Bellefonte, Pa., June 21, 1907.
smc
_—
WATERING THE ELEPHANT.
Whenever 1 think of the farm of my chiid-
hood
And there let my fancy delightfully dwell,
1do not reeall witha bit of affection
The old Oaken bucket that hung by the
well,
I never was stuck by fits moss covered
beauty,
Its creaking refrain never made my heart
glad,
And surely there wasn't a throb of excite-
ment
In drawing a bucket for mother or dad.
But still do I cherish intond ratrospection,
As memories sweet that shall ever be nurs.
ed,
The pailfuls of water I patiently carried
For quenching the elephant’s marvellous
thirst,
I'll bet that old Sisphus,
was,
Would surely have filled the sieve up to the
brim
If only, as object and guerdon of labor,
A seat at the circus was given to him.
—MeLandburgh Wilson, in The Sun,
hard as the job
OVER HILLS AND FAR AWAY.
Over the hills and far away
An endless throng is going;
Onward they press, and hand in hand
They msrch as to a king's command,
Their journey's end the shining strand
That lights the edge of sunset land,
Over the hills and far away,
Their golden homeland glowing.
Over the hills and far away,
Beyond the furthest hollow,
While twittering birds at twilight call,
And evening shadows longer fall,
Onward they march till one and all
Are hid within a star wrought pall,
Over the hills and far away
Where every man must follow,
—Wiiliam Adams Slade,
THE FIRM STAND OF HANS,
Hans Heckendorn drew from the oven
the last loaf of his evening batch of bread;
then he sat down heavily in his arm ohair.
The bakeroom was stifling, but he was ac-
customed to the heat, and clad as he was
in a thin gauze shirt and a pair of cotton
trousers, he did not mind it. In the dim
light of the lamp he seemed like some huge
monster, grim, portentious.
Sitting there, with his great bare arms
folded, he bent his head on hie breast and
fell to thinking.
“I suppose the children must learn the
Eoglish,”” he said to himself in German.
“And I dare not speak evil of the Presi.
dent, or the officer will get me. But itis
something in which I have still the say.
The men in the fatherland do not fetch the
wood and the coal for the women. I will
no longer fetch the wood and the coal for
Margaretta. I will take a firm stand. I—"'
The door into the bakeroom opened sud-
denly, and Hans paused in the midst of
bis soliloquy. A little blue-eyed woman
stood before him.
‘‘Hans,”’ she began, then she paused to
sniff the air. A glance at the lamp be-
trayed the source of the odor. She did not
look toward her hushand, but, as one who
realizes the futility of speech, crossed the
room, and turned down the light. Her
husband’s eyes followed her with terror.
They were bent not upon her, but upou an
object which she carried. in her hand--a
of long shears, which she lifted mean-
ls us she came toward him.
*‘Come.’’ she said shortly in English.
“But, Margaretta, it i= not yet time. It
is only~--"’ His tongue twisted itsell un-
comfortably about the English words.
‘‘8ball the children cry in the street at
ou?’ she demavded. ‘‘Yon look this
ong time as when yon came from the
mountain down.”
“But, Margaretta,it is plenty to do here.
J
She pointed to the great batch of brown
loaves, i : i
‘‘You are done here, Come on.”
When sbe Lad gone, he rose paiofolly
ous of his chair and carried the lamp across
the room to whereas little mirror hung
against the wall. He saw reflected there a
brown beard; a pair of frightened eyes set
* in a white face, and a mop of thick hair.
Yes, it was long. He put up a trembling
hand and tried in vain to smooth it flat.
He sighed, then his face brightened.
‘‘Margaretta,’’ he called almost joyous-
ly, ‘I must go tonight to my lodge.”
‘Ernst paid this afternoon your dues,’
she answered grimly from the next room.
The smile faded from Heckendorn’s face.
‘‘Ach, Margaretta,’’ he wailed, “‘let it
be tomorrow !"’
‘Come,’ said Margaretta, firmly.
For an instant his eyes rolled helplessly.
The little bare room, however, offered no
escape from the terror which awaited him,
and, wetting his dry lips with his tongue,
he went slowly out to the sitting room.
There the floor was half-covered by a
white sheet,npon which stood an arm chair
like the one he had just left. Fastened to,
and projecting above, its back was a long,
narrow stick. Heckendorn went toward it
as the condemned approach the gallows.
Margaretta gave him a little push as he sat
down, and then took from the tablea Jong,
white tape. Slipping it around his head,
she fastened it behind the stick.
‘Now,’ she said gaily.
Her hashand’s eyes opened wide for an
instant.
‘‘Ach, Margaretta !"’ he wailed piteounsly.
re
gave the tape a , then,
opened and closed her se to be sure
t they moved smoothly,she began to cut
her husband’s bair, His face, meanwhile,
grew whiter and whiter until it became the
color of his flour-sprinkled arms. Once
more he said, ‘‘Ach Margaretta!” this
time very faintly, then his eyes closed, and
his bands d limply. He had fainted.
Presently,
little to the right, so that she might cut
the back more easily, and alter a while she
moved it a little to the left. She felt no
alarm at his fainting. Ever since she had
first known him, when they were children
in Berlin, he always had fainted when he
Lad his hair cut. It was no stranger than
“the weakness of others at the sight of blood.
He would not go to the barber's. He could
i ne no worse disgrace than that the
neighbors, the Maniagos at the corner, the
Smiths next door,should discover his weak-
ness, a3 they must certainly do if he went
to the barber-shop around the corner. Nor
did he dare to go farther away. He did not
know how he would ever get back.
The click, click of Margaretta’ scissors,
tta moved his head a | Said
which were apparently not as sharp as the | poued. Tue boat which wanted was
a Yoo in she | ny
bummed, did not awaken him; nor did
Margaretta make the least effort to arouse
him till Ler task was done. Then she
bathed his face with cold water,still braced
against the back of the chair as he was,and
it was only a few seconds before he clasp-
ed his bands before his breast, and with a
long sigh opened his eyes.
“Is it done ?"’ he gasped.
“Yes.”
As Margaretta untied the tape, he lifted
up his voice in a lond “Gott sei Dank!’
and tottered somewhat weakly up the stairs
sighing as he went. How many times bad
be wished that be wight grow bald; yes, as
the hour for his hair cutting drew near,
even that be might die. It seemed as
though he were sinking into some vast,
bottomless ocean, and that Margaretta, the
guardian angel of his happier hours, stoed
over him, pushing him down, down. When
Margaretta thought that it was time his
hair should be cut, she wounld not wait an
hour, a minate. She spread the covering
on the floor, and fastened tbe support for
his head to the back of the chair, and then
she called him. Nor had he ever been able
to invent an excuse that would serve.
He did not believe that his bair needed
cutting so badly this time. It might bave
gone another week. He crept in under the
gay bed.-covers, angry with himsell that he
bad not refused, and still angrier with
Margaretta that she bad insisted.
There he lay wide awake. It was not
near his usual bedtime, and though he fels
too weak to be up and about, he could still
think. Margaretta had acquired the ount-
rageous American notions of the other
women on the block; she thought that she
was the head of the honse, she made bim
do just what she said, she made him fetch
the wood and coal, snd do a hundred other
things which it was beneath his dignity to
do. And it was all put on; she was stiong
enough to fetch the wood and coal. It was
all because she wanted to be American that
she would no longer do it. He would have
to teach her a lesson, not because he mind- |
ed doing things for her,—what were they
to a strong man like himself ?—baut becanse
she must learn that even though she had
the schools on her side in the matter of the
ohildren’s English and the officerin the mat-
ter of inveighing against the President, yet
there were certain other things sacred be-
tween husband and wife, in which vo one
had the right to interfere, and which no
one but himself had the right to manage.
In consequence of his meditation, Mar-
garetta, coming down staire hall an hour
after the time when her husband got up to
start the fires in the bakery, found neither
the coal nor the wood with which she start
ed her own fire awaiting her. Her first
thought was to call to Hans to ges them for
ber. Then remembering that he had had
his bair cut the night before, she refrained.
Perhaps he was not well. She brought the
coal and wood from the cellar herself, and
then opened the door softly into the bake-
room. Her husband was bending to put a
batch of bread into the oven, and singing
“Ich weiss nicht was soll es bedeaten’’ the
while. There was a certain defiant tone
about it which set Margaretta’s eyes spark-
ling. No, he had not forgotten.
She went quietly back to the kitchen and
stood there, her brow wrinkled. Was it
possible that—well, she would see.
She gave him auother chance at noon and
another at night and another in the morn-
ing. Still her coal bucket stood empty in
ita place. Then Hans, coming hot and
nongry from the bakery for his dinner,
found a covered dish before his plate. Ite
chill struck him before he lifted the lid.
Margaretta always used that dish for sauner
krant, but he could not remember having
smelled any boiling sauer kraut that morn-
ing. Suddenly the lid dropped from his
hand. Within, neatly snrronnding a huge
piece of succulent raw pork, lay a mass of
uncooked cabbage.
“Margaretta,” he stormed, “what does
dis mean ?"’
“Jt means that I -bad uo coals,” said:
Margaretta, while little Hans and Kail and
Erust and Elsa stared wide-eyed. *Ican-
not cook unless I have coals. Itisn’t fire
unless you have coals.”
For the fragment of a second her newly
shorn hashand gazed at her while her blue
eves gazed placidly back. i
“I fetch no more coals, not today nor to:
morrow nor any day,” he shoated. ‘‘Itis
no coal-fetching for the men in the old
country * it sha’n’t be any here.” iq
Whereupon be went back to the bakery
to eat the light bread which be baked, aod
which his soul loathed. anid
At supper-time the saner kraut was cook-
ed and eaten. Afterward Heckendorn stood
proudly at the door of his shop. It was
easy to manage the women. - All one need-
ed was a little firmness. Margaretta should
never get the upper band n. He could
think of a dozen differents directions in
which he should assert his will. No longer
should she read the Euglish Bible to the
children, no longer should she sit on any
other doorstep than her own in the even-
ings. It was from the other women that
she imbibed her revolutionary notions.
Presently Margaretta herself came ont of
ue door and stood for a moment beside
im.
“I go to Frau Maniago,’’ she said.
“‘Margaretta,’”’ he began firmly, then
paused. It would not do to insist upon too
many changes at once.
“It is all right this time,’ he said grand.
ly, unaware of the flash of her hlne eyes ;
“I go alter while to the Bakers’ Union.”
When Margaretta came home, she found
little Hans in charge of the shop, and she
held no farther converse with his father
that night. Early in the morning, how-
ever, he wakened her to tell her of the ap-
proaching picnic planned by the Union.
“In Angust it will be. e willgo ina
boat up the river on Sunday. We will all
go, I and you, Havnschen and Karl, and
Ernst and Elsa. We—"
‘‘You can go,’’ said Margaretta, sharply.
“I and Hanschen and Karl and Ernst and
Elsa will not go. It is not right to go on
Sundays on exertions.”
Heckendorn stared at her aghast.
“We go in the morning in the church,
like in the faderland, avd in the afternoon
it is holiday.”
“I and the children go in the afternoon
in the Sunday School,’’ she said in the tone
whioh indicated to Heckendorn's experi-
enced mind that nothing more n
Nor did he try to persuade her in the
weeks which followed. It would be like
old times to go out there without any wife
and children to bother about. There he
would see Balthasar Kleber, who had lived
next door to them in Berlin, and who had
no family , and Heinrich Heissman, with
whom he himself bad learned the baker's
trade ; and Milton Rapp and Gottlieb
Wohlgemuth and a host of cthers whom he
could mention, who still loved the father-
land. Margaretta, with her New-World
notions, would be a wet blanket on the
festivities. Likely enough she would dis-
grace him with some scornful remark. No,
he was thankful for the chance to go alone.
Then week by week the picnic was post.
——
engaged, or some of their number wanted
to go to the Turn Verein picnic, or else the
Sangerband, to which some of the rest be-
longed, bad its annoal boat-ride. Finally,
however, the day was set for the first San-
day of her.
As the time drew near, Heckendorn’s
satisfaction changed to dismay. Each day,
when he combed bis bair ore the little
mirror in the sitting room, he realized that
it would have to be cat. He held his breath
every time that Margaretta mentioned his
name ; he scarcely dared to look at her
when she came harriedly into the bakeroom
or the shop, for fear that she should be
carrying the scissors, cruel as those of At-
Daal, however, said not a word.
On Taesday evening before the excursion,
when he had finished baking, he carried
the little lamp, smoking as it was, over to
the little mirror. His bair seemed to touch
kis shoulders. It must be cut to-night. He
would not go to the picnic with the feeling
of nakedness which always followed a hair-
cutting.
His wile answered his tentative ‘‘Mar-
garetta’’ only by ashort “Well 2’ without
looking up fiom her sewing. The cloud
which had gathered between them after the
last hair canttiog had not yet been dispelled.
“I guess my hair should be cut before
Sanday,” be said weakly. “‘I guess it
sbould be cat to-night. I guess—'’ There
was already a dall horror in his eyes.
Margaretta snipped off the thread with
an audible click of her white teeth.
“‘I cut no more hair, uot today, nor to-
morrow, nor any day,’’ she said so placidly
that he did not recognize the quotation from
the sentence which he had shouted at her
weeks before. “‘It is no work, hair-cutting,
for women. It is man’s work.”
‘‘Buat, Margaretta,’’ he began. Then he
realized that it would not do to show weak.
ness before her. ‘‘All right. If it is right
that we shonld waste the money, Igo in
the barber's shop. If it—" only the eyes
of little Hans on the other side of the table
kept his voice steady,—‘‘it is all alike to
me.”
Margaretta regarded him for an instant
from between a pair of hall-closed eyes.
Then she folded little Eisa’s finished dress
neatly together, and went to shut up the
house for the night, singing softly to her-
self, “Ich weiss nicht was soll es bed-
euten.”” Afterward, when Hans slept be-
side her, she cried berself to sleep.
She watched him narrowly on Wednes-
day, but he did not leave the shop. Several
times he put on his collar aod coat and
wen to the front door, ouly to hesitate on
the sieps and finally to turn back. He was
afraid; Margaretta Bo he was afraid. On
Tharsday, when he started oat, she sent
little Hans after him. At the corner, how-
ever, Hans the elder climbed into a street
car. An hour later he came home white
and sick. There was no change in the mop
of hair. Margaretta did not doubt that he
bad tried and fainted. Her lips set them.
selves firmly, partly in an effort to keep
back the tears, and partly with renewed
purpose to hold out. She would not go
ck on her word. Little Hans bad heard
her say that she wonld not cut his father’s
bair today, nor tomorrow, nor any day,and
little Hans must pot be allowed to think
that bis mother did not teil the truth,
When Heckendorn came to dinuer the
next day, his family stared, and little Elsa
cried alond, and would not let him touch
her. The front of his hair had been cut
straight acro-s, the back still hung to his
shoulders. He bad meant to cat it all, but
the straining upward of his arms, and the
horrible click, click of Margaretta’s scissors,
bad made him sit down heavily, gasping
for breath.
In the afternoon he went to the barber's
shop at the corner.
‘I sometimes get a little sick when my
hair gets cat,’’ he explained ; ‘‘but you
shall not mind it. Margaretta she never
minds it. You might tie me in."”’
‘The barber, questioning him, discovered
that the sickness was a faintiog spell.
“Can’t take the responsibility, sir, with-
ont you have a doctor. A man once died
of heart disease when I was outtiog his
hair. Icouldn’s think of it." qQ a
Thercgpon bope died. He could not go
to the Bakers' Union picnic, he could not
go to church with Margaretta, he could not
even go into his.own to sel! the bread
which he bad baked. e would have to
hide in the bakeroom and in the back of
the house. Margarétta never took back
her word, ' 1 2108 1333
It was almost supper-time when he re:
tarned. There was the cheerfnl smell of
frying sausage, but it seemed to make him
sick. He ate only a little supper. Mar-
garetta watched him with anxious eyes, bat
said nothing. This was not the firet time.
thas Margaretta bad lived throngh a domes-
tic crisis, nor the first one which she bad
solved to her own satisfaction. :
Supper over, Hans sat down in the back
of the shop, his face on his arms, which
were folded oo the counter. When Mar
garetta banked ber fire for the night, he
heard the last few coals in the scottle rat-
tle into the fire. Then, like a man walk-
ing in his sleep, he went ont to the kitch-
en, and carrying the scuttle down into the
cellar, filled it, and brought it back. It
was not because he wished to make amends
—he knew Margaretta too well for that, —
but because, in his misery, his mind pat-
urally went back to its old tasks. He was
thankful that there was something to do.
He had forgotten that he bad said be would
bring no more coal today, nor tomorrow,
nor any day.
In the morning he filled the bucket again
in the same daze. He then made a final
appeal to Margaretta.
‘‘But, Margaretta, I cannot go the Bak.
ers’ Union pienie.”’
i closed her li dior 3 ly.
tf, garetta, my children w
afraid of their poor vater.” i
“‘Shall I not be ashamed when my man
looks like a Belsnickle [Santa Claus] ?"’
Jemasien Margaretta. ‘But I cannot
elp it.
e sadden helpless d of his broad
shoulders, the tear which rolled down each
cheek, made Margaretta go quickly from
the room. She was not unmindfal of the
fact that he had filled the coal-scuttle and
had brought the wood. That, however, had
nothing to do with the question. If Hans
could go back on his word, there was all
be | the more reason why she should hold to
hers. And yet—she saw him before her
with his bair banging to his shoulders, the
laughing-stock of the Smiths, the Maa
and the Goldsteins. They would y
think it was some German custom. If any
indacement could have moved Margaretta,
it would have been that.
Hans went to hed early that night. Usa.
ally on Saturday evenings he sat on the
doorstep talking with their neighbor, Mr.
Smith, or with Officer O'Malley, or who
ever might happen that way. The door-
step was to a certain extent his clab, his
recreation. Only Ma ’s heart knew
the pride she felt in seeing him sitting there
in his best clothes.
To-night Mr. Smith came to the door to
ask where he was, and Officer O'Malley
asked whether be bad gone down-town.
There was no doubt that Hans bad become
a person of importance.
Now, however, this importance was to
cease, partly because he bad been rash avd
partly becanse she bad been stubborn. It
would have been bad enough for him to go
to the picnic alone. She knew with what
pride the Wohlgemuths displayed their
children to all who would admire. Their
own were #0 mach finer, how would Haus
have felt withoat them ?
When she got to bed she could not sleep.
Heckendorn was hreathing heavily, and
once or twice he moased, which was not
uousval, but which to his wile’s ears as
sumed a sadden pathetic siguificance.
She lay aod listened, more troubled than
she had ever been hefore. They had had
other difficulties, but none #0 serious as
this—pove which would make them the
scorn of their neighbors
And now snddenly Margaretta sat up-
right.
“1 said I woold not do it today, nor to-
morrow, nor any day,’’ she said alond. “It
isn’t today, or tomorrow ;it iz to-night.”
Before the words were spoken she was
out of bed. She slipped quietly downstairs
for the scissors. She slowly opened and
closed them as she came hack. Then,
bringing the lamp close to the bed, «he set
to work.
Havs never wakened easily. He seemed
entirely unaware of the busy shears which
snipped away, now making even the rough
edges above his forehead, now trimming
close to his ear, which portion of the pro
cess always made him deathly sick. He
did not even open hi« eyes when Margar-
etta shifted his bead from side to side.
Her work finished, Margaretta went back
to bed, and smiling, fell asleep.
She was wakened in the morning hy
Heckendorn's rapturous ‘“‘Ach, Marga.
retta !'"' He touched his head first on one
side, then oun the other. ‘‘Ach, Margaretta,
the angels are not so good ! I fetch always
the coal and the wood. I-"
He paused to give room forthe smile
which widened bis face. ‘‘Margaretta, will
youn always cut it while I am sleeping ?"’
For an instant Margaretta hesitated.
What fear could she hold over him now
that he was no longer afraid to have his
bair cat ? Then she realized that the new
and painless method would be more than
evera bribe or a reward, and its discon-
tinuance a threat.
“If Ishall cat bair like in the father-
land,” she said firmly, ‘‘then that will be
enough fatherland for me. The coal-fetch-
ing and the wood-carrying shall be like the
United States.”’—By Elsie Singmaster, in
the Century Magazine.
Woman and the College.
Despite the many beantifal and prosper-
ous colleges for women all over this coun-
try, it is still a question in many parental
miuds whether or not a college education
is a woman's best preparation for life.
There is a fairly prevalent idea that college
women too often develop the intellect at
the expense of the sympathies, that they
set mental standards which are higher than
their husbands have leisured to reach, or,
worse, that, wantiog better bread than can
be made out of wheat, they refrain from
| marriage altogether. The higher education
| too often leads them to choose a life of self-
exploitation, and to pursue callings which
ultimately may, and very likely will, play
them false, and leave them lovely and em-
bittered in a world where the fullest hap-
piness is to be found in beneficent hnman
relations.
While all this is, on the face of it, pos-
sible, there is a great deal to be said on the
other side. It is true that a thorough edu-
cation disciplines the emotions, If it dis.
ciplines them away altogether it does an
irremediable injary. If, however, it merely
controls the sentimentality of youth hy
training judgement, it is an effective force
for good. Life will bring ont the sympa-
thies of those who bave them sooner or
later, and to be delivered from the senti-
mental ebullitions of girlhood is uot so ap-:
palling a matter afterall... 1
There veems to be nodoubt that the chief
weakness of the feminine mind, as diffieren-
| tiated from the masculine, is to see life
rsonally. A ‘woman, more than a man,
s encnmbered by hersell acd hedged by
limitations. Bhe cannot, by the inherent
nature of thiogs, take so many risks or
lead so experimental a life as a man, and
her education is therefore, a matter not of
less but of greater mowent. She must have
* | thorougbgoing knowledge, because, less’
than a man, can she afford a w reac
tion. Her interests must be widened, even
more carefully than a man’s, because she is
less likely to be broadened by life.
‘College if it doeé nothing else should lay:
the foundation for more abstract interests
and intelligent indgments. If it bardens
the sympathies it cannot be because it is
too high or too thorough, but because it is
too slight and too superficial. Any edaca-
tion that puffs a person up about his own
attainments is a poor education. Any edu-
cation that allows a person to think he can
really jain by another’s loss, or aggrandize
himself by another’s fall, or in any way
separate hie interests from the general in-
terests of the race, is a superficial and in.
adequate education, whether it be gotten
at a finishing *chool or at a college. If col-
leges turn out women of defective sympa-
thies and selfish instincts it i< not their
pursuit of learning that effects this. In-
tellectnal training in and for itself cannot
he other than beneficial. The freedom, the
independence, the fact of being thrown
upon her own resources at a critical age
should all prepare a girl for wise govern.
ment of her own household and intelligent
civic helpfulness.
It is difficult to believe that higher edu-
catlon unfits a woman for household man-
agewent or motherhood, since to these two
functions the most highly trained faculties
are uvecessary, especially in these days
wheu social conditions are rapidly,
and when the domestic problem isin a
state of uncomfortable u val. It isnot
less intelligence and training, but more
and wiser, that is needed to meet the new
conditions.
It is, therefore, a cause for rejoicin
rather than doubt, that the women’s col-
leges of this country are to be multiplied
and more heavily endowed.—[ Harper's
Weekly.
——‘“Thongh he’s a literary man, he
makes all his money by not writing a
line.”
‘‘How is that?"
‘‘His friends chipped in and paid him to
quit!”
~——Anxions Mother—How do you know
that young man is in love with yon? Has
he told yoo?
Pretty Daughter--No, mamma, but I
know he is [rom the way he looks at me
when I am not looking at him.
~——''What a bright little thing!” ex-
claimed the society woman, patronizingly
cooing at a baby out for an a ring in the
park. ‘“Whose little one is this?
“Yours, ma’am,” replied the nurse
“I'm the new nurse that kem yistherd’y”
I
| OLD TIME CALENDARS.
The Saxon Clogg, Whence Comes the
Name “Almanac.”
In these days, when printed calendars
are in evidence everywhere, the ques-
tion as to what device the eider folk
employed to help them mark the prog-
tess of time is not uninteresting.
“They,” says Verstegan, ailuding to
the Saxons, “used to engrave upon
eertaine squared sticks about a foot in
length, or shorter or longer, as they
pleased, the courses of the moones of
the whole yeere, whereby they could
nlwaies certainly tell when the new
moones, full moones and changes
should happen, as also their festivall
dailies, and such a carved stick they
called an al-mon-aght—that is to say,
al-mon-heed, to wit, the record or ob-
servation of all the moones, and hence
is derived the name almanac.”
An instrument of this kind was also
called the clogg, from its form and
matter, and had a ring on the upper
end of it to hang on a nall somewhere
about the house. On each of the four
sides were three months, the days be-
ing represented by notches. Every
seventh notch, being of a larger size,
represented Sunday. Issuing from
the right side of the notches were in-
scriptions and figures marking the
festival days by some endowment of
the saints or illustrating the season of
the year by some work or sport char-
acteristic of it.
Thus against June 20, St. Peter's day,
were carved his keys. On Feb. 14 a
true lover's knot appeared, aud against
the notch designating Christmas day
was the old wasshalling or carcusal
horn that the forefathers used to make
merry with.
The Danes, Swedes aud Norwegians
used these almanacs under various
names, such as Reinstocks, Runstocks,
Runstaffs, Annales, Staves, Stakes,
Cloggs, Runici, and so forth. Before
printing was introduced and when
manuscripts were rare and dear these
Runic almanacs were made the instru-
ments of Instruction and regularity.
That they might be more serviceable
they were ofteft carved on the tops of
pligrims’ staves or stakes so as to
regulate their time of assembling at
particular places. They were also cut
on sword scabbards and implements of
husbandry. These cloggs are not en-
tirely unlike the Egyptian obelisks,
which have been called fingers of the
sun and which may be regarded as a
species of almanac.
One of the first printed almanacs or
calendars was that of John Muller,
who opened a printing house and pub-
lished his almanac at Guremburg in
the year 1472. It gave not only the
thirty years in advance,
VIL gives the first recorded account of
almanaca.—Chicago Record-Herald.
Lightrning Superstition.
- The ancient Romans avoided places
struck by lightning. The houses it
damagzed were pulled down or fenced
in =o that no one could use the build.
ing on which the gods had set the mark
of their displeasure. This feeling was
probably deepened by the fact that cer
tain localities are visited by thunder
storms more than others, the wrath of
Jove descending in white flame time
and again In the same spot, And it
was the siilie superstition, lingering
among Christians in a slightly different
form, which made ‘it so difficult for
Benjamin Franklin to introduce the
lightning rod, for the pious Americans
of that day declared that “it was as
impious to erect rods to ward off heav-
en's lightning as for a child to ward off
the chastening rod of its father.”
The Wood In Old Violins. :
The woods most favored by the old
masters for violin construction were
pine, «pear, lemon, ‘ash, maple and
sycamore, and by some of the later
men apple was used. Boxwood was
universally employed for
marriage is as rare between violins
and their bridges as it is between men
and women.” He deplores the heart:
less substitution of new bridges for
old ones and insists that a new bridge
will never mate perfectly with an old
violin, and rather than resort to sub-
stitution he advises patching and re-
pairing the old one as long as it can be
made to last.—Circle Magazine.
A Homemade Weather Glass.
A very reliable weather glass can be
made out of such simple materials as
an empty salad oil bottle and a quart
fruit jar. Having procured these arti-
cles, pour sufficient water into the jar
so that it covers the mouth of the bot-
tle when the latter Is inserted into the
former. In fine weather it will be
found that the water will rise into the
bottle, but will fall back into the jar
when wet weather Is due. Though the
idea of this quaint homemade barome-
ter is not new, it is quite reliable.
A Poor Artist.
Patience—Do you know Jules, the
artist?
Patrice—Yes, but I don’t like him,
“Why not?”
“Oh, I like a man who can isok you
in the eye.”
“Can't he?’
“Why, he can’t even paint a plcture
of a person who can lock you in the
eye!”—Yonkers Statesman.
Characteristics.
“Geniuses are eccentric. Some of
Gem touch every post or tree they
across.”
“Most of ’em touch every friend they
run across or almightily try to—
Louisville Courier-Journal.
No man can wear one face to
self and another to the multitude -
out finally getting bewildered as to
[ which may be the true.—Hawthorne.
characters of each year and of the!
months, but foretold the eclipses for!
In England the year book of Henry
Haweis says, “A perfectly harmonious
LAMARTINE’S PRESENT.
Mow the French Author Got a Big
Price For a Little Poem.
Francois Buloz, the founder and edl-
tor of the famous French journal, La
Revue des Deux Mondes, was by no
means celebrated for his generosity to
contributors. One day shortly after
the publication of Lamartine's “Les
Girondins,” and while the Ii
world was ringing with the fame
great author, Buloz called on his
asked him to write an article for hi
magazine. Lamartine consented, but
stated that he could not have {t ready
for some weeks.
Buloz, fearing that this was only an
excuse and that he would never get
the article, offered Lamartine an ad-
vance. It so happened that the author
was in need of 4,000 francs at that
time, and he so informed the editor,
who at once handed over the money.
Three months later he called r-
tine's attention to the fact that
contribution had not yet been recel
It was toward the end of 1847, and
great author was devoting his entire
time to politics.
“While you are waiting for this ar-
ticle wonld you care for a little poem
I have here?’ he asked Buloz.
He enthusiastically replied in the af-
firmative.
Months later, when Lamartine had
become minister of foreign affairs, Bu-
loz again called upon him to remind
him of the promised contribution.
“But you see my position,” answered
the minister, “how busy I am!”
Buloz frowned.
“But, citizen minister, a certain
amount of money was advanced, and
the interests of my magazine do not
permit me to"—
“How much was it?"
“Four thousand francs.”
Lamartine took this amount of
money from the drawer and laid it
upon his desk.
The editor, however, looked some:
what embarrassed.
“Well, what more can I do for you?
You have your money.”
“The fact is, I owe you for a small
poem.”
“Oh, that's not worth mentioning!
I'll make you a present of it.” .
Buloz drew himself up haughtily.
“Citizen minister, La Revue des
Deux Mondes does not accept pres-
ents. How much do I owe you?”
“Oh, well, If you Insist,” answered
Lamartine dryly as he took up the
4,000 francs and replaced them in his
drawer, “we will call it square!”
ODD CUSTOMS.
Every house must be decked with
flowers on New Year's day in Japan.
In Buenos Ayres the police alone
have the right of whistling on the
streets. Any other person whistling is
at once arrested.
In Ashanti many families are for-
ptaden the use of certain meats. In
lke manner otiers are forbidden to
wear clothes of a certain color.
If a carriage upsets or injures an-
other carriage in the streets of St. Pe-
tersburg or if a person is knocked
down, the horses of the offending ve-
hicle are seized and confiscated to the
use of the fire brigade.
It is the practice of the Ashantecs
and Fantees to bury one-third of the
property of a: dead.man, converted in-
to gold dust, under-his head, and rifling.
the grave of au.enemy is considered;
the preper action for a warrior,
Clapping the hands In various ways
is ‘the polite method in central ‘Africa
of saying “Allow me” “I beg par:
don,” “Permit me to pass! :ando
“Thanks.” It Is resorted to in respect:
| tul introduction and leave taking. ., .,,,
3 ROO igshng
Doves and Religion, . __ .
“One thing I remarked and think
worthy of notice Is that ever since
Noah's. dove every religion seems tg.
For. example, every mosque Swarms,
with pigeons, and the same
most Italian mrarket places. The Hin-
doo pundits and the old Assyrian em-
pire also have them, while Ca cs
make it the emblem of the Holy
Ghost.”
Lady Burton in her account of the
Mohammedan mystery play of “Has-
san and Hossein” says: »
“Then comes the bler with Hosseln's
corpse and his son sitting upon it sor-
rowing and embracing him and a beau-
tiful white dove in the corner whose
wings are dabbled with blood. The ef-
fect upon the excited crowd is awful.”
—“Life of Sir Richard F. Burton.”
Where He Worshiped.
As the new minister of the
was on his way to evening service he
met a rising young man of the place
whom he was anxious to have become
an active member of the church,
“Good evening, my young friend,” he
said solemnly. “Do you ever attend a
place of worship?’
“Yes, indeed, sir, regularly e
Sunday night,” replied the young
low, with a smile. “I'm on my way
to see her now.”—Ladles’ Home Jour-
nal.
The Mystic Number Five.
Five is the great sacred Chinese
number. There are five virtues, five
colors (yellow, white, green, red and
black), five household gods, five planets
(Saturn, Venus, Jupiter, Mars and Mer-
cury), five ranks of nobility, five tastes,
five cardinal (the middle,
south and north ea
five tones.
He Had to Stay.
“You venture into Wall street ocea-
sionally ?” said the lamb.
“My case,” answered the maguate,
“ig different from yours. “I don’t dare
venture out of it for fear of what
would do In my absence.”—Washin
Star.