e——— - ~~ _ : Bellefonte, Pa., July 31, 1908. IN NATURE'S AISLES The woods and dales, And the hilis and vales, These are a church for me. The chorus sweet That the birds repeat, And the paeans of the bee; The rustling praver On the still, sweet air Of the leaves oa the kindly trees; The light divine Of the soft sunshine, And the woodland harmonies; The sturdy strength Of the monntain length As it stretches athwart the sky; The fresh clean thrill Of the mountain riil As it runs s-whispering by; The perfumed scent Of the meadows blent With the pine of the balsam boughs; And the sweet wild rose, And the elder-blows, And the grain in the bnnmming mows; All speak to me Of the majesty And glory of God above, Who made the hills, Aud the dales and rills, And taught them to sing His love! —[John Kendrick Bangs, in Harper's Week- ty. THE LEE SHORE. It was strange that all day he should bave thought of her. Nos for years bad she been more than a memory—vagrant, lingeringly bittersweet. It was yearseven since her presence—that like a spirit had baunted bim so often—like a spirit was laid. And then in the mides of a particn- larly busy day, while he was turning in his mind a question of some moment, her face had risen before him vividly, recur. rently. Bat perhaps it was that very problem which, instead of shotting out the ocou- flioting influence, invited is, for Richard Marsh wae hesitating on a step which meant much—much of material gain, much of moral joss; and each time some memory of her had fl:sted with a seemingly perverse incontinence across his mind, he had pauns- ed to wonder what she would say if she knew. He could bave little doubs of what she would say. Though their intimacy had been 80 short-lived it bad sounded all of the many obords to which they were muta- ally attuned. They understood each other in a world that neither had found sym- pathetic. They were compatriots of tem- perament meeting in exile,and each shared conviotion was an artiole of faith to bind them oloser in a common creed. How far he had fallen from the grace of their beliefs Richard Marsh might have measured hy his mere consideration of this soiling transaction. Is marked ves anoth- ed step in his deterioration. Two years ago he would bave shuddered at she idea; five he would have laughed as it. Aud her face, that he so often longed to forget, came back and made him remember —remember other things that were slip ping down into the oreepiog tide : youth and bope and belief. He threw his arm across the desk and rested his head upon it for a moment. What was the nse? There were no ultimates in life. Ideals led eith- er to the disappointment of failare or the far keener disappointment of success. What was the nse? He bad met her years ago at a little fish- ing village on the Maine coast where they were both spending the Summer. Their acquaintance had been of the briefest, their friendship, carried on by a scattering flight of letters, had lasted somewhat longer ; while their love—his love at least—had survived through the years It was on a morning early in Ootober— any of the East coast folk could supply the year and date, for it was the morning of the great gale. All night she storm had raged and the dawn broke wild and gray, with the wind driving sheets of rain against the sodden earth and the cobbled gatter of the steep-set street roaring like a waterfall. The glimpse of the sea, visible through the drawn skein of the storm, gave promise of a fine spectacle for any who would ven. tare ont; aud Richard, olad in fisherman's oilskins and high boots, set his face against the gale, picking his way down the slippery rocks to the heach while the roar of the surf grew louder every moment in his ears. He paused at the head of the steps asa farious gust snatohed his breath from him, hesitating a« to whether he should go on, He often thought of that in after years—if only he had not gone on, how different his whole life would have been; what a placid, eventless conrse he might bave steered ! And then, looking down, he noticed someene just helow him pressed hack under the shelter of the rocky oliff, gazing ont across the wilderness of leaping, driving water. A second glance and he felt a thrill —buat a thrill less of sarprise than one vaguely premonitory : It was a girl. Richard descended she steps, drawn, strangely quiescent, by a feeling stranger still—an almost unconscious conviction that this scene was familiar, the stage. setting of a predestined experience. The son’wester was pulled down over ber eyes, but a lock or two of heavy black hair had escaped from it and was blown flat against a cheek showing, even under the sting of the wind, a miracalous trans. parent whiteness. There was indeed a rather wild quality in her beauty that seemed singularly appropriate to the scene, She might have been a nymph borne ashore by the gale. her slim figure hidden beneath the oloak of some poor fisher-lad she had lured to his destruction. Three feet away Richard had to raise his voice to be heard. His smile gleamed and he swept a hand toward the sea. ‘‘Isn’t it magnificent ?"’ She turned. meeting his gaze quite frank- ly, and be noticed her eyes were of that rare orystalline quality which, like the sea, seems to reflect a color in barmony with its surroundings. Now like the sea they were green with a fleck of white, clear as foam, in the slightly raised corners. It was ail the more uncanny that his words did not, seemingly, reach her. Her brow slightly drawn, she corners of her mouth drooped. ‘“Have they any ohance ?’’ she said. Richard followed vaguely the direction of her gaze. Not fifty feet before them the waves were shattering their hissing, bigh- raised crests against the long black reef that drew its head up on the beach; its orael jagged vertebrae stretching away, covers, sreacherons, to the thin pencil of the Gray Shoals Light. a ond that mptoons human de- ay barely TT throngh the clouds of spindrifs and the recurring sweep of she rain, was a ship, a two-masted schooner; heeled over till her deck, with every incoming breaker pouring over is, be bad wruog from ber the admission that sbe loved bim. And it was so thas they had made their mistake—the fine idealism of youth, a too sensitive honor, and the very sublimity of their love keyed them to the point of sacri- looked from where they were standing like | fice. the terrace of a waterfall. Close pointed, ber drenched sails quivered as though with the fear of a living thing. “Good God!" Richard muttered, “‘I baduo’s seen thas.” The girl was watching his face anx- iously. *‘Is there no chavoe #"’ He glanced hack as the little knot of fishermen huddled in the boat boase door, and shook his bead. “Not much, I'm afraid.” “Bat it's too awful to think we are just to stand here and watch them drown. If we could only do something.” “‘It's a lee shore and the tide is ranning in. With this sea there isn'ta craft on the coast oonld reach them.’ He drew a step closer so her and they stood thus, side by side, watching while the long minuses dragged by and the little vessel, with a nerve-tortaring rhythm, sank from sight in the trough and struggled high up on tbe crest. She was making a gallans fight and slow- ly —s0 slowly as occasionally to deceive the watchers—she wae losing it. The storm was driving her against the fangs of its pitiless ally, and as this sertcinly grew in their minds the man and the girl, with a low-breathed question and assent, turned aud moved over to the hoat house. There were baif-a-dozen men and a flew children gathered in the porch—the rapt silence of the little ones giving to the scene the moss solemn touch of all. Nota soul of the group, though they had been there for hours, shifted sheir gaze as Richard and the girl joined them. “Do you think they could ges in with the dingy ?”’ Richard asked after a mo- ment. *‘No chance in God's world !"’ It was an old man thas spoke. Peter Harley, bowed and weather beaten ; his faded blue eyes peering ous across she reel; his knotted old bands working nervously, like a blind creature groping its way. “‘She’s a trawler, isn’s she ?"’ “Yes, the Martha M., young Jim More 's.”’ “What ! he lives here ?"’ ““That’s one of his chillen right there,” the old man responded. ‘‘Ouly she don’t know it’s her dad, pore little bit. Be care- ful, doo’s speak the name. There ain't no use in Martha knowin'—yet." A little boy stole over to them. *‘Hullo, Mies Katherine,”’ he said, ad- dressing Richard's companion. She siip- ped her arm abous him and stooped down. “Bring listle Janey More over here, won't you ?"’ Then she seated hersell on the bench, and throwing hack the oilskins took the little girl in ber arms. The child was not more than five, but she was horn of those who for generations had gone down to the sea in ships, en- trusting their lives day by day to the ever- changing moods of its treacherous surface, confronting open-eyed that yet greater mystery of which it is the fisting symbol. And so it seemed that Shere lurked in the wide, innocent eyes some hall-ivstinotive anderstanding of what it was that hashed the voices of those about her and froze to wanness the accustomed emile. Mins Katherine pressed the little oreatare close against her breast to hide, perhaps, her own unchecked sears, and Richard, looking down at them, was strangely moved. Grief and pity, nataral emotions springing from the fountains of being, swept aside the horror which had been the first feeling inspired by this sudden mees- ing with one of the great primal orisis of existence. He stooped down aod whispered ten- derly : *‘Won't youn let me take her home? And yoa—there is no use in your stayiog on.” She shook her head, meeting his anxious gaze with a grateful smile. ‘*No, I conldn’s leave now." The ohild reached a hand sleepily up, grasping his lapel, and in almost ancon- sgions response he stooped and kissed her. He vould feel the girl's warm breath on his neok. He could almost hear the beating of her heart in the hosom that rose and fell so olowe to his cheek. He closed his eyes while a strange, immeasurable hap- piness surged over him. He forgot the boat and its peril, forgot his sarroundings. He was one of the sacred trinity—man, woman and child. A« he straightened himself the miracle which in that moment had happened shone from his eyes. And then, gazing hack across the water, he saw that in that moment something else had happened. The boat was vo longer pointed inte the gale. It was flying before it, orashed and broken, struggling in a tangle of rigging like a frenzied fish ina seine. But no one was looking at the ship; all eyes were riveted on a dark speck toss- ing between the mountainous hreakers. Jt rose and fell, rose and fell. Then a great wave engulfed it and for a full minute evervone held his breath. Bat it reap- peared, tossed skyward like a ohild’s ball. Then once again it rose and fell, rose and fell, rose—sheir anxious hearts conld al- most deceive their straining vision. It had risen before, surely now— ? But the tumultuous green waste showed no sign of the burden it had borne so treacheronsly. Nothing but heaving water and low- hung, swift-driving sound. Riobard turned and lifted the child in his arms. “Come,” he said, ‘‘we will take her home.”” And he drew the baud thas Katherine had laid caressiogly on his bar- den ander his arm, and without farther word they went together up the path. It was strange that all day he should have thought of her. Not for years had she been more than a memory; yet through- out the busy hours her had olang to him, tenacious, compelling, and now at home she was still with him by his study hearth in the firelight. He had gone once more over she old, familiar round, dwelling foodly on the picture of that when his thought touched the wound that, unhealed, was ever throbbing back of his consciousness How he oherished the memory of those few gray days that bad flitted by like ghosts of the pageant Summer | A deserted beach; storm-shuttered oottages; and the boats hauled back from the reach of the boldest wave. The social tocsin bad sum- moned their kind back to the cities, bus these two lingered on, drawn together by what they had witnessed—this great and awfal thing =o apast from their screened existence. Yet dwell as he might on those brief, precious hours, Richard could not tell their sum without coming to the end— the struggle when he had fought her con- science and his own, the weight of her given word against the happiness of hoth ; for though she had fought her battle, too, Then had come his first meeting with Henry. “I want you to be friends,’ she said, as their bands met and the man who was rob- bing bim laugbed his jovial, full-fed laugh and swore shey were friends aiready. ‘Katherine's pals are my pals—we shall want to see a lot of you when we're mar- ried.” His voice bad had time to grow familiar in the la of years, but the tone still came to Richard, awakiog his distaste as clearly as if freshly spoken. He shrugged his shoulders impatiently, as though be would shake off the long- lingering im ion, aud rising from his chair by the fire he took up agaiv she paper which awaited only his signature to make it a powerful weapon—insidious, deadly, in the bands of a ruthless coterie. Richard hesitated, his fingers on the cover of the ink-well. He, toc, was on a lee shore—he bad been fighting a long time and slowly, inch by inch, losing the fighs. He bad done rather well at first. There bad been temptations resisted, but thas was | past. And after all was is worth while— it made him happier ? A fresh current of air swung ajar the door, rustling the papers on the desk and drawing a dart of flame from the dying embers. Richard Marsh faced about, his head thrown back, filling his langs deep ly; tor there had come to him, unmistak- able in the moment of passing, the pungent odor of salt marshes. . And that she was horne to him on thas breath of the ocean did not surprise him. Her presence had heen so real to his other senses, thas for the veil to be at last lifted from his eyes seemed bat nataral. He had indeed a strange conviction that he had been expeoting this to happen. Yet he did not approach or for the mo- ment address her, but sank to his knees apon the hearth-rog, then dropped back against his obair; looking up, weaving ber presence into a glorious make-believe, “Katherine!” ‘‘Richard!"”” The word came faint and clear as the echo of his own. Perhaps the yearning tone was an echo also. ‘‘Richard, I’ve come to help you. Some- thing is wrong." ‘*Beloved,” he breathed, ‘‘your coming helps me. Only your failure to come is wrong.” ‘You want me always, Richard, but to- night you peed me.” His voice sank to the faintest whisper. “How did you know ?"’ *‘I heard you calling me. I heard it above the sound of the surf. The tide and the wind are setting in together, Richard, and yon are on a lee shore.” They were the words he himself had used but a few minutes before. . . Perhaps. . . But the mystery of it all was stealing into him, mounting to his brain like the incense of forbidden wine. While those fathomless eyes, piercing the shadows that lay be- tween them, burned their way into his very soul, their color, the deep gray-blue of a wintry sea, strangely visible through the dusk. “Tell me, Richard.” “Tell you? Can yon do more than watoh ?”’ he asked. ‘‘You bave your hus- band, your boy ?"’ ‘Yes, I can do more than watch.” The low voice grew even lower. ‘I can ory to you to fight on—hbecause I love you, Rich- ard ” He drew a sharp breath, but remained mate while the silence, intense, absolute, became a tension straining for the cleavage of a word; giving to that word a momen- tounsness that withheld its utterance. ‘*Riohard, you mustn’'s shipwreck—you are the one strong man to whom I ean point my boy. You hold my faith in his futare—my faith in everything.” He shook his head, smiling sadly. *‘No, I am not a strong man, Katherine. Would to God [ were even steadfast in an evil course; better that than to he unstable —=a shuffler., The soaring head and she feet of clay. No, you must never point your boy to me. Do you know that now, at this moments, there is a paper lying on that desk to which I think even Henry— forgive me—would hesitate to pat his name. I hesitated tonight, but I was going to sign is tomorrow,at the office, when I had forced myself to forges.”’ Her brows gathered as at the touch of physical pain. She seemed to be striving to remember and understand the words he bad spoken. Then with her eyes still clinging to his uptarned gaze, she bent over the desk; her hands groping as though, blind, she should know the unclean thing by ita touch. “This is it?" He nodded. She held is out to him. ‘‘Barn it.” ‘‘Burn it?’’ he repeated. ‘‘Will barn- ing it bring gladness into my life? Or oan this turning from youth's heroios take from me the happiness I do not possess?’ The emotion iz her tense poise, in every deliente contour of her face, pleaded with m. “Burn it, Riocbard,’” she repeated. Bas he did not seem to hear her; he was bent forward, listening. ‘‘What is that? Can you hear anything, Katherine? ‘‘Is is the booming of the surf on the reel,”’ she said. Then on a sudden the panorama of that tragio struggle— that dark vision so which he seemed bound as to the wheel of fate was sweeping him along. There again was the low-hung, driving soud ; the hurling tu- mals of water; the long white line of she reef. And the seal of doom was on all. It bad reourred to him a thousand times, but there was a difference now. He was no longer watohing from the shore. He was in a [rail boat, sw aging between sky and sea in the abyss of eternity. Great mountains, SDOW-0a| , reared themselves far up beside him, sending down orushing ava- lanches of water upon the Staggering ves- sel; while he, Richard Marsh, olinging to a wrenching teller shaft, faced death open- first meeting, shrinking | eyed yed. ‘‘Katherine, Katherine,’ he oried. “I am losing you forever. Not without me, you were mine, and now’ —her voice seemed strangling in her throat—*‘I am slipping away from you, down, down into the very aephinn A long me must have elapsed before he struggled back from that unknown, mystery baunted void to the pain of consciousness. All around him was dark and still and be lay there, his colder senses striving with the vividness of thas last impression; she orush- ed paper held Yikutivvingly above the fire ; the Wotpeptaty glow as, , it flatter- ed up in the drafs like a spirit at the tor- ment; and then her last words, as she laid her hand upon his head : “I know now why I came.” He rose unsteadily to his feet. “Dreams—never more than the evanes. cent fantasy of a moment,” he marmured. He struck a light. After nine. Per- haps there in thas otber house she was kiss- ing the children good night, while for him —only dreams. He hesitated a moment, then walked over to the telephone. “Yes, one eight-thnee-four . .. This is Mr. Marsh . . . Oh, is shat you, Henry?. .. I ran across Larkins the other day snd he said you'd gone into L. P. R. pretty heavy. I thought I'd better give you the tip to realize wow, there's a new deal on ... Don’t mention it, Henry . .. Yes, I am rather a hermit ... How is Katherine? What, really? I've been dozing, too; only jost woke up, but then I'm old enough to be rather bored by mv own company. Give her my regards . . . Yes, I'm coming to see how my godebild’s grown . . . Good-hye.”’ He turned away smiling. *“‘Dreams— dreams,’ bus there was a sweetness in the thought now, for pernaps she had shared them. He would make himself believe that she had. ‘And it may bave heen a message after all,” he said, ‘as beacon-light by which I may steer.” He walked over to the desk. If he waited his mood would have time to change. His matter-of-fact seuses might hesitate at the destraction. He lifted she paper-weighs trom a pile of documents. ‘‘Fanuy, it was right on top,’’ he said. It was not there now. He brought him- self round sharply and dzopped on his knees before the grate. The fire was almost ont. A few fast-dy- ing embers glowed through the fused cicders above like the fading afterglow of jnst such a clood-hung sunset as he had so often watched across the rook-bound waters of his dear East Coast. At the back of the grate the blackened, feathery ashes of a piece of paper stirred under his breath.—By Gay Bolton, in the Smart Set. The Comforts of a Smow House. The experience of those who tent in she arctic during the colder winter mouths is to be summarized ahout as follows : When the tent has been pitched the tem- perature within it is some fifteen or twenty degrees higher than outside, or thirty de- grees if it is fifty degrees in the open ; one is damp and warm from the strenuous ex- ercise of the day, bat soon becomes cold and shivers ; one crawls into his sleeping- bag aod makes entries in the diary olamsi- ly with one’s mittens on ; the heat from one’s body forms boar frost on everything in the tent, and congeals in the sleeping- bag, so shat it becomes stiff and heavy with ice during the day’s travel when it Ireezes, and soaking wet when one gets into it as night and thaws it ont ; this in tarn wets one’s clothing, and the trousers and coat freeze stiff as eole-leather when one breaks camp in the morning; she swenty-four hours are a round of wretobedness, and the ice crusted tens and ioy sleepiug-bage be- come a heavy load for the sled. When ove follows Eskimo methods the conditions are markedly different. On any treeless open (unless it be perhaps during the firsts month of winter) an area of com- pactly drifted snow is easily found ; the snow knives (of bone or iron, according to circumstances) are brought out and she surface of the drifs is divided into blocks of domino shape, say fourteen by thirty inches and four inches thick; these are then placed on edge and end to end in a circle the size of the desired ground area of the dome-shaped hut ; then, on the principles of architecture that apply to domes, wheth- er made of stone or snow, the beehive house is completed. Two men can in an hour build a house large enough for ei-hs to sleep in. When the house is completed a doorway is out in its side vear the ground, skios are spread over the floor, one brushes himself as clear of snow as possi- ble and crawle inside. The oil lamps are shen lis, and the honse is soon brought to a temperature consider- ably above the freezing point ; for snow is one of the best known non-conduotors of heat, and the intense cold of the outside penetrates the walls only toa very slight degree. But when the house gets warm the inner side of the snow dome begins to thaw, and the water formed is sucked up into the snow, blotter fashion ; when shis water penetrates far enough into the snow to meet the cold from the outside it freezes and your snow house is tarved into an ice dome so strong that a polar bear can crawl over it without danger of breaking through. When once inside the house the Eskimos strip naked to the waist and havg their clothes todry on pegs in the wall. On some journeys we had sheet-iron stoves (procared from whalers in former years), which we installed in the snow houses, and in which we built roaring fires. One is well placed to take comfort in the ingenuity of man overcoming a harsh en- vironment when, sitting snug, warm and lightly clad, one listens to an arctio bliz- zard whining helplessly over the ice vault that two hours before was an oval snow- bank. Ilooged for a dressiug-gown and slippers, but one cannot burden his sled with such luxaries. There was no cold to make the hands numb in writing diary, no frost to congeal on the hed-clothing and make them wet, none of the night's dis- comforts and the morrow’s forebodings that have been the stock in trade of the makers of arotic books. And when we broke camp in the morning wedid not hurden the sled with an ice-stiffened hun- dred-pound tens, but stuck in our belt the ten-ounce snow-knife, our potential roof for the coming night.—[V. Stefansson, in Harper's Magazine. ~——There seems to be a popular impres- sion, according so Good He t an oriental rag will wear forever, no mat- ter what sort of treatment it receives, but this is one of those mistakes which are often discovered too late to be rectified. In the East, where they are worn smooth by the gliding of bare feet, their chances for immortality are great, but in America boot-heels are their constant and insidious enemies. However, their lives may be prolonged by ekilful attention. If the overcasting on the edge is gone or gi way, a thread of wool or yarn wil supply new ev og and give new re- Ita or weft thread on the back is broken, it Id not be left to sip ous, taking the knots with it, but shoul have a linen thread tied to is ‘at one end, be woven over and under as far as the break extends, and then be tied at the other. If knots come out they should be replaced at onoe with the aid of a coarse, old-fashioned worsted needle. If the selvage wears orooked, it should be ravelled out and over- cast, saving the surplus wool for other re- pairs. All these are valuable preventive measures. A good Oriental rang ie a work of art, and it should be treated with the reverence which it deserves. S——————————————— ——Russians never eat rabbits, as they say they nest with rate,nor will they tonoh snails or turtles, which are found in great Crows, Crows, Crows. Some American boys, and girls living in the cities have scarcely ever seen a crow, and those living in the country are used to seeing them only in she fields and woods where they scratch up the planted corn, or pull ous the first shoots thas appear, and where the young ones make a fearful olas- ter during the time before shey are able to leave the ness. Bot in Burma, while there are not many crows in the fields, the cities are full of them, and any boy or girl who was ball as bad as a Barman crow wouold be putin jail for life. They live up to the doctrine of total depravity to the very best of their ability, which means that they areas bad as they can be, aud are glad of itand don’t want to be any hetter. There aresome boys who at certain times in their lives would like to have yon believe that of themselves, bat down deep in their hearts they would like to be kind and honest if they shough: they could be. The reason there are 50 many crows in Borma is shat the uvative people will not kill them because it is against the law of their religion to take life in any form. This is not 80 mach because they are kind- hearted hat because they believe she crow may in some former existence have been a man who bas now become a orow hecause of bis sinfulness, and 1t would bring great punishment upon them if they interfered with bis fate and put an end to crow exis- tence before his time. The crow is a most persistens and skill- ful thief. He will dodge io through a win- dow and soatch victuals off the table while it is being set for breakfast. The Burmese women go to the bazaar for eatables every day and carry them home on trays on their beads, but if each didn’t keep her tray cov- ered the crows would soon empty is. Ove day I saw a little naked Burman boy about two aud a half years old going along the street munching ‘‘pinzo,’’ a sors of oake made of shell fish and onions, ete. A orow kept hopping along io front of him just out of reach. A noise behind him caught the lad’s attention for an instant and im- mediately the crow snatched his ‘‘piazo” from bis hand and made off with it, and seemed to ohuckle to himself as be gulped it down on she roof of a neighboring house. The other evening I saw a flock of crows flapping noisily about the finial on the top of a house. No sooner would one highs on the point than another would fly against and knock him off. The game seemed to be to see which could maintain his position the longest, hut none seemed to makes Yory bigu score. ey very often light on the backs of cattle and buffaloes grazing in she fields, and I bave seen one light on the back of a valture that was busy picking at a dead dog in the stream. I presume the flies on the cattle and she vermin on she vultures are the attraction. I once saw a crow try to pick off a huge leech that had fastened itself on a bullock, but I guess he thought he bad struck too tough a proposition that time, for the leech seemed sougher than India rubber. The best that can be said of the crow is that he helps much with the scavenging of a tropical city, but what a scamp be is.— By Rev. B. M. Jones. a — Plus, Needles, Hooks and Eyes. According to the censas of 1905, forty- six establishments made a specialty of manufactaring one or more varieties of needles, pins hooks aud eyes. These es- stablishments reported a capital of $5,331,- 939, 3,965 wage earuers, wages amounting to $1,595 923 aod products valued at $4,- 750,589. Almost equal numbers of men and women were engaged in this industry, the numbers being 1,862 and 1,860 respeo- tively. In addition a number of factories pro- duced guantities of these articles withous specializing on them. The total oantput amounuted to 1,766,073 gross of needles, valued at $1,518,411, aud pins valued at $2,632,656, a total value of $4,151,067 for both classes of produoots. The leading variety of needles manu- factured was sewing machine needles with a prodnotion of 776,542 gross, valued at $600,046. Latch koisting machine needles were next in rank in importance, the 310,- 846 grose of such needles being valued at $422,655. More spring knitting machine needles (332,788 gross) were manufactured but their value was coosiderably less ($118,223). Large quantities of each variety of pins were prod uced—132,632,232 gross of com- mon or toilet pins, 2,550,650 gross of safety pins, and 1,704,900 gross of hairpins. The values of thess varieties were $1,129,006, $820,386, and $109,245 respectively. All other produots, including hooks and eyes, were valued at $1,542,028. —S8cientific American. The Japanese Growing Taller, A Scotch physician and ethnologist, Dr. Munro, resident in Yokohama, says that the stature of Japanese young people of hoth sexes is increasing, and that this increase has become more noticeable since they have become acoustomed to use benches and chairs, instead of squatting on the floor, as was formerly she custom, in public schools. While not expressing any positive opinion on the subject himself, he says that many able men in Japan are inclined to believe that the Japanese stature will be further in- oreased with more general abandonment of the squatting babis. It is by no means im- possible that there is ome truth in this view and that attention to posture in early life may tend to a better physical development, The Japanese people bave shown them- selves not lacking in physical vigor and en- darance, and with a larger frame they may that | be able to exceed their former records. There are, of course, many other factors in- floencing stature; the question of sabsist- ence, the exhaustion of wars, and even the nature of the soil all may bave their infla- ence on the growth of a people, aside from the effects of racial peculiarities.— Medical Guess. The following questions are to be ans- wered by the abbreviations of the names of the states: What is the most religious state? What is the state of exclamation? Best state in haying time? Best state to core the sick? Best state in a flood? The most maidenly state? Name the numerical state? The father of states? Bw state for nipas? de " te represented by a girl’s name’ Good state for the untidy? . State named in the vocal scale? The most egotistical state? The state thas is the sickest? The most military state? ~— [Children’s Magazine. ~The original regiment of dragoons is quantities all over the country. 44 so bave been organized in England in 681. Only a Game. Never say, “It is only a game.’’ Games are valuable for many reasons, and the per- son who scores them wonld often be bene- fited in mind and body if she would only learn to play them. If you go in for exercise, it is better to take it in the form of a game, particularly an outdoor one, as you will be muoh more apt to keep it up. Besides the help to your health, you are gaining certain essential mental and moral qualities, The advantages of golf over mere walk- ingisa case in point. One could walk indefinitely without acquiring the control of temper, the keen judgment and precision of eye and band thas is necessary to he a good golfer. No one, with the best intentions in the world, could ever in regulation exercises, however violent, bring hody, mind an disposition into combined action as they are when matched in a skilled game of tennis. Indoor games are even less to be dis- regarded for their effect on the mental and moral pose. The boy or girl who has been trained to game playing from youth will be more alert, decisive and make quicker decisions than the child whose taste has not run to- ward this form of amusement. Game players also learn to be good losers, and rarely are touchy when things do not go their way. They likewise get a horror of not ‘playing fair,”” as even a suspicion of cheating at any form of game is not tolerated by companions. Games that brush op she wite and strengthen the memory are particularly to be commended. Certain ones, such as anthors, geographical games, and other literary contests are adopted by many advanced teachers for impressing necessary facts on small children. In one successful school part of Friday afternoon is always set apart for Pa ing games of all kinde, and teachers who have watched the effect declare their pupils learn more history, geography and literature from that hour once a week than they do from the most laborious teaching. It is not uncommon to hear said of a woman, “She has no card sense.”” This may seem a slight lack to the opponent of cards, but it is a real defeot, nos only for the unfortunate partoer who must play with the person so afflicted, bus for she woman herself, Card-sense usualy means good judgment, the power to make deductions quickly, prompeuce of decision, and the faculty of ooking forward so what others may or may not do; any or all of which faculties are invaluable to the possessor in every business of life. One quite noted teacher declared recent- ly that she would like tosee whist tanght in every school as part of the curriculum, for she mental discipline it gave. If you do not like games, of course it is not necessary $0 martyrize yourself, but do not make the mistake of discouraging children from playing them. If in no other way they will benefis socially, for the woman who is unskilled in every form of game, both indoor and out, often finde her society is not in demand where she would much like to he included, when her more adaptable friends are invited. Our Own Country. There was a mighty wise little woman I once heard of who had a way of inventing many odd devices to inspire her children with a fervens love of their country. When she laid out the little garden around her house there were shady retreats filled with wild acacias and mouvtain laurel. “We must have them because they are Awmeri- can flowers,” rhe said A hedge of Indian corn shat iu the slope like a phalanx of stately sentinels with tossing plumes, ‘‘he- cauase it is so heantiful, and i» an American plant,” she exclaimed. In their vacations the boys were taken to see the finest scene- ry ou the continent, from the Hudeon River to the Grand Canon of the Colorado, and they were told: “This is yours; this belongs to your home. God has given it to Do you wonder that when these boys, as men, climed the Alps or came into the val- leys of Italy, they did not feel their beauty less, but more, because they thought, ‘‘We, too, have a fair land, as fair as this!”’ It was, too,always the bahis of this little family to hoist the flag over the roof on all festivale of the year,not only on the Fourth of July, but on sheir own birthdays, their mother’s wedding day, and all family an- niversaries. “Your country and vou are one,” the mother would say. ‘‘You canuot rejoice yourself and leave her out.” She taught her smallest child this rever- ence for America. When she piuyed ths evening songs for them to sing around the piano, the last song sbe played, the last notes they carried to their beds with them were the notes of “The led Ban- ner.”” And vever,they were taught, no mat- ter where they were, must they hear that song unless they stood with their caps and bats off. The little mother went to her last sleep years ago, and sons, now sane, intel. ligent men, are not blind to the faults of their country. But America is their mother. They had been ht to love her. They vever will disgrace her, depend upon that. They have that patriotism which is one of the strongest forces to uplift a human soul. — Ladies’ Home Journal. King Edward's Almasgiving. The annual distribution of the royal bounty, in the form of Maundy money, bas juet been made with picturesque oceremo- nies in Westminster Abbey. Sixty-seven old men and an equal number of women were the recipients. Every year for several hundreds of vears Maundy money bas been distributed by the English sovereign to as many old men and women, separately, as there are years to his age. Thus on the last occasion of Queen Victoria’s benevolence eighty-one persons of either sex received this alms. Al rocession marched along the Abbey r, including the Lord High Al- mouner, the Dean, the ohildren of the Chap- el Royal, the Abbey choir, and the Royal Almonry, the of the Almoonry and his assistant, girt with towels, as well as the Yeomen of the Guard. Each man received, in all, $25, and each Sowa $22.50. a sams luciuged the andy goins, sixty-seven pence in epe- cially Fs money, twopenny, three penny and fourpenny pieces. These coins were eagerly sought after by collectors, and bought up at many times their value. “. Three other bounties had been previous- i given. They were the minor bounty the discretionary bounty, and the roya gate alms, and they were doled out at the Royal Almonry to one thousand aged and deserving subjects of the king.—[ Harper's Weekly.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers