Bellefonte, Pa., January 17, 1908.
IF I WAS BIG
I want a ladder awful high
Like Jack had, so that | can see
Right where the stars are in the sky;
I want to sail across the sea
Like Sindbad did aud | want three—
Or maybe four—fat hens; they'd lay
Some golden eggs to have for tea.
I wish that | was Big today.
I want to go a-riding by
A castle with a golden key,
To find a princess, who «ill sigh
And wait for one to come and free
Here from the giant's spell that he
Has cart about her: and I'll slay
The great big giant! Yes-sirree!
I wish that 1 was Big today!
And sometime, maybe, if I try,
I'll find a Dragon, too, and he
Will try to eat me up, and I
Will be as brave as [ ean be,
And I will kill him, and, “To thee,"
The King will cry, “we bow! You may
Become a Knight at once!” O me!
I wish that | was Big today!
ENVOY
Lad, life nolds much of mystery —
Beautiful visions far away!
0, would that I might change with thee!
1 wish | were a lad today!
— [Celia Myrover Robinson, in Harper's.
A NEW ORDER.
‘Father !—ub, Father!"
Roltus Waters hastily concealed the lissle
batobet be bad been carrying and turned
toward the house. A litsle figure in a cali-
00 wrapper came flying down the path.
‘Yes, Leah. What say?’ His 1mpa-
tience died an instant death, as it always
did at sight of the tender anxiety in she
little old face of bis wife. And at sighs of
it, as always, the hidden batohet prioked
throagh to bis sonscience.
‘“‘You ain’t got your rubbors on, Father,
an’ the grass all of a sop! No,—no, I
dido’s bring em. There's a leak in she
bee! o’ one. You come back with me,
Father, an’ when the san’s dried things
you au’ me'll go toa listle walk. I feel
saler that way. Pat your hand on my
shoulder goin’ up this slipp’ty path.”
The hatchet changed sides in a swift,
sleight-of-hand fashion learued by practice.
Rufus Waters, straight and stout as an old
oak, laid a light band on his wife’s shoul-
der. The desire tu swing an axe—ever. a
batohet —was swallowed for the time in the
bigger desire 10 please his wile. Long ago
by a stiff exertion of will he bad stopped
reflecting upon the time he spent pleasing
her. He bad patiently accepted the truth
that it was anout all the time—the morn-
ings, noous and nighte of his days.
“You no need to harry a mite, Father,
—take all the time you want to. Youn
badn't ought to walk fast at your age.”
Leah Waters pated a little and sagged a
little so one side, not heoause of the weight
on her shoulder, but the weight that she
imagined there. Her frail figure thrilled
with the joy of takiug care of *‘Fatber.”
It was the joy she lived by.
“There !—look ous for the step. You're
goin’ right into the livin’-room now, Fath.
er, an’ lay down on the lounge till I'm
through with my work. You'll be all rest.
ed up for a walk then. I'm not goin’ to
bave you overdoin’, this hos spell I" She
bustled happily aboas the room, adjusting
window shades and getting pillows. Her
lean little hands worked busily, love im-
pelied.
Leah was only wsixty-three ;: Rofus Wa-
ters was seventy-three. The ten years be-
tween them, widened unconsciously by a
bundred tender little anxieties now that
Father was old, bad made their relation
more that of mother aud son than of bus-
band and wife. Rufus waters bad grown
old at seventy; Leah herself had ses the
time. For three years she tough old man
bad tried to be patient, and had wade a
beaatifal outward success of it. Inwardly
—bus his inward state bad up to the pres-
ent time remained a secret hesween himself
and the Angel of Appreciation.
In the kitchen Leah thought anxions
thoughts as she worked Father had walk:
ed so slowly, leaned so hard. He was
growin’ elder every day ! "To think of his
slippiv’ off like that without his robbers
on! Dido’ that show how forgetful he
was gettin? Well, all is, he'd got to he
taken better care of.
wove i Ia be more watohfal,’”’ Leah
aters thought, with a pang of guilt for
her lack of care. Pane .
On the lounge in the living-room lay
Father, thinkin’ his own anxious thoughts.
Once he stretched ont an arm and slowly
doubled and undonbled it at the elbow,
The muscle he had been so prond of three
years ago—where was it? He sighed pa
tiently, remembering old wood-piles and
saw-horses. The desire to swing an axe
came flooding back into his soul.
*'0O Lord,” he groaned under his breath,
“let there be a wood-pile in heaven, an’
save it for me!”
The marriage of Rofus avd Leah was
a middle-aged one. Both bad approached
1t with a caution and deliberation lacking
to youthful marriages. But romance had
not been wauting, since in the eyes of their
limited world Rufus Waters bad married a
‘“‘rioh’’ wife. His own fortune had been
principally invested in good working mus.
oles and nnhounded delight in using them,
He bad always worked, and wished to
work always. What be bad done for a de-
pendent old mother and father he longed
to do for his wife. He had not counted on
growing old at seventy.
For a number of years the two of them
bad worked together in a joyous partuer-
ship, Leah consenting to les her little for-
tune lie at interest ‘until the grew old.”
But promptly at the dawn of e seventieth
birthday of Rufus she bad unfolded her
loving plav. Rafus a listened, in dis-
may ering apon despair. Bat love
then bad made resistance Ry
though be bad seen his fate coming and re-
alized keenly the slow torture of is.
“Now, listen, Rufus, —I've some-
Shine so an Pye been waitin’ all this
me ay—I[ 8 ou know w
day to-day is?" me ay
Rofos nodded, belpless before a little
wowan with a great love. He saw it com-
‘You're seventy, Rafus. It ain't any-
thing to be ashamed of, but you're
now, an’ and you've got to be took care of.
I'm a good deal younger, an’ I'm goin’ to
doit. I thank the Lord it’s me! Ob,
I'm glad it’s me I"’ her voice sob-roughen-
ed. “I'll take good care o’ you, Rufus,
From this day forth,’ solemnly, “‘youain’s
goin’ to do a stitch o’ work—not a stitoh o’
work ! You ain't goin’ to turn your hand
over! You've worked up to now, but now
you're old an’ you're goin’ to rest. I've
waited till today. [ain't said a word
when you worked real hard, hut I say is
pow ! It's said, Rofus. You wouldn't
pever use any o' my money—now I'm
goin’ to nse ds for you. We ain't laid up
any o’ yours, but we've took our comfort
spendin’ it, —we’ve had a dear old time,
Rafos. An'[ want we should have a good
time spendin’ mine now,—you're goin’ to
rest up after all yoar workin’. You're
goin’ to begin today. From this time
forth,’ finished Leah, in a kind of solemn
exultation. Her plain little face took on
beauty for the moment. To Rufus Waters
it was beyond comparison with other wom-
en's faces.
In a moment Leah went on :
““Rafus, you listen—there’s something
else. [I've heen thionkin® about it a long
time, but mehbe you won't like it. I
want you shonld tell me honest. You
know we never had any little shildren,
Rofas?"’ ber « old lace sofsiy reddening.
“So I never my rightful Ho to call
vou ‘Father.’ Bat I'd like to begin today.
If you was willin’, Rufos—"'
** ‘Father,’ ’’ he corrected ber. She had
called him Father ever since.
From seventy to seventy three can bea
very long time to one who is growing old
against his will. Is bad been a weary
while to Rufus Waters. He was getting
indeed old. Today old age seemed settling
like a pall over him.
Leah Waters finished her work and tip-
toed into the living room, then tiptoed out
again, satisfied thas Father was sleeping
beaasifally. She would not waken him—
at Father's age sleep was a dreadful good
thing. She woald steal out while be slept
and pick a sanceifal of field strawberries
for bis supper. San-sbriveled, sun-sweet
ones grew in the old pastare—the kind
Father loved.
She put on her old sunbonnet and set
forth. At the stone wall she picked out
an easy place and begap to climb. A loose
stone displaced by ber skirts rolled with
her to the farther side. Leah Waters lay
guite still ander is.
It was Father who found ber and carried
her home in his arms, and Father who sent
for a doctor aud hovered around distracted-
ly wotil he came. From her bed Leah
looked out as the old man in undisgaired
dread, but the dread was not for herself.
Why—why bado’s she gone round by the
pasture bare instead of climbing she wall !
This shook and worry would surely hurt
Father. Shocks were dangerous at his age
—dreadlul dangerous. And she had been
taking such good care of him and trying to
keep him quiet and rested up !
“Father !~—oh, Father !'’ she called, wine.
ing with the pain of lifting ber head. He
came hurrying in.
‘I've been tryin’ to decide which one's
best, an’ I gaess it better be Rhodory Wig-
#in,— just the minate the doctor gets me
ses vou go after Rhodory. She's a real
worker an’ I can tell her whas to do—she
can leave this door open and I cao holler.
There aio’t anybody I oan think of who'd
do's well as Rhodory Wiggio. She's had
an old mother to take care of ap to just a
little while ago,—I ain’t goin’ to have
anybody but what can take care o' you."
Rufus, hovering over the hed, stooped
tenderly. ‘‘Is the pain 0 sarrible?'’ he
quavered. But Leab’s anxious shoughts
kept on in their own direction.
“*Ruodors’ll do better thau any one else,
Father ! [I’ve thoughs an’ thought, av’ all
the rest bas ties to keep "em to home. Ann
Streeter’s got a Little baby to tie her, an’
Janet Mill's boy's home sick with slow fe.
ver. loan’t think of anybody but Rbo-
dory.”
‘“There, there !"” orooned, as though to a
child, the frautio old man. *‘Don’t you go
to worryin’—you just lay still a« you can.”
Would he find broken bones? In his sick
sonl Rafas Waters knew he would find
broken bones. Leah was such a little mite
of a thing and the stone had been so heavy
—oraelly heavy !
The doctor drove olatteringly into the
yard, leaped out and oclattered into the
house. Father met him at she kitohen door
with finger of warning uplifted and whis-
pering, as if he could still ward off poor
Leah's fate,
** Sh! She's in the little hrdroow, doo-
tor, —she’s layin’ waitin’ for you. I've
kep’ her still a« I conld—doctor, I'm tar-
rible scared for fear she’s—hroke!” in a
wuffled wail of anguish. ‘‘I'm tarrible
soared, doctor !"’
‘Likely as not,’ nodded the man inured
to broken hones. “Women bave no busi
ness climbing stone walls with skirts on!
Thins the door? Well, I'li go in. You'd
better stay out till I need yon, —no use
getting all wrought ap for nothing.”
Stay out !—apare himself when Leah was
broken! Rufus Waters brashed by the
doctor and entered the listle room first. By
a splendid effort he smiled.
“Here we are—me 'n’ the dootor 've
come! We'll fix yon up quicker 'n you
can say Jack Robinson!"
But it was not ‘“Jack Robinson'’ that
Leah said. She lifted her white face reso
lately. ‘Father, yon listen—you go right
out o’ this room, out to the harn! An’
don’t you come back till the doctor rings
the dinner-bell out the door! That ’ll
mean I'm ses, an’ then you come flyin.’ I
guess I'll be ready for you then! Butl
ain't goin’ to have you gettin’ all wronght
up seein’ me set. Now you go. Father.
You go!”
Bat Father slipped back into the room
and stood where the woman on the hed
could not see him, ready to help at any
moment if help were needed. His own
face was as white as Leah's, her pain seem.
ed to be grinding through him—Father,
too, was being ‘‘set.”’
After the twice-broken arm had received
attention, a badly sprained ankle demand-
ed help. Leab Waters lay softly groaning
—a luxury she wonld not have dreamed of
indulging in if Father had not been ous to
the barn.
A very little before the doctor’s painful
ministrations were concluded, Rufus Wa-
ters harried out and dropped down on the
milking-stool in the barn door and waited
for the doctor to ring the dinner-bell. His
old legs were racked with their unwonted
baste and bis old lungs labored wheezily.
He craved an interval of recuperation he-
fore his summons. In a dazed way he felt
of his grizzled face and groaned because he
found it pale. He dreaded facing the poor
little sufferer, dreaded twisting his anguish.
ed old lips into a smile.
For weeks Leah Waters lay on her bed
not patiently, because of Father's need of
her, but quietly to assist nature in the
work of ““knitting’’ ber. For the first few
stop, if they would insist on doing the
things to home ?
“Don's you worry another mite, Leah—
not avother mite. Everyshing but the
washin’ an’ cookin’ can wait un you get
ap, can’t it? I ain't kickin’ up any great
amount of a dust these days—you’d ought
to see me wipe my feet on the mat an’ go
steppin’ round easy ! I shouldn't wonder it
you didn’t have to sweep for a week o'
Sandays after you're ap 'n’ round agin!”
To himself, after the first dave of
pain for Leah were over, it was a wonder-
fol Sime—a time of rejuvenation. He
grew younger every day. His old lips
pursed into whistling shape, bat he kept
the tunes in his sonl. He went ahout soft.
ly on lumbering old toes, and cooked and
swept and Waived, xaufiSion his broom, his
stove covers, mixing-spoons.
There was a little “entry’ between
Leah's hedroom and the kitchen; two doors
and the invalid’s dull hearing were of great
assistance to Father. He might even have
whistled when the doors were shut, bat he
refrained painstakingly, though the new
life in bis old veins clamored for vocal ex-
on. It was only at what he called
‘re-cess times'’ that he whistled. Father's
recess times occurred regularly afternoons
while Leah took her long naps. He wait-
ed until she was sweetly asleep in the little
cool, dim room, with the dinner-bell in in.
stant readiness heside her tocall him to
her when she woke. Then he stole away
to she woodrhed for the axe. His limp
mnecles were getting hard again, —he ex-
ulted in them hoyishly. The old time joy
in swinging an axe lit np his faded bine
ow and straightened his stooped old
oulders splendidly. He whistled as he
worked. He was not glad Leah, his little
old wife, waa hedridden, bus he was glori-
ously glad to be free; he did not cousoious-
ly conueot the two oiroumstances in his
mind. That his freedom was but a tei.
porary state and the former dreary idleness
loomed ever over it he refused to remem-
her. Not vet—not yet—enough now that
he was lustily swinging his axe out in the
sunshine of the Lord and the chips were
flying.
‘“An’ I'm growin’ young!"
Father, like a boy.
O ‘e afternoon well into the third week
Leah woke from a long, refreshing nap and
reached for the bell. Bat she did not ring
it as usual. A sudden thought detained
ber hand. Father might be taking a nap
himself—poor Father. The house seemed
unwoontedly still —yes, shat was it. She
bad a troubled vision of him lying on the
living-room lounge, on lampy pillows, in
the full glare of the san. She had always
planned Father's naps so carefully, beaticg
up pillows and drawing down curtains.
It seemed suddenly an unbearable thing
to Leah that Father should take a bap
alone. At his age—oh, poor old Father !
The pity and worry in her heart compelled
action. She would get up and go to Fath-
er and take care of him. She had deserted
bim long enough.
The process of getting up was necessarily
a slow one, hampered as she still was by
arm and ankle. But she found clothes and
put them on and twisted her thin bair into
into a neat little knot. With her knee in
a chair she esvayed a certain species of loco-
motion that brooght her in the end to the
living-room. Sarprises had met ber at
every stage of the little journey—the sar
prise of a well-swept kitchen, of a shining
stove, of drying clothes on the line outside
the kitohen window. She bad expected
dust and lister.
The living-room presented the same
speckless appearance. Everything was in
order and guiltless of dust, as she herself
had loved to keep it. Where was the dirs
and chaos of man things she had lain and
groaned over in her seoret groaning-place ?
Where was Father ? Not on the lounge
on lumpy pillows in the glare of the sun—
she had seen no signs of Father anywhere
in the tidy house. In fresh alarm
she hitched painfally to the window.
Father was ont at the wood-pile chopping
wood. Out at—the wood-pile—chopping
—wood.
Leah Waters stood a long time looking
out. She opened the window softly and
Father's jabilant tanes whistled their way
in to her. She saw his straightened back
when it came up after each stroke; she saw
his shining old profile and the splendid
swings of his arms. She saw hia yoath
that had come back. Things grew clear to
her. cae by one.
Back in the dim little bedroom Leah
went to bed again and waited for Father.
She lay laughing and orying in woman
fashion and replanning the foture.
“All is—al! is,” she mormuored. “I'm
glad I've woke np in time! I'm glad of
avother thing—that I didn’t go round to
the pasture bars. Some folks have to be
broke an’ set over agin.”’
‘“Leah, you awake?’ It was Father in
the doorway, lovking anxious, *‘I dido’t
hear the bell an’ it scairt me, it got so kind
o’ late. You ain’t worse, be you ?”’
“No,” Leah laughed, ‘I'm better ! Yon
listen, Father,—I want yon should carry
me out to the livin'-room in your arms.
If you think yoo conld—"’
“Heart alive !"” Father was at the bed
wathering up the small oreature in his
great arms. His face was radiant. *‘I
won’s let ye fall—I won’s let ye fall !"’ he
cried, reassuringly. ‘You bear down all
yon want to—yon ain’t heavier than a fiy.
There, now we're marchin’ through
Georgy I" He whistled the accompain-
ment. It was a srinmphal mwaich to the
living-room.
Leah’s old face nestled against Father's
old face. She yielded, unresistingly, to
the new order of things. It was good to
be wien care of. be. Pytbmt” uh
‘‘How strong yon , Father !"” she
oried.—By Annie Hamilton Donnell, in
Harper's Bazar.
Richest of Gold Mines.
laughed
The richest gold mine in the world is
the Robinson mine at Johaoneshurg, S.
A. Milling operations were hegun in Jaon-
uary, 1888, since which time there have
been 3,212,200 tons of ore mined altogether
and 2,686,300 sons milled. The total
amount of gold produced has been 2,253.
800 cunces fine, valued at about $46,000,
000 or $17.11 per ton. The working 1]
bas been abouts $28,750,000 or $10.72 per
ton. I¢ ie estimated shat the mine will
have yielded a net t of 70,000,000 tons
by 1920,by which time it will be exhausted.
—tiBee here, !? said Ned to his
Jsannigh sivkes, og deus iv Jou wear.
my you m at least give
a he g
“How do you mean ?’’ she demanded.
‘Well, yon might say something like
this : ‘Dear Ned : Since using your
shirts and collate I’m a new woman.’
‘I started to propose to Miss Hoam-
ley Rich last night, but I lost my cour-
!? said Tom
“And didn’t she belp you out?” asked
“No, but ber father did; that's why I
lost my courage.”
— ee — - em — —
SHINE JUST WHERE YOU ARE.
Don't waste your time in longing
For bright, impossible things;
Don’t sit snpinely yearning
For the swiftness of angel wings;
Don’t spurn to be a rushlight,
Because you are not a star;
Bat brighten some bit of darkness
By shining just where you are.
There is need of the tinlest cradle
As well as the garish sun;
The humblest deed 1s ennobled
when it is worthily done;
You may never be called to brighten
The darkest regions afar;
So fill, for the day, your mission
By shining jist where you are.
Some Misspent Money.
There is *‘sumeshing doing’’ down in
sleepy old Philadelphia thas is making so-
ciety people of the town of sacred sciapple
wis up and take notice.
Shades of the old Assembly balls, that
were about as hilarious as a founeral!
What would these ola dames in brocade,
and those old hesux of 18{8 say, il they
could rise in their graves and attend one of
these society functions thas are heing beld
in the Qoaker city nn this twentieth oen-
tury ? They would return to their grave
garments as quickly as possible, and ges
back into their vix feet of earth, content to
remain there, for they would surely see
something that wonld jar them if they
should return.
A few days ago all of society rubbed its
eyes at the breakfast table when it read of
the doings at one of the higgest halls of the
season, when one of the ‘‘buds’’ of the
winter was presented. Her ball was the
most talked about affair that had heen giv-
en, and no wonder.
To make it one of the most talked about
events her doting father and an equally
doting uncle had scoured the four corners
of the earth for novelties, and a preity pen-
ny is cost—something like $100,000 they
say. A little matter of $4,000 for flowers
alone, as much again for food, and a like
amount for wine, and shoosands of butter
flies which were let loose in one of the fig-
ures of the cotillion. Months ago men
were sent to South America and the West
Indies to hunt these butterflies, and they
were sent North at great expense. Thous-
ands of them died on the way, but more of
them lived, and society fairly gasped when
they were let loose, and floated about
amides the orchids and American Beauties
and lillies with which the ballroow ceiling
was covered. Some were crushed beneath
the feet of the dancers, and others were
drowned in the punch bowl, bot the bus.
terfly ball was the success of the season.
Society had scarcely recovered its hreath
from this affair when another “bud” was
introduced to society, and this ‘‘bad’s’’
father determined to make the “‘butteifly”
ball pale into insignificance beside the one
he gave. Butterflies? Fudge! What
were a few batterflies compared to what he
could and would do? And forthwith he
did is.
Rare exotic foliage covered the ball room
walls and ceilings, but the climax came
when thousands of song birds from the
South, nightingales, mocking birds and ca-
naries were set free in the ball room. This
was not all by any means. In another fig-
ure each girl was presented with a jeweled
fishing rod, the line already baited, with
which she fished for the gold fish which
glinted and shimmered in the perfumed
waters of an artificial pond.
Again society gasped and admitted that
the second ‘‘hud’s’’ papa bad gone the
limis.
It cost $150,000 shey say.
A quarter of a million dollars gone in
two evenings’ pleasure! Two hundred
and fifty thousand dollars for eight hours
of dancing and chattering and eating and
drinking.
And I know of a little fellow who, today
oanuot go out in the street and earn a few
pennies selling papers with which to buy
hi= supper because he has no shoes,
I kvow another little fellow who does
own a pair of shoes, but who goes out into
the storm and cold to sell papers without
an overcoat.
I kvow of a whole family who are lying
sick with only a bushel of coal in the
house, with uo medicine, no doctor, no one
to help but neighbors as poor as themselves
and I know of countless other places where
a dollar would help, even if it did not save.
I really believe I conld have made bet-
ter nse of that quarter of a million dollars.
ox Carolyn Prescott, in the Pittshuig
Testing Batter,
There are several ways to tell renovated
butter and oleomargarine from fresh but-
ter.
One is by the simple boiling test. This
can be done in any home with no other
apparatus than an oil lamp and a tin
tablespoon. Take a lump of the butter the
size of your first thumb joint and place it
in the tin tablespoon. Light a common
oil lamp, remove the chimvey and hold the
spoon containing the butter over the light
#0 that the flame reaches the bottom of the
bowl of the spoon. Hold it in shis posi-
tion until she butter boils. Oleo and ren-
ovated butter boil noisily, spusteriog like
a mixtare of grease and waser, and pro-
duce but little, if any, foam. Genuine
butter boils with little or no noise and
produces usually an abundance of foam.
This ie one of the most simple as well as
the safest tests.
Wise insects.
In his experiments to determine wheth-
er it ia the color or the odor of flowers thas
attraots bees and other ipsects, Monsieur
Platean, the Belgian zoologist, bethought
him of trying a mirror. He selected a
flower of striking color and, etrong odor,
and placed is before an excellent glass in
which the reflection was perfect. All the
insects went straight to the real flower,
and not a single one approached the re-
flection in the mirror.— Youth's Compan-
ion.
“On an Average."
One of the jokes Lewis Carroll, he tau-
thor of ‘‘Alice in Wonderland,” didn’s
dare Jatiish, according to his biographer,
Whe ound it among his papers, is the fol-
0 $
A oe vilboy asked, ‘‘What is the mean-
ing of average?’’ at once replied, ‘‘The
th hens lay on.”
Ww uested to explain his answer,
the boy a “I read in a book that hens
lay on an average 200 eggs a year.’’
—'] know that old lady over there,”
Whispered little e.
“ you, dear,’ asked her mother.
“Who is she ?"’
“Why, she’s the little lame boy w'at I
told youahout w'at’s in my olass in school’s
mother.”
BR
New Mexico te Follow Oklahoma |
inte the Feld,
Alter nearly sixty years of more or less
patient waiting, New Mexico at last finds
Statehood in sight. On bis trip down the
Mississippi, President Roosevelt committed
himself to the admission of the Territory.
Inviting the Governors of Oklahoma and of
New Mexico to board his boat he «aid : “I
want the Governor of the Territory that
bas become a State and the Governor of the
Territory that is to hecome a Siate to ride
with me.”
In she treaty of Guadalope Hidalgo be-
tween the United State« and Mexico, con-
cluded in 1848, the Awerican Goverumens
inverted Article 3 of she Louisiana treaty;
which gave the prone :
“The inhabitants of the ceded territory
shall he incorporated in she Union of she
United States, and admitted as soon as
sible, according to the principles of the
Federal Constitution, to the enjoyment of
all the rights, advantages, and immunities,
of citizens of the United States.”
The firct State admitted under the pledge
of she original Louisiana treaty was ise
iana, nine year« alter the promise was
given. The last hit of the Louisiana par-
chase, Oklahoma, is just now passing out
of the territorial condition, one hundred
and four yeats after the sreaty of cession
was signed. The proceedings under the
Mexican treaty have been a little more
rapid. California was admitted in 1850,
two years after ite acquisition, Nevada in
1864, and Utah in 1896. Parts of Colorado,
adwitted in 1876, and of Wyoming, ad-
mitted in 1890, were also included in the
Mexican cession.
Ouly Arizona and New Mexico are still
left outside of the anion of States. Neither
ol those has yet had such a hoons as to
force ite claims upon Congress. In 1876
New Mexico had 91.874 inbahitauts, which
was more than Colorado, Dakota (then
united ), Idaho, Mousaua, Nevada, Oregon,
Utah, Washington, or Wyoming bad at
thas tiwe. In 1900 the population of New
Mexico was 195.310, and Colorado, the
Dakotas, Montava, Oregon, Utah, and
Washington had passed ber in the interval,
But even now New Mexico is more popu-
lous than Delaware, Idaho, Nevada, or
Wyoming. She would bave been admit.
ted long ago if ber people had been Ameri-
cavized wore promptly. When she comes
in, Arizona will be the only Territory in
the main body of the United States, and it
will not be possible much longer to resist
the demand for a final clean-up of the terri-
torial system.—/n Colliers of October.
Pal m-Leaf Books.
A remarkable literary curiosity recently
aoquired hy the Library of Congress isa
set of books printed, or rather inscribed, on
palm leaves. It comprises ninety-eight
volumes, and is a complete copy of the
Buddhist Seriptures, execoted in Burmese
text.
At first glance it might be thought that
palns leaves would not afford a very serv.
icealile substitute for paper in the making
of books. But it should be understood
that the leaves employed for the purpose
are of enormous size,a dozen feet in lecgth,
perhaps, and that only certain parts are
utilized. These parts are cut fiom between
the ribs, each of them forming a neat par-
allelogram swo fees in length and three
inches in width. Each such parallelogram
is a page of the volume that is to be.
Only leaves in the second year of their
growth are used, because, if too young, the
material would pos have the requisite
toughness, and if too old it would be dry
aud brittle. Bat the leal-slices of proper
age, when duly cured, will vot only last
for hundreds of years, but also will retain
their flexibility—a point of obvious im-
portance, inpsmuch as a palm leaf book
whose leaves were brittle would soon fall
to pieces, and to bandle it without injuiing
it would he almost impossible.
When the liaf-slices have been prepared
in the way desoribed, the Burmese scholar
takes in his band a very sharp stylus of
steel, and with it proceeds to write, his in-
struient,as be does so, penetrating through
the outer coat of the leal. It is soript as
dainty and beautiful as any that ever
medi val honk knew how to make, bus
nite oliar in its appearance, every one
ot oer erie being a modification of a
cirole. So fine is the writing, and in lines
80 olose together, that quite a lot of it will
go upon a single page.
To oowplete his work, the painstaking
sorihe takes a ‘mixture of oil and lamp-
black, and with it robs the writing, exactly
as an engraver on steel or copper would
treat a plate. Then he wipes it off, and
what remains in the inscribed lines renders
them plainly visible to the eve. Several
hundred such pages, all of them of exactly
the same size, go together to form the vol-
ume, which is bound by placing the bunch
of leal-slices hetween two long and nar.
row pieces of plank and dying them se-
curely. Sometimes the edges of the pages
are gilded. —Saturday Evening Post.
Corn an Ear 10 a Can.
The newest loxury for those who ean
afford it is sweet corn in the winter time
put up in cavs—one car to a can. Its, in
effect, the fresh article, served at any sea-
son of the year, to be eaten from the cob.
This ie a trinmpi: of the new method of
preserving vegetables aud froits, which
consists in using for the purpose a mini:
mam of heat. Iu his recent experiment
in this line, at the Oregon Experiment
Station, Dr. E. Pernot has employed all
degrees of temperature, even down to noth
ing, with a view to Seding out how little
could be made to serve. e hae been sue.
cessful in putting up berries, tomatoes,
and even cider, securing the retention of
their fresh flavor for an indefinite period.
The problem in all such of course,
is to exclude living germs. In Alaska
cranberries and other fresh fruits have
actually been canned without the use of
any heat, by putting them up in the water
of mountain streams. The water of such
rivers, derived from glaciers, is practically
sterile, containing no microbes whatever,
and, if the bottles or cans used for the pur-
pose are sealed (a precaution obviously
Besemary ), the contents remain perfectly
good fresh.
In the waves Wie Seasd oorn is some-
times obtainable in the markets, being
fetched from Southern latitudes ; bus it
lacks the flavor of the fresh artiole—whenoe
the advantage of being able to huy it on
the cob in cans. Instead of being steril-
ized, after the osual method adopted in
cauning, the contents of the receptacles in
such cases are merely ‘‘pasteurized,’’ as
one might say— that is to say, subjected to
a moderately high temperature at a series
of intervals, By this means there is avoid.
ance of those chemioal changes which give
the ‘‘cooked taste.”
Dy shia ghetiod Distr Pernt has suo-
with practically everyth
peas. They Pn not responded oui
to the treatment—a fact whiob, as a master
of surmise, he is inolined to attribute to
some as yes unidentified enzym in the vege-
table, whioh may modify she result.
How Consumption is “Inherited.”
An interesting feature of the admirable
work of the Associated Tuberculosis Dis-
pensaries in New York is the sindy thas
sbey are wakiog of she families of con-
sawptives. We have heard much about
she inheritance of tuberculosis, often in
the form of jeremiads about she sins of she
fathers being visited npon the children.
Bus this orgavization bas addressed itself
so the problem of joss how this “‘visiting’
is done and of pussing a stop to it.
When the patient presents himeelf at the
dispensary, be is first thoroughly examwin-
ed medically, and his exact ition and
probable pros for cure determined.
Then a specially trained worker invessi-
Kates bis social and finavcial condition to
see whether he can spare the time to be
sent to one of the allied open-air camps, or
pos- | sanatoria. If be be the only wage earner
and means can not be secured from some of
the charitable organizations to support his
family daring his absence, he is visited in
his home, practical demonstrations are give
en him of just how to ventilate to the hest
possible ad vantage his room or rooms, reg-
ular rations of milk and eggs are supplied
to him, avd then the visiting nurse turns
her attention to the condition of the fami-
Iv. If any of the children appear to be out
of health, they are promptly brought up
for inspection.
A consumptive mother will be brought
into the dispensary, and when ber little
flock of three, five or seven chiidren is
rounded up for examination, one, three, or
even ax high as four of them will be found
to be suffering from an early stage of sonve
form of tuberculous jufection. They are
promptly scattered as far as the inadequate
facilities will allow, iu the different cbil-
dren’s homes and open-air hospitals, and
those who cannot be sent out of the city
are put under treatment at bome. Uunsual-
ly at this age and this stage of the disease
the prospeot« for a cure are excellent. The
infection, of course, has been direct from
the sputam of the mother or father in the
crowded, ill-ventilated quarters in which
thev are compelled to live.
Not only will hundreds of lives be saved
by this method, hut also a great number
of erippliogs and deformities prevented.
Tuberculosis attacks not merely the longs
in children, bus also the spine, the hip-
joint, the ankle, the intestines, the brain.
In fact, merely to say ‘‘spinal disease’ or
“*hip-joint disease,” without further quali-
fication, means tuberculosis of these re-
gions ; and fully half the deaths from con-
volsions, from chronic bowel trouble, and
from “‘marasmus,”’ in children between
one and seven vears of age, are due to the
same fecund cance. — Colliers
Paper Made of Mill Waste,
Scientists bere are deeply interested
in what is believed to be a means of manu-
facturing paper from ground wood, in
which the waste of mills can be used says a
Washington special in The New York
Herald. If successful the plan will elimi-
| nate the cost of wood specially cut for the
| manufacture of paper pulp. The pitch aud
| resin which have heretofore interfered with
the use of wood of this character is uver-
come the in new process by so treating the
| pulp that these substances pass off in vapor
j and she fiber is recovered by subjecting
| the mass 0 un system of pressing.
i The very much increased cot of paper
! which has led many newspapers to inorease
| heir price ur resort to the alt-inative of
| decreasing sheir size has aroused experts to
' a stndy of means to red uoe the cost of paper
foundations.
Experimenis now in progress indicate
| that the system of using mill waste can be
made a saccess, and that it will materially
| decrease the price of paper hy lessening the
{ooet of the wood fron which the fibre
is produced, a plant i®* uow in
operation in Vancouver and is said
to have proved a success. While the opera-
tions have up to this time been limited,
| the plan contemplates the assembling of
| the waste from a large number of local
wills. This wood is placed iu a clipping
machine which reduces it to shavings, and
these pass op a flome to a digester. This
is a copper-lined circular reservoir, perbaps
12 feet in diaweter, filled with a solution of
caustic soda. This mass i+ ovoked until
the cellnlose is thoroughly released and
then removed to a draining floor.
After the soda has been separated from
the pulp as much as possible the material
is taken to a beating machine, where it is
cut and washed clean. From the beating
machine the pulp to a refining engine
and is then ready for manufacture,
It is estimated thas an area ball as large
as the State of Rhode Island is yeatly strip-
ped of spruce to make wood pulp, and that
3,500,000 cords of pulp wood are used
yearly. The successful use of the waste of
mills would probably reduce this by at
least one-fourth.
Monument 10 Buchanan,
A suitable monument has at last heen
erected on the sight of the birthplace of
James Buchanan, the only president this
state ever gave the nation.
It was 116 years ago that James Buchan-
an was horn, near the village of Flotz in
Franklin county, at a place called Stony
Batter. Before the present monument was
erected there was nothing about the cabin,
in which the filteenth president first saw
the light of day, to indicate that it once
sheltered the only son of the state who be-
came the head of the nation.
By the will of Harriet Lane Johnson, of
Washington, D. C., niece of President
Buchanan and mistress of the White House
daring ber ancle’s term, a sum of money
was set aside to ereot a marker at her un-
ole's birthplace. The monument has been
finivhed.
The marker is pyramidal in shape, 31
feet bigh and 38 fees square. The body of
the monument is composed of native stones
showing the weather marks, many being
covered with moss. The stones are set in
cement, of which over 300 car loads were
used. The inscription plate and seat are
made of hammered American gray granite.
The plate is 6x2} feet and the letters are
three inches high. The inscription is as
follows:
‘“This monument marks the birthplace
of James Buchanan, filteenth president of
the United States. Born April 23, 1701.
Died June 1, 1868.
The monument stands pear the cabin in
which President Buchanan was born. The
country vas won ie wild wi Bhi not
changed greatly since me presi-
dent as a boy, played in the mountains.
The monument will be inoclosed by a neat
iron fence and the ground inside will be
graded and sodded for a distance of 50
fees.
—With one look at Goodman Gon-
rong’s tattered ta the women of the
house slammed the door in hie face.
*‘Clothes may not make the man,” he
solilo guized, as be turned away and stars.
ed for the next house, ‘‘hut they sort o’
seem to olassity him."