a ———. Bellefonte, Pa., August, 1907. sss _ “WHY, HOW, WHERE." An ancient legend tells that once Three earnest men before their Lord, Awaiting stood, to know His will: A preacher one, a student ope, The third—a timid, loving heart. Unto the first one day there came His call: “Go thou, without delay, And bear My words where snows are deep: Where day and night the icy hands Of chilling frosts in bondage hold The frozen earth.” The preacher paused Toask the question: ** Why should 1 Go there, when harvests here await?’ The scholar also heard His call: “Go thou and bear My message true O'er mountain heights, o'er pathiess plains, Through rivers deep and swift, where 1 ‘Thy paths may choose,” The scholar stood To ask his Lord: “1 would, but how Can I go forth to bear Thy words To regions which the feet of man Have never trod?’ By loving heart, So timid, weak, the Master's call Was heard. “Go thou where cruel hate, Where wrath of man doth bar thy way. Fierce foes thy path oppose and wild Theirrage. Thy life may be the price Of thee I ask.” Then love replied: ‘1 go, dear Lord. Show Thou me Where 1 toil may find to prove my love, And in Thy strength 1 gladly serve. All, all 1 ask is life or death For Thee, as Thou for me dost will. Thine own 1am and only Thine, To be, to do, to go, to speak Wherever Thou my life canst use, In Thine own Name." And legend asks: “Which of the waiting three art thou?" Providence, R. I. Ernest G. Wellesley Wesley. ON THE BOTTOM OF THE DORY. There was constraint between the men, else it would never have happtd. Mar- tin, hauling the heavily loaded trawl over the girdy in the bow, could hardly bave been expected to avert it, but ready to Harry’s hand was the oar in the becket placed there exactly for such a possibility. A quick flirt of a sthing wrist and, bow-on or stern-to, she could have safely ridden out the sea. But Harry was not able, or prepared, for it. Even after Martin bad called, ‘‘Watch out for the next one !”’ he was slow to move. Something must have been on his mind. So, exultingly, the oncoming sea picked ber up and tossed her, and far out were cast the men. ‘‘Keep clear of the trawl!" warned Martin when he knew she was go- ing, and instinctively pulled loose the thwart as she went. When Martin came to the surface the dory lay bottom-up, perhaps thirty feet away, and between him and the dory was Harry straggling beavily. ‘‘Take the thwart,” said Martin, and tossed it to him. “And here,” pickiog up the empty trawl tub from beside him in the sea and casti that also to Harry, although with each ef-- fort he pushed himsell under water and came up gasping ; and yet a light matter that to him who was a swimmer beyond the average, and who now, weighted down though he was with heavy winter clothing, jack-boots, oilskins, had but little fear of reaching the dory. Between tab and thwart the weaker man rested himself until Martin made the dory, when, taking a taro around one elbow of the painter which Martin cast him, he al- lowed himself to he drawn carefully aloog- side, and beirg by then pretty well ex- hausted be accepted Martin's further help to climb up on the hottom of the Jory. “Aud now take the plug strap,” said Martin; and in his voice was just a note of contempt. And there they clung on, Harry banging safely to the Plog strap, while Martin bal- anced himself with widespread arms aud legs straddling the narrow bottom of the dory’s bow. Two hours they clung so,and still the fog held; and then the snow hegan to fall. Only once did it break, and then only as if to make a lane through which they might see the sun sinking in the west. And with that sun went down much of their hope, theugh Martin would never have confessed it aloud. “One good thing, we're sure of the points of the com anyway, now. 'Tis a north- easter, and ’twill hang on till morning rel Mn “rh pever live till morning,” said Harry, ‘‘even il I could hang on that long.” The consuming pity that glowed in Mar- tin for all weak creatures dulled for a mo- ment to the old ashes of contempt, though his ‘No, I don't think you could,” was more by way of prodding the creature to at {east a show of courage. Bo-o-0-m ! “There goes the skipper with that old- fashioned fog-gun of bis.” Martin raised himself on an elbow as if to catch an echo. “‘She’ll still be at anchor, and in the same spot. That's good.” “The vessel!” exclaimed Harry, and began to call wildly: ‘‘Hi-i—the Ariadne!” ‘‘Yon mightsave your breath,’’ & ted Martin, and again his scorn betrayed itself; ‘‘for she must be a mile to wind’ard of us.” It was not yet too dark for Martin to ob- serve the expression of despair overcasting Harry's face. And dwelling on it all, the man’s weakness more of temperament than of intention, disdain again crumbled be. fore pity. ‘‘Cheer up, boy, cheer up. 