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.