i ——
L
Bellefonte, Pa., December 13, 1907.
A PRAYER.
——
tiod of the lonely soul,
God of the comfortless,
God of the broken heart— for these,
Thy tenderness!
For prayers there be enough
Yea, prayers there be to spare,
For those of proud and high estate ;
Each hath his share,
But the beggar at my door,
The thief behind the bar- ;
And those that be 160 blind to see
The shining stars,
The outcast in his hut,
The useless and the old ;
Whoever walks the city's streets
Homeless and cold ;
The sad aad lone of soul
Whom no man understands ;
And those of secret sin, with stains
Upon their hands.
And stains upon thei: souls ;
Who shudder in their sleep,
And walk their ways with trembling hearts,
Afraid to weep,
For the childless mother, Lord,
And ah, the little cnild
Weeping the mother in her grave,
Unreconciled—
God of the lonely soul,
God of the comfortiess,
For these, and such as these, | ask
Thy tenderness!
Whose sin be greatest, Lord:
If each deserve his lot ;
If each but reap as he hath sown—
I ask Thee not.
I only ask of Thee
The marvel of a space
When these forgot and blind may look
Upon Thy face,
— [Ella Higginson, in Scribner's Magazine,
THE BOY AT BROWNS
When I was only eleven [ didn’t under-
stand thiogs, and I cried becanse Santa
Claus didn’s briug me a lot of presents as
he used to. But last Christmas [ was
twelve, 80 I knew that be was Nan, aud
Nan couldn't afford presents, because she
did vot get muck money for giving music
lessons, aud it was all we had to live on,
since father died. He was a doctor, and
we had nice clothes then, and I had five
cents a day to by candy.
The night before Christmas eve Nan
seemed worried when she came home; she
didn’t talk much at supper, and kept look:
ing at me. I knew what it was and went
and sat on her lap.
**I don’t mind, Nau,” I said. *‘I didn's
expect anything; aud we've got a Chriss.
mas padding.”
Nav nodded and tried to smile.
““Thauk you dear,’ she said. *‘Yon see
the rent will be due, and —I wish I conld
god a fairy godmother, Imp.”
My real name is Arabella Winifred, bus
they always call we that. I don't know
why, because imps are ugly, and I am not.
Sometimes I thivk I am good-looking, and
poeple say I am like Nan.
“Poot!” I said. “You'd better find a
prince and marry hiw, and then we'll bave
a motor car and eggs for breakfast, and a
new dress wheuever we want to, Let's
wake up a story about it.”’
Nao laughed aud put the fire together to
make 1t last without more coal. Coal al-
ways gets dear at Christmas tiwe.
“You're a good lwp to night,’ she smd. |
“I'll tell you a story.”
She tuiued down the gas, because you
don’t want much light for stories; aud a
quarter in theslot does not last long. Then
she sat in a chair aud I «at on the hearth-
rug, and leaned against her knees,
“Once upon a time there was a prinee,’’
she began; aud then ~he stopped, and put
her elbow un hei knee and ber chin on her |
baud, and stared at the fire, and sighed;
and the ~igh made a choking feeling come
into my throat.
‘Nan, I said, *'I believe you're only try-
ing to make out that 1's a really and
truly.”
“Yes,” she owned, “it’s a ‘truly’ story,
but you mustn’t ask questions. When |
was a little girl, like you, 1 used to make
ap stories to mys-1f ahout—ob! princes and
all sorts of thing=! When you were a baby
in India, with fatber and mother, I stayed
with Auut Jave; aud then I made a lot of
stories, because she didn’t like a noise, and
I bad to play quiet games by myself. She
was very old, and she looked like a fairy
godmother; but I kuew she couldn’t be,
because her name was Smith.”
. “'‘No—o,” I agreed. *‘But she might be
a wicked witch. Did she live in High
Street at Ranbam: just opposite toa big
school for hoys.”’
“Oh! 1 sand.
his name?”
“I dou’t know,” Nan told me; “and I
never did; bus I used to call him Claude
Montague to myself. He waa a tall, thin
boy, about fourteen; and I was eleven. He
stayed ut the school for the Christmas hohi-
days. He was the only boarder who did,
and be seemed lonely. He used to look
out of his window, and I used to look ous
of mine: and sometimes I wade faces at
him.”
“If I make faces.” I reminded her, ‘you
say it’s rade.” \
*‘It was rude; but he made faces at me
too. Ove day when I was out in the front
garden, be threw a snowball at me. It hit
me, and | began to cry. Then he threw a
bag of candy and ran away. It was nice
candy, and the next time I saw him at the
window I waved my band instead of mak-
ing faces; and after that he often threw
me candy, and I thought he was a nice
boy, and made him the prince of my
stories; and on Christmast I got a
Christmas card — it was a bandsome
young man bowing to a beautiful young
lany—and sent it to him. I didn’t koow
‘his name, so I addressed it to ‘The Boy at
Browon’s.” It was a very shocking thing
to do, and you must never do anything of
the sors.”
“Umph!” I said. “There's no chance!”
We didn’t know any boys then.
‘‘He must have known thas I sent is, for
the next day, when I went out with Aunt
Jane, he followed us down the street, and
when she wasn’t looking be pushed a pack-
age into my band. I put it in my moff
and it when I was in my bedroom,
It was a box of chocolates, with walnuts
on 39, and —"
“Oh —h!" I oried. ‘‘Don’t, Nan?”
“Poor old Imp! We'll bave some ehooo-
lates on Chrisemas day, somehow or otaer.
There was a little note in it: ‘From The
Boy at Brown’s. I like you.’ I've the note
in my desk now.”
“Now I see! What was
she found the note and showed it to me.
There were thiee cioeses for kisses that she
hadn't mentioned; and I wanted to know
what happened next.
“There wasn’t any next,”’ she told me.
“Uncle Will came nexs day, and took me
up to town, and | had a five time; and I
never went to Runbam, and I never saw
again.” the Boy at Brown's
She fidgeted the little fire in the corner
of the grate with the poker; and I koew
there was something else that she badn’t
told me
“Go on,” | said.
“The next Christmas I had a euriouns
lester. It war addressed to ‘The Girl at
Smith's, who was there last Christmas.’
There was a lovely Christmas card in it; a
purple boy and a vellow girl sitting on a
pink fence; and be was giving her a rose as
big as a cauliflower.”
She fished it out of her desk and showed
it to me.
“Ob!” I cried. ‘‘What a comical thing!
And the verses!
My love is like a red, red rose,
And how | love her no one knows,
A merry Christmas to you, dear,
And hwppiness through all next year!
Wasn't it ridienlous!"’
**No,"” Nan said shortly, “it wasn’t. It
was kind. I felt dreadfully hecause I had
forgotten the poor lonely hoy; avd I made
up my mind that I never would again. So
the next year [ sent him a card; and |
wrote on it, ‘From yoar Friend, the Girl
at Smith's’.”’
“How did yon address i?"
“To ‘The Boy at Brown's,’ and I puta
note to explain that [ meant the one who
stayed there two Christmases before.”’
“Ind be send you one?"’
“Not that year. You see [ hadn't sent
him one the time before, so [ suppose he
thought I'd forgotten him. He sent me
oue the next year—when [ hadn't sent him
one. See!”
She took out a satin scent bag, with a
moto, ‘Sweets to the sweet.”
“He wrote a lot better then,”’ I remark-
ed.
“Yes ; but this is better still.”’ She
took out a card-board box with a colored
bottle of perfumery in it. ‘It came two
years later—when [ was seventeen. [ sent
one the year hetween,and another the year
alter, though I was old enough to know
better. The next year, it was his turn, but
—well, I like to believe that he sent,
though I didn’t get it. You see, Aunt Jane
had died eighteen mouths before ; and I
suppose he addressed it as asual, and it
didu’e get re-directed. Anyhow it didn't
come; and I thought perhaps he'd fallen in
love with some one, and forgosten me; and
anyhow it was a foolish childish affair and
I dido’s aend last year,and—that’s she end
of the prince; and now you'd better go to
bed.”
“Ob, no, I bettern’t !"” | contradicted ;
“and I don’t believe it's the end of him jand
you don’t either, and you may as well teil
me the rest at once, because I sha’n’t go
till you do.” .
Nan stared at the fire very hard.
“We don’t seem to have any one now,”
she said; “and it’s nice to be remembered
hy somehody—I was looking at the papers
in the Pablic Library this morning. I al-
ways look at the Persons! Colomn ; aud—
Imp!” She grabbed my shoulder. ‘I
copied this ous !"’
She took a seiap of paper from her pocket
and showed it to me.
“The Boy at Brown's wishes a Merry
Christmas to The Girl at Smith's. He
would he glad if he might renew their ao
yuaintance X6217, Cr. Daily News."
I clapped mv hands and laughed.
“The prince!” I cried. **The fairy
prince ! He's »are to fall in love with you!
I hope he's got lots of money."
“Don’t be absurd, cbild,’”’ Nan said.
-**You may say what you like,”” I told
her ; “but you'll end by marniying him.
As 800n as you write to him——""
“I'm vot going to write to him,’”’ Nan
declared. She shut ber mouth with a
whack. So I knew she was going to be
obstinate.
“Nan!” Ietied. ‘You don’t mean that
you won't even send him a card? When
he's remembered you all this time? [t's
horrid, and mean and unkind 1”
I knew that would fetch her; for, if
there's one thing that Nan hates, it is to
be unkind to any one.
“Oh, Imp!” she said. ‘‘It isn’s that. |
—if we were—as we usid to be—I shonld
put in an advertisement in answer; and
then if he liked to write to me, through
the newspaper—but it is so different now.
We are poor, you see, aud—well, you don’s
see; but it is impossible; quite impossible,
Imp, dear—! am glad that be remembered
—I'm so tired. Let's go to bed.”
‘Let me read just a little while,”’ I heg-
ged. ‘I'll be mousey quiet; and I'll hard-
ly burn any gas: and there's such a nice
little cozy fire that ought to he enjoyed.
Do let me, Nan."
‘Very well,”’ she agreed; ‘‘but don’t
stay after the fire bas gone out and catch
cold. You do catch colds, you know, and
—aud you're all I have.”
She kissed me quickly and rushed off. 1
could tell she was a bit upset, avd I knew
that it was about ‘“‘Brown’s Boy’' and be-
cause we were so lonely. [ thought how
nice it would be to know anybody if he
was nice; it wonld he just like a novel, and
Nan likes novels. I like them too, when
they bave good endings; and I don’t read
the others, because I always look at the
end first.
Any one could see how Nan's story
ought to end ;and I sat down on the hearth-
rug to cousider if there wasn’t a way of
making it end as it ought to.
The first way [ thought of was to per-
saade Nan to write him a little letter,
without any address, just to wish him a
merry Christmas. Then be could notice
the postmark, and the writing, and find
out where she bought the paper, as they do
in detective stories; and then he would
and one day he would see me, and notice
that I looked exactly as Nan used to look.
(I’m sure { do, bus she says I don’t.) And
he would come up to me and say, **
me but you are very like someone,”’ and I
should toss my head and say, “Indeed!”
And then he would beg me to wait a min-
ute; and after we had bad a long conversa-
tion (I shoonght it all out, hut it is sco |
to write) I sioald take him to Nan;
when he was my brother-in-law he would
always like me, and give me lots of pres.
ents and we wou'd live happily ever after.
But I was afraid he might not do the de-
tective part properly, and if he did he
might not meet me, use Nan won't les
ms walk about muoh alone. 80 [ decided
that it would be better to get Nan to let
me have the letter to mail, and I would
put our address on the back; bat I thought
she might be suspicions and want to mail
is herself; and very likely she wouldn’s
write itat all. So it would be best to
write it myself, as if it came from ber.
Only then the writing and spelling might
pus him off! I was frowning at the fire
and thinkiog ahout it; and then suddenly
I jumped up and opened the desk and
I bad a sensible idea. I would write to
come and walk about the streets near us;| 1.4
him from myself ! Aud I did ; and this is put my fioger on my lip; and Nau caonght | The Richest Women
what [ wrote : i
Dear Boy at Brown's :
Iam ber sister. | am only twelve. That |
i» why I don’t write very well. She was |
glad that you remembered her, but she |
won't write because we are poor since fath- |
er died, and she gives music lessons. If
that pats yon off, you are perfectly horrid.
She is awlolly nice and good-looking. |
am like her when she was twelve. [ want
to see if yon are nice before I tell yon our
address. We are going to walk aroun: d the
park after church on Christmas morning.
Please wear a white flower in vour left
battonbole, aud if I like you I'll write
again.
I wish yon a merry Christmas, and so
does Nan, though she won't wiite. Our
Christmas won't be merry hecanse she
hasn't been paid for all the lessons. So [
shav’t have any Santa Clans. [ wish he
would bring me a lot of books. I don’t
like ehildren’s books, but love stories.
Yours truly,
ARABELLA BERESFORD.
P. 8S. If Nan married anybody I shonld
live with them, but yon musn’s tell her
about this letter, because she woald be
mad. I hope you are nice,
I addressed it to X 6217, Cr. The Daily
News, and ran down stairs and got the jan-
itor to mail it. I paid for the stamp out of
a dime I bad saved to buy Nan a Christ-
mas present,
Nan was very solemn after breakfast,
and sat down at our old piano and played
Traumerei and things like that. In the
afternoon she 100k me to Mra. Vere’s when
she went to give Mabel her music lesson,
hecanse she wanted some one to practice a
duet with her, They were very jolly and
ve us some tea with lovely cakes; and
18. Vere put a two dollar bill into my
hand when nobody was looking; and when
we were going she grew red and spoke to
Nan.
“There's something that [ don’t know if
you would like me to ask you, or not to
ask you. So forgive me if I blander dear
We alwaye pay a pianist for the children’s
parties, and—uobody would know, hegavse
we want you both to come as guests any-
way, and —you understand 2’
Nan grew very red too.
‘I never have,” she said.
“I know, dear, I know,” Mis. Vere
stroked her arm. “I quite understand.”
‘*‘And so do I.”’ Nan said. “How kind
you are !—We should so much like to
come, hut—yon see, wearen’t very well off
for dresses.”
“We grown-ups shall dress very quiet-
ly,”" Mrs. Vere told her : “and you always
look nice.”
*‘I was thinking—the ohildren will wear
party dresses,”” Nan said slowly. She
looked at me, but I turned round from
ber. [didn’t want her to see bow bad 1
felt about not going, hecanse I'd grown out
of my old dresses and [ knew we couldn't
afford to buy a new one.
“Children’s white dresses are much
alike,”” Mrs. Vere suggested ; “‘and they
grow out of them hefore they're half worn
out. There's one of Mabel’s that wounld
just suit your sister. Nobody will know,
I'll have it changed so that Mabel won’t
recognize it. Now don’t say a word, youn
poor, dear girl. I know—it's the third of
January. Good-by dears ; and a merry
Christmas to you."’
We grinned at each other when we got
down the stepe.
“A party I” I cried. “Think of is,
Nan! And Mrs. Vere's the fairy godmoth-
er! And vext you'll find the prinoe!”
**Silly child I’ Nan said ; but she laugh-
ed and was very jolly.
We did have a merry Christmas after all,
I bought Nan a lovely bandkerchief ont of
Mis. Vere's present, and some candy ; and
she booght me a pair of gloves and two
novels (they were the cheap editions, hut
they are just as good to read;) and we had
ten cents’ worth of ivy and hoily to deco-
rate oor room; and the man gave me a
piece of mistletoe, because be said I looked
as if I knew what to do with it; and I said
he might give me half a duzen boys, too!
Aud Nan said “Arabella!” and looked
Shocked ; bat the man laughed and so did
We had eggs for breakfast and Uncle
William sent us some money from abroad.
| I said it would buy Nan a new dress; and
she said she conldn’t do that because it
was balf mine; and I said that was what
made it so nice, because I could do some-
thing for her once; and she hugged me and
wiped her eyes; aud she said she expected
the Brown's boy thought she was very hard
hearted vot to ‘answer, and she thought
she would geta card and send it to the
newspaper office; and so we sent it before
we went to church.
After church we walked to the park. We
were hardly inside the gates before I notic
ed a very tall, thin, well-dressed young
fellow in a black overcoat and a very shiny
silk bat. He was wearing a white flower
in his left buttonbole, and nobody else
was wearing one, so I knew in a moment
who he was. He was not really good look-
ing, because he had a very big nose; bat I
liked the look of him because you could
see that he was a gentleman, and strong. I
talked vo Nan very fast and pretended not
to notice bim, or any one, so that he should
not guess who she was; but he walked
straight up to us and took off his hat.
x ‘Miss Beresford, I think?’ he said to
an.
*‘Ye-es,”” Nan said ; ‘but I don’t think
—"" She stopped and looked at bim very
hard, and tarved pink, aod gave a quick
little laugh. *'I believe—!"’ she said ; and
sopped and laughed agais.
*‘The Boy at Brown’s,”” he told her;
and he laughed too. *‘I was afraid you
might cut me,” he said.
**No,”” Nan told him.
that.”
Then he shook bands with her, and with
me, too, and said thas his name was Frank
Rayner, and walked he round with us.
‘“‘However did you know me?’ Nan
“I won't do
He nodded at me. :
‘Your sister is exactly nke you were.”
“There, Nan?’ I said. *‘I always
koew I was!” “Iwas a little monkey
then,’’ Nan remarked. ‘Do you remem-
ber the snowball ? And the candy ?”’
‘‘And the faces?’ he reminded her.
put) suppose you couldn’t make faces
now
*Counldn’t II” Nan said; and she actu-
ally made a fanny face. I$ reminded me
of the time when dear old dad—but I don’t
want to write about that. e think
I'm only a kid, and can’t feel things.
They don’t know.
1 dido’s notice what they were saying
for a minute; then I seemed to wake up.
“We live in a wretched little flat by
ourselves,’ Nan was telling him. “So we
can’t ask you to call.” :
with my people,”
“I live at Ham
he answered. ‘‘My mother expects me to
take you there this afternoon; you and
your . You’ll come, won't you ?"’
“How did youn know that I had a eis-
tar?’ Nan asked SuisklY. He hesitated
for a moment, and I frowned at him and
me.
‘ Imp I’ she said, as il her breath was
almost taken away. ‘This is your doing!” |
I saw I'd have to own up sooner or later;
so | thought I'd get it over.
**No, it isn’t,” [ said. ‘He wanted to
find you; and you wanted to be fonnd,
whatever you may say. It's your own
faults: but I suppose you'll put it all down
to me if he doesn’t turn out all right; and
he'll put it down to me if you don’t.”
“But we're going to turn ous all right,”
he eaid, “‘aren’t we, Miss—aren’t we,
Nao ?”
“I—don’t—know,”
seemed all in a flutter.
“Then you'd better find ont,” [ told
her. ‘I'm going to look at the birds, and
I'm coming back in five minotes,” !
When I came back Nan was rather red
and very smiling; and he was smiling, but
not red. (Men can’t blush.) When we
got home I asked if he had proposed. She
said ‘Of course not !"” But she hugged me
like mad; and I knew very well that he'd
given her a broad hint that he meant to
some time, and [ knew that she had made
op her mind what she'd say when be did.
He came in a cab directly after dinner
(we nsed to call it lnneh, and now we do
again) avd took ue off to Hampstead. His
mother was very nice. He had a brother
who was fifteen and his name was Jack
and he was a very cheeky boy. He took
me to see the presents that Frank bad
bought for me; and when we were going
through the door he said, *‘They're up
Nan said. She
there!” And when I looked op it was
only mistletoe. (Doors are a good place to |
put it.)
He is at school where Fiank osed to be,
and we send each other picture post cards.
Sometimes we write letters, hat Nan and |
Frank don’t know that, and you musn’t |
tell them, I live with them now, since
they are married, and they tease me al-
together too much about “The Boy at
Brown's.”’—By Owen Oliver in the Deline-
ator,
|
How Birds Hulld their Houses.
Birde have their homes just like yon and |
me, only we live iu houses a: d they live in
nests. Bat if you should ever get so that |
you counld talk the bird langnage and ask |
them about it, I am «are that shey would |
say that a vest is a much more comfortable
dwelling than a house. Aud so itis for
them because they have wings and can fly
to their homes, aud then they do not mind
at all being out in the in: bot [ am sare |
you wouldn't like a nest at all and woun!d |
fall out if you tried to turn around in it
just as some of the naughty voung birds |
do hefore they have learned to fly.
Some kinds of birds build on the ground |
and others in the highest branches of the |
biggest trees. The little brown song-spar-
rows tuck their snug little nests of horse-
hair and feathers in a grassy bank or on a
low vine or bush. The male ohrries the
materials of which it is made, and the
mother bird weaves them together.
The partridge chooses a hollow in the
ground close by the roots of cornstalks or
tufts of grass, with overhanging weeds as a
covering, #0 that passers-by will not readily
discover it. A few bits of twig and grass
are woven together, then the home is ready
for the fifteen or twenty eggs.
Then there is a little bird that really
sews, called the tailor-bird. She picks out
two leaves or one large one near the end of
a twig. In these she bores tiny holes with
her beak, and aided by her slender claws,
she sews the materials together, making
extremely neat stitches, leaving a small |
hole at the top for entrance and exit. |
Gathering delicate thistle-down, fine grass |
or feathers, she lines the nest so that it |
may be a soft, warm resting place for her
young, |
The little brown wrens, that are always |
dispating and fighting each other, are very |
careless housekeepers and are satisfied |
with almost any kind of a hole. After
stuffing it with twigs avd rubbish, six or
seven brick colored eggs are laid in the
center of the heap.
But the very queerest of all nests is built
hy a bird that lives in far-away India call-
ed the baya. This bird builds a very
elaborate house indeed, consisting ob three
rooms. Under the eaves of the houses this
curious home is placed, and if no one dis-
turbs the fiist nest quite a settlement of
bayas will build their bottle-shaped homes
ander the same eaves. The upper part of
this curious nest is divided into two rooms
—one for the mother bird and the other for
the father bird— while down below is the
living-room. Just as soon as Mrs. Baya is
settled on her eggs, her thoughtful mate
brings bits of soft clay, which he sticks on
the inner wall of the nest ; then out be
darts again, and secures live fireflies, which
he fastens on each olay lamp so there will
be light in the bome.
Another odd vest is made by the flam-
ingo, that carious great red bird with the
long legs that lives in the far South. These
nests are nothing but slender mourds of
mud two or three feet high, looking some-
what like an old-fashioned charn—small at
the top and growing larger toward the bot-
tom. A small hollow is out to
hold the eges, and here the bird sits, like
some scarlet statue on a pedestal.
Tarkey Facts.
Mauy of the large Western packing
houses are content to sell at the present
prices because of the pressure in the money
market instead of holding their goods for
fancy midwinter prices. Asa cousequence
large shipments of turkeys have been start-
ed eastward earlier than usual with the
hope of catching early buyers. Many cat-
loads passed throug the unfavorable weath-
er conditions of the latter part of last week.
Careful buyers refused the goods, but oth-
ers bought them up eagerly at a reasonable
figure. Western turkeys were more plen-
tiful, but near-by fresh ones are decidedly
scarce and immatare.
Storage turkeys are good under favorable
conditions. When the storage man learns
that poor stuff does not improve in his
freezers and that only A No. 1 goods will
come out fine, he will have gained a point.
This will not happen until our buyers de-
Sa) oe ves goods and the poor stuff
goes ng.
The writer saw a splendid hen turkey
that had been kiiled last Jaouary and
taken from the freezer a few days ago des-
tined to feed a Jrowitiehs merchant's
family on Thanksgiving Day. The royal
bird was in a perfectly preserved condition
bu it wasa very fine turkey to begin
with.
——“‘] heard of a man who langhed so
hard at a story that he lost his voice,”’ de-
clared Singleby.
‘What was that story ¥’ asked Mar-
riedman, anxiously. “I'd like to tell that
to my wife.”
Why are lightaiug rods like wait.
ers
‘‘Beoanse they have to be well tipped to
make them of good service.
Eh
in the World
The wealthiest womrn in the whole
world is not an Awerican but a German,
Frau Boblen-Halbach, better known per-
baps as Bertha Krapp, the daughter of the
famous guv-maker.
father died aud she became owner of the
vast Krapp works at Een and other Ger-
man towos and wistress of a fortane which
is said to be close to the huge sum of $225 -
000,000. The gun works cover a space of
over two thousand acres and employ oue
hundred and twenty five thousand men.
Perhaps the richest woman on this side of
the water who leads the most strenuous
life at presens is Mis. Russell Sage. Ever
since her husband died a little over a year
ngo aod left her a fortune that has been
variously estimated at from seventy five to
a hundred million she has had listle peace
oi rest in her life. She is over seventy-six
years of age avd has notil lately always led
a very quiet life. Bat since the terms of
ber busband’s will became known, she hax
heen besieged by begging letters fiom all
parts of the world, and has been obliged to
announce through the newspapers ber de-
termination to give nothing to promiscuons
heggars, although she fully intends to dis
tribute the greater part of her fortune to
charity, leaving herself ouly just enough to
live on quietly aod comfortably. And
while endowing many worthy charities she
2180 aims to aid poor people who stand in
need of help bat have too much self-respect
to ask for it.
Another famous platocrat aud philan-
thropist i« Miss Helen Gould. She cares
nothing for society and titled foreigners,
aud wen of wealth of her own country
have sought her band in vain. With the
same ivflexible purpose which made her
father supreme in the realm of finance,
Miss Gould has consecrated her life 10
charity. Her residence on Fifth Avenue
has become a vast charitable burean, and
here Miss Gould may be found busy at her
sell-imposed labors, which engage the con-
stant work of five secretaries as well as her
own unremitting attention. Charities of
every kind claim Miss Gould's sympathy
aud aid, but soldiers, sailois, railroad men
and crippled children are her special care.
On her father's railroads she has establi<h-
ed a system of club honses for railroad men
in connection with that asecciation. Her
care for the soldiers earned Mis« Gould a
gold medal from Congress, while the palatial
sailors’ club-house, which she built for the
| naval branch of the Y. M. C. Ax at Brook-
lyn, at a cost of $500,000. testifies to her
interest in the welfare of Jack Tar. With
the poor aud friendless little children Miss
Gould ix still more at home and every year
she veceives many poor little wails from
the New York Mission Society, who are
nursed back to health at the Children’s
Home near her own country seat on the
Hudson.
Her sister, Miss Aova Gould, it will be
remembercd, was recently divorced from
her hushand, Count Boni de Castellane,
after he bad spent nearly all his wife's
great fortune. She lives in Paris with her
children and is now called Mme. Gould.
A lady willionaire ‘of quite a different
| type is Mrs. Hetty Green, who has a for-
tune of at least $50,000,000, and has the
reputation of being the greatest woman
finaucier in the world. On Wall Street,
where she has an office, Mr«. Green is a fa-
miliar figure in her black poke bonuet and
shabby dress. Her holdings in real estate
and other investments are enormous, aod
at seventy she deals in stocks and shares
like the most experienced Wall Street
broker. Shrewd and calealating to the
verge of meanness, Mrs. Green lives in a
shabby little flat, and acts as her own maid-
of-all-work. Yet in spite of her mean
ways and dowdy appearance, Mrs. Green
is said to have a kind heart.
In Philadelphia there is living a lady. 4
Mrs. Anna Weightman Walker, who sev.
eral years ago inherited from her father,
the "Quinine King,” a fortune of $60,-
000,000.
The Great Ant-Eater.
How many curious animals there ate!
One of them is called the Great Ant eater,
because of its favorite food ; and sometimes
the scaly ant-eater, from the scales with
which it is covered. It has a long, point-
ed wose but its mouth is different from
most other animals, for it bas no teeth.
Now some animals would starve, and
most would go hungry, without teeth. But
the Great Ant-eater has instead a most cn-
tious tongue, which it can throst into she
ant-hills and use to catch its dinner as well
as %o carry the dinner to its mouth,
The ant eaters are among the animals
that live only in warm countries, aud are
found in Asia and Africa and also South
America. While some are small, the larg-
est are three or four feet long. For homes
they bave holes which they dig in the
ground, and an ant-eater would not need
to be much afraid even if it should meet a
man with a gan, for the scales with which
it is covered are often hard enough to turn
a musket ball,
The ant-eaters of Asia and Africa have
tails nearly twice as long as their bodies,
but this Gieat Ant-eater of South America
bas the most curious tail of all. For itis
not long, but is so covered with thick, long
bair that when it i= turned up over the
back, as it often ie, the body of this queer
animal is completely hidden. A gentle-
man who has seen them wany times says
that the Great Anteater will lift and
spread its tail like this whenever there is
rain, exactly as we do an umbrella, and for
the same reason—to keep from getting
wet.
Do you not think that truly the Great
Aunt-eater is a most curious animal ?—Ad-
vocate.
Children's Voloes,
A friend, who bas spent many years
abroad, remarked : ‘* It does seem too bad
that American children should bave such
disagreeable voices. They are acknowl.
edged to be bright and atirative, yes because
of their high-pitched, disagreeable voices
they are shunned. Travelers avoid a car
or a hotel in which there are young Ameri-
cans.”” Why is this ? Largely becaase our
children are imitative, and, a8 our voices
are not well modulated, neither are theirs.
Is the nnmusical voice a n Ameri-
can trait ? Throat specialists tell us that
although our climate is inclined to sharpen
the tone, a certain sweetuess and a pitoh
be maintained with care. A
ohild is soothed by gentle speech and irri-
tated by barsh tones. Of course you read
aloud to your child ; every mother does.
Les this be done with constant watching
of articulation and tone. This is good ex~
ercise for the reader and a means of ounl-
tare, in more than one respect, for the
child. Never rebuke in anger ; keep quiet
until you can speak sweetly and firmly.
One point which cultivated foreigners no-
tice is that our young people call their
messages from a distance inetead of going
to the person and quietly waiting for an
. Shouting throngh
Four years ago ber |
Sppureapity tows
e hounseis nopleasant and uncultured.
Purposes of Oclental Hugs,
Oriental rugs are made for divers pur-
poses, and the special use of each may be
instantly known by che pattern and size,
writes Florence Peltier in Good Housekeep-
ing.
The prayer rug has always a design thas
1ans to a point, sometimes at one end of
the rug, sometimes at both ends. The rug
mast be laid dou so that the apex points
in the direction of the holy city of Mecca.
Then the owner of the rog kneels upon it,
bends over so that he may place his fore.
bead on the apex,and thus be prays. When
the prayer is finished, the rog is rolled up
and put carefully away.
The hearth rug is spread out before the
fire when a guest is to he entertained or
when some celebration of special signi-
ficance in the family is to take place.
A somewhat gruesome affair is the burial
rog, woven ol somber tints, to express
grief ; but there are also bright colors in-
troduced (0 show belief in resarrection.
Each member of the family, even to the
very little child, ties knots in this burial
rug which will be used to carry the dead
to the grave.
Long narrow rugs, from two and a half
to four feet wide avd from ten to eighteen
feet long, are made to cover the long, oar-
tow divans found in every room of an east.
ern house. In Eorope and America these
are sold for hall or stair and are called
“runners.”
Any rag eight by ten or larger is proper-
ly a carpet. Mats are the small Tugs com-
mouly placed on the floor in front of a door.
The s.ddle bugs from the east, made in the
same manner as rugs, we use for sofa pil-
low covers. Then there are rogs made
purposely for hangings and called *‘khil-
ims." —Shop Talk.
A ———————————.
~—— When 30 years of age woman is moss
fascinating. All she women famous for
power over the hearts of men, from Cleo-
patra to Helen down, were nearer 40 than
20 when at the zenith of their power.
Ata literary salon in Paris Balzac was
once asked by a pretty little miss of 17 why
it was he liked women she would call passe.
“Why, monsieur, even when they are as
old as 40 you seem to enjoy their society 1"?
Balzac looked at her earnestly for a second
and then langhed heartily. He bent over
to explain ma ters and remarking in a seri.
ous voice as though weighing every word
he said : “Perhaps the secret lies in the
simple fact that the woman of 20 must be
pleased, while the woman of 40 tries to
please, and the older woman’s power con-
#1818, not as has heen =o often said. in un-
derstanding and making the most of her
own charms, but in comprehending and
with happy tact calling ont and making
the most of the good gnalities of the man
whose favor she seeks.”
There is no doubt that a man always ad-
mires a clever woman, yet he enjoys him-
self better witha woman who makes him
feel that he is clever. Of course, all the
men like being entertained for awhile by a
well-informed woman, but man is essential-
ly vain, and he enjoys much better the
happy tact which makes him believe thas
he is entertaining the well-informed wom-
an.
The woman a man likes best is not al-
ways the smartest or most hiillians. No,
indeed. A pair of brown, sympathetio
eyes, a sweet voice, will do away with all
the logic and philosophy a man’s hrain has
ever entertained. Of course, the woman
most have the happy knack of discovering
what subject the man talks about best,
Then she must listen quietly and in an in-
terested manner. Perhaps it would be a
good suggestion for her to draw him ons
with bapps queries until he is astonished
at his own hiilliancy,
Unhenlthy Excretse,
———
Almost everybody rides the wheel to-
day, and there is a certain ambition in
most bicyclists to show a goon record of
“rans.” Both men and women aspire to
records of ‘‘centuries.’’ It ix always donbs-
ful whether so protracted a run vs a cen-
tury run is not too great a strain upon the
body. But even ordinary runs may be an
injury rather than a benefit if the physical
condition is healthy. When there is weak-
ness, especially stomach weakness, the ex-
ercise only increases the ailment. Many
bicyclists have proven this, and recall vio-
lent nausea, loss of appetite, headache and
other physical results of an extra long run.
Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical Discovery
strengthens the weak stomach. It does
more, it increases the blood supply and so
increases the vital force of the hody. It
makes the body muscular, builds it up
with sound flesh and not with flabby fas.
It is not a whisky medicine, and contains
no narcotics. It is the ideal medicine for
the athelete, who needs physical strength
and development.
—— For rolling over uneven ground, a
land roller is now made in two or more
sections, with a flexible connection which
yields to the inequality of the ground, a
feature which is very desirable for some
classes of work. This implement will roll
a dead forrow and a back furrow as well as
level ground. Another feature is that it
has a seat which is adjustable, so that it
can be placed behind the rollers, to prevent
serious accident in case the driver should
be thrown from his seat. The innovation
is a welcome one where it is desired to util-
ize tLe services of a bhoy.—Scientific Amerie
can.
The Art of Happluess.
The art of happiness consists in being
pleased with little things. People with
great wealth or great power are seldom
happy. The leaders of the world, great
men or great women, are seldom satisfied.
The society leader, with millions at her
command and the bomage of many men
and women rarely knows the happiness
that comes unasked to the young wile or
mother in bumbler circles, says Home
Chat.
——Gyer—There goes a man with a pull,
and he bas managed to make a lot of mou-
ey out of it.
Myer— Politician, eh ?
Gyer—No ; dentist.
——*'Johony, who was Peter and who
was Paul ?*
“Them was the guys wat robbed each
other to pay each other without lettin’
their left bands get wise.”
Don’t tolerate irregularly in the bowels,
Don’t allow the sewage of the system to
accumulate and poison your blood snd dull
your brain. Regularity can be established
by the ase of Dr. Pierce's Pleasant Pellets,
ey act naturally and easily, They soon
cure, aud can shen be dispensed with.
~—— Freddy—Ma, what is the baby’s
pame ?
Ma—The baby hasn't any name.
Freddy—Then how did he know he be.
longed here?