'Tis a deep sounding yet to bottom.” “Why, have yon any notion we ¢’n save ourselves ?’ ‘Oh, I don’t know—a way will turn up, maybe.’’ ‘No, no, how can we? What's there for us todo if she can’t hear us ? She surely won't break out her anchor and begin to cruise round looking for us for a long while yet; not till morning anyway, for the very fear that we, too, might be looking for the vessel. And they couldn’t have seen us when we capsized, could they ?"’ Dryly Martin spat out on the sea. ‘‘If we ok Fond in the fog, & big ves- sel and high ng, 'tisn’t likely they could see us, a little dory flat out on the water.” ‘I thought not.”” Despair in spoke in the falling tone. egein spol ‘‘Man, man your lips if they won’s shape pr pil om toa Tistle roof cour- age. I didn’t say there warn’t any hope.” 22 ! came over the darkening wa- “Like a word from home, that old fog- gun, isn’t it ?"’ Martin had made his way along the dory’s bottom until now he lay beside bis mate. Possibly for five minutes be lay so, gazing out Shvukiitally along the broken level of the heaving sea. ‘‘Ay, he meditating | thew m ve way to more incisive speecn : lp me get off my oilskins. Cue ata od between us we can do it. And don’t be so everlast- ingly afraid you'll fall overboard. There— there's the oil-jacket. Now the boots. Let ‘em go. 'Tis no time now for economy— better them than us. Now the oil Jam. There—the ciothes’ll come easier. hy but these wet underclothes—they’re like another skin, aren’t they ? There now,” and he stood up on the bottom of the dory, swayi easily to the upbeave of is. “‘Br-b-h Ee air’s cold. The water’s warmer.”’ And, dropping down by the bow,immersed bimself to the neck. ‘‘What you going to do, Martin ? Not swim to the vessel ?”’ “I wae thinking of it.”’ “Why, who ever heard of sach a thing ? You'll never make it.” ““No? And what then? Will I be any worse off than you here ? There's no chance for us to be picked off to-night, and the skipper won’t shift his berth to-night, for the very reason Jou said yourself—he'll think we're looking for the vessel. And 80 he'll wait where we can find him,as he'll think. So, even if it clears up to-night, which it won’t he can’t see ne, and so no chance for us before morning. Aod you can't last till then, you say. And there's one chance for me to make the vessel Straight up the wind she lies, maybe three- quarters of a mile, maybe a mile.” “K.k-k—and if yon don’t ? Like a speck you'll be on the wide ocean, tossed around io the sea and pushed back on the tides, till you're used up, and then—"’ “Save your pity of me, boy. I'll not suffer like you here. I'll wear my body out—that’s true. But no long lear to wear my mind out. I've known them that went crazy in straying dories,and we're not only astray but upset. I'll fight till I'm used up, and then, before I know it, I'll sink away like a child to eleep,and twill be all over, and I'll begone where I expected to be gone before thfs—where I surely expect to go some day.”’ “‘Oh, don’t talk like that. Bat, Martin, it you do make it ? Jaet think, you might make it—yon don’t know your own strength. It’s common talk, Martino, your strength. Will yon come back to me?” Martin cast the other’s imploring arm fiom him. “Come back ? Heavens, man, for what do youn take me? Come back !"’ ‘““What do you mean by that, Martin ? You will or you won’t ? Oh, Martin, I know what's in your mind. And I koow what that’ll mean to me ? Before morning I'll be standing before the God that made me, and, Martin, I'm afraid. Martin. did Malachi ever hint to you of anything be- tween me and you and Sarah ? Ay, he has. I know he has. Malachi never did like me much, but since we've left on this trip he’s hated me. He drew part of it ont of me one night on deck, and I remember how afraid 1 was to pass between him and the rail for fear he’d take it into his head to throw me overboard. And he would, if he made up his mind to it, and no fear he wouldn’t sleep =ound after it. A terrible mao, Malachi Jennings, and hates me. Ever since he saw me}at Sarah’s house be- fore we left home this trip, while he was on his way to the dock to go aboard the vessel, he's bad a grodge in for me. And that’s what's between you and me, though neither of us has spoke of it, all this trip. Dory mates are we, and yet like strangers. Martin, I'l] tell you the whole truth. Sarah bad promised to have me—in a way. At first she said that she conldn’t make up her mind; but next trip in, she said at last, she'd have me i[—if—"’ “If what ?'’ The naked man in the wa- ter rose up beside the other, his shoulders and back uncannily white against the dark sea, and the face white, all white bat the staring dark eyes. Hairy drew back in alarm. ‘‘Don’t look at me so, Martin —don’t ! She said yes—if she weren't promised to somebody else be- fore the vessel went out.” “If she warn’t—to somebody else.” Martin repeated it slowly. ‘‘And,’’ after a pause——'‘and she wasn’t either.” “Why, no. Itcouldn'i been plainer, of course She wasexpectiug you'd ask her before we went ont this trip. And I ! thought you would. And I koew yon would if I hadn’t been there, and so I took care you'd see me at the window as you crossed the street to come up to the door; and I laughing so, you didn’t come in, but went on by,and she sitting in back counldn’s see how it was.” ‘‘And she promised you ?"’ “Well, the same as that. ‘If I'm not premised to anybody elee when next you're bhome——if I’m not—-I'll marry you,’ she'd already said, not knowing that you had come to the door and gone away without ringiog.”’ e white body sank into the water, and like a strange voice the words came back to the man at the plog strap. ‘You see our chance——the tide is almost slack now. In an hour now ’twill be setting to the southwest, and the westerly tide at its height is here like a mill-race—'twill carry you and the dory out of sight long before morning. But in the next lour or two you woan’t drifs far from here, and I'll try and make the vessel. If I do, I'll be back with a dory, and we'll find vou,don’t fear. Aad don’t get discouraged if I'm gone longer than you think I ought to be. I may vot make the stiaightest course for the vessel, for, after all,she’s a small speck for a man to be scanning the wide ocean for on a dark winter's alghi—aod a man’s head so low when swimming that be can’t see too far. Bat they’re keeping the fog- gun going—shere it is again ; but fainter, which means that we're further anay than we were. They'll keep it goiog all night. Malachi would stay awake a week to do that for me if there warn’t another soul aboard her. Malachi and me—we like each other pretty well, and I hate to think of leaving him. But I’m going, and in case we never see each other again,good-by to you.” With a great fear Harry saw the white Shouldestolip a from his side. From the level the dory’s bottom he gazed along the sea, till he could no 1 see the gleam of the white skin. He listened, aud faintly he could hear the strokes of arms and fegs kicking through the water. Suddenly it flashed on him—it was ail a trick ! Why hadn’t he thought of it be- fore? Martin, a mighty man in the wa- ter, would make the vessel. And Martin would not come back. And why ? Because he, and not Martin, had her promise. That was why. She would never go back on her word, not while he held her to it. Bat if he were lost, how easy it wonld ali be for Martin ! And for her, with Martin, there would be small regret for his own self dead and gone. “Martin ! Martin Carr !I"’ he shrieked. “Don’t leave me ! Don’t leave me here alone !" Bat no word came back to him; he could not even hear the steady, powerful strokes of Martin Carr struggling with the heavy | he shoved off and made for the bow. Onward he strove. In smooth water or on a clear ni he would have bad but small doubt of the outcome. Straight for ber light be would steer then—it would mean ouly lasting it out. Even if he were hours on his quest be would bave made i io any kind of light; but now there was - yaly Mistitisy for and the chill of water was numbing his muscles, even as the over-roll of the waves, which he could not al ways forecast,sometimes caught him unawares ne took his breath away. It was bard telling at times whether he was going ahead at all. Once be looked back to see if be might make ont the dory and thereby judge of bis course, but in a mo- ment he realized how foolieh that was. Certainly his judgment was no | sound, which meant that his strength, like the tide, must be ebbing. And recalling the man on the dory’s bottom : ‘‘Blast bim, he's no 1—he never was—and for myself I conld’ve hung on till morning. 3a, aod a lot longer, but now I'm in for t. He battled on and feund his brain was not altogether dulled. All the tales be bad ever heard of men lost in fog and snow came back to him ; all the men that ever went astray in dories and were found later, dead from hunger or exhauston,or it might be frozen stiff, recurred vividly to bim. And that man back there, what il he were ~~? Yet he was with no better--and a good woman to have him, and Sarah above all women ! Faogh ! What was right ? that be should retarn and get him ? Would he--if it was the other way about--come back for him, Martin Carr? Would he? Martin laughed aloud to think of is, even as he struggled. Bo-o-om ! At the report fresh courage came back to him. It seemed nearer. A long battling and it sounded again—Bo- o-0-m ! Again.-~but what a log wait be- tween ! Martin conld barely lift his arms through the sea, he was that tired, and be- gan to realize that the end might be at hand, and with the thought all the stories he bad ever heard of men drowning along- side the vessel flashed into his brain again. Bo-o-oom ! ‘“What av everlastingly mournful sound ~-like minute-guos for the dead.” Bo-o om ! “‘Fainter, that's sare. I'm falling off. You've got to bid bigher up, Martin Carr.” Bo-o-o-m ! ‘*Nearer,hut no time yet to waste breath in hailing.” Still faint it was, and yet from ont of the soow loomed phantom lights and high, vague shadows of phantom sails. m ! The flash of it was almost blind- ing, and the shock enough to deafen. No phantom gun, anyway. “God ! I must be some tired,’’ he observed; ‘‘sonear and not to suspect it'’--and lifting a hand he [felt the side of the vessel. Bet there was noth- ing to hold to, and the sea threatened to throw bim agaiost her planking. Patiently And pot till then, with a hand to her straining cable, did be bail. To Malachi Jennings, on watch and some- what worn with anxiety, came the first faint call. “‘God ! spooks !'’ he muttered. “Spooks from out the black sea- if a man believed in spooks.” “*Hi-i--the Ariadne !" a stronger hail, for to Martin by then the breath was returp- ing. ‘No spook that,’’ exclaimed Malachi, and looked about uncertainly. ‘‘Where away the dory ?"’ he shouted. “No dory, Malachi, but a tired man wants a hand !"’ *‘Martin, by God !"” and he leaped for the knightheads, and there found him, by pow clinging to the bobstay. Over the bow dropped Malachi. ‘‘A ghost, Martin, I thought it was first;’’ but no further bab. bling before he took a tarn of the line about the white, naked body, and directly had him on board. “Where's Harry? Glory be—God for- give me for saying it—but is he gone ?"’ ‘No, but waiting, Malachi.” “Waiting ? For who ? for what?" “For a dory to be put over and pick him off. He's lying—so’’—Martin’s arm point- ed—*‘a good mile—ten miles, I thought it ove time. But call it a mile straight down the wind.” ‘‘And would you go back for him? For that chalk and water image of a human be- ing? God, man, it's all in your hands now—Ileave him there.” “No, no, no, Malachi—we must do what's right.” ‘““And what's right in this case? A creature like him to be placed ahead of you? He never was any good nor never will be, while yon—man, leave this to me. Sometimes disillusioned men like me win hope of heaven by watching ont for over- trustfal men like you, Martin Carr.” Footsteps hurried toward them. The skipper’s face broke into the yellow circle of the riding light. ‘‘What's it, Malachi ? And what's that—a man ?”’ *‘It's Martin, skipper. His dory’s cap- sized, and he’s swam aboard.” “‘Man alive, how did you? And where's Harry ? “Gone, Martin thinks, skipper ;”’ and to the tired man whispering : ‘‘Hist now, leave it to me,” aud turniog to the argu- menting group on deck : ‘Quit asking him questions and give him a mug of coffee.” “Sure, a mug of coffee—this way, Mar- tin,”’ and helped him below. Into the fo’c’s’le Martin staggered, and, his nakedness covered, d on the locker nearest the galley stove, and drank the mug of coffee they brought him. Be- fore he quite finished they poured him out another, and sat around discussed the fate of Martin’s dory mate. ‘So Harry isgone? Well, that’s bard, “Yes, though I never could warm up to him ; but when a man’s lost it’s different.” ‘Poor Harry ! Well, there was a bit of good in him, too. And lost at last !"’ Martin had been coming out of his stu- por. He from one to the other. ‘Who's lost? Harry? Who said he was lost—me? No, no—God, man, no !"’ “What, he’s not! Not lost, yon say, Martin?’ It was the skipper himself who )fasped his arm. *‘No, no, no! Over with a dory and put her straight for where I said and you'll bim. And keep the going all time, never a let-u vo tunes with it. By that he’ll know I'm as and ’twill cheer him up while he’s waiting. Over with a dory—quick !”’ The skipper amped for the companion. way. ¢ e a dory over the side.” “‘Ay, go straight down the=" Lut the reaction setting in, he leaned back with closed eyes. “That's en , Martin.’’ Malachi was beside him on the locker. ‘‘You're tired, man—turn in. You told me how the dory bore. I'm going in her with the skipper and we'll get him.” + | And bere, tomble into this baok.’ Martin gazed blankly after the retreat- ing bootlegs of Malachi, and robbivg bis forebead and turning to the cook : ‘What was it be said 7’ The cook jumped to his side. ‘‘Martin, man, you're all gone. There, you're stag- . Another mug of coffee now. The creak of the rope and block came downto them from the deck. Martin, about to roll into the seductive, bandy bunk, hesitated, turned out onto the lock- er, and, gazing up the companionway, ask- ed : ‘‘Isn’t that the dory ? “Sare.” A splash on the water dented the tense silence below. ‘‘There, she's over the side, Martin. Don't worry—they’ll get him, the skipper and Malachi.” ‘Malachi? Les me by. Stand aside -- aside, man !’ ‘‘Steady, Martin. You're weak—lie down.” “Weak 7’ He tossed the cook to the fore-bulkbead and rushed on deck. Mal- schi was pushing the dory from the side of the vessel. ‘To wind’aid, skipper,’’ he was saying. ‘Straight op the wind, Mar- tin said.” ‘No, but to le’ward, skipper, straight dowp the wind—and to make sare, I'll go myself,” and Maitin leaped from rail to dory. “Heavens !"’ snapped Malachi, ruined the whole thing!" “What's thas ?"’ The skipper balf turn- ed oo his thwart. ‘What's ruined 2’, ‘My pipe. I bit the stem of it off he- tween my teeth.’’ ‘“H-m—no wonder, aud the way von spap those jaws ol yours at times. Bat give way now, give way. Straight down the wind you said, Martin ? Lord, but it’s good to think I'll not sail into Gloucester with a balf-masted flag this time.” Suddenly, he and the skipper rowing and Martin buddied in the stern, Malachi al- most let ap oar slip from between the thole-pins in an unconscious effort to slap his thighs as the thought came to him, and : “I'll fix him yet,” he gritted. “What's the master with yon?’ The skipper, half turning again, spat it out im- patiently. As il in warniog the drowsy voice of Mar- tin came from the astern : ‘Fair play for him, Malachi, fair play.” Straight down the wind they found the dory, with Harry still hailing feebly from the bottom of it, They bore down with great caution, and when they were all but within reach, Malachi, who had the bow athwart, in with his oais. ‘I suppose, Skipper, with Martin so weak he can bard. ly help himself, I'd better lift Hairy in. So, if you'll lean up to wind’ard, for in this sea a man being lifted over the gunuel is no small matter, I'll make ready to get kim in. ““That’s right, Malachi, go ahead,’’ and the skipper bung vp on the windward side as directed. “And now’’—Malachi leaned over the gunuel nearest the overturned dory—'‘now you'll have to jump into the sea, Harry— we daren’t come nearer. Jump for me and I'll get you—it’s only one plange.’’ ‘“‘Malaohi’’—again the drowsy voice of Martin from the stern, warning mechanio- ally—*‘carefal, Malachi.” “Oh. leave him to me, Martin. And now, Harry,’ his voice lifting, ‘‘come on.’y “I'm afraid. Can't you get me, skip- per 2" “Come on, man—jump for Malachi. We got to he getting back to the vessel.” ‘‘You hear what the skipper says ? Mal. achi’s eyes fixed themselves on the shrink. ing man in the gloom. “You hear him? Well, come on.’ Over plunged the swiveriop man. One scoop and Malachi, reaching far out, with one long arm drew him under the flare of the dory’s bow. ‘‘Sale !"’ gurgled Harry. ““D’ye think so !"’ gritted Malachi. ‘‘Do you feel it—my thumb to your windpipe ? I'll fix you yet—say it, say it, quick now when I slack up.” “Y.yes, yes.” ““You’ll tell the story of this night to Sarah? Say it. “I will—lift me in—G-g—I1'm going! I promise—so help me—G-g—"’ ] ““That’s it, and to see you do it right— that’s if you have the face to go see her again, after what Martin did for you this night—I'll be there when you tell her ; for, blast your shivering soul, I wouldn’t truss you even now. And after you've told it I know what you'll get—'’ “What's w there, Malachi? Can’s you lift him in alone ?”’ “Lift him? That periwinkle! Man alive—'"Malachi heaved mightily, One long wrench, and from the clinging sea he tossed him into the bottom of the dory. ‘Like a (fresh-caunght halibut, ain't he, skipper. Onl 30 gary out the likeness I suppose I ought to’ve hit him on the nose with a gobstick before I baunled him in.” “Quit your foolin’, Malachi—you did a good job, though.” “Ho! ho! that’s it—a good job, skip- per. Yes, sir, if I do say it myself, a good job. A better job than you or even Martin there thinks,” and londly he laughed. “‘Stop your foolishness and give way.” “Sure, skipper, way is is. But did ever you hear, skipper ?'’ and loudly he sang : “Oh, the gods looked down and the gods decreed ‘That if ever a good maa stood in need, They'd send a bolt from out the sky, And the bolt they sent, O Lord, was 1." Ho! ho! ain’t that a good one, Harry beg ? Hah, what?" ut the rescued man only shivered in the bottom of the dory.—By J. B. Connol- ly, in Collier's. How to Help the School Teacher. “he's See to it that in so far as ble the bome conditions and life of the child be such as will tend to make him most effi- cient in bis school life and interested in his work. swith b : As to particulars, encourage him to al- ways speak ully of his teacher; in- quire into his daily life and the tasks which are ed at school; insist on punctualit regularity of attendance, as one on away from his class may seriously impede his progress for many days thereafter, and can never be [fully made np; discourage all outside interests and eutertaioments which tend to impair ihe Yitality or the interest in his school uties. If he bas home lessons assigned, provide such assistance and encouragement as will insure their proper preparation; require him to go to bed early and %o arise in sea- son, eat his breakfast properly and start for school clean and with all the equipment uired for the day’s work. ive him good, nourishing food, instead ot lacey Rantey, candy and pickles, which rain his digestion and retard his mental activity; insist on his having a amount of vigorous exercise in the open air each day and a proper amount of sleep in well-ventilated, airy rooms; make ita nt to know who his companions are and oy he spends his time while out of your sight. i Grandmother sits in her easy chair, In the ruddy sunlight's glow; Her thoughts are wondering for away Inthe land of Long Ago. Again she dwells in her father's home, And before her loving eyes In the light of a glorious summer day The gray old farmhouse lies. She hears the hum of the spianing wheel And the spianer’s happy song; She sees the bucales of flax that hasg From the rafters dark and long; She sees the sunbeams glide and dance Across the sanded floor; And feels on her cheek the wandering breeze That steals through the open door. Beyond, the flowers nod sleepily Atthe well-sweep, gaunt and tall; And up from the glen comes the musicai roar Of the distant waterfall, The cows roam lazily to acd fro Along the shady lane; The shouts of the reapers sound faint and far From the fields of golden grain. And grandma herself, a happy girl, Stands watching the setting sun. While the spioner regts, and the reapers cease, And the long day's work is done; Then something wakes her—the rooms dark, And vanished the suuset glow; And grandmother wakes, with a sad surprise, From the dreams of long ago. —Helen A. Byron in St. Nicholas. Lighted from Afar. The bainessivg of the Kern River, 128 miles from Los Angeles, Cal., and the con- verting of the enormous water power of the canyon into electricity is vearly som- pleted, says Electric News Service, and soon over the miles of cables, supported on steel towers, will flash the world’s highest long distance voltage, 75,000 volts. This enor- mous power will be used in and about the oity of Les Angeles. t was in 1900 that a bydraalio ineer inepected the Kern canyon and n the marvelons water power wasting iteell in noisy tumbles down the steep grades. The Edison Company, of Los Angeles, became interested, and the following spring a sur- veying party invaded the canyon with in- struments and note-books. Soon followed an army of workmen, heavy wagons and tons of freight, machinery and building materials. The canyon was practically in- accessible until a road 10 feet wide and two miles long had been blasted from the solid granite shoulder of the oliff. Camps sprang up in a day with cook sheds, hospitals, workshops, ete. A small temporary powerhouse, with 400 horse- power, was installed to run the air com- pressors, and hundreds of yards of piping carried the compressed air to the drills and other machinery. Fighting every inch of the way with dynamite, 20 tunnels, total. ing nearly nine miles in length, were cut through the rocky walls. [It is the longest tunnel system of its kind in the world. The shafts are uniformly lined with eight inches of concrete. It was with the greatest difficulty that some of the heavy machinery reached its destination st the camp. One of the steep- est trails was sheer and very abrupt for nearly hall a mile and a buge 1000-pound sled was made, its runners shod with iron an inch thick and six inches wide. Onto it seven and eight tons of machinery were placed and men with thick snub ropes steadied its perilous descent. The dam is 45 feet wide at its base, fas- tened to the bed rock about 18 feet below the level of the stream, and backs the water up for more thau a mile. From this lake the waters pour into the intake and glide along the cana! about 12 miles to the tannels, where they are hurled down the steel mains many hundred feet to the gi- Funtic impulse wheels in the powerhouse below. Our Navy and Japan's. In our Atlantic fleet we have now a bat- tleship armada that could undoubtedly destroy all of Japan's navy were war de- clared tomorrow, aud this fleet in striking distance, with its basis of supplies and its coaling stations handy. But does any one doubt that Japan would instantly seize these stations (Hawaii and the Philippines) were this fleet to be or- dered to the east ? Then the advantage would rest with her, and ina ratio that cannot be approximated. All of Japan's naval forces are concen- trated in or around the waters of Japan. America’s naval strength in those far off seas is not strength at all—weakness more than strength. We have out there a di- vision of armored cruisers—four of the best of their type afloat and commanded by one of the most capable officers of the navy, Rear Admiral Willard H. Brownson. Baus what cculd four armored cruisers avail against the 13 battleships and 13 armored cruisers of Japan ? We have also in these waters a division of protected cruisers,four in all--but against these Japan conld send 21 of av equal or superior type. Our five destroyers would be pitted against 53. e have no torpedo boats in the east. Japan has 79. Nor have we any sub- marines out there. Japan has 7. No one knows what Japan is doing to increase her naval and military strength. Great Britain as au ally of Japan vatarally was the first to profit by the lessons of war, and although the building of her Dread- naught was concealed as sedulously as pos- sible, news of the construction offthat great vessel was in almost every admiralty office soon after the keel was laid. And while all of these were doing their utmost to find out what the new vessel would be, what would be her speed, dis- Pasetgiont, guns and armor, a Japanese readnaught, all unheralded, went over- boatd from a Japanese shipyard. And no one knows how many more Ji is build- ing or projecting.— Harper's Weekly. Japs Refused Work. It has been rnmored that Japanese spies have been at work in Pittsburg. It been reported that secret service agents are watching the movements of several Japs Wise ation have strated ison, e first reports came from Tipton, Pa., while the National Guard was in camp there. Colonel Frank I. Rutledge, of the Eighteenth ment, declared that he issued orders t no Japs were to be em- ployed in camp, and several other regi- mental officers issued similar orders. It was reported that a Jap applied forwork at the Homestead steel mili, asking to be placed in the armor plate d ent. He was refused employment. e same day another Jap sought employment in the Westinghouse works at East Pittsburg, good | expressing a desire to work on the turbine engines, such as are supplied from these works to the American navy. He also was refased. —Tyrone Times. — No ill befalls us but what may be for our good. nice, because Jour paws might be dirty. down, and just eat it up.” woodchuck, who was very polite, eaid: “Thank you, sir.”’ A little later the rabbit said: ‘‘Mr. Woodchuck, when you eat, you sit up on your hind lege. That is not the right way todo. When I eat, I put my front paws down.”” And the woodchuck said quite politely: “Thank you.” Pretty soon the rabbit said: “Mr. Wood- chuck, when you are thirsty, you go to the pond to drink. New, my mother tanght we to get up early in the morning and eat the clover with the dew on it, and yon won’s need to drivk. That is a nicer way.” And the woodchuek said, still politely: “banks.” Next day the rabbit said: ‘‘Mr. Wood- chuck, when you go to sleep, you put your note down between your paws and curl yourself up in a little ball, so you can’t seeanybody. Now, 1 lay my chin down on the ground on my pawe, and always sleep that way, which is much safer.” And the woodchuck said, pretty politely: “I'll think about it.” Next day the rabbit said: “Mr. Wood- chuck, when you eat carrots you strip off all the outside with your teeth, and then eat the carrot. This is very wasteful. Bat I eat the whole thing right through.’’ And Mr. Woodobuck said: ‘‘See here, il my way of living doesn’t suit you, you can just get out.”” Then he felt that be had been a little bit rude,so he said: ‘‘Good-by, Mr. Rabbit, good-by.”” And the poor ra bit had to get ocut.—[Bolton Hall, in St. Nicholas, The Fleck O' Gold. There is found in the chasm of the Bite, in Wyoming, a carious little animal which is generally known as the fleck o’ gold, though it is sometimes called the golden gopher. It belongs to the gopher family, and its burrow, which it digs very deep, is regarded as an unfailing indication of gold in the soil. The fleck o’ gold is of a general golden bue, which is very striking, but while its body is of a rather dull tint its tail bas the brilliancy of gold just fresh from the mint. Naturally, the little creature is very proud of this tail of his, and he never misses an opportunity to display it. It is about three times as long as himself, and when be writhes and curls and twists it with a view to “showing off’’ it looks like an animated sunbeam. When he is tired he wraps him- self up in it and goes to sleep, and then he looks like a solid lamp of golden bullion. Car-Window Botany. One of the keenest pleasures of the rail- way botanist comes from his enjoyment of the massed color of great quantities of flowers of the same kind. One morning our train was running along through the level Jersey country ; it was at that wretched hour of the morning when youn bave just taken your place in some one else's seat while the porter is getting your own ready, and you have that allowed miserable feel- iog that comes from a night's iidein a stuffy sleeper. In an instant ol! di-con fort was forgotten io the sight of a wide salt meadow that seemed ove mass of the pink swamp mallows. The gray morning mist was tarned silvery white by the rising sun, and giving color to it all were the wide stretches of the pink swamp mallows, It was all ove shimmering mass of misty silvery gray, sunlight radiance, and rose ' color as delicate as that of thie lining of | some seashells. Crying Spells, There are some women who have ‘‘cry- ing spelle,”” which seem to he entirely un- accountable, and are generally attributed in a vague way to ‘‘verves.”” A man hates to see a woman cry under any circumstan- ces, and these bursts of tears awaken very little sympathy in him. They would il he unders all the weakness and misery that lie behind the tears. Dr. Pierce's Favorite Prescription hes brightened many a home, given smiles for tears to many a woman just because it removes the cause of these nervous onthreaks. Disease of the delicate womanly organs will surely affect the entire nervous system. ‘‘Favorite Prescription’’ cures these diseates, and builds up a condition of sound health. For pervous, hysterical women there is no medicine to compare with ‘‘Favorite Pre- soription.” A Thing of Many Names. The Thames has been the cause of much controversy. Its name bas been variously stated as Tameses, Tamese, Tamises (at the juncture of the Isis and Tame, near Dor- chester), Tamisa, Tamesa, Thamisia, Tha- mesis, and finally Isis (where it flows be- tween the Oxfordshire and Buckingbam- shire shores). Thus, at Oxford it is still often called the Isis until it receives the shallow river Tame just below Dorchester, from which point it is called Thames. His- torians trace this error to an early attempt- ed division of the Latin word Tamesis into two words, Tame esis or Tame isis, sug- gested perhaps by the existence of the Tame in Bockinghamshire. The Saxons called it the Thames, ancient and dobkments designating it Tham Flu- vius. Almost every home bas a dictionary in which the meaning of words can be found. It is far more poring for every home to have a reference in which the mean- ing of symptoms of ill health is ex; ed. Dr. Pierce's Common Sense Medical Ad- viser is a dictionary of the body, It an- swers the questions which are asked inevery family concerning health and disease. her digticuarics are costly. This is gent rec on receipt of stamps to pay expense mailing only. Send} 21 one-cent stamps for the book bound in paper, or 31 stamps for cloth binding, to Dr. R. V. Pierce, Buffalo, N. Y. Where Salt is a Luxury. Salt is the greatest luxury known in Central Africa. In some sections among the poorer inhabitants salt is never used. Even among the better classes, a man who eats salt with his food is considered a rich individual. In some tribes where salt is not so scarce, children are so fond of it that they may be seer. eating it like American children would eat pieces of lump sugar. —He who relies on another's table is apt to dine late.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers