Bellefonte, Pa., October 2, 1908. 4 A ———— THE MOTHER. When 1 went out from the little house That stood by the white sea sands, Her kiss was warm on my eager lips And strong were her clasping hands ; And I fared me forth, as a soldier might, When a great war-lord commands, { When | came back to the little house That stood by the chili sea-sands, Fhe door was closed and the shutters drawn, | And 1 stood as a beggsr stands ; And I laid my lips to her silent lips, My spoils in her folded hands. —Faopnie Hear lip Lea, in the Peoples Magazine ——————— TWO WOMEN. She bad been lying there awake for some | time watching the dawn creep gragly in throngh the window, bringivg one familiar | object after avother out of the darkues : { the white walls with prints tacked upon | them, the table of medicine-hottles, her bed, and finally the bed of her neighbor opposite. She curued ber head slowly and | looked across. Toe occupaut of the bed was sleeping with her face turved toward ber, and she looked at it closely, glad of any new interest alter the night's weary | vigil. It was a sweet young face she saw, shad- ed by masees of dark brown bair, with a childlike mouth, and long lashes that touched ber cheek as she lay sleeping peace- fully. The woman had been balf asleep when the other was brought in the even- | ing before, but she remembered hearing the nurses talking about ber and the seii- | ous operation to be performed this morn. | ing. Now she studied ber in the growing ! light, and wondered with a cool dispassion- | ateness what mental caliber she had to sup- | port her ip such a stress, As she still watched her the other stirred | and opened her eyes. They met those of { the woman for a minute quite trustfully | and happily, aud then a sodden rush of | memory and fear blurred and broke up their quiet depths. The woman looked , ashamed to be caught, even un- gonsciously spying on her. Presently she heard the other speaking. “I beg your pardon, but do you know what time it is ?"’ The woman glanced at her watoh. *‘About hall-past six.” “Thank you.” The voice was youthful and sweet, like the face. After a moment's silevce she went on : “I am glad there ie not long to wait. They come for me at hall-past seven.’ “You have slept well ?'’ the woman =aid rather curiously. ‘‘You are not nervous, then ?"’ *“Perribly,”” the girl answered with a sudden shivering contraction of her whole body. ‘‘But they gave me something to make me sleep—I begged them to. I couldn’s even bear the idea of the opera. tion if is were not for my husband. I must be brave for him.” The woman lay silent for a little with averted face. The proud yet tender tone in the other's voice had struck savagely on a still throbbing memory. She remember- ed her own boar of trial and endurance, faced alone, and the bitter lines about her mouth cat themselves still deeper. ‘He isso worried about me,’ the girl wens on. ‘‘But he is so wondetfally brave aud hopeful all the time. I know I could never go through the operation if it were uot for him, Dying would be easier; bus I have him to live for. so that helps me to go on.” She noticed the tenseness of the wom- an’s attitnde, and broke off. ¢J—] didn’t mean to hother you this way,” she said, ball timidly. “Only it makes the waiting less hard to talk to someone. But I won's speak il you want to sleep.”’ “I can’t sleep,’’ the woman answered briefly. ‘Please talk, if it helps you, Have you heen married long? “Over a year,” the girl said. ‘“‘Bas I can't believe it, even yet. He is so clever and strong and I am co stupid and foolish that it seems impossible to me that he should have cared to marry me. I often tell Keish that I can do nothing well bat love him.” “Is that his name?" asked the woman quickly. “Yes. I think it suite him so well. It is strong, like himseil. He is coming as early as they will let bim, and then yon will see for yourself .$%at he is really too good for me.’’ “Don’t believe that,” the woman said unely. ‘‘Very few men are too good for their wives. I found that out long 0. The day had now fully dawned, bright and cold, and the clear light fell full upon her face, bringing out mercilessly its worn yoess. The girl, looking over, wonder- ed what dull tragedy lay behind its still traceable beauty. ““Your husband is dead ?’’ she ventured after a pause which the other did not seem inclined to break. “He deserted me three years ago,’”’ an- swered the woman bluntly, ‘‘and I believ- ed in him as much as you do in your hus. band.” The girl drew in her breath with a sharp sound. ‘‘Please forgive me for asking—I didn’t know—I thonght—"' “It doesn’t matter.” the woman said wearily. “Only you see I have reason for what 1 said.” “You bave been through a terrible ex- perience indeed,” said the girl, looking at her with a deep pity io her soft eyes. ‘‘But it is an exceptional one, I know it must be. It would kill me to think that he— that all men were so heartless and oruel !”’ “I hope you will never have occasion to think 80,” said the woman, with an in- voluntary softening of her bard tone. $‘Keep in your paradise as long as you can. You can never get back again once it is lost, that I assure you.” They were both silent for a while. The ward was quiet and empty except for them- selves, bus outside a baby wailed fretltully from some distant room and soft steps were heard hurrying up and down the corridors. Suddenly the girl covered her face with her hands. “Oh, the awful, awful wait- ing!" she cried brokenly. “If is were only over now. | feel my courage going with every moment !"’ “Is will soon be over,” soothed the woman. ‘‘It is not #o terrible, after ail —I know, for I have gone through the same thing—only you have youth and love on your side to fight for yon. Think if youn were alone! But you have him to live for.” “Oh, i! I were only sure that he loved me !"’ wailed the girl. “All the rest woald be easy to bear.” | from me as long as I could—that some day | raised herself up in the bed wildly, gasping | for breath. | girl with steady eyes me only. | now,” she whispered. | dering girl opposite, dropped away from “Why should youn doubt him?” asked the womav in some surprise. ‘‘Just a moment ago you told me bow mucb be cared for you Has Lie ever given you any reason to doubt him ?"’ The giri stared at her with eyes wild | with pain and dread. “No, never. He has always been love and devotion itself; but ever since he mar- | ried me I have had a fear, unspoken and | bidden—for I've always thrust it far away I should wake up to find it was all a dream and I was alone once wore. And new you bave roused that fear by what you told we, and I cannot congaer it. You bave made me wonder if perhaps he, too, is like other men—have made me think and fear—I don’t know what!" She hroke off with a choked sob, and The woman leaned over toward her quickly. ‘Don’t think of anything bat his pres- | ent love for vou,’ she said, holding the “Pon’t fear that voor love may nos stand the test bravely. It will—I know that!" They seemed new to bave changed places; the woman's voice was strony and fall of courage. and the girl felt a sudden sense of support and uplifting as she met her firm | gaze She fought hack her tears. i “Yes, you are right," she gasped. “I will be brave. I know he loves me, and Bat I wonld rather die than to share his love with anyone else.” “You will not die then,” said the wom- | "an, still with the same steady confidence in her voice. *‘I fee! sure of that.” The girl leaned over suddenly an caught the other's hand. | “How von have helped me!’ she sa‘d. | “I cannot thank you enough.” | The door was opened softly and the | nniges came in. The woman lay staring | up at the ceiling while they went about | their morning duties, When all was finish- | ed the girl pushed aside the screen and | smiled over at her. ! “My hushand is coming up to see me “Now yon will know why I love him so.” Nevertheless the woman did not turn to look when the door opend presently, and | she heard the glad cry of welcome from the girl's hed; and it was only after a silence which lasted strangely long that she at last | lowered her eyes slowly. They mes those | of a man standing still with his hand on the knob of the closed door behind him, | and staring at ber with a face blotted of all | color and expression. Then suddeuly the hospital walls, the narrow bed, the won. her sight like mist-wreaths from a hilltop, and left only hereelf and the man before her. Sbrill voices seemed to be bammer- | ing in her ears, asking quick questions that her brain sprang to answer even belore they took ahape. Was this the reward of years of grimly patient waiting, of a never- acknowledged hope which vet bad clung tenaciously at her heart? This the end of love and the beginning of hate? At all events—her brain made quick answer—she could strike, and terribly. Then why not do it? He bad not hesitated to strike the blow which bad wrecked and laid low her whole life, and had turned her love into a corroding blight! Now the scales had shift- ed and is was her turn to speak, to slay! His eyes went for a swils instant to the girl and then returned to berin a dumb, hopeless appeal. She knew well what he meant. Had the nurses not told her of the serious operation to be performed, and of the girl’s weak heart! What was it the girl bad said herself a few minutes—or was it hours—ago? *‘I would rather die than live to share him with anyone else!’ To tell her the truth now, she well knew, would be the girl's death-warrant as well as his punishment. Well, what did it matter to her, after all 2 When the weak cling to the knees of the strong what wonder if they are trampled under. Let them be trampled under so long as revenge endures and bate stalks unsatisfied! So the voices shonted and urged—and then the girl spoke. “1 couldn't get a room, Keith; they were all taken; so they put me in here: but this is my friend, even shough I don’t know her name. We have been talking together and she bas helped me to be brave, almost as much as you have, Keith. See how calm I am now.” She held up ber band and showed him itssteadiness with a smile. “I don't feel as all afraid of the operation. She told me that she felt sure it would be all right, and somehow I feel sore of it, too, now. Won't you thank ber for me, Keith?" A sudden flash of love lit up the somber eyes of the man as they turned toward her for a moment, but they dulled again hopelessiy as they came back to the woman. Her own eyes were bard and cold as steel as she looked at them both. She raised herself up in the bed with an in- voluntary movement of recoil, and the girl watched her with ball-burt wonderment at her silence. “Don’t thank me,’’ abe said at last in a harsh, choked voice. ‘‘And don’t thank him. Thank yourself for all that you have, get well, and be happy in your paradise.” She lay back again on the pillow with a sudden relaxing of her grim self control that told bow it had been shaken. The man’s face flushed for a moment and then paled as abruptly. He made a step toward the bed. ‘Are you—do yon mean—?'’ he asked hoarsely. Her eyes burned him with their scorn. She had gained control of herself once more. ‘See that you deserve her faith,’ she answered brusquely, and turning over op her side lay there with averted face. She heard his quick, indrawn breath of relief, the girl’s puzzled call, ‘‘Keith!"’ heard him go to her with one glad step, beard their murmuring voices and the noise of the nurses and attendants as they brought in the wheeled chair and took the girl out. But still she lay there motionless, staring with unseeing eyes at the white walls which seemed toclose in upon her like a relentless future.—By Jeannette I. Helm, in The Smart Set. Wise Words. He cannot rule who cannot yield. Nothing is safe where goodness is a jest. Practice is the great clarifier of opinion. Only those truths are vital whioh can be vitalized. Pessimism is usually poverty ol heart and imagination. They are heard moss for themselves who pray n.uat for others. Friendship may fo''ow forms, but it never [usees over them. —'‘Giuzzler seems to be a mercurial sort St person. He is either away up or away down, ““Yes, with Gusszler it’s either a case of low spirits or high balls.” — —Stella—I will be a sister to you. Jaock—Humph! I sappose you want me to be a Brother Charles to you. HE rere eee From “The Philadelphia Record” September 16, 1905. TAFT—“DEMOCRATIC SUCCESS WILL DISTURB BUSINESS!” During his visit to “The Philadelphia Record” Sept. 15, 1908, Mr. Bryan suggested the above eartoon to Mr. De Mar. The History of Socialism Before the Feucle Revolution the criti- cismas of society aud of existing institutions were severe and searchiug but the reme- dies offered were dreamy und speculative. The revolution swept away all hindrano- es and restraints to trade. The individ- ualistic and atomistic condition of society bad begun. Every man was left to paor- sue his own interest, in his own way and thie, it was claimed, would work for the best to the race. Into this disorganized society commerce aod industry entered, and aided by the new discoveries in land and machiney, went forward with astounding rapidity. Before, however, the smoke of battle had cleared, there were some, in France, who understood where lay the trouble for the fatare. They bad not yet a clear enough knowledge of the past or a scientific meth- od to help them adjnst their knowledge aud work forward to lasting results. They pevertheless gave their lives to attempts at the realization of what, a whole people, in the generations that bave followed, have not yet attained. Francois Noel Baboen! was horn in St. Onentin, in 1764. His scheme for society was a materialistic communism, absolute equality. All things leveled down to stn- pid, self-satisfied medioority. It is dreary and monotonons in the extreme. Yet even Babeouf was not so childish as to propose the dividing up of the wealth of society ; while leaving the production and distribu- tion to remain the same as at present. There has never been a communist oi socialist who proposed such a plan, for they, as every one, kuow that inequality would again arise and even more rapidly. | This idea is entirely a figment in the minds of their opponents, so that the story of Rothschild and the poor man whom he gave fifty cents as his share of the wealth when divided, loses its force as an argument agaivst communism. What communism means is, thatall the people, either as a whole, or as a village or commune, shguld own all the land, houses, factories, Tail roads, etc. That production shoold be carried on in common and that the distri. bution of the wealth thus created should be equally divided. Most all socialists be- lieve that the social Commonwealth will ultimately lead to commuvism, that when the whole of industry is systematized and managed, so that all work is done with the least possible bardship, and all wealth ia used to supply the needs of the whole of society, the present accidental valuations of some labor above another will lose their meaning, and that all able-bodied men and women will contribute their share to the world’s work aod iu return have their needs supplied. The next great advocate of communism in France offers a much more pleasing pro- gram. This is Etienne Cabet, born at Di- jou, in 1788, Sir Thomas Moore’s ‘‘Utopia” inspired his book entitled ‘‘A Voyage to Icaria,” which he published in France in 1839, In 184% he came with his followers to America and settled in Nauvoo, Illinois. These Icarians, as they were called, at one time numbered 1500 and continued their existence for hall a century. The two leading ideas of Cabet’s consti- tution, are the equality of all and the brotherhood of man. His political organi- zation was a democratic republic. The economies of common production enabled all to enjoy many comforts, and even lux- aries. Elegance and beauty were encour- aged. Marriage and family were held sa- ored and wives were highly honored. Dili- noe and thrift were enjoined on all. rey and disagreeable work was perform- ed by machines. Science and literature were held io bigh esteem. This Icarian movement in America showed much strength in the middle of the last century, hut after that period was of little importance. We tum now from these advocates of communism to a man of different type, Saint—Simon, born at Parie in 1760. The paysica) sciences were his obiel interest, et he devoted his life to the cause of the betterment of mankind, which he consid. ered in the light of a religion. His prop- erty was soon gone and for a time he lived in extreme want. His disciples carried on his ideas after “according to a standard, which sball be organic lite. His object was to show that in France. | his death and many great minds in Fraocet | have received their inspiration from his | teaching. Saint—Simon was the first too draw the line between the upper and low- er classes in the industrial society, and to indicate that social reform is a function of government. He also bronght forward the subject of inheritance. He advocated uni- versal peace, labor to all and recompense in proportion to merit. His ideas were re- tained as a religion withont any practical economic application. Saint—Simon is the first example of pare socialism—that is an economic system in which production is carried on in com- mon and the wealth produced distributed, agreed upon as joet to all. The Saint—Simonians put aside inher- itance. They regarded idlers as thieves, and wished every one rewarded according to bis own individualistic werite. All should start with equal opportunities and these only the natural inequalities—talent, force, intelligence, eto, woald form the hasis of association and the indispensible conditions of the social order. Their mot- to was, ‘‘to each according to his capacity ; to each capacity according to its works.” At the time that Saint—Simon was sac- rificing his lite in his brilliant yes ineflect- ual efforts for the regeneration of mankind, there was living in France a man of differ- ent temperament, who was approaching the same goal by another route. This was Charles Fourier, who was born in Besan- eon, in 1772. Saint-Simon belonged to a noble family, who traced its origin to Charlemagne. Fourier was from the middle class. His father was a cloth merchant. Ove found- ed a religion ; the other a science. Fourier, when a child of five, was puon- ished for telling the truth to oustomers, ahont some goods in his father’s shop ; and at nineteen his miud was awakened to the great waste in trade, by being compelled, by his employer, to throw overboard some rice, which had been held up for specula- tion, at a time when prices were rising be- cause of a famine. The rice which was in the hold of a ship, bad spoiled, it having been kept from the market for fear of low- ering prices. Fourier concluded that a system, whioh forced children to lie and withhold food from hungry people, must be radically wrong and he began to eiabo- rate a social scheme which should promote truth, honesty, and economy of resources. Fourier wrote three important works, the first of which was entitled ‘‘The Theory of the Four Movements and the General Destinies.” The four movements are the social, animal, organic and in- one law—the law of attraction—governs them all. His soientific notions were oreede but his great contribution was his social system. Fourier’s central idea is association. He maintained that production could be in- oreased many fold and great waste prevent: ed by a harmonious adjustment of industry. Hejalso ivsisted that labor was a natural passion of man and only became repulsive when men were forced to over-work or to ancongenial and unnatural forms of labor. His idea was that men should combine in communities which he called phalavxes. A phalanx was to be the unit of society and was to carry on its completesocial life, like one large family. Phalanxes could exchange their surplus products with other phalanxes and nation with nation. Fourier social system was not as pure a form of socialiem, as was that of Saint— Simon, for he retained private capital and, for a time at least, inheritance. In the division of wealth a certain por- tion is set apart for each member of the phalacx, and then the surplus is divided between labor, capital and talent. Five- twellths goes to labor ; four-twellths to capital and three-twelfths to talent. The maxim is not as with Saint—Simon, labor according to capacity and reward according to service—but it was, labor according to capacity and reward in proportion to exer- tion, capital and talent. Labor is divided into three olasses—necessary, useful, and agreeable—the highest reward goes to the first and the lowest to the last division, Fourier assigned women a high sion in the society. He declared that the eco- nomio, legal and social position of woman was an exact measure of the true oiviliza- I — a Aj . ro ah Wil JA AI 0 (0h A i! If Hil [Tbs \ W / Hl a vo. fi —By De Mi: — — ion of any country or of any given period. Fourier's recognition of the value of co peration, of she use of machinery, of the nunecessary hardships of labor, and of its vatural henefits, bave had great influence on modern thought. His followers formed societies for the rel- egation of his theories, the most successful being at Guise in France, and the best known in America being thas of Brook Fame, which was founded in 1840. Saint—Simon and Fourier were the first of she Feuole socialists. They were, how- ever, only social reformers. eir schemes were Eutopian. They separated economics and politics. Their appeal was to religion, brotherly love or self-interest. The next step iu the direction of socialism was its connection with politics, and this wae taken by Louis Blanc. He is the first State socialist. Professor Ely, in his ‘French and Ger- man Socialism,’ says, ‘Louis Blanc is the connecting link between the older social- ism, which was in many respects supersti- tions, absurd and fantastical, and the new- er. which is skeptical, hard and practical.” Louis Blane found the purpose of bu- man existence to he happiness and devel- opment. He declared that not equality but needs are to determine distribution. His maxim for mau wae. ‘‘produce acoord- ing to his facalties and consume according to his wants.”” This be considered a for- mula of perfect justice, but the question natarally arises, how are a man’s wants to be determined ? Louis Blane abandoned individuaiism, private property and private competition. He adopted fraternity as his controlliog principle. After the revolution of 1848 he was granted permission for his National Work Shops, but these were robbed of their real influence by his political ene- mies. His writings, bowever, exerted a great influence in shaping eveuts in En- rope. After the failare of Touis Blanc’s Na- tional Work Shops socialism in France seemed dead, yet, it was at this time, that Karl Marx was writing in banishment in England and Ferdinand Lassalle was ex- horting German workmen to organize into a national party. When socialism again appeared in France it came through Ger- man channels. It was no ionger Utopian. It was scientific and evolutionary. The organization of the Socialist Party in France was begun in 1871, after the commune. It has been divided into differ ent groups whose aim is the same but who differ in respect to tactics, caused largely by the Feancle disposition to follow great men as leaders. In the last few years however, Jean Jaures, the eloquent French socialist, has been leading the party into harmony and inte allignment with inter- national socialism. The adherents to socialism in Fravee number more than 1,000,000. They have over fifty deputies in the Chamber. Paris, aud other cities are under socialistic mu- picipal councils, Jaures says, ‘‘Within thirty-five years France has passed from the conservative and resigned republic of M. Thiers to the opportunist and enthusiastic republic of Gambetta ; then on to the temperate radi: calism of M. Leon Bougois, to the militant radicalism of M. Combes ; finally to the so- ocialistio radicalism of M. Clemencean. Each movement in the evolution of the re- Jablis has had its value and ite reason. It not been a mere succession of personal influences, * * * Forsome years the Socialist Party has exercised a profound in- fluence on the political life of France. This influence has often been decisive, and wholly disproportionate to its municipal force. It represents scarcely a tenth of the electoral and parliamentary array, yet fre. quently it bas been the arbiter of the va- vion’s destiny, the guide of the republic.” EvrizaseTH M. BLANCHARD. ——————————————— Bat costs nothing,’’ is what one man has to say about Dr Pierce's Common Sense Medical Adviser. This great work on nygiene and medicine, containing 1008 pages and 700 illustrations is sent free on receipt of stamps to pay expense of mailing only. Send 21 one-cent stamps for book in paper covers, or 31 stamps in cloth binding. Address Dr. R. V. Pierce, Buffalo, N. Y. The Painter of the Angelus, | Will H. Low is chronicling his artistic | tiiengdships in the pages of Scribner's Mag- azine. The July number brings him to | Stevenson and Millet. Of the laster he | has much to say : ‘Jean Francois Millet was of a large { frame and medium stature, the eyes of an | artist, deep wet with the frontal bone well | developed, a strong and prominent nose i and abundant beard, which did pot entire- {ly conceal his moth ; finuly drawn yet | gravely kind in expression. A drawing which I endeavored to make some time | afterward, from one of the rare photographs | taken of him (loaned me by one of Lis | brothers, ) is not unlike him ; although it | gives an aspeet which he only bad when | dressed in city clothes, a= on his are visits | to Paris. Clad in a knitted coat, pot on- | like the Cardigan jacket which was famil- | iar here at one time, ciosely buttoned to | the waist and well-woin trousers, his ap- | pearance was that of the peaceful piovin- | cial in France who, secare from the public | guze behivd his garden wall, dreeses for | ease aud comfort. The legend of the peas- | ant’s sahots worn by him bas only this ! much of truth, that in the heavy dews on the pla, or in bad weather at avy time, | he wore sabots out of doors as most coub- | try people do in Fravce, as a fous covering | that, after a little practice, i» not difficult | to walk with ; which protects from damp- | ness aud 1s easily slipped off on entering witha doors. “Between my timidity, the lictle French | 1 possessed, and the waster's evident saf- fering. our first interview began badly enough ; my chief preoccupation being to | find av excuse for withdrawing quickly. | But as it progressed the interests of Millet | Rrew as he would display, from canvases | stacked agaiust the wall, pictures in vari- | ous stages of progress, “His method almost invariably was to | indicate a composition lightly in eharcoal, | seldom, at least at that time, baving re- | course to nature, and never from a model | posing ; bis work from life consisting geo = erally in a strongly accented drawing a l- wost in outline. When the composition | was finally arranged to bis satisfaction, he | drew in the figures and its prineipal lives, | msing a thick quill pen, with ink. Upen | this, with semi transparent color, he would ! prepare the dominant tones of his picture. | A canvas thus prepared he would set aside to | dry, returning to it later with mote direct | paiuting in opaque tones ; gradually re- | ining its color aod rendering its effect to | the point of completion. | “] remember questioning-mysell al- | though I warmly approved of the result, if | the meavs employed by the great painter | were those which were thought consistent i with the best modern practice. Siavish | adherence to nature was then and after the | watchword of the school, and, as many do, | I confounded the practice of the school | with that of the mature artist. Some | question of this kind I ventured to wake, | asking how 1n a stadio lighted by a single window he could study the wodel as the figure would be lit out-of-doors. For reply beshowed mea drawing, a mere quick sketoh, now, to my better understanding, appearing, as I remember it, to bave the indication of all the essential construction of the figure that the master with his knowledge of form needed to work from. The answer to my question appeared to me, however, emigmatical, and Milles, speaking slowly and with much emphasis, explained that a figure arrested in move- went and with muscles relaxed demanded at the hest on the part of the artista memory of the appearance of the figure in action ; that for him the weary imitation of a posed model seemed less true, less like nature, than to follow a sketch retain- ing the action of life with added truths garnered from a loug and close ohservation; aided by the memory of the relation be- tween a fignre and its hackground under certain effects of light,”’— Christian Advo- cate. HKussian Cavier. The centre of the cavier trade in South- east Russia is at Astiakhan on the Volga. There are, however, several fisheries on the River Don aud the Sea of Azov. At sever- al of the fisheries large quantities of cavier are prepared but for home production only. In 1906 cavier to the value of $10,500 was exported to the United States from Astrakban. Since then, however, its ex- port has wholly ceased. This condition of affairs is thonght to be due to two reasons at least, Firsy, the catch of stargeon in the United states has heen unusually abun- dant, and, second, the quality of cavier prepared in the United States has proved to he far superior to the imported article. Cavier is prepared in Russia in practical- ly the same manner as in the United States. The roe, having been extracted from the fish, is rubbed through the meshes of a sieve in order that the eggs may he eepa- rated from the inclosing sacks. It is then salted with from 5 to 10 per cent. of good table salt, according to the time of the year when prepared. Afterward the cavier is put on finer sieves in order to allow the brine to flow off. After this has been ac complished it is placed in caus and her- metically sealed. In order to reach the market cavier is shipped by steamer to Tzaritzin on the Vol- ga, beine forwarded thence by fast trains to Hamburg in special cars provided for the export of fish. During the warm sea- son the cavier is placed on ice. which is re- newed at various places en route. On steam- ers from Hamburg to New York the princi- pat importing port, it is always stored on oe. om——— A Huge Petrification, What is probably the largest example of petrification has recently come to attention in Arizona, eays the Technical World Magazine. It consists of the trunk of a tree, with branch stubs still intact, which bas fallen across the head of a considerable canyon and there ‘‘turned to stone." e huge roots of the fallen monarch rise to a height of eight or ten feet at one end, while the upper extremity of the trunk is buried in the soft formation of the land in which it grew. The trunk is more than 50 feet lovg, and spans a canyon at least 40 feet wide. It forms a perfectly solid bridge of a diameter of from five feet to two at the smaller end. Trees of con- siderable size have grown up around it from the hed of the canyon, some of them considerably higher now than the fallen tree is long. Over the trunk of the petrified monster they throw a welcome shade to the birde which gather for miles around to sit ou the stony trunk during the heat of the day. This tree is a considerable distance from ! the Arizona petrified forest and is one of the wonders of the great desert State. It is considered quite probable by miners who have seen the tree that its interior portions are practically solid agate, as are those of the other petrified trees of Arizona, but no one has been ventoresome enough to out into the great, natural, paleontological bridge to find out.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers