a ———— Bellefonte, Pa., July 12, 1907. OPEN THE DOOR OF YOUR HEART. Open the door of your heart, my lad, To the angels of love and trath ; When the world is full of unnumbered joys, In the beautifal dawn of youth. Casting aside all things that mar, Saying to wrong, “Depart I" To the voices of hope that are calling you Open the door of your heart. Open the door of your heart, my lass, To the things that shall abide, To the holy thoughts that lift your soul Like the stars at eventide, All of the fadeless flowers that bloom In the realms of song and art Are yours, if you'll only give them room, Open the door of your heart, Open the door of your heart, my friend, Heedless of class or creed, When you hear the cry of a brother's voice, The sob of a chiid in need. To the shining heaven that o'er you bends You need no map or chart, Bat only ti.e love the Master gave, Open the door of your heart, —Bdward Everett Hale. THE DREAMER. Directly opposite the Dreamer’s desk in the filth floor office of the ‘Evening Times’’ were two windows. And between the windows was a door from which a staircase ran tothe floor helow. A more practical and sordid outlook could not be imagined. Throngh the windows one saw a forest of brick and iron emoke-stacks, tel- ph poles, and ugly ventilation shafts. All day long the chimoeys belched bitum- inous smoke, so that the grave! roofs were black ; aud the air was 30 gaseons that not even the city sparrows would perch on the sagging wires which ran from pole to pole. Through the haze of soot the san pever shone brightly, avd the sky always looked, from the Dreamer’s desk, as thongh a storm were about to burst. Aud the doorway between the windows was just as grimy and ogly. From seven o'clock in the morning until ¢ix in the evening buey reporters, slovenly office boys, and greasy pressmen tramped through it. The stairs were always creaking, the doors were slamming, and from the floor below came the mary sounds of the composing-room. But to the Dreamer none of this was ap- parent. Time avd again, as hesat at his typewriter, laborionsly grinding out copy for the Finance Page, he would look up at those windows and that door and sit for whole minutes with his eyes ball closed and a rapt smile larking in the corners of nis mouth. To him that maze of chimneys and poles was a shady grove, and the bang- ing door was the ecutrance to a quiet old country-house. As he settled in his chair and chewed his pipe-stem reminiscently, he never saw the hurrying reporters nor heard the click of the typewriters and lino- type machines. To him the clouds of black smoke were green leaves, and the many sounds were the tinkling of a little foun- tain somewhere in the smoke stack forest, When there was no market crash to be written up or no Corner to he reported— when he had lots of time—the Dreamer would pat bis feet on the desk and gaze | into the depths of the Valley of Content ment for hours at a time. Of course, such hours of happiness were rare, for the Chief wae usually giving orders or some fool hoy | was yelling fer copy just when the dieam | wae sweetest. Bat when uo one disturbed | him there was one strangely white tele. | graph pole that would beckon and talk ith the Dreamer avd wake his heart ache | to live with her in the peaceful grove. | That was the Love-Lady. Armin arm she | and the Dreamer would often walk along the shaded dream paths and go at last through the weather-beaten door—and he would wake, cramped and practical, sitting at his desk with pages and pages of copy to be gotten out. At other times be could sce the Dragon walking with the Love-Lady, and then he wouid hide behind a big black oak tree and motion to her to come wben she coald. The Dreamer conld never see jnst why the Love-Lady shonld walk with the Dragon, but be never reproached ber, for the Drag- on was her father, and the Dreamer was only her hushand. And, of conse, the Dragon didn’t know that. If he bad known that. If be bad known, the Valley of Con- tentment would have heen barred to the Dreamer forever. So day after day the Love-Lady was wooed by her dreamer husband through the smoke stack grove, and always the Dreamer leaped the hedge just as the Drag- on came out of the door—or just as the Chief asked what Coppers were doing. To the Chief the Dreamer was an enigma. He never could understand how a chap so level headed, and practical enough to do the Street work, could sit about and moon the way the Dreamer did. Aud he was go likely to be mooning just when the Chief wanted y. If he bad loafed like the rest the Chie! would not bave minded. Bat to just dream and dream; it was pro- voking, to say the least. Several times the Chief bad started to speak to the Dream. er about it, hut be never got any farther than: “Now, I say, this is no time to—"’ when up wounld spring the culprit with a “Yes, sir. Have itall donein a jiff.” What coald a Chief say to that? A Cub who can't work ora Vet who won't work may be called, but a Star who does work and who dreams at the same time isa paradox that must be endured. And the Dreamer was a Star.of the First itude—a Star that everybody in the “Times’’ office wondered at. No one on Staff knew where be had learned the Street work. He just walked into the *‘Times" gue day and asked the Chief for something to do. “‘Ever done reporting?’ that dignitary growled. “No,” the Dreamer replied, ‘“‘but I've wa experience in the Street. Give me a trial. Now it happened that one of the Finance Men was ill at the time, so the Chief said : ““Koow the Street, eh? Well, sehen to I'll give me tomorrow—seven tharp—and you a chance.” The Dreamer reported, and from that day the Street was his regular Beat. In three months he was doing ihe work alone, and better than two men had done it before. The Chief gave him a desk, dubbed him ‘Financial Editor,”’ and wondered who the deuce he was. But that the Dreamer never told. When he came to the ‘“Times’’ he called himsell Peter G. instead of P. Glover, and nobody suspected his identity. And the Dreamer didn’t want them to. He was trying to live down that old pame. For five years i i after leaving college he bad struggled along under the weight of that P. Glover. His 1 fortune had taken unto itse'l wings, and his friends bad gone back ov bim. Now he was fairly started as plain Peter, and be didn’t intend to let any fancifully named ghost of the old life rise vp to bar his way ** ont i did be keep in touch y in one way e with the life that was P. Glover's before Peter G. came to the “‘Times’’ office. That was throogh the Valley of Contentment. ‘When be first discovered the resemblance between the ‘“Times’’ door and the forest of emoke-stacks, and the old country-house with its quiet grove, he almost decided to give ap his desk. Then one day be found that the white telegraph pole resembled the Love-Lady if be ball closed bis eyes and forgot the clatter, so he stayed and hecame the Dream er. Once again he went to the Valley of Con- tentment with the Pal. Between the writ- ing of Market Reports, he met and walked through the grove with the Love-Lady. He told her of his love ; she kissed him, and thereafter he dwelt in the fantom grove and was reasonably bappy. Bat, as before, the Dragon their love—his and the Love-Lady’s. bad uno personal feeling against the Dream- er, but he wouldn't have bis daughter married to any Young Fool who bad more money than brains, and who conldn’s sup- port a mouse by his own endeavors. When the Dreamer bas shown his mettle he might marry the Love-Lady, and not before. In vain they pleaded, and in vain the Love- Lady wept—there would be no wedding with the Dragon’s consent, until the Dreamer bad done something. With the Dragon’s consent! How they ponder that phrase ! And in the end t ey did ju-r as they bad done before—married without the Dragon's consent. The Dreamer lived that sweet secret al! over again. Day after day he struggled with the Market both as a ““Times’’ re- er and as a Young Specalator,and dur- ng his leisure time he climbed over the dream-hedge into the dream-grove aud walked with the Love-Laky. Then one day came the same old Crasb—a dream- crash this time. P. Glover went broke and the Mad Tide of the Street washed bim np on the shore of the Valley of Contentment. He entered the quiet old honse and a<ked for the Dragon. But the Dragon had heard, and he merely sent down word that the Dreamer was never to trespass on his property again. Sadly the Sborn Lamb left the house. Out in the garden be met the Love-Lady and told her all that bad Bappenca. Then with the enthosziasm of yonth and love, he asked her $2 go with him. “But baw can we live, dear?’ she ask- ed. Az it was with P. Glover, so it was with the Dreamer. He was burt and start- led by her answer—so startled that he jumped to his fect to find the whole Staff staring at him. That day he dreamed no more; and the Chief marveled at the rapid ity with which the Finance came in. Bat the next day, when he thould have heen writing the story of how the Bears bad shorn another rich Lamb, the Dreamer foand himself staring again into the smoke- stack grove. And there stood the Love- Lady, just where be bad lefs ber, asking : ‘*Bnt how can we live, dear?" “I'll work,”’ the Dreamer replied, ‘work as I never bave before.” Then the Love-Lady laughed. It was a loving little laugh, but a careless one, and it cut the Dreamer deeply. He made some angry retort and they quarreled—they who had never hefore spoken a harsh word to each other. In anger the Dreamer stalked out of the gate, and the Valley of Content. ment knew P, Glover no more, and a week later Peter G. joined the *Times'’ force. For months after that day's dream the Financial Editor tried to devise a happy ending for the romance of the smoke stack grove, the fantom Dreamer, and the tele grapli-pole Love-Lady. [ut always their story ended with the quan] in the garden, and alwass the Fioauvcial Editor awoke and made his typewriter hum as he vicions. ly pounded out Market Reports. Yet he could not get away from hisdreams. Every time he looked ap from his desk those two windows and the grimy door came into view, and jost so surely as he looked into the forest of chimneys aud poles he hegan to dream. A score of times he lived the story all over again, hoping against hope that it wight end differently. Then he began in- venting little scenes between himsell and the Love-Lady, and for hours he would wonder in that grove of his dreams aud forget that newspapers want Woikets, not Dreamers. Oue time it world be afternocn, and he would be having tea with the Love-Lady beside the little lountain which tinkled so much like a typewriter. They would hold bands and say foolish, loving things about the amount of sugar they liked in their tea. Aud maybe the dragon, peaceful and tamed now, would ait with them and talk in a bless-yon-my-childrer way. Or the Pal might drop in and congratulate them again though be bad done ita thousand times before. Aud altogether they were quite bappy and the grove was surely the alley of Contentment. Another time it would be evening at the quiet honse. Just inside the tall French windows the Dragon would be readiug his book. Outside, the Love Lady aud the Dreamer would be sitting in a big low wicker chair. Away off among the trees the little birds would twitter as they set- tled down for the night, and the two Lov. ers in the chair, like the birds, would snog- gle tcgether aud pretend to sleep. Ba whenever or however they met, the Love. Lady and the Dreamer were always happy in the fantor: grove among the chimneys. Then one day something happened in the Street. A mere Pretender tried to make himself Corn King. His Crowd bought bushels and bushels of Corn and the Hun- Pablic seemed to Le inn pretty pw er. Bat some one taraed traitor. The Crash came, and when the excitement was over, the Pretender lay crushed and pen- niless, All that morning the Dreamer had been on the Street. Nota detail of fight bad es. caped him, and about noou he started for the ““Times’’ to write it all up in the most approved, sensational style, His hat was e, his coat was torn, and his eyes were ollow and red. Every bone in bis body ached as though he bad been pounded with a club, It seemed that he could never climb those awful stairs, bat the story bad to he written and he staggered ou. en he reached his desk, he dropped into his chair like a wooden thing. The noise seemed to drive ev thought from his head, but the News Fever was upon him, and he streched out his arm for copy paper. Likea manio atrance he pon the keys of his typewriter. One page—two ~five—ten he wrote and as fast as they came from his machine, the Chiel grabbed ther up and hurried them off to the com- posing-room. At last it was all done, and the Dreamer sank back in his chair, bis head drooping and his eyes shut. He was going home now--going home to the Love-Lady in the Valley of Content- ment. In that far-off land of dreams, he wandered alovg the country drive, leaped over the hedge, and stood the big oak tree behind which he bad been wont to hide from she Dragon. The little fountain tinkled softly—but devilishly like a type- writer—the birds were singing avd every- was soft and balmy. It seemed so to be home and away the dittand clatter of that “Times” office. Bat where was the Love-Lady? Vaguely he heard steps in the doorway. She was coming 10 meet bim. No, there wae two—it mnst be the Dragon with her. The Dreamer stir- red in his chair, then settled down again bas the Staff rose to its feet and gaped. Throogh the grimy door hetween the windows bad come a Vision that brought even the Chief to his feet, and hehind her walked an Old Man ina frock coat, She looked gquestioningly about the office and saw the Dreamer. With a soft cry she started for him, the Old Man close behind her. The Dreamer looked up blankly acd smiled. They were coming fo meet him now aud be was glad, for he was so tired. ‘‘Pete—Pete,”’ the Vision cried, and the Old Man said: *‘P. Glover, [ think you had better come home.’ The Dreamer jumped to bis feet and rub. bed bis eyes. Bat the Love-Lady, with her arms outstreched, was still there.—By Arthur Rahl, in Collier's. THE CRAFTY WOLF. Btories of His Man Eating Feats Said to Be Untrue, A skeptical person calling himself St. Croix has been trying to find out malign- whether wolves and bears are ed by the popular stories of their man | eating ways and writes his conclu- ! | sions for Recreation. | First he tried running down the sto- ries told In newspaper dispatches. : Folled in this effort, he turned to the him. Had they ever known of an In- dian being killed by one? N-no, but ingan was very crafty and very ch to be dreaded. Quite so. But, once for all, had he ever to their knowledge killed a man? No, but they had heard— So it went— always the same intangible, uncon- firmed rumor and the same absence of i “Now for a few facts as to the wolf,” writes St. Croix. “He can go eight days without food and can then eat forty pounds of meat at a sitting, so the Indians say. This is pretty fair for an animal weighing but eighty pounds. Yet we do not know the length of the sitting. “The wolf will not venture on glare ice; he never crosses a lake until there is enough snow to hide the ice. To wetting his feet he is as averse as the domestic cat. He will not kill his for the kill, “When chasing a deer, he goes at a leisurely lope, sitting down at inter- vals to give the most dolorous and bloodcurdling howls. This drives the poor victim into a wild gallop and soon exhausts it, and as the wolf never‘tires he Is sure sooner or later to catch up with the quarry. “In winter the deer often makes for some wild rapid, into which it plunges, knowing that the wolf will not follow. Too often the deer drowns, but better such a death than one by the fangs. “In summer a couple of wolves will secure all the deer they need by very simple tactics. Having put up the quarry, one wolf drives it by easy stages to some little lake—I speak now of the Laurentian country—and on reaching the shore the deer plunges unhesitatingly in, for its instinct tells it the enemy will not dare to follow. “So on it swims, while the pursuer sits on his haunches and howls dis- mally, no doubt bLecause he sees his dinner escaping. At length the tired deer drags itself wearily from the water and shakes the drops from its coat on the sun warmed strand. Then the companion wolf, which has way- laid its coming, springs at its throat, and when the first wolf joins him they have a gorge that makes them inde- pandent of fate for a whole week.” The Curious Duel That Was Arranged by a Doctor. An extraordinary duel, which at the time created an immense sensation, was one in which the decision was ar- rived at not by swords or pistols, but by menus of a deadly poison. The men—who, it is hardly necessary to say, had fallen out over a lady—had left the arrangement of details to their seconds, and until they faced each oth- er they did not know by what method they were to settle their differences. One of the seconds was a doctor. and be bad made up for the occasion four black pellets, all identical in size and shape. “In one of these,” he sald, “I have placed a sufficient quantity of prussic acid to cause the almost in- stantaneous death of any one who swallows it. We will decide by the toss of a coin which of you is to have first choice, and you will alternately draw and swallow a pill until the poi son shows its effects.” Two of the pel- lets were then taken as the toss had decided, but without effect in either case. “This time,” said the doctor, speaking of the two pellets “you must both swallow the pill at the same instant” The choice was again made, and in a few seconds one of the men lay dead on the grass.— Pall Mall Gazette. “He Who Keepeth His Tongue” An old fashioned minister was visit- ing his son in New York recently was taken to a fashionable church the Sunday morning service. The pas- tor is a young man of great culture, but evidently his oratorical efforts did not greatly impress the vigitor, ol when they were walking homeward son remarked approvingly: “That was a good sermon, an excel lent sermon. The congregation like Dr. Blank very much.” “Yes, a good sermon undou A$ his father replied. “It could sibly have touched a sore spot any- where.”—New York Herald. Indfans. They knew the gray wolf, | having wintered and summered with game in the shelter of the forest, al- | ways driving it into some open place | THE POOR CAT. One Occasion When the Animal Did Not Come Back. . When the cat died the whole family went into mourning, figuratively if not literally. No common back deor cat this, out one that must be buried with all honor. The question was how and where, Some one proposed cremation, but this was re, on the ground that it sounded like lynching. It was finally proposed that the father, who had to cross a ferry every day t» his place of business, should drop It overboard, and as a burial at sea ruth er appealed to the sentimental :.it': 'e of the family this idea was received favorably. The following morning the remains of the cat were made into a package and securely tied, It was a lovely day, and the ferryboat was crowded with passengers, and what had seemed so simple at home assumed unexpected difficulties in the face of a curious crowd, ready to imagine anything and to put the worst construction on an ap- | parently mysterious action, Finally it occurred to the father that | the best time would be the evening, ‘and he could slip the cat overboard | without attracting notice in the dusk. | Through the day it occupied a corner | of his office, and he was glad when the time came for the return trip. He waited until the boat was well | eut In the stream and then. glancing | around furtively, laid his hand on the package. Suddenly it struck him what would seem strange In broad daylight would seem doubly so at night. With a smothered groan he replaced it on the seat beside him. There was no help for it—he would have to carry it home again. As he took his seat in the train that was to convey him the rest of the way he placed the cat on the shelf above his head and for the first time that day forgot all about it. Hurrying to get off the car when he reached his destination, he was halted by some one behind him, who thrust into his hand the ill fated package. When he reached his house he threw it down on a chair In the hall and went in to supper. In the middle of it the maid came in and asked how she should cook the meat he had brought with him?" “Meat!” he exclaimed. “That isn't meat ! It's"— But at this moment the maid pro duced the package and showed him a choice piece of meat, Fistory does not ! say what the man sald who got the cat.—-New York Sun. POINTED PARAGRAPHS. A boy's idea of a hero is another boy who runs away from home. Nothing Is =o often overestimated as the luformation given confidentially. As a rule. what a man calls his rights represent merely desired privi- leges. You may have forgotten more than the other man knows and still be a short horse. The man who Is scared into being good is the one most likely to boast of his exceeding virtue. There are lots of ways of wasting time. Feeling sorry for yourself brings about as little returns as any. When a man goes to church and hears a sermon which seems intended expressly for him, he never enjoys fit very much. As the prize winner in the biggest baby contest, the man who doesn't get sick very often is a strong competitor when he does.—Atchison Globe. Drinking Excuses. Excuses for drinking are always at hand, Here are the five familiar ones: Good wine, a friend, or being dry, Or lest we should be by and by— Or any other reason why. If they don't suffice one can always fall back upon Dr. Sam Johnson's, “He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.” On the other hand, here are three rea- sons, one of them cogent, that a Bos- tonian gave for not drinking: “First.—1 can't drink, for I've just lost a near relative, Second (when much pressed). — No, I really can't. You know I'm president of a temper- ance society. Third (when he was much more pressed).—No, I can't, in- deed. [Uve just had four or five cock- tails." —PBoston Globe. Shopping In London. One of the first things an American man or woman rushes out to buy in London is a serviceable well cut mack- intosh, and the second article to be purchased is usually an umbrella. A man can buy in London a smart wa- terproof which with occasional reproof- ing will last him a lifetime for 3 or 4 guineas. In New York a very bad imi- tation will cost him from $10 to $50. The British umbrella Is not only a thing of beauty In workmanship, but it will outlast all competitors across the seas.—London Express, — Mixed. Here is a mixture of kingdoms, if not of metaphors, taken from a history ex- amination paper: “He stretched his sultry length beneath the ewe tree's shade.” “Away back as far as the time of Jack Cartier England sent her ships into Hudson bay to trade beads and muskets with the Indians for ivory oi the walrus tree.”—Century. Not an Expert Opinion. “He has just returned from Mexi- co. He says a Mexican burro is the most aggrsvatingly stubborn thing on earth.” “He isn't married.”"—Houston Post. Vague. “My husband is really very atten- tive. Yesterday he bought me a dozen veils.” ~Meggendorfer Blatter. SRR — USED BIBLE AS CIPHER. A Verse Fron Sslomon Told of a Mar- riage Engagement. When she left her bone in the small town to come to New York to take up a special course of study her pet sis- ter was fast reaching the crisis of a love affair. The pet sister was a most winsome young lady and bad long kept 2 goodly train of suitors a-sighing. Was this affair to be the grand affair? The older sister hoped so, for she liked the young man cordially—thought he was just the sort to make a proper brother-in-law, But the weeks passed, and not a bit of definite news about the progress of the affair did the older sister receive in her city boarding house. She be- came anxious. Louise, she thought, must not go on recklessly trifling In guch important matters, Then cne night about 10 o'clock, just as she was going to bed, came a tele- gram. The servant brought it up. The cider sister was country girl enough to be thoroughly frightened by the pale manila, black inked envelope, How ominous it looked! At length she gathered courage to open fi. This is what she read: Solomon six three. LOUISE. Solomon six three! Whatever in the world! Oh, why, yes, stupid, it of course meant the Song of Solomon, sixth chapter, third verse! But—and her cheeks flushed with shame—she had no Bille! There was a great scurrying about the boarding house to find a copy of the sacred fwok. The girls were rout- ed out in vain. On all sides the ery arose, “Who's got a Bible?" Just think of the sister trying to sleep that night without knowing what that verse was! It would have been just like a woman to lie down to pleasant dreams, content to know that she could satisfy her cu- rlosity in the morning—not! The landiady, good soul, came to the rescue. She was no heathen. She had a Bible. Up to her room with it flew the sister and shut the door. Such a turning over of pages by eager, nerv- ous fingers! Solomon six three. She found it, and then she cried “Hurrah!” and laughed, for the verse was: I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine. ' —New York Press, THE SPECTER SWIMMER. A Legend of the Sea That Still Appeals to Sailors. The sailor as a class still holds fast to the superstitions that have been his especial lievitage throughout all ages. To him the sea is still peopled with phantoms. Men there are still who sail the sea Yelieving in the power of the Swimmer, men who believe in the Wal- rus of unholy fame and in the exist ence of the specter bark Thc to be seen at any time dodging In and out of the creeks and bays of the South Caro- lina coast. This is the tale of the Swim- mer: Near Cape Finisterre there lived a fisher maiden in days when the world asked fewer questions than now, and with her lived her fisher sweetheart On their wedding night, runs the yarn, smugglers came down on their village, a thieving, drunken band. When they left, having done all the damage they could, the fisher maiden's sweetheart had disappeared, whether with them or through them was never known. Instead of pining uselessly, as would most women, she dressed herself in men's clothes and started to find him. dead or alive. Tor years she wandered over the earth and ocean, and, though her dis guise was penetrated several times and she passed through a host of trou bles which vary with each telling, she succeeded in keeping up her hunt. Fi nally after escaping from an English prison the vessel she was on was lost at sea, and the simple Breton fisher men enshrined her in a legend which has her forever swimming the seas still in search of the man she loved and hailing each craft she nears. A sailor, be he Yankee or Portuguese, matter of fact in all things else or grossly superstitious, believes firmly that if you hear the hail of the Swim. mer on a dark night at sea and am swer it not woe follows swiftly.—New York Herald. The Perfect Servant. The thoroughly trained English serv: ant is in his way the most perfect kind of servant to be found anywhere, and in his station and for his duties he is not to be matched in the world. Where will yon find any men so competent in their work, so completely trained and apparently emotionless in manner, sc punctual, so clean, so smart, as ap English butler, coachman, footman or valet? Certainly not on the continent of Europe, in the United States, in Canada or in Australia.—Country Life. Metals and Metaphors. “It is most amazing,” said a metal lurgist, “how the world relies on met als for its metaphors and similes. Thus anforator is silver tongued or golden mouthed. An explorer is bronzed by African suns. A resolute chap has ap ron will. A siuggard moves with lead en feet. An ostrich has a copper lined stomach. A millionaire has tin, A swindler is as slippery as quicksilver. A borrower has brass.’'—New York ¥'ress. Mamma Remembered. - Papa (enraged)—Well, Constantia, daughter, I've never in all my life seen as soft, green, unsophisticated, spoony an idiot as young Puddington. Mam: ma (emphatically)—1 have!—Philadel phia Inquirer, gta realizes how much be own father knew" until he starts to ad- vise childfén of his own. — Floride Times-Union, THINKING ALOUD. A Ruse Which Roused Lord Dudley and Formed a Friendship. One of the earls of Dudley, who was addicted to the practice of thinking aloud, found himself In a very awk- ward predicament on a certain ocea- Mon. He was to spend the evening at the house of a friend and ordered his carriuge early, as he had a long drive Sack to his own home, When the hour arrived the carriage was not forthcoming. Seeing that Lord Dudley was considerably annoy- ed by the delay, one of the guests, whose way homeward lay past his lordship’s house, politely offered him a seat in his carriage. The gentleman was almost a stranger to Lord Dud- ley, but the offer was accepted. The drive did not prove a very socia- ble one. Lord Dudley took his seat and immediately relapsed into silence, his thoughts apparently engrossed by some unpleasant subject. Presently he began to speak In a low but distinctly audible tone of voice, and his compan- fon, to his astonishment, heard him say: “I'm very sorry I accepted his offer. 1 don't know the man. It was civil certainly, but the worst is I suppose I must ask him to dinner.” Silence followed this bit of audible thinking. His lordship was unaware that he had betrayed his thoughts and was probably still meditating upon the same unpleasant subject when the voice of his companion broke the still- Hess, Apparently this stranger was afflict- ed with the same malady from which lis lordship suffered, for he exactly imitated Lord Dudley's tone as he said: “Perhaps he'll think I did it to make hls aequuintance, Why, I would have done the same to cuy farmer on his estite. 1 hope hie won't ask me to din- ner, for 1 shan't accept his invitation.” Lord Dudley's abstraction was all gone. He listened to the other's words, immediately comprehending the joke against himself, and frankly offered iis hand to his companion, making many apologies for his Involuntary rudeness, The stranger proved magnanimous, and from that night the two became fast friends, ren THE TAXIDERMIST. He Stretches Animal Skins Over Plas- ter of Paris Forms. Recently a prominent taxidermist of St. Louis was taking a party of visit- ors through his establishment. He had fome very rare specimens of big game fish, both of the sea and river, besides a large collection of birds of every clime about the walls. “Is that stuffed, too?’ asked a lady. indicating the lifelike form of a small pet dog which sat motionless upon the hearth, The taxidermist frowned and return- ed very indignantly: : “Madam, we do no stuffin: here. We stretch our hides over plaster of paris forms. The day of stuffing 13 pe * and no up to date establishment does it." The party was taken upstairs, through the rooms where the real taxi- dermy Is done. They had expected to see hides being crammed full of sasw- dust, shavings and perhaps hair. No such thing was seen, however, and in place of this were men and boys mold- ing out the forms of deer, antelope, fish and other kinds of animals in the smooth white plaster. This is done very much in the same way as the terra cotta cornices are molded to grace the corners of buildings. The hides after going through the cleaning process are stretched tightly over the plaster form, which indeed is more lasting than the old fashioned manner of stuffing them. “Even specimens of fish are treated in this manner,” resumed the taxider- mist, “and you may easily see how a skin would retain its shape a great deal longer over the hard, smooth sur- face of the plaster than if a softer ma- terial were crammed Into it, which if ‘improperly done will bulge and last but a short time.”--Exchange. i —————————— Lincoln's Last Law Case. Lincoln tried his last case in Chi- cago. It was the case of Jones versus Johnson in April and May, 1860, in the United States circuit court before Judge Drummond. The case involved the title to land of very great value, the accretion on the shore of Lake Michigan. During the trial Judge Drummond and all the counsel on both sides, including Lincoln, dined together at the house of Isaac N. Arnold. At the conclusion of the dinner this toast was proposed: “May Illinois fur- nish the next president of the United States.” It was drunk with great en- thusiasm by the friends of both Lin- coln and Douglas. — Chicago Record- Herald. The Wary Crow. The crow is useful in killing mice, snakes, lizards and frogs and is a splendid scavenger. He is quite wary, will always flee from a man with a gun, but pays little attention to the ordinary pedestrian. These birds are gregarious in their habits and make thelr large, untidy nests at the tops of trees. They come in flocks to the sleep- ing grove, sit around on the ground, and when all are assembled they rise simultaneousiy and scramble for nests. Crows mate for life. Still His Daughter. Old Gotrox — But If my daughter marries you, will she have all the comforts to which she has been ac- customed? Young DeBroque—Well, it will be your fault if she hasn't.—Chi- cago News, The truest mark of being born with great qualities is being born without envy. ~~Rochefoucauld.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers