Ho! Ho! That's wonderful—yes ! But listen to me ! My master writes books, He's sold a million, I guess.” Then dog No. 3 tossed his curly head And gave a sly little wink. “That's nothing to tell !| My master is rich, He owns half the world, I think !” The fourth little dog had been trotting along With a wise, reflective mind, At last he said with a happy smile, “My master—he is kind Now if your opinion should be asked, I wonder what you would say-— Which dog paid the sweetest compliment To his master on that day ? —Alice J, Cleator in Pets and Animal, OUT OF THE HOUSE OF BONDAGE. Long lanes of light reached from the windows of Kesterson’s mill toward the black, silent hills which circled the little oup-like valley. The village was asleep, except for the [actory that throbbed all night like a heart— or an ulcer. It was chilly March; a veil of thin leafage lay un. seen upon the still, sombrous forests about: but within the mill the noise and heat were terrible. Kesterson’s bad not yet put in an electric lighting plant, and the great flar- ing flames of gasoline gas, with nettings of wire about each burner for safety, made the room stifling. There was no system of ven- tilation or air-moistening, and the lint hung palpitating above the heads of the workers, since even such inadequate win- dows as there were could not be opened to admit the gusty night breeze. It wasa miserable old building, unfit for its pur- pose, gorged with antiquated and often worn-out machinery, which must be operat- ed by cambrous and superseded devices. The flimsy floor heaved like a deck, as the looms banged and thumped ont their monot- onous clamour of creation. The very atmosphere seemed to jar about asleepy boy of seven who dragged himself from loom to loom with a basket tray of bobbins slung to his thin shoulders by a strap— the new cotton mills of the district bad wheeled boxes for carrying these things about. But Kesterson’s was hehind in everything, and only able to compete in prices because of the cheap labor— the lit- tle children— available, at band, ready to take the place of improved machinery. *‘The Old Man,’ as everybody in the fac- tory called Abner Kesterson, managed to wring a doable profit from his investment by running a night shift twelve months in the year. Nighs shift— work from six in the evening till six the next morning—- with a hundred and swenty children under ten years of age on his pay-roils! Nobody would hire for nighs-work alone, except at an advanced price; so those who sought em- ployment here must work night and day shift on alternate weeks. Just now Irenus Bosang, the seven-year- old bobbin carrier, was having visions which might almost have heen called dreams, 80 near asleep was he. - Out of the noise and the clamor the child's sonal drift- ed away to the squalid little room in a board shanty which he called home. Two other families regarded the hnildiog itself in the same light ; hat the one room had held Irenus's dying mother, and the little sister who went before hie was old enough to work in the cotton mill. At this time—it might have been about eleven o'clock —his father was there snoring on the hed, if be had as yes got home from the saloon across whose counter went most of the boy's earn- ings. Irenus's father, Gord Bosang, hada ‘“‘misery’’ in his back which prevented his working anywhere. Irenus's misery was all over him bat not interfere with his toting bobbins. . Now as he plodded up and down his ap- pointed track, delivering the spools where the waiting boxes were empty. the tempest of noise and dust and flying lint seemed to ewim quite away from him, and he saw his mother lying on her hed, coughing out the remnant of that life which was not spent at a loom. After that came the desolate little funeral, winding ap to the gullied, red clay graveyard, a lame mule pulling hard at the wagon iu which the coffin lay, himself, glad to he released from duty at the cotton will that day, riding —God knows with no sense of impiety— seated on that coffin, while his father drove. He paused at Biney Meals loom. She was waitiog for him because she needed bobbins. The girl’s eyes were like his mother’s, and she coughed the same way ; but she was the smartest weaver in the room, since Mandy g was gone. She could tend nine loows. and she sometimes made as much as five dollars in a week. “You po’ little trick !"’ she said over her shoulder, as she flung the babbin into place with skilled fingers. “Ye ort to be at home in bed, asleep. I reckon the Lord’s feigos, bout we-all byer in Kesterson’s mill. The clamor of the vibrating room took her words and hammered them to nothing before they reached the boy’s ears. Yet she was bending down near him as she made an end, so that he caught the one syllable: “Lord,” and be staggered on with a new thought in his head— a new picture. The Lord. That was what the man on the street corner talked so much about yes- terday. Irenus was Sropping with soaight, because the day been Sunday, and noise of the small row in which he lived had kept him awake. His father bad been boisterously drunk ; he usually was on Sandays, for the misery bad a quaint babit of being worse one day In seven, and thus requiring more vigorous eep | be made up in as the shadows in the great weaving room were shifting and changing now before his heavy vision. But Irenus had sat on, list- ening, trying to understand. Yet to-uight it came home to him that if there was a God anywhere who was going to lead some children out of the house of bondage, He would surely turn his atten- tion to Kesterson’s mill. He was mutter- ing hrokenly as he staggered on in the nar. row walk-way between the whirling, jar- ring machinery, where the harness jerked monotonously up aad down, and the smooth white web grew slowly upon the roller. Suddenly he was snatched back to con- sciousness hy a band upon hisshonlder and a voice yelling unintelligible words ia his ears. He could not make out the speech, but he knew what it was; he knew that he walked, hall asleep, between death snap- ping and growling for him on either hand. If he fell into a loom, there was no telling what the injury would be; and be rabbed his sleepy eyes and tried to hold himself awake, keeping an outlook for empty bob- bin boxes—pausing mechanically to refill them . . . . The floor gave a great heave aod flap ooder him. Somebody stirred him witha not unkind foot. The loom beside which he had sunk down stopped, and in the loesened clatter he heard the hoss say; ‘‘Hey! Move! Ye cau’s go to sleep hyer. Git up an’ pack them bobbins. Lord A’mighty! I wisht I bad a boy double yo’ | size for the work. These runty little chaps naps off too frequent for me.”’ The man strode on leaving Itenus awake to the fact that he was not listening to the street preacher on the corner, but was in Kesterson’s mill serving looms with bob- bins, and that two weavers were motion- ing, and from the movement of their lips no doubt calling to bim to barry up. He went on to refill bis tray, passing | four-year old Tad Carter, where he stood bravely awake tying threads, shaming the older child. But Irenus envied the little fellow—he was working beside his mother. Irenus could remember when, at Tad 's age, he had a mother to work beside—for it was more than three years now that he had been in Kesterson’s—a mother who would take him with her to the mill rather than leave him at home where it was cold, may- be, and wet, too, when the roof leaked. Sometimes she used to make him a pallet and let him liedown and sleep while she got along without him. Even Kesterson's will was not the worst place in the world. when your mother was there. He longed, with a passion of longing which shook his little meagre frame from bead to foot, to be away from the noise and clamor, that he might think—hear himself think, he put it—for a few moments before he slept. In the gray light of early morn- ing the day bands began coming in; the hours were from six to six at Kesterson’s, witha doubtful thirty min- utes for dinner at noon, and at noon of night, Irenus passed the timekeeper to he checked on his way ont. When he faced the sharp, stimulating air of a new day, the street preacher's words came back to him in their completeness—‘‘The Lord shall lead them out of the house of bondage.’’ On the wooden steps the child stopped and looked back curiously at the mill. The house of hondage—that sure was Kesterson’s. But the little fellow’s feet were heavy,as be turned and shuffled slow- ly down the path, among scores of his kind. “I wisht he'd bring a wagon,” he whis- pered to himself, “‘ef be's a-comin’ to lead me anywhar’s.”’ He huug miserably at the hitching rail where the manager's horse was generally died. His face was toward that sordid box, unplastered, leaking, letting through noise, sun, wind, rain—most of the things from which civilized man strives to protect binwell—the room that he called home. It contained his bed, ana presumably the father, who was the possessor of twin hles- sings—the misery in his back which pre- vented his working in the mill, and a son whose misery was vot so localized —the man whodrew his garniogs and ‘‘made them do’ for the two ro exist upon. Again he looked over his shoulders at Kesterson’s. He was dripping with prespiration, and the chill morning air made his teeth rattle. He had an impulse to creep back into the mill. But, after all, the preacher said shat the Lord led folks ouf of the house of bond- e. He looked down the street, quite in the opposite direction from home, toward the corner where the street exhorter bad held forth yesterday. He could see it from where he stood. A stray cor limped ® past it—a happy car which was nos available to labor in thecotton mill. Remembering the vague satisfaction of that hour, think- ing to walk past the corner and sce if it would not make him feel that way again, Irenus slouched down the stroggling vil- lage street till he reached his post of the day before and sat down. Perhaps the Lord was leading him out of the house of bondage. He stared straight ahead of bim into a wagon yard across the way, where conntry- men were already arriving and leaving their vehicles while they did such trading as had brought them to town. It seemed to Irenus that he could not go hack to the place that used to be home, and the drunk- en father. He wondered bow it would feel to crawl into one of those wagons and sleep there for a while. II The motion was certainly delicious. It was quite unlike that sbuddering of the floor in Kesterson’s mill which tired his poor little growing legs, straining the kuee joints, and setting every nerve in his young body to quivering. This was a bumping, rocking, as though some mighty being trotted him in a very comfortable, capacious lap. Ireous grumbled his satisfaction beneath the coverings which lapped him, and drifs- ed % again into slamber. oll ere were ¢ arrearages of sleep to Ds for he had been awake day and night with his mother dur- ing ber last illness, and he went back into the mill the week he was to go on nighs shift. Besides when the neighbors will quarrel in the next house, and the little shanty on the other side is so inconsiderate as to burn down, just when a boy is get- ting over the borders of consciousness, sleeping in the daytime is unsatisfactory. Irenus was not actually dreaming, yet, with a sense of delicious well-being, he thought vaguely that he was adrift ina boat on a great smiling sea. The words of the street preacher ohimed over and over in his mind, infinitely ‘now, as things in dreams are: “The Lord shall lead them joggliog, out of the house of 1 silvery, yet hollow, like beautiful bells under rym Then, as tba happen: night before, somebody stirr ; bus this time it was with a hand of he a . Seated recog- as aite to nize ror Pn a wagon bed in which he sl “BName o’ goodness!’ somebody cried ! out. ‘‘Hyer’s a child in the bottom o' my wagon !"’ The boy sat up and pushed back the tousled bair in bewilderment; a thin lisle splinter of manhood; bis great blue-giay eyes with their black brows and lashes staring large from a lean, bleached face, with au iofivite pathos of appeal in their gaze. A stout old man with grizzled bair, and many creases and puckers in his good- homored countenance, stood peering into the wagon. The two confronted each other for an amazed moment in silence, then: “Mandy!” called the old man over his shoulder, ‘come hyer an’ see what I brung ye from town."’ Irenus raised his head a little and look- ed where a thin little old woman opened a | cabin door on the slope above them, and came ruvning down like a girl. It was evening; he could see the red light through the trees behind the house. **Hit’s a boy !"’ announced the first speak- er, and laughed joyonsly, as though it were the best joke in the world, reachiug in and lifting Irenus over the wheel to set him on bis uncertain legs among the little strag- gling weeds at the path side. ‘‘For any sake! Who is he, honey? Whar did ye git "im at?'’ asked the smiling wife, who seemed to be a very [riendly, pleasant person, not at all upset by the .tinding of small boys in her husband’s luggage. She stooped down before Irenus to bring her kind, reassuring face to the level of his. “Ye cain’s prove hit by me,” declared the old man, chuckling. ‘‘When I drove in to town from Nioty Ann's this mornin’, I left my wagon in Groner's yatd. When I come back, ’long about neon, an’ pus my plunder in, I pevgr disturbed the bed- clothes what Nioty was a-sendin’ up to ye. Lord love bit's little soul! Hit must ‘a’ been asleep, at that very time.” Itenus nodded solemnly. The evening light in she sky told him that other children were even now creeping into the house of bondage. Vast, silent slopes of forest green billowing outside the small clearing and patch of tillage on the edge of which the cabin stood, added the informa- tion that he was very far away from Kes- terson’s mill. Sarely the Lord had led him. While the old people talked apart for a | moment, the boy stood gazing. The clear | blue sky 10se high above his head in a majesty unknown to the smoke-filled val- ley of Kesterson’s. Range béyond range, the everlasting monutains circled this re- treat afar off, folding now about their great shoulders their evening splendors of purple and gold, putting on their crowns of rose and amethyst. Near at band, yet unseen, the little spring branch laughed and chat- tered to itself—a child's voice making homely and homan the stately wilderness, The erystal air was keen, and on it came the scent of growing things, and of freshly turned earth. As (he boy looked, his ere dilated and kindled ; the thin nostril ex- panded and trembled; he drew in a great breath that lifted his sunken chest. A woodpecker drummed on a dead tree; away down the mouutain-side a man sent out the long, soft yodeling call tothe hogs; in the deep woods the frogs began to trill; the old hound bayed. Something swelled in the factory child’s throat and his eyes fill- ed. He felt himsell, for the first time, part of God's living world. He looked up as the old people turned toward him. *I—I work on night turn,’’ he began in the middle, as a child will. *‘I jest cain t sleep at home, ’case pap he's apt to he a-drinkin’; an’ the folks ’atlives around whar we do, they holler. So I clumb up ih yo’ wagon to see could [ sleep better thar whar the piece-puilts looked #0 soft an’ good. But’ —deprecatingly—*'I aimed to wake up an’ git out when yon all come back—an’ then I never waked up at all.” ‘‘Hiv’s one o' the chaps from Kester- son's’’ said the old man soberly glancing at his wile. ‘‘Pore little ontters! I've studied a heap 'hout how them mill folks could keep chaps o’ that age awake to work ‘em all night.” Bat the wife shook her head. ‘‘Son,” she #aid gently, putting out a hand to Irenus. and leading him sowward the cah- in, ‘‘vou ort not to 'a’ done that-a-way. I ‘spect yvo' mammy an’ all yo’ folks is skeered mighty nigh to death about ye right this minute.” ‘I awm’t got no mammy—now. She died off a-Wednesday,'’ said the child with a gulp. ‘‘They’s nobody bus pap at home, an’ he won't study 'hout me, tell pay day comes, an’ he goes down to draw my wages.’ The cabin was small and brown, bung like a bird’s nest on the rocky steep of the mountain whose bench formed its clearing. Smoke went up from the great stone chim- ney; hig pale blue violets gemmed the straggling sward about it. An anxious, loud clucking biddy marshaled her balls of plaintively cheeping down toward their night's repose. A chip-pile, with the ax lyivg across a balf-cat log, showed where the fnel for the hearthstone was prepared. The child looked at it with loving eyes. He could barely remember such a cabin and dooryard, back in his babyhood, before they went down from the mountains so that his mother might work in the mill. He was sure that this was no house of hondage. ‘What mought we call yo' name, young felle1?’” asked the old man, seating him- self, drawing the child to his knee and clapping one small hand softly between his two toil-bardened palme. ‘I'm Ventress Brazeal, an’ my wife,she was a Childress.” “I'm name’ Irenus,’ said the little boy, ‘an’ my pappy is Gord Bosang.'’ Mandy Arazeal, who was a Childress, was getting supper at the broad stone hearth; the bacon she was [rying smelled very good to the hungry child. But when Irenus answered him thus the old man gos upsuddenly and drew his wile out on to the porch, where they stood murmuring in lowered tones for a while. The child by the fire, drowsy again, heard of all their talk only the two words: ‘‘Not to-night.” Irenus ate from a treasuerd small plate with A B C's around the rim a homely su Pet that Wis oud exis to a in who been living on prepar y an unwilling, balf-intoxicated man. The old people regarded with deep feeling the guest at their table eating of their bread. Their eyes dwelled upon him with mute tenderness, then sought each other’s eyes ahove the young head. He was put to bed, Mandy Brazeal reintroduce. fog, jo a attention he latel eglesiel minary ceremon u A olean old shirt of her he was brought forth to serve as a nightgown, He slept sweetly between the coarse fresh sheets, and in the morning started awake with sudden terror, to find the old woman sitting on his bed’s edge. “Did I—has the whistle blowed yit?” he gasped, springing up in bed, with the great sleeves of the horrowed shirt falling over his small hands. ‘No, no, b child; ain’ whistle to Fon My gc poll Then when she saw that he realized his whereabonts, and remembered yesterday's events, “Hi ,’! she went on gently, “I got somethin’ t ser’us to tell ye. P| rians who have investigated more close- {Selly Yu age" Woshington Her I wounldn’s let Venters say nothin’ to ye about it last night, fear ye wouldn't sleep. Soon as he hearn yon name yo' daddy’s | name, he come out on the po’ch an’ told | me at the town was all uptore when he | was down to Kesterson's, ‘case o’ somethin’ | that bad happened to—lay back, honey. | Don't look so skeered. I ain't a-gwine to | let nothin’ host ye.” ‘‘Is—is pap—did he kill somebody ? | Maw al’ue said be would, ef he kep’ on | that-away.”’ ‘No, son—not tbat. What Venters heard wes that Gordon Bosang had jest been killed in Lipman’s saloon. They was a- fightin’, yon know, child; an’ he’s daid —you’ pappy’s daid.” She stroked the thin little hand that she beld, as Irenns cried a bit, shivering and whimpering like a lonesome puppy. ““Venters an’ me hain’t got no chaps now,” said the old woman. *“‘Oarn is all growed an’ wedded an’ gone.” The child looked at her wistfally. ‘Ye wouldn’t—wounldn’t never--ye don’t want to take a boy to raise,do ve 7?’ he ventured timidly at last. “Heap o’ folks down at Kesterson’s takes ‘em in that-a way, for to hire 'em to the milis. Bat yon--von wouldn't bave no use fir a hoy o seh'm.” Old Mandy opened her arms and rook the little tow head to her hosom. ‘God love yo’ bahy soul !"’ she said, “we got the biggest kind o’ need of a hoy like you. I say hire ye out in a cotton mill! Ef von want to stay with Venters an’ me, they's a big place hyer for a boy o' seb’'m.”’—By Grace MacGowan Cooke, in Collier's. TAKE YOUR CHOICE You may climb to the top of the tree, But your perch will not help you a bit, If you fall yon will very soon see There is no way of deciding a hit, For the world lies in wait with a brick Or a stone twisted up in a sock. If it isn't a knock it's a kick ; Ifit isn'ta kick it's a knock. If you're down you'll be feeling a boot To your person with vigor applied ; If you're up you'll bear the loud hoot And the jab will get into your hide, You may think you are skillful a d quick, But you'd far better brace for the shock, If it isn't a knock it's u kick ; If it isn’t a kick it's a knock. 1's a kick for the fellows who lose ; It's a knock for the others who win, You may do just whatever you choose, But you'll need a good thickness of skin, I ean tell you which one I will pick ; I'll succeed and then let the world mock. If it isn't a knock it's a kick ; If it isn't a kick it's a knock. = Chicago News. The New Game Law. The new game law, approved by the Govervor on April 15th, makes the open season for woodcock and pheasant from Oo tober 1st to December 1st. Quail, Novem- her 18s to Decemeer 1st. It 1s unlawful to shoot or injure quail when hunched upon the ground; or to hunt for or to kill any of the game birds protected hy this act daring the night time; or to kill game of any kind, within this Commonweaith, through or by the use of a gun or of any kind other than is usually raised at arm’s length and fired | from the shoalder. Fine for violating the law is $25 for rach hird killed, or oue day in jail for each dollar of fine. e season for killing rabbits is from Oc- tober 15th to December 1st, and they may be killed in any manner “‘except through or with the aid of a ferret.” Deer may be killed between Novemher 15th and December 1st. It is unlawful for any person to kill in any one season more than ove deer, which in every instance shall he ‘‘a male deer, with horne.’* Penaliy for violation, $100. The sqairrel season remains as it has been for some years past, October 1st to December 1st, thus making the season for killing small game more uniform, and pro- bibiting hunters from killing pheasants under the pretexs of hunting equirrels, as was often the case when there were 15 days difference in the open season. Fighting For Fire. A great ceremony in Jerusalem 1s on Easter Saturday, and commemorates the ancient tradition of the celestial fire that was said to rise from the tomb of Christ. The Greek patriarch enters the sanctuary of the sepulcher, the door closes behind him, and the surging, tossing, tumultuous multitude await the coming of the fire, Suddenly out of the right hand window in the wall of the sepulcher shoot flames of fire, and in an instant every one of the thousands has produced a candle and dashes madly forward to light it at the mystic fire. The light thus taken from | the holy sepulcher is instantly carried to all the Christian villages round about Jerusalem, and fleet footed young men vie with one another in being first to light their local shrines with the divine flame. The writer has seen two rival runners put down their candles and indulge in a sanguinary battle with knives and sticks until the light of one of them is put out. There is no Joke meant here, but each is striving desperately to extinguish the flame of the other.—Travel Magazine, “Old Hundredth.” “Old Hundredth” has been variously ascribed to Martin Luther, Dr. John Dowland and William Franck. Dr. Lowell Mason wrote quite a treatise on the old tune in 1852, saying em- phatically that it was written by Guil- laume (William) Franck in 1543. But later musical historians and aatiqua- ly say it was composed by Louis Bour- geols, born about 1500 and died about 1572—some say in the massacre of St. Bartholomew, in 1551-52.—Musical Mil- lion. Time's Changes. “You,” said she as she came down the stairs leisurely pulling on her gloves—‘“you used to say I was worth my weight in gold.” “Well, what if I did?’ he asked, looking at his watch for the third time in fifteen minutes. “And now you don’t think I'm worth a wait of two minutes.” “Queer combination you deal in, my friend.” “Not so queer. People as has bottles AR | drove of oxen, a sounder of hogs, iF WATER NEVER FROZE. There Would Be @Jeveral Startling Changes In ti! World. i Tlie whole economy of nature would | undergo a startling change If water | never froze. The world's climates would be revolutionized. The icebound | polar seas would cease to exercise their chilling influences, and couse. | Juently the currents of the ocean might either cease or be turned aside in different directions, ’ Thus the gulf stream would seek | sther shores than those of Britain, and the climate there might be subject to the extremes of heat and cold notice | able in other countries of the same latitude. The icebound rivers of the north, notably those of Russia and Siberia, would be open for navigation, and Russia's activity as a sea power and a commercial nation might alter the whole world of commerce, Canada would become another cour: | try altogether. An immense tract of | land would be available for cultivating | hardy plants, and Greenland might be | what its name indicates. The absence | of icebergs off ‘the coast of Newfound. | land and Iceland would result in a! much warmer climate in those islands, where now the crops often fail. Ice, too, plays an important part in the economy of nature. Thus, if water never froze, snow, hail and hoarfrost would cease. The loosening of soils and the disintegration of rocks by the | frost and many other now vital effects | would be lost—in short, the absence of | Ice would be on the one hand an in. | calculable disaster, on tlie other hand a great boon.—London Globe. THE BOARDING HOUSE. Advantages of Its Pacific influence In| Married Life. | “Oh, dear, but this boarding house | life is simply awful!” said the sweet young thing as she sipped her hot chocolate at a Chestnut street soda counter in company with an elderly fair companion. “I really don't see how you stand it,” she continued in the same plaintive voice. “I am sure 1 shouldn't if I were happily married, as You are. I would have a house of my own, a cozy little place where there would be just myself and husband, se- rene and happy in our knowledge of each other's love.” The older woman's eyes twinkled, albeit there was a some- what grim look about the corners of her mouth, as she made reply: “My dear, you are very young and have lots to learn. Some unmarried philos- ophers on married life tell us that the boarding house is a feeder for the di vorce courts and that it breeds discord for married people. Don't you believe them. When you have been married to a mere man as long as I have, you will find that the knowledge that you: next room neighbor can hear if your volce is raised in anger and will tell your fellow boarders if you are heard to quarrel will have a valuable deter- rent effect on not only yourself, but your lord and master as well, and many a cross word will be stifled in birth rather than have your disagree- ments published to the household.”— Philadelphia IRtecord. Animals In Groups. The ingenuity of the sportsman is perhaps no better illustrated than by the use he puts the English language to in designating particular groups of animals. The following is a list of the terms which have been applied to the various classes: A covey of partridges, a nide of pheasants, a wisp of snipe, a flight of doves or swallows, a muster of peacocks, a siege of herons, a build: ing of rooks, a brood of grouse, a stand of plover, a watch of nightin- gales, a clattering of cloughs, a herd or bunch of cattle, a flock of geese, a bevy of quails, a cast of hawks, a swarm of bees, a school of whales, a shoal of herrings, a herd of swine, a skulk of foxes, a pack of wolves, a troop of monkeys, a pride of Hons, a sleuth of bears, a gang of elks. : Identified Himself. “Some people have odd ways of iden. tifying themselves.” sald a disgusted westerner visiting New York. “The other night a man came up to me in| my hotel and claimed old time ac- quaintance. [ saw visions of the con- fidence game at once and fought shy. How do you think he convinced me? Well, sir, he finally pulled out one of his eyes. Yes, sir, he did. It was a glass eye, of course, but I then realized his peculiar affliction despite a greatly altered appearance. But, do you know, it wasn’t a pleasant performance. In fact, I suggested that he ought to carry a duly certified identification card."—New York Globe. Expensive Modesty. “What's the matter, old man? You look sad.” “I am. I just asked Farnsworth to lend me $5.” “And I suppose he said he didn" have that much in the world.” “No. He had to get a ten dollar bill changed in order to let me have what I had asked for.” Points of View. “Beautiful memorial windows,” re marked her husband as they left the church. “I didn't notice particularly,” said his wife, “but the light from it fell on the Jones pew, and it made her com. plexion a fright.”—Philadelphia Ledger. Keenly So. “Are you interested in the vital is sues of the hour?” “Intensely. Say, can you lend me 50 sents to get some lunch?'—Baltimore American. Now's the only bird lays eggs o' gold —Lowell, | they A STUFFED EMPEROR. Fate of Valcrian of Rome, Captured by the Persians. One of the most remarkable stuffed skins on record was that of Valerian, emperor of Rome, who was taken pris- oner and afterward kept in chains by Sapor, king of Persia, He was either killed in a tumult or by order of his conqueror, who was perhaps fearful of | losing his valuable living trophy, In the year 269. The boly of the dead | emperor was treat “ no more delicacy than wh i the spark of a living one. ii ned. The | hide after being ti.i.a0] is stuffed, painted red and suspended in the chief temple of the capital. It remained there for many years 2nd was the popular spectacle for holiday makers and visitors from the country. But it was put to more important ends than this, It was made a diplomatic engine of much significance and efficiency. In after times it often happened that the Roman envoys at the Persian court had misunderstandings more or less | serious with the government to which were temporarily accredited. | When these ambassadors from Rome grew arrogant in their demands, it was | the custom to conduct them into the presence of the stuffed skin of the ex- emperor of Rome, where they were asked If humility did not become them at sight of such a spectacle. “THE BLUE DANUBE.” Odd Way In Which the Beautiful Waltz Was Written. It was a linen cuff and the quick thought of the woman who wore it that gave us one of the prettiest of | the tuneful Strauss waltzes, Johann Strauss and his wife were one day en- | Joying a stroll in the park at Schonau when suddenly the composer execlaim- ed: “My dear, I have a waltz in my head. Quick—give me a scrap of pa- per or an old envelope. I must write it down before I forget it.” Alas, after much rummaging of pockéts it was found that neither of them had a letter, not even a tradesman’s bill. Johann Strauss’ music is considered light, but it weighed as heavy as lead on his brain until he could transfer it to paper. His despair was pathetic. At last a happy thought struck Frau Strauss, She held out a snowy cuff. The composer clutched it eagerly, and in two minutes that cuff was manu- script. Its mate followed. Still the in- spiration was incomplete. Strauss was frantic and was about to make a wild dash for home with the third part of his waltz ringing uncertainly in his head. His own linen was limp, colored calico. Suddenly his frau bethought herself of her collar, and in an instant the remaining bars of “The Blue Dan- ube” decorated its surface. THE CURE OF WORRY. Clear, Simple Common Sense Applied to the Business of Life. There are two reasons why man should not worry, either one of which must operate in every instance—first. because he cannot prevent the results he fears; second, because he can pre- vent them. If he is powerless to avert the blow, he needs perfec: mental con- centration to meet it bravely, to light- en its force, to get what salvage he can from the wreck, to sustain his strength at this time when he must plan a new future. If he can prevent the evil he fears, then he has no need to worry, for he would by so doing be dissipating energy in his very hour of need. To cure oneself of worry is not an easy task. It is not to be removed in two or three applications of the quack medicine of any cheap philosophy, but it requires only clear, simple common sense applied to the business of life. Man has no right to waste his own en- ergles, to weaken his own powers and influence, for he has inalienable duties to himself, to his family, to society and to the world.—William George Jordan in “The Kingship of Self Control.” How Browning Read Political Matter. I have read the newspapers only through Robert's eyes. He reads them in a room sacred from the foot of wo- man, and this is not always satisfac- tory, as whenever Robert falls into a state of disgust with any political party he throws the whole subject over. Every now and then he ignores France altogether, and I, who am more tolerant and more curious, find myself suspended over a hiatus. I ask about Thiers’ speech. “Thiers is a rascal,” he says. “I make a point of not read- ing a word of Thiers.” M. Prudhon, then? “Prudhon is a madman. Who cares for Prudhon?” thinking of.” And so we treat of poli- tics. — Letters of Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Removing the Blot. A woman was trying to lift a blot of ink from a letter with a of blotting paper, with the usual of making the blot bigger and than at first. “Let me show you to do that,” said her friend. “I the trick in a stationer’s shop don last year. You just moisten corner of the blotter first to get i started and then apply it to the spot. There! Isn't it wonderful clean it takes it all up?"—New York Bun, iets; = SE The Right Word. Editor—I notice that you say the women at the ball tonight were “elegantly gowned.” Do you think that “gowned” is a good word? Well, you couldn't call them dressed.— Somerville Journal. We sometimes have those little rubs which Providence sends to enhance the value of its favors.—Goldsmith. £
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers