pA Beware ce EE Bellefonte, Pa., April 30, 1909. A BOY'S CALENDAR. Down on their knees in the schoolyard, mark- ing a ring in the ground, Poising the prizes of battle each on its little earth . mound, Breathing, for luck, on the shooter, playing by time-honored laws, Silently eyeing the glassies and moving back- ward to taws; Slick’ries and cloudies and agates, all in a gor. goons array, Shooters all nicked up with half-moons—Arpil, and soon to be May. Bringing up mud from the bottom, holding one arm up with pride, Floating and diving 'way under, coming up on the far side; Clothes on the bank quite forgotien, spring board all slippery and we _, Cries from the door of the kitchen —coming!— right soon but not yet. Trousers and waists wet and muddy —home and the woodpile so high, Silence—and suspense—and supper—June, and along to July. Game of the Terrors and Tigers; blue shirts, white pants and red socks, Hearts almost stilled in their beating, eyes on the man in the box; Swish of the swift-wielded willow, thud of the ball in the mitt, Cries from the bleachers, that run with = hit!” Crack! Where the bat meets the baseball, swells such a turbulent cheer, Reddy's the hero of Sahdiots — midsummer, August quite near. “Oh, Reddy! Bring in Nut stains and berry-brown fingers, freckle and stone bruise and tan, My! How the time has flown from us since the vacation began! Oh, but the summer was splendid! Oh, but the June-tine was glad! Wish it could be that way always—what a vaca. tion we had! Legs lagging on to the schoolhonse —~whistle nor birdeall nor cheer— Comes melancholy September, sorrowful end of the year -J. W. Foley. THE VERDICT. 1 bad always thought Jack Gisburn rath- er a cheap genius—though a good fellow enough—=s0 it was no great surprise to me to hear thas, 1 the height of his glory, he bad dropped his painting, married a rich widow, and established himself in a villa on the Riviera. (Though I rather thought it would have been Rome or Florence.) ‘““The height of his glory”’—that was what the women called is. I can hear Mrs. Gideon Thwing—his last Chicago sitter— deploring his unaccountable abdication. “Of course it’s going to send the value of my picture "way up ; but I don’t think of thas, Mr. Rickham—the loss to Arrt is all I think of.” The word, on Mis. Thwing’s lips, multiplied its rs as though they were reflected in an endless vista of mirrors. And it was not ouly the Mrs. Thwings who mourned. Had vot the exquisite Hermia Croft, at the last Grafton Gallery show, stopped me before Gishurn’s ‘*Moon-dan- cers’’ to say, with tears in her eyes : ‘We shall not iook upon its like again ?”’ Well |—even throogh the prism of Her- mia’s tears I felt able to face the fact with equanimity. Poor Jack Gisharn! The women bad made him—it was fisting that they should mourn him. Among his own sex fewer regrets were heard, and in his own trade bardly a murmur. Professional jealousy ? Perbaps. If it were, the hon- our of the cralt was vindicated by little Clande Nutley, who, in all good faith, brought out in the Burlingtoa a very haud- some ‘‘obitoary’’ on Jack—one of those showy articles stocked with random sech- nicalities that I have heard (I won’t say by whom ) compared to Gishurn’s painting. And so—his resolve being apparently irre- vocable—the discussion died out, and, as Mrs. Thwing bad predicted, the price of “Gisburns’’ went up. It was not till three years later that, in the course of a few weeks’ idling on the Riviera, it suddenly occurred to me to wonder why Gisbarn had given up bis painting. On reflection, it really was a tempting problem. To accnse his wile would bave been too easy—his fair sitters had been denied the solace of saving that Ms. Gishurn had ‘‘dragged him down.” For Mrs. Gisburn—as saoh—had not exist- ed till pearly a year after Jack's resolve had been taken. It might he shat he bad married her—since he liked his ease—he- cause he didn’t want to go on painting ; bat it would he hard to prove that he had given up his painting becanse he had mar- ried her. Of course, if she bad not dragged him down, she bad equally, as Miss Croft con- tended, failed to “lift him np’’—sbe had vot led bim back to she easel. To put the brush into bis band again—what a vooa- tion fora wile! But Mm. Gisborn ap peared to have disdained it—and I felt it might be interesting to find ous why. The desultory life of the Riviera lends it- sell to such purely academic speculations ; suihaviog, on my way to Monte Carlo, caught a glimpse of Jack's halustraded ter- races between the pines, I had myself borue thither she nexs day. I found the couple at tea beneath their palm trees ; and Mrs. Gisburn’s welcome was so 9 gtnial shat, in the ensuing weeks, I claimed it freqaently. It was not that my hostess was ‘‘interesting :*’ on that point I could have given Miss Croft the fallest re- assurance. It was just because she was not interesting —il I may be oned the ball —that I found her so. Jack, all his lite, bad beer surrounded by interesting women ; they bad fostered his ars, it bad been reared in the hot-honse of their adula- tion. And is was therefore instructive to note what effect the ‘‘deadenivg atmos- phere of mediocrity’ (I quote Miss Croft) was having on him. I bave mentioned that Mrs. Gishurn was rich ; and it was immediately perceptible shat ber busband was extracting from this cironmetance a delicate bas substantial sas isfaction. It is, as a rule, the people who scorn money who get most out of is; and Jath's elaghin disdain of his wife's big bal- ance him, with an appearance of perfect good-breeding, to transmute it into objects of art and luxury. To the latter, | must he remained relatively indiffer- | forig enh bu ho wan boing Reaimanon rons. | enery no “eon 5 6. bien iv ary with a Shrimizaton thas bepoLe the SPI | ba otne mecEioSbere on resources. sign of ever having been used as a studio. ““Money’s only exvuse is to put beauty The tact home to me the abso- iuto circulation,” was one of the axioms he laid down across the Sevres and silver of lute finality of Jack's break with his old an exquisitely appointed luncheon-table, | «Don's yon ever dabble with paint an ey a ierdny. Thad agin Fh over more?" I asked, sill looking a bg beaming on i de ot To enlighten: Juke Ue Suda vey Never,” he said | ment: ‘‘Jack is so morbidly sensitive to every form of heauty.” Poor Jack ! It bad always been his [ate to have women say such things of him : the fact should be set down in extenuation. What struck me now wae thas, for she time, he resented the tone. I had him, so often, basking under similar utes—was is the ocojugal note robbed them of their savour? No—for, oddly pparens that be was fond of absurdity. It was his own absurdity he seemed $0 be wincing under—hbis own atti- sade as an object for garlands and incense. “My dear, since I've chucked painting people dou's say that stufl about say it atons Victor Grindle,’”” was bis only protest, as be rose from the table and stroll- ed out onto she sunlit terrace. I glanced after him, struck by bis last word. Victor Grindle was, in fact, becom- ing the man of the moment—as Jack bim- sell, sue might put 45, had Bet she sis 90 the hour. e younger artist was said to ET hah Loa wonde a er- lay the laster’s mysterious abdication. Bas no—for is was nos till alter that evens that the rose Dubarry drawing-rooms had begun to display sheir *‘Grindles.” I turned to Mrs. Gisburn, who bad ling: ered to give a lump of sugar to her spaniel in the dining room. “Why has be chocked painting?’ 1 asked abruptly. She raised her eyebrows with a hint of good-humoared su " “Oh, he doesn’t to now, you know ; and I want him to enjoy himsell,’’ she said quite simply. I looked shout the spacious white-pan- elled room, with ite famille-verte vases re- peating the tones of the pale damask our- tains, and its eighteenth-century pastels in | delicate faded frames. ‘“‘Has he chucked his ures too? | haven't seen a single one in the house.” A slight shade of constraint crossed Mre, Gisburn’s open countenance. ‘‘It’s his ri- diculous soodesty, sou know. He says they're nos fit to have about ; he's sent them all away except one—my portrait— and thas I have to keep upstairs.” His ridiculous modesty —Jack’s modesty about his pictures? My ouriosity was growing like the bean stalk. Isaid persua- sively 0 my hostess : ‘‘I mues really see your portrait, you know.” She glanced out almost timoronely at the terrace where ber husband, lounging in a hooded chair, bad lit a cigar and drawn the Russian deerhound’s head between his knees, “Well, come while he’s not looking,’ she said, with a laugh that tried to hide her nervousness ;: and I followed her be- tween the maible Emperors of the ball, and up the wide stairs with terra-cotta nymphs poised among flowers at each land- ing. In the dimmest corner ol her boudoir, amid a profusion of delicate and distin. guished objects, bung one of the familiar 8 7 oval canvases, iu the inevitahlie gatlanded frame. The mere ontline ofl the frame | called up all Gisburn’s past ! Mrs. Gisburn drew back the window curtains, moved aside a jardiniere full of | pink azaleas, pushed an srm-chair away, | aud said : ‘If youn stand here you can jast manage to see it. I had it over the man. | telpiece, but he wouldo’s let it stay.” | Yes—I coanld just manage to see it—the | first portrait of Jack’s I bad ever had to strain my eyes over! Usually they bad | the place of honour—eay the cential panel | in a pale yellow or rose Dubarry drawing: | room, or a monumental easel placed "0 that it took the light throogh cartains of old Venetian point. The more modest place became the pioture better ; ves, as my eyes grew accustomed to the ball light, all the chuiacteristic qualities came out—all the hesitations disguised as andac- ities, the ticks of pre«idigitation by which, such consummate skill, he managed to divert attention from tue real business of the picture to some pretty irrelevance of detail. Mes. Gisburn, presenting a nen: tral sarface to work on—lorming, as it were, sv inevitably the background of her owu picture—had lent berself in an unusu- al degree to the display of this lalse virtu- osity. The picture was ove of Jack's ‘‘strongest,”’ as his admirers would have put it—it represented, on his part, a swell. ag of muscles, a congesting of veins, a aucing, straddling and straining, that reminded one of she citons-clown’s ironic efforts to lift a feather. It met, in short, at every point the demand of lovely wom- an to be paintel ‘‘strongly’’ because she was tired of being painted ‘sweetly’ —and yet not to lose an antow of the sweetness, | “It's she last he painted, you kuow,” Mie. Gisburn said with pardopable pride. “The last but one,”’ she corrected herself— “bat the other doesn’t count, hecaunse he destroyed it.” “Destroyed it 2’ 1 was about to follow up this clue when I heard a footetep and saw Jack himsel! on the threshold. As he stood there, his bands in the pock- ets of his velveteen coat, the thin brown waves of hair pusbed back from bis white forehead, his lean sunbaorot cheeks for towed by a smile that lifted the tips of a self-confident moustache, I felt to what a degree he had the same quality as his piot- ures—the quality of ooking cleverer than | he was. His wife glanced at him deprecatingiy, but bis eyes travelled past her to she por. trait. “Mr. Rickbam wanted to see it,’’ she began, as if excusing herself. He shrugged his shoulders, ssill smiling. “Oh, Rickbam found me out long ago,’ be said lightly ; shen, passing bis arm through mine : ‘‘Come and see the reat of the house.’ He showed it to me with a kind of naive suburban pride : the bath-rooms, the speak- ing-tubes, the dress.closets, the trouser- presses—all the complex simplifications of the millionaire’s domestio economy. And whenever my wonder paid the expeoted tribute he said, throwing out his chest a little : *‘Yes, I really don’t see bow peo- © manage to live without thas.” Well—it was juss the end one might bave foreseen for him. Only he was, through it all and in spite of is all—as he had been through, and in spite of, his pio- tures—so handsome, so charming, so dis- arming, that one longed to ory out : ‘‘Be dissatiefied with your leisure !I'’ as once one had longed tosay : ‘‘Be dissatiefied with your work !"”’ But with the ory on my lips, my diag- nosis suffered an unexpeoted check. ‘“This is my own lair,” he said, leading “Or water-colonr—or etching ?”’ His confident eyes grew dim, and bis cheeks paled a little under their handsome sunbarn. “Never think of is, my dear fellow—any more than if I'd never touched a brush.” And his tone told me io a fash thas be pever thought of anything else. 3 I moved away, instinctively embarrassed by 3% ‘untapimed disor] ; ud a: 1 , my eye fellon a small pictare above the mantel-piece—the only ohjeos breaking the plain oak paveiling of the room. “Oh, by Jove !"’ I said. It was a sketoh of a donkey—an old sired donkey, standing in the rain oder a wall. “By Jove—a Stroud !"’ I cried. He was silent ; but I fels bim close behind me, hreathiog a listle quickly. “What a wonder ! Made witha dozen lines—hus on everlasting foundations. You lucky chap, where did yon ges it ?"’ He answered slowly : **Mrs. Stroud gave is to me.” “Ab—I didn’t know yoo even knew the Strouds. He was such an inflexible ber- mis." “I didn’s—sill after. . . . She eens for me to paint him when be was dead.” “When be was dead ? Youn ?"’ I muss bave let alin t00 — laze. ment escape thr my su , for answered with a deprecasing laogh : “Yes —she’s an awfal simpleton, you know, Mrs. Stroud. Her only idea was to have bim dove by a fashionable painter—ah, poor Stroud ! She thought is the surest way of proclaiwing his greatnees—ol foro- ing it on a purblind public. And at the moment I was the fashionable painter.” “Ah, poor Sirond —as you say. Was that his his ” ““That was his history. She believed in bim, gloried in bim—or thought she did. But she coaldn’s bear nos to have all the drawing-rooms with her. She oouldn’s bear the fact that, on varnishing days, one could always get near enough to see his pictures. Poor woman ! She's just a frag- ment groping for other fragmenss. Stroud is the only whole I ever knew.”’ ““You ever knew ? Bus you juss eaid—"’ Gisburn bad a curious smile in his eyes. “Ob I knew him, and he kuew me— only it happened after he was dead.” I dropped my voice instinctively. ‘‘When she sent for you ?”’ ‘‘Yes—quite insensible to the irony. She wanted him vindicated —and by me !" He laughed again, and threw back his head to look ap at the sketch of the don- key. “There were days when I couldn’s look at that thing—couldn’s face it. Bos I forced myrell to pat it bere ; and now cured me—cured me. That's the reason I don’t dabble any more, my dear Riockham: or rather Stroud himself is the reason.’ For the firsts time my idle ouriosity nbout my companion turned into a serious desire to understand bim better. “I wish you’d tell me bow it bappen- ed,” I seid. He stood lookiug up at the sketob, and twirling hetween his fingers a cigarette be had forgotten to light. Suddenly he turn- ed toward me. “I'd rather like to tell you—hecanse I've alwave suspected you of loathing wy wmk I made a deprecating gesture, which he uegatived with a good-humoured shrae. ‘Oh, I didn’t care a straw when I he- lieved in myself—and now it's an added | tie hetween us I" He lagghed slightly, without bitterness, and pushed one of the deep arm-chairs for- ward. ‘There: make yoursell comfort. able—and bere are the cigars you like.” He placed them at my elbow and con: tinued to wander up and down the room, stopping now and then beueath the picture. “*How it happened ? I can tell yon 1 five mioutes—and it didn’s take much longer te happen. . . . Iocan remember now how surprised and pleased I was when I got Mrs, Seroud’s note. Of course, deep down, I had always felt there was no one like bim—only I bad gone with the stream, echoed the usual platitudes about bim, sill 1 balf got to think he was a failure, one of the kind thas are lefs behind. By Jove, and he was left behind—becanse he bad come tostay! The rest of us bad to les ourselves be swept along or go under, bus he was high above the onrrent—ou ever- lasting foundations, as you say. “Well, I went off to the house in my most egregious mood —rather moved, Lord forgive me, at the pathos of poor Stroud’s career of failure being crowved by the glory of my painting him! Of course | meant to do the pictare for nothing—I told Mrs. Strond so when she began to siammer something aboat her poverty. I remember getting ofl a prodigious phrase ahout the honour being mine—ob, 1 was princely, my dear Rickham ! I was posing to myself like one of my own sitters. “Then I was taken ap and left alone with Bim. I had sent all wy traps in ad- vance, and 1 bad only to set up the easel and ges to work. He had heen dead only twenty-four homs, and he died suddenly, of heart disease, so that there had been no preliminary work of destruction—his face wae clear and untouched. I bad met him once or twice, vears before, and thought him ivsignificant and dingy. Now I saw that he was a superb. “I was glad at first, with a werely ws. thetio satisfaction : glad to bave my hand on such a ‘subject.’ Then his strange life- likeness began to affect me queerly—as I blocked the bead in I felt as if he were watching me do it. The sensation was followed by the thought : il he were watob- ing me, what would he say to my way of working? My strokes began to goa little wild—] felt nervous and . “Once, when I looked ap, I seemed to see a smile behind his olose grayish beard —a8 if he bad she secret, and were amus- ing himself by holding it back from me. That exasperated me still more. The se- ores ? y, I bad a secret worth twenty of his! I dashed at the canvas furiously, and tried some of my bravura tricks. Bat they failed me, they crumbled. I saw that he wasn’t watching the showy bits—I couldn't distract his attention ; he just kept his eyes on the hard between. Those were the ones I always shirked, or covered up with some lying paint. And bow he saw through my lies ! “I looked up again, and caught t of that sketch of the donkey og va wall near his bed. His wife gropiig and muidling ; then I looked at donkey again. I saw thas, when Stroud knew just what alter- | guards more | Modocs, who, 88 | ens, coffees and spices, Seohler & Co. *‘Haog is, Rickbam, with that [aoe watchiog me I conidn’s do another stroke. | The plain sruth was, I didu’s know where | to pus it—J had never known. Only, with | my sitteinavd my public, a showy splash of coloar covered up the fact--1 just shrew paint into their eyes. . . . ell, paios was the ove medium those dead eyes could see through —see straight so the tottering foundations underneath. Don's you know how, in talking a foreign , EVED fluently, one says hall the time not what one wants to bat what ove can? Well — that was the way [ paioted ; and as be lay there and watched me, the thicg they cali- ed my ‘technigue’ collapsed like a hoose of cards. He didn’t sneer, you uuderstand, poor Stroud—he juss lay there quietly snd on his lips, through gray beard, I seemed to hear the guestion : ‘Are you sure you know where you're com- Ld “It I could bave painted that face, with that question on it, I should bave doue a greats thing. The next greatest thing was to see thas I couldu’t—and that grace was given me. Bat, ob, at that minute, Rick- , was there anything on earth I wouldn’s have given to have Stroud alive before me, and $0 hear bimsay : ‘It’s not t00 late—1'll show you how ?’ “Is was too late—is would have been, even if he'd been alive. I packed np my traps, and went down and told Mrs. Stioad. Of course I didn’s tell her that—It would | have been Greek to her. [ simply said I couldn’ paint him, thas I was too moved. She rather liked the idea—ehe’s so roman- tio ! Is was that thas made ber give me the donkey. Bat she was terribly upset at not getting she portrait—she did so want him ‘done’ by some one showy! As first I was afraid she wouldn't let me off—and at wy wits’ end I suggested Grindle. Yes, it was I who started Grindle. I told Mrs. Stroud he was the ‘coming’ man, and she told somebody else, and so it got to be true. . . asf be Juinted Stroud without Wiasiog 3 e hung the picture among her hus- band’s things. . . .” He flang himself down in the arm-chair near mine, laid back his head, and olasp- ing his arma heneath is, looked up at the picture above the chimuoey-piece. “I like to fancy that Strona himsell would have given it to me, if he'd been An Amawer to Roosevelt As one of the half a million citizens of this country who are proud to style them. selves “‘Socialist,”” I ask yon to give me space for a few hriel observations suggested by Mr. Roosevelt's recent arraignment of Socialism in the editorial eolomns of yoar ne. We, Socialists, realize that our phil. csophy ie not the final word of wisdom, and thas our movement is not perfect in its makeup or infallible in ita methods. We know that both are capable of improve. ment, avd as a rule we rather cours thao resent criticism. Bu the criticism, in or. der $0 be fraivlul, mass he directed against Socialism, good or bad, but sach ae it really the | is, and not against a mere phantom. And, contrary to the assertion of your distinguished contributing editor that *'So- cialism is a wide and a loose term, and self. styled Socialists are of mauy and different types,’’ we contend thas she Socialist phil. osophy is quite definite, that the Socialist movement is practically suiform, and thas the true nature of hoth can be readily as. certained and clearly defied. There are approximately thirty to forty million adherents of Socialism in the world, and the Socialist literature in all languages comprises several thousand hooks and pamphlets. The Socialist movement is com posed of persous of all conoeivahle type, aud the writers on Socialism represents all shades of shoaght connected or unconnected with Socialism proper It is, therelore, hardly jost to hase one's adgwent of the cbaracter and aims of the ialist movement upon the private con- due: of a few individual Sooialiste, or on the obiter dicta of a few writers ou Social- ism of doubtful anthoritativeness. When we disours Socialism we generally have in mind she Socialism of the active Socialist movement and not the insignificant individual variations of it. That move- ment is represented in each country by an organized party with a definite and ex plicit platform and program, and these platforms and programs, indentical in all substantial points, are the indisputable ex- pression of the views, aims and methods of she Socialist movement. To avoid all possible misconceptions the Socialist party of she United tes has able to say what he thought that day." And, in answer to a question I put balf- mechanically—*‘Begin again ?”’ he fleshed out. anywhere near him is that I knew enough to leave off 2’ He stood up and laid his hand on my shoulder with a laugh. *‘Only the irony of it is that I am still paintiog—since Grin- dle’s doing is for me ! The Strouds stand alone, and happen once—but there's no ex- terminating our kind of art.”’—By Edith Wharton, in Seribner's Magazine. To Redeem Many Acres. More thau 100,000 acres of land, excla- sive ol Government projects, will be add ed to the irrigated areas in eastern and porth central Washington this year, accord- ing to statistios compiled by the pablioity committee of the Spokane Chamber of Com- merce, and ariangements are also noder way to put water on thousands of acres of land in northern Idaho and Oregon, west- ein Montana and southeastern Brivish | parity of character), who obtained a decree Columbia. As most of these lands will be devoted to apples, peaches, pears and plams, it 1s estimated that from 7,000,000 so 10,000, - 000 trees will he planted during the vex: 14 months, giving emloyment to handred« of men in varions parts of the inland em- pus. this spring, vext fail and the spring of Reports are also current that the Federal Government will take up the Benton and Kittitas projeots, 877,800 acres in Yakima, Klickitat and Benton counties, already re- ported upon by the reclamation servioe, and it is believed that the Palouse project, about 100,000 acres, abandoned by the reclamation service some time ago becan<e of the lack of funds, will receive attention this year. The Government will, in time, Lave re claimed 1.500,000 acres of wholly or part- ly waste lands in the state of Washington, at an estimated oost of $50,000,000, pro- rated among the owners of the land. finest, oravges, banaunas and grape fruit, and pine apples, Sechler & Co. Homeslek Indians Die. RRA One of the moss pathetic instances of homesickues« is that of which the Modoo Indians are sad to be the victims. After more than thirty years of waiting the hecanse of their warring upon white settlers in Oregon, were exiled to Indian Territory aud placed upon the Qoapaw Reservation, are hoping to be sent back to their uative home. At that time there were 217 of the tribe and today they number only 49. Senator Curtis, of Kansas, himself an Indian, in his plea for the re- tarn of the rempant of the tribe, gives it as his opinion that the mental anxiety brought about by their enforced separation from family and friends is the cause of this rapid decrease in their numbers. — Vogue. ——Do you know where von can get a fine fat mess mackerel, bone out, Sechler & Co. Divorce ia Ohio. There were 7,500 divorces gianted in the State of Ohio lass year. Women who are unhealthy and unhappy often look to di- vorce a8 the one way of reliel from a life of suffering. There is another way, and a better. Dr. Pierce's Favorite Prescription cures the diseases which are commenly behine the irritation, unrest and misery of so many women. Ulceration, inflamma- tion, bearing down pains and othsr diseas- es of the delicate womanly organs, yield promptly to this wonderful medicine. Is contains no alcohol, no opium, cocaine or other narcoaic and cannot disagree with the weakest conatitution. In the Jones of Load the crown jo. els are kept in a orystal case, watched and wpight. Your health is than all the jewels in the world. Do you protect it? Do you watch it? Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical Discovery ie one of the greatest of known safeguards of health. When fires there are symptoms heart, stomach or lungs, blood or nerves, the prompt use of “Golden Medical Discovery’ 1 cheok the disease. It will do more; it will do more; it will so build Spite body #hak Qis- ease in future shall find vo w poios to Billious people should use Dr. Pierce's Pellets, the most effective oure for this aggravating malady. ——Do you know where to get the finest “When the cne thing that brings me | formally summarized the objects of the ! Socialist movement in the following terse | definition “‘Socalism is the modern movement of | the working class to abolish the private | ownership in she scoial means of produc: tion and distribution, and to substitute for | pay it a system of industry collectively owned i and democratically managed for the benefit ! of the whole people.” | This is the Sosialism of the Socialist party and of the Socialist movement. So- cialism is chargeable with all that is ex- | pressly affirmed in or can be legitimately ! inferred from this statement. It ie not re- | sponsible for anything else. {And this definition is a complete refata- | tion of the main counts in Me: Roosevelt's indictment of Socialism, namely : 1. That Socialists ‘*must necessailly he hisserly hostile to religion and morality.” Socialism is primarily a movement for in- dustrial reform, and is not concerned with religioas beliefs or domestic relations. Mr. | Roosevelt cites the case of a prominent So- | oialiss (as it happens, a man of absolute of divorce from his first wife and married a second time. Such occurrences have been koown to bappen even to some prominent Republicans and Democrats and, on the whole, the conjugal lives of the Socialists are at least as happy avd conventionally | moral as those of the average mau and t woman. 1 2. That Socialism advocates a svstem wherein ‘each man shall have equal 1ema- neration with every other man, no matter what work is done.” Socialism advocates nothing of the kind. It is opposed ro the system which permits the social means of production, upon which the very life of the population depends, to he owned and man- aged by private individuals for private profit. It demands that the nation itself should manage its main indastries for the benefit of the whole people, and it s'ands for the elimination of the buge workless in- comes which represent the tolls levied by the idle classes upon the labor of the in- dastrions. But Socialism recognizes that the wealth of the nation is created by men- tal as well as by manual labor, that or- ganization and direction are important fac tors in industry, and that the individual contributions of the workers to the general stock of national wealth differ in degree and quality. The Socialists fully realize that «0 long as the national wealth «hall temain limited, its distribution will of ne. cessity he unequal,and the remuneration of each worker will be determined hy his merit. The doctrine that ‘‘all wealth is produced by manual !abor” and “should be handed over every day to she laborer” was horn in the inventive minds of anti: Socialist critios of the Mallock type, and never had any place in the philosophy of Socialism. 3. That Socialism is “blind to every- thing except the merely material side of life.”” Of she three principal ‘‘propound- ers’’ of the grossly materialistie brand of Socialism mentioned by Mr. Roosevels, Proudhon, Lasalle, and Marx, the former was an irreconcilable oppovent of Social- isn, Lassalle was the first man to preach to the working classes of Germany the valae of education and culture in bis masterly book on ‘Science and the Working Class,” and Marx was all his life long an active organizer and promoter of study clubs for workers. The Socialist movement is large: ly educational in its character, and the So- cialists value the social, moral,and spiritual improvement of tae race very highly. But they attach the more immediate importance to economio reform because they realize much absorbed in the daily seruggle for fagl and shelter to cultivate the finer sides e. 4. That Socialism, ‘‘when it is tried,” leads to “immorality, licentiousness and murderous violence.” The French : 5 : : E REZ RoR i = ® ————— nihilists.”” The lormer bad vo pars in the Paris Commune, the latter were not yes in existence. Socialism was not ‘‘tried” in 1792 or in 1781 or at any otber time, Socialism is so far only a movement. As an ideal of social organization is represents a future phase of civilization. It can no more be said that Socialism bas been tried than it cen be said that tbe sweniy-first century bas heen tried.—By Morne Hillquit, in the New York Evening Call. Pennsylvania's Big Island. The vagaries of certain streams are fruit. ful sources of dwoanssion. The cbaracier- istics of wany rivers, creeks and other wa- ter courses of Pennsylvania frequently far- wish material for a good neal of more or less interesting avalysis. One of the moss re- niarkable of the smaller streams of the State is Baid Eagle oreek, which curiously finds iss way to the Sasqaehanna by two toutes. The Bald Eagle rises in she Aile- ghenies aud flows in a southeasterly direc. tion to a point near Bald Eagle station on the Bald le branch of she Pennsylvania railroad. Here the oreck splits, the larger portion of she water running in a southerly direction and reaching the Little Juniata at Tyrone. At its mouth it is a very ocon- siderable stream. The smaller portion flows northwest aud reaches the West Branch of the Susrguehanna below Lock Haven, bus in 1s course is accumulates a large supply of water and is a stream of much greater volume at its mouth thao the Tyrooe arm. The resuls of the division of the stream B16 sree ao island in ye some dl the te embracing parts r, Hunting- don, Mifflin, Janiata, Perry, Centre, Clin. ton and Lycoming counties and all of Union and Soyder, this extensive island bifurea- tions of the Bald Eagle, the Juniata and its sribntary, the Little Juniata, she Wess Brauch of the Susquehanna and the ue- hanoa proper below Northumberland. Out side of its foreign insular possessions this is probably the largest island belonging to the United States, having a greater area thao even Long Island. The Susquebanna below the confluence of its north and south branches is remark. able for the directness of its course as rivers go. This is all the more noteworthy when it is taken into acconns that the river flows through & mountainous region for many miles and that its banks are marked with high hills for the remainder of its course, except for the last mile, where it enters she flat conntry bordering apon the Chesapeake Another remarkable feature is that the river passes shiough at least four dissiucs rock regions. The upper reaches of both branches are generally bordered by sand- stone deposits which are succeeded hy lime- stone. The latter extends to a considerable distance south of Columbia where the iver traverses a region of trappe and greiss. | At the southern boundary of this forma- | tion and just before reaching Mason and Dixon's line, near which the granite ledges that continue almost to the mouth of the river begin, occur the famons slate deposit at Peach Bottoms. The slate qoarries are on both sides of the river whioh here | spreads out to a hreadih of two miles over a rocky hottom. Tue quarries in the Lan- caster county side, or eastern bank, bave been abandoned many years, while those on the York connty, or western hank are no longer large factors in the state markes., Another peonliarity of the river 1» that after leasing Harrisharg it hegomes a very rocky #tieam while above the state capitol ite ocour-e is comparatively open. The rocks ob<truot the channel nutil within about one mile north of Port Deposis, the head of navigation and alsn the head of tidewater. The volome of water discharg- ed into *he Chesapeake hay ix wach that the waters of the bay are comparatively fhesh for several miles south of Perryville and Havie-de Grace where the Susquehanna empties. ——Au almost forgotten profession, or industry, is that of ship carving. For many centuries, down to the leginving of the nineteenth, the ornamentation of v eapecially men-of-war, was profuse, intricate and florid. A description of the carving on the United States line of-battle ship Amer- ica, lanvched in 1782 and presented to France, will give some idea of the extent to which this was carried. It appeas in Brewste:’s “History of Portsmouth.” The figurehead was a female figure crowned with lanrel, representing America, The right arm was raised, pointing to heav- en. On the left arm wae a huckler witha blue ground carrying thirteen silver stars. On the stern of the ship under the cabin windows appeared two large figures in bas- reliel representing ‘Tyranny’ and “‘Op- pression,” bound and bleeding on the ground. Ou the back of the star board quarter was a large fignie of “*Mars.”” On the highest part of the stern appeared **Wis- dom,” and ahove her head an owl. In the latter part of the eighteenth cen- tury, according to the ‘‘Antohiography of Captain Zachary G. Lamson,”” Philadel- phia had not only the pieatest ship desigoer in the United States, bus also the best shi carver in the world, William Rosh. 5 this field he was without a rival, and to a wonderfal technical «kill he added an artis- tie sense of beauty and genius for composi- ton. . He was the first carver to give an idea of 1 life and motion to a ship's fixzurehead. Each of his figurehead was either the life like Celirsen indian ol a person, or some Sym- coroeption expressed in exquisite carving. His moat noted productions were “Natare’’ for the Constellation, the ‘‘Genins of the United States’ for the frigate of that name, and the ‘‘River God’’ for the East India ship Ganges. These fignrebeads were nine feet high, and oonld be removed for repair or in action.— Youth's Companion. ——Do you know that you can get the finest oranges, banannas and grape fruit, aud pine apples, Sechler & Co ——It is estimated that a fence post, which under ordinary circumstances will lass for Jethape two years, will, il given preservative treatment costing aboot 10 cents, last eighteen years. The service of other timbers, such as railroad ties, tele- phone poles, and mine props, can be doub. led and often srebled by inexpensive pre- servative treatment. To-day, when the cost of wood is a big item to every farmer, every stookman, every railroad manager— to everyone, in fact, who must use timber where it is likely to decay—this isa fact which should be carefully considered.— Scientific American. Man, laxative medicines do rothing more remove the immediate obstruo- tion or discomfort. The use of such med. pecple more con- billionsness, sick ments resulting from constipated babis. —Keep the colt’s feet level by rasping.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers