Bellefonte, Pa., August 7, 1908, SUCH LITTLE THINGS. For want of very little things sometimes We women pine, and weep our souls away ; To you they seem absurd and foolish ; but A woman lives tor them, from day today. A loving word, a little longer kiss, Would make me happy as the day is long : But when you seem preoccupied, or cold, Ur angry with me—all my world goes wrong. Have you pot often said you loved me best ? Why, yes, of course ; and well | know “tis true ; It isn’t that I doubt it ; bat it's still 80 sweet to hear it every day, anew ! And so | bring and lay at your dear feet My heart, my soul, my life as offerings ; My ail 1 give to you and ask but these— A look, a kiss—two very little things. — Countess of Kinnoull, MY MISSION. When finally I caught up with Johonie —Johnoie I still call bim, shough he is six feet two, bas a ruddy little mustache on bis upper lip, and shongh his real name would take up at least two lines of this page—I was in Manila. From Euglaod to the Philippines is a long chase after a hoy who is nos your son—I wish Johnnie were —and I see right here thas I muss ous with the most di It admission of this tale, which in itself is almost a confession. The interest which I sake in Johnnie, besides the fact that he is a fine, straight, manly boy interesting in himeell, comes from the interest ~hich I take in his moth- er, God bless her! I loved his mother. I have loved his mother twenty years. Twenty years ago—yes, that long—we found that we loved each other, and we found it out too late; she was married shen —t0 Johnnie's father. And during these twenty years we have done she right, the respectable thing. To this love that runs like ao undercurrent of music, of solemn musio, tenderly close to tears, beneath our every thought, our every act, we have never given expression in word or gesture. Corseleted in iron repression, we have rigidly kept to the duty we owed to God, to man, to ourselves—and to Johnoie. Well, I traveled much. Having vo heart, I bave no peace; and I travel. Bat at the end of each voyage, I come to throw my homage at the feet of Johnnie's mother, and to put mysell at her service. | carriage, still with She bad something for me this time. As usual, it concerned Johnnie. You see, Johnnie belongs to that elite of bis country upon which devolves public service. He will be a peer some day. And | being av intelligent lad, full of serious ambition, he has made up his mind to pre- pare himself thoroughly for his role. He bas decided to specialize on colonial affairs, and io pursoance of thie plan he bad left six months before for a voyage of investiga- tion which was to take him through all she possessions of the empire. Well, it had heen understood that he was to remain in Bombay six months. But his letters, his mother now told me, show- ed him leaving Bomhay after a bare three weeks, skipping to Calcutta, thin, with a serious study of colonial administrations, successivelyto Bangkok, Singapore, Saigon ~—fancy studyioga Freuch colonial!—and Hongkong. The obaracter of these letters, moreover, bad disquieted her. They were brief and vague with the briefuess and vagueness of one who has an absorbing interest in some- thivg—something else than his letters— and they soared here and there with a mystic id aliem that caused one with a knowledge of life, such as we bad, she and I, to smile and fear at ounce. She sat in a high-backed cbair as she told me this, amid the bluish shadows of a darkened room; and a last glint of the dv- ing day, passing hetween the ourtains, caressed her head whioh of late had hecome gray, ensilvered with a fine austerity. She leaned slightly toward me. “Yon will go, my friend, will you not?” she said. And of course I went. I tollowed in the tiacks of the young ecapegrace from Bombay to Caloutta, from Calcutta to Bangkok, from Bangkok, to Siogapore, to Saigon, stopping but a few hours in each place and staying on the same steamer, and when I arrived in Hongkong he was not there. He had gone across to Manila. I went across, too—on a measly tinpot steamer that turned me inside out. When I landed on the quays of the Pasig, it was an hour after sundown, and I took a cab and drove straightaway to the hotel. Sare enough, a week old on the register, there was Johnoie's autograph—he was using his little name, John Perceval. I asked if he was in. The man bebind the desk turn- ed to bis assistant questioningly. ‘‘Has he gone this evening?'’ he asked. “Yes, as usual,’”’ answered the assistant. ‘‘Do you know where?’ I questioned. ‘‘He goes to the theatre every evening,” answered this well informed young man. I went right out there, after a hasty meal and obange of dress. The perform- ance was well on when I reached the place, and I groped my way to my seat in dark- ness. And when, finally settled, I looked up at the stage, I thought myself the vio- tim of a hallucination. There, near the footlights, in the certre, was a young wom- an all in red, from small red slipper through hose, skirt, waist and cape, and with a black cocked hat ses u; an opu- lent blonde wig. She was ; and ust ae I looked, she was poised motionless, ast a soap-photograph caught by a kokak, on one foot, the other foot being up, its wee needle of toe pointing straight up into the flies. Now, the first thing that had conforted me in Bombay Whes ] bed landed bad been a poster representing a young woman all in red, poised on one toe while the other pointed sfeadily up into the turquoise sky; in Calcutta the same picture had met my eye; it bad welcomed me in e; bad fairly flamed with it; and in Houkong the doors of the Queen’s Theatre had been flanked with twin red ladies of uplifted toe. So, bere, for a moment, I feared that my eye was carrying, fixed for ever on its im- pressionable retina, the accumulated vision of these . There she was—red slip- per, red red skirt, red oap, red feather, poised delicately on one toe, pointing to heaven in a gesture with. out sanctity! This but for a second, though. The soaring limb floated back graceful} 3 the rom Reandep dhe turned like a top and one of the stage to the other in dance. Is was Mademoiselle Ivette herself. I had io again, ao undulation of liquid Same. She wavedjdi draperies over which fantastis colors passed like shivering ca- resees—ambers, opalescences, flames, iride- scenes, sunset glows, and spectral lights of somber seas. 1 bad seen the dance in Parise, but never better. Out of this she sprang into the brillance of footlighte raised again, clad as a Trianon shepberdess, with wide brimmed straw-hat cascading with daisies, a beribboned staff in band, and danced a gentle pastoral. Out she went again, and when she return she was in a long black gown, black-gioved to her bare shoalders, and shus, without a gesture, very solemuly, she told us with her lispiug French accent a story which I am afraid was paughty. This was the end. A thunder of applause shook the building—and I found Johnnie. I found bim bv tracing back she loog parabola of a bonguet—a splendid nes, big as a cabbage! —which had landed at the feet of Mademoiselle Ivette. He was stand- ing in his stall, leaning forward as though he were ready to spring upon the stage, a very flushed and excited young Briton, fairly splitting his palms with clapping. I glanced at the program, found is no- promising, and wens out to smoke a cigar aul plan my astack upon Johunie. Ou the br avenue a coguestish listle victoria was wheeling back aod forth, back and forth, behind two sleek, slender-limbed Australian ponies. My cigar was about two-thirds gone when I saw the coach- man—a ative, who looked like a cirous monkey in his cookaded tall bat, brass- buttened frock, and patent-leather hoots— give a glance at the entrance, stiffen up aod gather his reins. I flattened myeell against the wall. Prancing mincingly, the ponies turned, and the toy-vehiocle came rolling to she sidewalk. Sare enough, there was Jobooie, very handsome in his white shell-back jacket. He was standing at a small docr in the side of the entrance-ball, holding it open, his fine, elastic body bent in a posture that struck me as the aome of ohivalrons defer- ence. He stood thus a little while, then a figure like a pastel filled she door-frame, detached iteelf from is, and came down the ball as his side. It close. I caught a rustling of silks, a breeze of ruffles, a discreet fragrance of violet. A drooping feather slid across my nose ; I almost sneesged. It was Mademoiselle Ivette—oh, yes ; no one else. Johnnie handed ber into the that tremendously respectful manner, at ounce beautiful and very native, aud sprang to ber side. The coachman flicked his borse with the tip of his whip, and the victoria rolled off elastio- ally down the street, leaving me there aloae with contradictory emotions. I wanted to be indignant and contemp- toons, and I could not—quite. Upon my soul, I almost admired she disreputable youug beggar ! My sense of duty returned soon however, at the thought of his mosher, back there 1n Eugland. After roaming the streets for two bours, I returned to the hotel, aud without any preliminaries pounced upon him. It was past midoighs, but I found bim up, sitting with hack-tilted cbair at his open window, his eyes dreamy upon the stars—a sentimental youngster, and very proud of it, too, I'll wager ! Istruck him like a typhoon. He listened to me quietly, bis face very pale, bie blue eyes very wide, and when I was through he said with a very shocked expression and a gulpiog in his throat : “Good God, Richard, you don’s under- stand ; you don’t understand ; you don’t kvow ber. Why, vou're—youn're'’—his eyes darkeped—‘‘yon’re blaspheming, that’s what younare ; blasphemiog ! I meau to—why, damp yeu !”’ be broke out in aroused anger, and bie eyes shot out blue flame, I tell you ! **Why, I'm to marry her Riobard, marry her, do you understand ? She's tobe my wife ! And I beg you, sir, to consider her so from shis moment ! And to remember, sir, that ax such itis my bounded duty to defend her, sir, from any such vile imputation as you, ¢ir, have bad the madness—] mean the mildest term—to cast upon her just now 1!" Youn shonld have beard those ‘‘sirs’ ; slow and rasping and deadly! I didn’e like them at all ! And his face was set like marble, just hike marble. Ob, yes, there was no doubt that I had gone off wrong. So, very gently and carefully, refraining from naming her at all—poor boy, he fair- ly shriveled whenever the talk seemed to lead to a mention of her—I explained from A to Z the impossibility of his mad pro ject. I reminded him of his positien in society, which demanded of him inexora- bly certain sacrifices ; I spoke of hie long line of ancestors, distinguished nearly ali, respectable all, servitors of their sovereign in war and peace, and of what he owed to them ; I spoke of his ambition, aod of what he owed to that ; one by ove I pointed out to him the threads that held him, the threads that hold ue all, the threads, thin, invisible, but innumerable and iofinitely strong that bind us, body, hand, foot, finger, as Gulliver was bound by the Lilliputians, that bind us, we who think we are free, in cocoons, like so many larvee. When I bad finished he sprang to his feet, raised his hands up and out in a brusk movement, as if to snap all these odious little threads—he was young ; he thought he could do 1t—and said : “I love her, Riocbard. What's all this bally rot you're telling me? I love her, I tell you I” Then I epoke to him of bis mother. I told him about his mother and myself. He put his band on my shoulder. *‘I beg your pardon, Richard,’ he eaid. “I should not be impatient with you.” His eyes filled with sears. ‘“‘Poor mother !" he said. For a time he was silent, evidently down- cast. Then that blooming robust optimism of hie again rose through him like a wave, ‘I know what is the matter,”’ he said, a-thrill with his new thought. ‘‘You have nos seen her yet ; you don’t know Ivette, that’s what's the matter. Everything will Boe Em He Began ta. Pith. covee see her. e to me tow the door. '‘Go and see her, Richard. She's an angel ; fis to grace a throne. Go and see her.” Ieaid I would, for I saw that it was there I must make the fight. And sol left things just about where they were when I But not quite ; as I closed the door he was not mooning at the window as when I had found him. He was og to and fro, his arme joined, tense, ind him, his shoulders twitching with brisk freeing movements. He was feeling red | the threads. I went to call on Mademoiselle Ivette the following afternoon. She had been up not very long, and received me in a fluffy and belaced ent, in which, I muet admit, she looked very charming, in spite of the corrosions of stage-cosmetio which made of her visage that of a ohild preco- ciously aged. She received me with a oer- tain dignity, a little overdone, to be sure, eatighe up with ber, also! She disappeared into the wings; the lights went out; and suddenly she floated hoa a8 Suh things usually are by pecple of the 8. I sprang right into the breach. She looked at me with wide innocent eyes, and, with an ingennousness that was well simulated, she said : “And may I demand of mousieur from whas springs this remarkable iuterest he takes in the young man ?” a ber thst | bad known him a long me. “And you havea right of guidance of his actions—and mine?’ she kept on suavely, pushing her advantage. I became a little muddied ; said I knew his mother, bad kvown him since a boy ; stammered something vague about the general interest I took in young men ; and finally blurted out that I loved the lad. “Ab,” she said, stopping me with a little gesture, and her brown eyes lit up like stars, ‘ah, you should have begun by that. You love him ; that is enough.” She tarned her head and looked out of the window, upon the bay shimmering irridescently. After a time she said : ““You know his mother.” I said : “Yes.” . ““Tell me how she looks. Has she eves, blue, like him ? And is ber bair golden and does it curl at the temples ? And does she have the nice frank smile ?’ I said that she bad blue eyes like hie, just as frank and fine, that her bair, now, wae silvery, and her smile sometimes a listle sad. ““I would like to know her,”’ she said. She was looking again out upon she sea. A vilence had come between us at this evocation of Johnnie's mother, a silence that was a communication almost, which held elancholy—one of those dangerous silences that are so apt to lead into senti- mentality. I broke she spell. “*You muss let him be,” I said. ‘The boy—he takes it all seriously ; 10 you it is an amusement, an amusement you can give up.” ‘“‘Amasement ?'’ She stopped me with a look, a rapid glance which was a revela- tion ; it was fall of pain. ‘‘Amasement?"’ she said. ‘It is tortare !" Again a silence fell between ue, a tilence pulsing with the vebemence of herory. I saw that I must change my method. It was so different from what I had expected, this thing ! She loved him ; she left no doubt as to this. She may bavebeen a dancing girl, a frivolons night-butterfly, perhaps a bit vicious ; but there was no mistaking the misery in her eye, the enun- ciation of this word ‘‘torture.’”” It was on her very passion I must rely ; on the quality of her affection. Out of the depths of that love I must call forth renunciation. So, very carefully, I explained eve:y- thing ; his position, the long line of ao- cestral honor to be sustained, his daty to his country, his family, to himself. I told ber of the plans he had, the great futare before him. And I showed her how all this wounld fail, would tumble to pieces irretrievably shattered, if—I did not mince my worde—il he lost the esteem uecessary to his full development by marrying be- neath his station. While I spoke she had dragged off the couch a scarf, one of those magnificent embroidered things you can get in Canton, and with one swift movement she bad draped it about her. “Look !"" she said. ‘‘Station, you speak of station ; I conld be queen, and give splendor to the station !” I gazed upon her, astounded. She sat there, by this slight act of throwing a scarf about her, trapsfigured. A baughtiness like adiadem was apon her brow, a splen- dor was in her eyes; her bosom heaved,and with each rise and fall conveyed a long lustrous undulation to the drapery, which o ackled and threw gleams. She throned there like one of those queens of barbaric antiquity, resplendent, infinitely proud,su- perb, and oruel. Then suddenly she had leaped to her feet and was paciog the room with lithe pan- ther strides; the drapery had slipped down to her waist; at each of her turns is flew out behind like the mantle of a chariot- rider. “Bab I" she cried. ‘‘It is just I he needs, just !| His English blood, it needs the molten metal of mine; his calm brain, the madness of mine ! I would warm him, the cold Saxon! Into his veins I wonld breathe the furnace-heat of my fervor! I would spur him, I would burl bir onward aud ap, onward and up, up—up—up !"’ She stood in the center of the room, tower- ing above me sitting there stupefied, ber band rising, rising. her head careening back upon her shoulders, her eyes fixed upon the listle white hand which, fluttering like a bird, continued to make sudden yearning movements—ap, up, and up. The hand fell back, slapping the thigh. ‘““Tbat is what I would do, Monsieur I’ Anglais,’”’ she said, with an indefinable irony, ‘‘just that !"’ She was facing me, her breast still heaving, her eyes flashing. I hold by natare an inveterate distrust of histrionio passion ; I soon regained my balance. I bad one last arrow in my quiv- er—a oruelly barbed ove. I shot it—it had to be. I spoke to her of her past. I asked her if she could give him what is indispensable, what man demands, and in default of which he goes mad, that highest gift which woman can give to man—herself absolute- ly. Iasked her, cruelly I asked her—is bad to be—if she had that to give. She crumpled up like a bit of paper too pear the fire. She fell across the couch ; her head disappeared beneath her arms. I could see only her back,shaken at intervals with a palpitation, asil a dagger were stuok there, to the hilt, between the shoul- der-blades. It was along time before she laced me again. And when she did she was no longer the imperial being of a few moments before; she was a very miserable little girl, with face swollen with woe and eyes hum- ble as a dog's. “Yes,” she said, ‘‘you have come to it— she impossibility. I koew it all the time ; all the time the knowledge was there, like an ache.” She struck her breast with both olenched hands. ‘‘Que vowlesz-vous "' She shrugged her shoulders. ‘‘I am a ohild of the . My mother—she acted. Since that hi high as vour knee, I have been on the s. Brought up on the stage ; on the stage all my life ; that leads not to the life regular. Ah, monsieur, I have looked into his eyes; his soul is so blue and so candid. And I knew all the time that to him I could bring nothing so blue and so candid. No, I could nos !I"’ Poor little devil | She was so small now, eo much like a ohild. The great embroid- ered scarf lay at ber feet and had ceased to lend her its stiffness, ite splendor and its pride; her fine exaltation fallen. A yearning to console her, to make her hap- py bad me. Instead, rigid duty standing at my elbow, I said : ‘‘Yon are going away.’’ “I shall go away,’’ she said. row I shall go away.” I knew of a steamer sailing at six o’clock that very day for Hongkong. I said : “You will go this evening.’’ She drew a sharp breath. Then : “Yes ; ‘“To-mor- this evening I shall go away.” “1 shall see you off,” I said. | 3 “You do not trust me,” she objected | gently. “I do,” I protested. ‘““You will go alone, this evening.” “This evening,’’ she echoed, and the words were like a toll. She went, that evening, and at the Paz Theater there was that night no Made. moiselle Ivette to make blood dance to ber rhythm. And at ahoat ope in the morning, I saw a disheveled young man reenter bis room. He had hunted the whole town through, and held in his band a little blae note, sole result of his search, and was ball insane. And at dawn he was out again, haunpt- ing the eteamer-offices, the pier and the docks, looking for some craft, any craft, that would take him to Hongkong. But there wasn't any ; not for shree days. Aod when we did get to Hongkong there was there no trace of Mademoiselle Ivette ; she had evaporated—phoo !—like that ; not a mark of her anywhere. Only, flank- ing the doors of the Queen’s Theater, soil- ed, torn, slashed by the weather, were still two red Mademoivelle Ivettes, smiling with right toes pointed to the sky. There followed an apathy that made me very uncomfortable, lasting several days, and then without warning I saw him, like a man coming ont of a dream, rush one motning to the palace of the governor and ask the facilities that would enable him to stady the administration of the possession. He was saved ! I left him there and returned to England te lay at the feet of his mother the resalt of my mission. She sat, just as when I had left her, you remember, ina high- backed chair placed in the shadow; a shal of light fell upon ber head. and shat head pow was no longer avsterely gray. In those few months it had become white, white with a white that was very soft. When [ was through telling her she was silent for a long time. Then she leaned forward and touched my band lightly. Her voice was like a muffled golden bell, hid- den there in the shadow. And she said : “My friend, I wonder if after all—is would not have heen bester— yea, I wish, somehow—] wish we could bave let him be happy I" And suddenly, at these words, the eyes of my mind looked back along the long years, the long years of respectability, of | repression, of erushiug. And I wondered. | And it is a terrible thing, when your life is | gone, when your life that you bave saori- ficed to a principle is gone, gone beyond recalling, it is a terrible thing then to Nouler.~By James Hopper, in the dins- ee's. That English Accent. A recent criticism of English nomencla- tare on the American stage is a timely warning, as the following will give an idea of the great difference in pronunciation of the two countries : Talbot is pronounced ‘‘Talbut,’’ Thames is pronounced ‘‘Tems,’’ Bulwer is pro- nounced ‘‘Buller,” Cowper, ‘‘Cooper:" Holbarn, ““Hodun:"” Wemyss, ‘‘“Weems;"’ Knolloys, ‘‘Koowes;”” Cockburn, ‘‘Co- barn;’' Brougham, ‘‘Broom;"” Norwich, **Norridge;'’ St. Leger, ‘‘Stillinger;"’ Ha- warden, ‘‘Harden;” Colguboon, ‘‘Co- hoon; Cirencester, ‘‘Sissister;’’ Grosvenor, “Grovenor;”” Salishury. ‘‘Sallsbury;'’ Beaucham, ‘‘Beecham;’’ Marylebone, ‘“‘Marrabun;’’ Abergavenny, ‘‘Abergenny;'’ Majorihanks, ‘‘Marchbanks;'’ Bolinghroke, allingbrook;”’ Cholmoundeley, ‘‘Chum- yy” Certain words have a different meaning. For example : The American says ‘‘de. pos,”’ the Eoglishman says ‘‘station.’”’ Ticket office equals ‘‘booking office.” Baggage become ‘‘luggage.’” An Ameri- can saye ‘‘I guess,” but an Englishman says “‘[ fancy. Cracker hecomes ‘‘bisonit.’’ Checkers equals ‘‘dranghts.”” Yeast be- comes ‘‘barn.’’ Dessert equals ‘‘sweets’’ and sexton becomes ‘‘doorkeeper.’’—Pitts- barg Sun. A Man's Tact. Nobody but Mr. Henley would have asked such a question in the first place. *‘Miss Fairley,’’ be said, ‘‘if you could make yourself over what kind of bair and eyes would you have?” “If I conld make myeelf over,’’ said Miss Fairley, ‘I would look just exactly as I do now.” **You would ?"’ exclaimed Henley in honest surprise, and to this day he can’t understand why Miss Fairley shinks him a man of little taste and less tact. Opposites Canse and Effect. “They eay that there is more crime committed in hot weather.” ‘*Yes ; heat seems to conduce to wiocked- ness.” ‘‘Now that’s strange, that a close atmos- phere should cause loose principles.” —— ‘Tommy, were you fighting with that Carter boy?" “wy. maw.” “Didn't I tell you not to quarred with anyone?’ *‘Yes, maw ; hut I thought all bete were off since you quis speaking to the Carter boy's maw.”’ —4'80 the town brary ?"’ “‘Yes; but the grocery lyceum has writ- ten the philanthropist volunseerin’ to alow a barrel if he'll farnish the ocod- has deolined a li- ——He’s a regular philanthro-—what do you oail is?” *‘Wot's he did?” “‘Why, in de last week he's give away two dozen ‘Deadwood Dick’ an’a dozen ‘Nickel’ librariesl” —*] had to sell my anto,but I haven’s missed it yet.” ‘‘How’s that ?"’ “You can get most of the sensations by oleaning rugs.” ‘What would you do, my boy,” asked a professional vocalist, proudly, ‘‘it you could sing like me ?”’ ‘‘Have some singing lessons !I"’ replied the lad. a pe Just a sensible » fill your ets wit expeot to keep warm, ae it is to fill the stomach with food and expeot to keep strong. Coal is converted into heat only by combustion. Food is converted into strength only by digestion. When the digestive and nutritive syetem is d the tood crowded into the stomach is an injury to the body it should sustain. Many a severe illness would be saved if oe would more attention to the waroinge of the deranged stomach. Many a a dootor’s hill for treatment for ‘‘heart trouble,” nervousness, sleep- lessness or other ailments caused by “stomach trouble,” who could have been cheaply and completely cured by a few doses of Dr. Pierce's Golden Medical Dis covery, the great remedy for diseases of the organs of digestion and nutrition. EE I, HOW IT HAPPENED. My Uncle Jim, he made a speech, "Twas fall of thoughts sublime, Its mighty echoes ought to reach The corridors of time. And shake their vast foundations sure With its reverberant notes. And incidentally secure My Uncle Jim some votes. But when we staunch, determined men Heard what he had to teach, We found out also that the pen Is mightier than the speech. For, while we gazed with trasting pride And craned our royal necks, The rated foeman, just outside, Was busy writing checks. American Girl's Experiences in Royal Harem of Egypt. To few American young women come the varied avd interesting experiences which have been the lot of Miss Daise L. Keichline, whose home is in Bellefonte, Pa., and who is at present the guest of Miss Harriet McGill, of 302 West Colfaxavenae. Three years ago Miss Keickline's brother, who is a physician, went to Cairo, pt, aud a year and a half later his sister, Mies Daise, joined him ae a medical missionary, having taken a long course of preparatory work in Bastle Creek and Philadelpnia. Dr. Keichline bad already ivterested himself in a missionary movement amoug the young men of Cairo, the oriental ‘‘sec- ond Paris,”’ and a city noted the world over among travelers for ite wickedness. He bad won for himself many friends in the official circle of Cairo and also among the native dignataries and members of the royalty. Miss Keichline is a very pretty girl witha most attractive and winning personality and she at once became popu- lar among the foreign residents of the city. At the time Miss Keiobline went to Cai- ro. the favorite wife of the former Khedive, Ismail Pasha, was ill with taberoulesis. During the life of the khedive, she had been sent to Paris with a Tarkish princess who had the disease and who went to the French capital for treatment. In caring for the princess, the wife contracted the dread destroyer. When the khedive real- ized that he wae about to die, he looked about bim for some one to whom he could will his favorite wife, finally selecting a man who had in his youth been a medical student, but who had been compelled to abandon his choeen calling by a deoree of the khedive's and take instead the super- intendency of the gardens and grounds sur- rounding the palace of Cairo. When it became known that the former wile of Ismail Pasha was in a serious con- dition from tubercnlosis, her second huns- band called Dr. Keichline to attend her, and the physician asked his sister to take charge of the patient. So the home in Cairo was broken up and the wife and Miss Keichline went to Toukh, where they lived in the country at the edge of the town, inhabiting two tents, each with a slave to attend her and guarded at nighs hy three men and three dogs. Here Miss Keichline remained for four days nursing the sick woman. Then she was compelled to abandon her poet on account of the rav- ages of the inseots and vermin which every- where abound in that pars of Egypt. As different times alter that Miss Keichline visited her patient and it was on one of these ocoasions and the birthday anniver. sary of the ‘‘sitta hakiema'’ or lady doo- tor, as she was called, that she was pre- sented with ao exquisitely matched string of 325 pink coral beads by the former wife of the khedive. This gift was accompanied by a piece of Austrian gold. The distinguished patient of the Ameri- oan doctor and his sister was, as are all women of the barems, very fleshy. A steady diet of heavy sweets and little or no exercise invaribly prodoces this effect, in spite of the constant smoking of ocicarettes which is the daily occupation of every in- mate of the barems, man, woman and child, fiom the meanest slave to the highest mem- her of the royal family. Miss Keichline said thas, being the only person in the barem who did not smoke, she embroidered as a substitute. While she wae numsiug her hopeless patient, there came an eclipse of the sun. e palace slaves were crazy with terror, thinking she end of the world was at hand, running wildly about the palace with soreams of horror. As is the oriental custom, the wile, knowing her days were numbered, began thinking of finding a wife to succeed ber sell in ber hushand’s favor. One day she suggested to Miss Keichline that she marry this man who was fully 60 years of age. To this the young American girl stren- uously objested, and in reply to a ques- tion if she knew of any marriageable girls in Cairo, she mentioned the sister of a na- tive friend of her brother's, a young medi- oal student, who is now an interne io the Kasr el Aliny hospital at Cairo. Without any hesitation, the about-to-be-widowed- husband started at once for Cairo, there to bargain with the parents of the 18 year-old girl for ber baod. He won his suit and married the girl be- fore his first wife's death, never having seen his bride's face nor she his until after the ceremony, according to native custom. At this wedding Miss Keiohline was brides- maid, wearing a frook of white silk while the bride herself was clothed in blue. Following the wedding, which took place in the desers, far ont on the sands, a wed- ding feast was served. A feature of this wedding and of all weddings among the wealthier olass is the throwing about of small gold coins after the coremony, band- tals being scattered as rice and rose leaves are dispensed in America. Of this wedding feast and the food and table manners of the orientale, Miss Keioh- line has much to say. The game is well cooked and there is always an over abun- dance of sweets. The Arabic bread is curious to the eyes of the unnitiated, con. of two thin cakes, arranged as th they were the empty orusts of a ‘‘4wo-lidded’’ pie. ‘This bread serves a double purpose as the soup is brought to the table in one big bowl and each diner eate from this common receptacle, scooping 3) bis portion with the flexible sheets of Besides nursing the one-time wife of Ismail Pasha, Miss Keichline also attended the Countess Cromer, formerly Lady Kathryn poe, and nom among her friends the countess and her sister, Lady Beatrice Thyone. She also journey- ed up the Nile to Assiout, and there cared for the ter of the Earl of Ox- ford th. a long illness. Another pa- tient of Mies Keiohline’s was the Pol countess who is the wife of Morice Bey Farqughar, a woman whom she describes as possessing all the charming lascination of the women of the Polish race. Miss Keiohline was in Cairo when the Prince of Sweden was there, who later married Margaret of Connaught, and attend. ed the ball given in his honor. But all ber life in the orient was not spent among such scenes as these. Both she and her brother did much charitable work in the slums among the poor who live in such poverty and degredation as can scarcely be appre- ciated in this country. There a nurse or a physician who will snd does alleviate suffering regardless of class or caste is regarded as an aogel and i# given the homage which is due their call- ing io mach greater measure than they do here. Often Miss Keichline attended cases in a harem where ber brother was refused admittance and where she must needs wake as complete a diagnosis as she could uoassisted, and then administer the reme- dies which her brother thought might be efficacious. Among Dr. Keichline’s patients was the grand moufsifl, who is the head of the Mo- bammedan church, holding the position in that faith which the pope holds in the Ro- man Catholic church. This dignatary often case to the Keichline residence to visis, remaining for meals, and upon these occa- sions no woman could sit at the table. As a parting gift, the grand mouftiff presented the physician with a bandsome shawl of white wool which bad been one of the vest- mente of his office. Miss Keichline rarely went out unveiled duriog ber stay in the Orient, because to do #0 was to be stared as by foreigners and natives alike. Yes only once did she ex- perience any actual rudeness from the men of Cairo, aud shis was on a crowded street car. Io the evening she never ventured out of the house unastended by either her brother or a servant. At her home in Bellefonte this olever nurse and charming womau has quantities of uriental brasses, rugs and many other souveuirs of her stay 1n the ‘‘oriental Par- is.”” She bas with her bere in Soath Bend a handsome white silk cape embroidered io gold such as is commonly worn by the wealthier men of Morocco. This garment is of the shape commouly known as ‘‘ciroun- lar'’ among the feminine initiated. and bas a pointed hook as she back. Besides the hooded cloak, the News re- porter who interviewed Miss Keichline at the McGill home was privileged to see two quaint Egyptian scarahs, ove of a dark green stone with hierogiypbics cut on the under side, this one beiug set in a ring, and the other one of amythest, this being mounted in gold for a pin. Two long scarfs, one of white and one of black nes, are heavily embroidered with a flas silver thread. These scarfs are sold by weighs in the oriental countries, as they may well be, the silver iu the sheer net having a Wy beyond belief until held in the 8. A pair of Egyptian earrings are of gold with long pendant chains of gold beads fastened together with tiny links. In barmooy with these is the ‘‘yasmack’’ or orthodox face coverings worn by Turkish women which consists of a band of black velvet embroidered with gold acioss the forehead. From this depends a narrow straight veil of black ‘‘oreepy’ looking material. This is fastened to the head band hy slender gold chains which allows it to come below the eyes and over the nose is arranged a big ornament of gold which would make an Anglo Saxon woman cross- eyed in an hour. Twisted about the bead over the bair i» worn a scarf of white with gaily colored figures. Besides all these varions articles of apparel and jewelry, Miss Keiohline has here a gown made for her by a Tarkish woman asa birthday gift. It is of gorgeous hiue silk with gay pink figures, much white lace and a guan- tity of little pink bows. Miss Daine Keichline bas a sister who is a student of aichitectnre at Cornell uni- versity, hut though ber sister bas chosen a calling which is as yet rather nucommon among women, che will not he apt to ever have a~ many uunsual experiences in her whole lifetime as her charming ~i<ter has orowded into one short year and a ball, ! The glamor of the royal harew : the gor- geousness of oriental sarrounding, the living in an asmosphere ever heavy with the perfome of a thousand flower and blue with the smoke of Turkish cigarettes, en- joving the company and she affectionate friendship of she women of the royal harem and being a wember of the social circle formed by the officials of the various gov- ernments of the world in this city on the Nile of world-old fame is an experience which bas rarely, if ever, come to an Amer- ican girl before.—From South Beod (In- diana) News. A Wash Twice a Year, A charming Hungarian countess once said to me, “What Is so nice about the men from England is that they look so clean, as if they had just come from a swim.” Of course we pride carselves on our morning tubs, splash and splutter and shiver and pol- ish up with rough towels. “What dirty people those English are,” remarked an Italian, “when they find it neces- sary to wash all over every day! Why, I only wash twice a' year!” I have met Chinese who regard washing all I i : 1h “But work,” and let us also point out what kind of work should be under- taken and the spirit in which it ought #0 be done. In other words, what the worrier needs is re-education.—Rev, 8. 8. McComb in Harper's Bazar,
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers