go “ar — a ————————— Bellefonte, Pa., May 28, 1909. A WOMAN'S PRAYER. © Lord, who knowest every need of mine, Help me to bear each cross and not repine; Grant me fresh courage every day, Help me to do my work alway Without complaint ! O Lord, Thou knowest well how dark the way, Guide Thou my footsteps lest they stray; Give me fresh faith for every hour, Lest [ should ever doubt Thy power, And make complaint! Give me a heart, O Lord, strong to endure, Help me to keep it simple, pure; Make me unselfish, helpful, true In every act, whate'er [ do, * And keep content! Help me to do my woman's share, Make me courageous, strong to bear Sunshiue or shadow in my life; Sustain me in the daily strife, To keep content! —By Anoa B. Badlam, in The Ladies’ Home Journal, THE CHOICE. Stilling, that night after dinner, had sur- himself. He always did, Wraylord reflected, when the small fry from High- field came to dive. He, Cobbam Stilling, who bad to find his beaiings, keep to his level, in the big, beedless, oppressive world of New York, dilated avd grew vast in the congenial medium of Highfield. The Red House was the biggest house of the High- field summer colony, ns Cobbam Stilling was its biggest man. No one else within a radius of a hundred miles (on a conserv- ative estimate) bad as many borees, as many greenhouses, as many servants, and assuredly no one else had two motors, or a motor-bhoat for the lake. The motor-boat was Stiiling’s latest hob- by, and be rode—or sailed—it in and out of the conversation all the evening, to the obvious edification of every oue present save his wife and his visitor, Austin Wray- ford. The interest of the latter two, who, from opposite ends of the drawing- room, exchanged a fleeting glance when Stilling again launched his craft on the thin correvt of the talk—the interest of Mrs. Stilling and Wrayford, had already lost its edge by protracted conversational oontact with the subject. Bat the dinner-guesta—the Rector, Mr. Swordsley, and Mrs. Swordsley, Lucy and Agnes Granger aod their brother Addison, and young Jack Emuwerton trom Harvard —were all, for divers reasons, stirred to the proper pitch of feeling. Mr. Swordsley, no doabs, was saying to himself : “If my good shioner here can afford to buy a motor- t, in addition to all the other expendi- tures which an establishments like this must entail, I certainly need nos scruple to ap- peal to him again for a coutribution toward our Galabad Club.” The Granger girls, meanwhile, were evoking visions of lake- side picnics, vot unadorned with the pres. ence of young Mr. Emmerton; while that youth bimself speculated as to whether his affable host would let him, when he came back on his next vacation, ‘‘learn to run the thing himsell;” and Mr. Addison er,the elderly bachelor brother of the volatile Lucy and Agues, mentally formu- Tated the precise phrase io which, in his next letter to his consin Professor Spildyke of the University of East Latmos, he shonld allude to “‘our last delightful trip in wy old friend Cobbam Stilling’s ten thousand dollar motor-laonch’ —for East Latmos was still in that primitive stage of social oulture on which such figures impinge. Isabel Stilling, sitting beside Mrs. Swordsler, her head slightly bent above the veedlework with which, on snch ocea- sions, it was her old fashioned habit to be engaged —[sabel alto had doubtless her re- flections to make. As Wrayford leaned "back in his corner, and looked at her across the bright, Hower filled drawing- room, he noted first of all—for the hun- dredth time—the flexible play of her hands above the embroidery-{rame, the shadow of the dusky, wavy bair on her forehead, the sired droop of the lide over her somewhat full gray eyes. He noted this, taking in anconscionsly, at the ame time, the inde- soribable quality in her attitude, in the fall of her dress and the tarn of her head, that eet her, for him, in a separate world ; then be said to himeell : “‘She ’s certainly thinking ‘Where on earth will he get the mouey to pay for i+?” Bat at the same moment, from his in- evitable position on the bearth-rug, cigar in mouth, his bands in his waistcoat pock- ets, Stilling was impressively perorating. “I said, ‘If I bave the thing as all, I want the Best boat ea he jot? That 's way, you know, Swordeley; I suppose i what you'd call fastidious. Always was, about everything, from ocigars to wom’’—his eye met the apprehensive glance of Mrs. Swordsley, who looked, in ing dress, like her husband with his clerical coat cat slightly lower—‘‘ao I said, ‘It I bave the thing at all, I want the best shat can be got.” Nothing makeshift for me, no second-best. I never cared for the obeap and showy. [always say frankly to a man, ‘If you can’t give mea first-rate cigar, for the Lord’s sake, let me smoke my own.” Well, if you bave my standards, you can’t buy a thing in a minate. You must look round,compare, select. I found there were lots of motor-boats on the mar- kes, just as there ’s lots of stuf! called cham e. Bat I said to myself, ‘Ten to one there's only one fit to buy, just as there ’ only only champagne fit for a gen- tleman so drink.’ Argued like a lawyer, eb, Austin ?”’ He tossed this joviaily to- ward Wrayford. ‘‘Take me lor one of your own trade, wonldn’t you? Well, I'm not such a fool as I look. I suppose you fel. lows who are tied to the treadmill, —oh, excuse me, Swordsley, but work ’s work, isn’t it °*—I suppose you think a man like me bas nothing to do but take it easy—Iloll rough life like a woman. By George,sir, I'd like either of you to see the time it takes—I won’ say the brains—bus just the time is takes to pick out a good motor-boat. why, I went—' re. Stilling set her embroidery-frame noiselessly on the low table at her side, and turned her head toward Wrayford. ‘Would you mind ringing for the ” The interruption helped Mrs. Swordsley to waver to her feet. ‘‘I think we really ought to be going; my husband bas an ear- ly service tomorrow.” Her host sounded an immediate protest. ‘‘Going already ? Nothing of the sort! Why, the night 's still young, as the poet says. Long way from here to the rectory ? Nonsense ! In our little twenty-horse motor we do it in five minotes—don’t we, Belle ? Ah, you're walking, to be sare—"’ Sill. ing’s indulgent gesture seemed to concede that, in such a case, allowances must be made, and tkat he was the last man not to make them. “Well, then, Swordsley—"' He held ont a thick, red band that seemed to exude beneficence, and the clergyman, pressing it, ventured to mormur a sogges- tion. “VY hat, that Galahad Club again ? Why, I thougint my wife—Isabel, didn’t we— No? Well, it must bave been my mother, then. And of course, you know, anything my good mother gives is—well—virtnally —You haven’t asked her ? Sure? I could have sworn; I get so many of these appeals. And in these times, you know, we have to go cautiously. I'm sure you recognize thas yourself, Swordeley. With my obligations -lhiere now, to show you don’t bear malice, have a brandy and soda before you go. Nonsense, man ! This brandy isn’t liquor; it’s liquenr. 1 picked is op last year in London—Ilast of a famous lot from Lord Ss. Oswyn’s cellar. Laid down here, it stood me at—Eh ?’’ he broke off as his wife mov- ed toward him. ‘“‘Ah, yes, of course. Mise Lucy, Miss Agnes—a drop of soda water ? Look here, Addison, you won't refuse my tipple, [ know. Well, taks a cigar, at any rate, Swordsley. And, by the way, I'm afraid you'll have to go round the long way by the avenue tonight. Sorry, Mrs, Swordsiey, bat I forgos to tell them to leave the gate on the lane unlocked. Well, it's a jolly night, and I daresay you won't mind the extra tarn along the lake. And, by Jove! if the moon ’s out, yon can get a glimpse of the motor-hoat as you turn the point. She ’s moored just out beyond our boas house; and it's a privilege to look as her, I can tell you !" The dispersal of the remaining guests car- ried Stilling out into the ball, where his pleasantries echoed genially ander the oak rafters while the Granger girls were being muffled for the driveand the carriages sum- moned from the stables. By a common impulse Mrs. Stilling and Wrayford bad moved together toward the hearth, which was masked from the door into the ball by a tall screen of lacquer. Wrayford leaned his elbow against the chimney piece, and Mrs. Stilling stood motionless beside him, her clasped bands banging down before her. The rose on her breast stirred slightly. “Have yon any more work to do with him tonight?’ she asked below her breath. Wraylord shook his head. ‘““We wound it all up before dinner. He doesn’t want to talk about it any more than he can help.” ~ **It ’s 80 bad ?"’ ‘‘No; bas he 's gos to pull up.” She paused, looking down as her clasped hands. He listened a moment, catching Stilling’s farewell shout ; then be changed his position slightly, and laid his hand on her arm. “In an hour?” She made a faint motion of assent. “I'll tell youall about is then. key ’s in the usual place ?"’ She nodded again, and walked away with her long, drifting motion as her hus- band came in from the hall. He went up to the tray, and poured himsell a tall glass of brandy and soda. “The weather 's turning guneer—black as-pitoh out now. I hope she Swordsleys won't walk into the lake—involuntary im- mersion, eh ? He'd come out a Baptist, I suppose. What ’d the Bishop do in such a case ? There 's a problem for a lawyer, my boy " He clapped Wrayfoid resoundingly on the thin shoulder and then walked over to his wife, who was gathering up ber em- hroidery silks and dropping them into an old-fashioned work bag. Stilling took her by the arms and swanog her playfully about 80 that she faced the lamplight. ‘““What ’s the matter with you tonight ?"’ “The matter?’ she echoed, blushing a little, and standing very erect in her desire not to appear to shrink from bis touch. “You never opened your lips. Left me the whole joh of entertaining those blessed people. Didn't «she, Austin?" Wiayford laughed and lighted a ciga- rette, ‘‘She wasn’t quite up to the mark.” “There ! You see even Austin noticed it. What 's the matter 7 Aren't they good enough for you? I don’t pretend they ’re particularly exciting; but, bang it! I like to ask them here—I like %o give pleasure.” “I didn’t mean to be dull,” said Isabel, appralingly. ‘Well, you must learn to make an ef- fort. Don’t treas people as if they weren’s in the room just because they don’t happen to amuse you. Do you know what they'll think ? They'll think it’s because you've got a bigger house and more cash. 11 tell you something ? My mother said she'd noticed the same thing in you lately. She said she sometimes felt you looked down on her lor living in a small house. Oh, ehe was ball joking, of course; but yon see yon do give people tbat impression. I can’t understand treating any one in that way. The more [ have myself, the more I want to make other people happy.’ Isabel gently freed hersell and laid the work bag on her embroidery frame. “I have a headache ; perhaps that made me stopid. I'm goiug to bed.” She turned toward Wrazford and held out ber band. “Good nighs."”’ “Good nighs,”’ he answered, opening the door for her. When he turned back into the room, his host was pouring himself a third glass of brandy and soda. “‘Here, bave a nip? Gad, I need it bad- ly, alter the shaking up you gave me this afternoon.” Stilling gave a short langh, and carried his glass to the hearth, where be took up his usual commanding position. “Why the deuce don’t you drink some- thing, Austin ? Youn look asglum as Isabel. One would think you were the chap that bad been hit.” Wrayford threw himself into the chair from which Mrs. Stilling had lately risen. Jt waa thie obo she bahitoally ans in, ssi to Janey a faint scent er always olung to it. He leaned back and looked up at Stilling. ?” the latter continued. The “Want a *‘Shall we go into the den and smoke ?"’ Wrayford hesitated. “If there 's any- “hing more you want to ask me about—'’ “Gad, no! I bad full measure and run- ning over this afternoon. The deuce of it is, I don’t ae Whete we wi 's all to. Luck ve got plen nerve; "m not the kind of man to sit down and snivel because he ’s been touched in Wall Street.” Wrayford rose again. “Then, il you don’t want me, I think I'll go up to ou room and put some finishing touches toa brief before I turn in. I must get back to town tomorrow afternoon.” ‘All right, then.”’ Stilling set down hie empty glass, and held out bis hand with a tinge of alacrity. ‘‘Good night, old man.” They shook e, and Wrayford moved toward the door. “I say, Austin—stop a minate !” his host called alter him. Wrayford turned, and the two men faced each other across the hearth-rog. Stilling’s eyes shifted uneasily in his flushed face. ““There ’s one thing more you can do for me, like a good chap, before you go. Tell Isabel about that loan; explain to her she ’s got to sign a note for is.” “You want me to tell her ?”’ “Hang it! I'm soft-hearted—that ’s the worst of me.” Siilling moved toward the tray, and lilted the braody decanter. **And she'll take is better liom you; she'll have to take it from you. She’s proud. You cau take her cut for a row tomorrow morn- ing—youn can take her out in the motor- launch, if yon like. I means to have a spin in it mysell io the morning; but il you'll tell her—"’ Wrayford hesitated. tell her.” “Thanks a lot,” my dear fellow. And you'll make ber see it wasn’t my faalt, eh ? Women are awlfnlly vagne about mon- ey, and if you appear to back me up, you know—"" Wraglord nodded. Good night.” “Good night. Here, Anstin—there’s just one more thing. You need n’t say asoythiog to Isabel about the other business —] mean my mother’s securities.” “Ah ?" said Wrayford. Stilling shifted from one foot to the oth- er. ‘‘I'd rather put that to the old lady myself. Ican make it clear to her. She idolizes me, you know—and, hang it ! I've got a good record. Up to mow, I mean. My mother's been in clover since I mar- ried; [ may say she 's heen my first thought. And I don’t want her to hear of! this from Isabel. Isabel ’s a little harsh at times— and of course this isn’t going to make her | any easier to live with.” ‘Very well,” Wraylord assented. Stilling, with a look of relief, walked to- ward the window which opened on the ter- race, ‘“‘Gad ! what a queer night ! Hot as the kitchen range. Shouldn't wonder if we bad a sqnall before morning. I wonder if that infernal skipper took in the laanch’s awnings before he went home.” Wragloid pansed a moment in the door- way. ‘Yes, I saw him do it. She’s ship- shape for the night.” ““Good ! That saves me a ran down to the shore.” Stilling strolled back into the room whistling cheerfully. ‘*Good night, then,” said Wrayford. “Good night, oid man. You'll tell her 2? “I'l tell her,” Wraylord answered from the threshold. “And mum about my mother !”’ host called after him. II The darkness bad thinned a little when Wrayford scrambled down the steep path to the shore. the threat of a storm seemed to bave van- ished, and now and then the moon’s edge showed above a torn slope of clond. Bat in the densely massed shrubbery about the boat bons the night was still black, and Wrayford had to strike a match before be could find the lock and insert his key. He left the door unlatched, and groped his way in. How often be bad crept into this warm pine-scented obecurisy, guiding himself cautiously by the edge of the bench along the side wall, and hearing the stealthy lap of water through the gaps in the flooring ! He knew just where one bad to duck one’s head to avoid the two canoes swang from the rafters, and just where to put his hand on the latch of the door thas led to the balcony above the lake. The boat house represented one of Still- ing’s abandoned whims. He bad built it some seven years before, and for a time is bad been the scene of incessant nautical ex- ploits. Stilling bad rowed, sailed, paddled indelatigably, and all Highfield had been impressed to bear him company and ad- mire his versatility. Then motors had come in,and he bad forsaken aquatic sports for the guidance of the flying chariot. The canoes of hirchbark and canvas had been hoisted to the rool, the little sail boat had rotted at her moorings, and the movable floor of the hoat house, ingeniously con- trived to slide back on noiseless runners, bad lain undisturbed through several sea- sons, been mislaid,—by Isabel’s faalt, her haus- band asserted, —and the lecksmith had to be called in to make a new one when the purchase of the motor hoat made the lake once more the center of Stilling’s activity. As Wraylord entered he noticed that a “All right. Tl ‘“As yon please. his #cent of dry pine wood; and at the next step his foot struck an object that rolled noisily across the boards. He lighted a match, and found be bad overturned a can of grease which the boatman had no dovbs i using to oil the runners of the sliding oor. Wraylord fels his way down the length ol the boat house, aud softly opening the balcony door, looked ont on the lake. A few yards off the lanoeh lay motionless in the veiled moonlight; and jast helow him, on the black water, he saw she dim outline of the skiff which Stilling nsed to paddle out to her. The silence was #0 intense that Wrayford (ancied he heard a faint rustling in the shrubbery on the high bank behind the boat house, and the crackle of gravel on the path descending to it. He closed the door again turued back ; and as he did so the other door, on the land side, swung inward, aud a figure darkened the dim opening. Just esough light en- tered through the round holes above the respective doors to reveal it as Mrs. Still- ing’s cloaked outlive, and to guide her to him as be advanced. Bas before they met she stumbled aod gave a little ery. *‘What is it?’ he exclaimed, springing toward her. ‘My foot canghs ; the floor seemed to give way under me. Ah, of conrse—'’ She bent down in the darkness—‘‘I saw the men oiling it this morning.” Wrayford caught her to him. ‘Be care- fal, darling ! It might be S40getom if is alia too easily. Lhe water 's deep under ere. “Yes; the water ’'s very deep. I some- times wish—'" She leaned against him without finishing her sentence, and he tightened his arme about her. w= 1” be whispered, his lips on her rf. Suddenly she threw back her bead and seemed to listen. “What ’s the matter ?’’ he asked, listen- ing also. “What did you hear?" “I don’t know.” He felt her trembling. “I'm not sare this place is as safe as it used to he— Wrayford held ber to him reassuringly. “Bus boatman sleeps down at the vil- Jage; 304 who else should come here at this “My hasband sight. He thinks of pothing bus the launch.” ““He won’ tonight, for I told him I'd seen the ski roll up the awning, and put She lat shipshape, and that satis- m. ‘‘Ah, be did think of coming, then ?"’ ““Only for a minute, when the sky look- ed so black half an hour ago, and was afraid of a equall. It ’s clearing now, and there ’s no danger.” He drew ber down on the bench, and they sat a moment or two in silence, her bande in his. Then she said wearily : “You ’d better tell me.” Wrayford gave a faint laugh. *‘Yes, I Though the air was heavy, | Even the key of the boat house had | strange oily odor overpowered the usual | Wraylord, in bis torn; flashed slightly. | sn e I bad. In fact, he asked me to.” shows that he is turning many farrows. gotly ppos *“He asked you to?” “Yes.” | She sounded a sharp note of contempt. | “Tne coward ! he ’s alraid !” | Wrayford made no reply, and she went fon: “I'm net. Tell me everything, | please.” | “Well, be 's chucked away a pretty big ‘sum again—"'’ | “How bas he done it?" | ‘He says he doesn’t know. He's heen | specalating, I suppose. The madness of { makiog him your trustee !"’ | Bhe drew her bands away quickly. **Yon koow why I did 15. When we married I | didn’t want to pos bim in the false posi- | tion of the man who accepts everything ; I | wanted people to think the money was | partly his.” | “I don’t know what you've made people | think; but you've been eminently sucoess- fall in one respect. He thinks it's bis— and be loses it as if is were.” She shivered a little, drawing ber cloak closer. ‘‘There are worse things. Go on.” “Isabel !”” He bent over her. “Give me your band again.”” He lifted it and laid a long kiss on it. “What was it—exaotiy~ that he wished you to tell me ?'’ she asked. ““That you've got to sign another prom- issory note--for fifty thousand this time."’ She drew a deep breath. ‘‘Is thas ail 2" Wrayford hesitated; then he gaid : *‘Yes «for the present.” She sas motionless, her head bent, her band resting passively in his. He leaned nearer. ‘‘What did yon mean, just now, by worse things?" She paused a moment. ‘‘Haven’t yon noticed that he 's heen drinkinga great deal lately 2" “Yes; I've noticed.” They were both silent again; then Wray- | ford aid with sudden vehemence : *‘And yet yon won't..." | “Won't ?" i “Patan end to it. Good God! i what ’s lefs of your life.” | She wade an answer, and in the deep | stillnes the throb-throb of the water nnder- | neath them was like the anxious beat of a i heart. Save [Concluded next week.) —Do you know thas you can get the | finest, oranges, hanaunas and grape fruit ! and pine apples, Sechler & Co. | From Ocean to Ocean In a Fiyer, i BY M. V. THOMAS, i i {| [Written for the Warcnyay and continued from Inst week. | Night bas settled over the land before | we reached St. Paul, therefore the first | thing in order, when you get there isto { basten to the proper window to secure your sleeper ticket, which bas heen reserved for you if yon have exercised foresight and secured your berth by telegraph, a day in advance. Having secnred your tickes yon board the sleeper and, if you are wise in your generation, you approach the porter after the most approved manner observed in porterdom, at the same time dropping a mere bint that you expect him to look ont for your comfort. His hearty ‘‘yo’ bet I will,”” is good to hear, especially if there is a long trip before youn. Subsequent events may show that youn have made the porter your friend none to soon. You may find that some one, assigned to an upper berth has ‘pre-empted’ your lower one. It #0, don’t get excited, just notify your obliging friend, and watch results. There may be a war-cioud above the horizon; bas a skirmish, of words, will clear the atmoa- phere, and after a lew scattering shuts or parting salutes, you will bave the satisfac. tion of seeing a disgruntled usurper crawl- ing out of comfors. At last you come into yourjown, It you are a lover of nature you may tell the porter to wake you as soon as itis light enough to see. His characteristic | question, ‘What c¢’'n ye’ eee in No'th ! Dakota,’ lady?’’ is an index to his opinion | of the conantry you will reach when day- ' light comes. { If yon will exercise your imagination to ! a degree it may not be difficals for you to compare your entering the sleeper at St. Paul to being swallowed by a greats red worm. And during the night while you are sieeping the worm is speeding across the great farms of Minnesota. Yesterday you saw farmers plowing and animals basking in the spring sunshine. Bus dar- ing the night a cbange has come over the atmosphere. You wake in the early morn- ing while it ie yet dark, with a feeling of chilliness. As approaching day gradually dispels the darkoess you wonder what makes thejground look so white; but, by and by you see that it is covered with snow, lor it was snowing and freezing there last night (April 20.) See those icicles hanging from the water-tank, and there on the ground is a pool of water frozen over. You mentally answer the porter’s question by thinking. ‘‘I see some snow, some ioe, and somejof North Dakota.” Here{comes the obliging porter to carry out yourforders, but you are already astir, for it you wish to use the Northern Pacifico Railway company’s mirrors in making your toilet, you will ‘‘come early and avoid the rush.” Now look out through the window, do not give all your attention to your fellow travelers; yon will have them with you for several days, but you will not bave thisfparticular bit of landscape more than a few minates. For the great worm which swallowed you last night, stops only long enough to fill his empty maw with water and coal and then rushes westward in a mad race with the sun, impatiently snorting, “I'm getting there—getting there—getting there! Among other things, you notice that the snow has all disappear- ed, the sun is shining now, but soon it will darken and a snow equall will come blowing across the plains, which will give you some unpleasant feelings as you re- member what you have read about a North Dakota blizzard. Bat it is soon over and the sun shines again. There across the field you eee a man starting out, riding hie sulky plow, drawn by six horses. The wide stretch of rich black soil which spreads out behind him | As you notice mile after mile of furiows | that be bas already plowed, you begin to | wonder if he will get home to dinuer. | Here and there a herd of cattle or horses | can be seen grazing; bere and there a small | house and barn with a wiod-mill pear. | Very rarely is a dug-out seen and the | houses are not all emall. Occasionally one | can see a large commodions looking farm- | bonse. Suddenly you awake to a realiza- | tion of the fact that you have ridden for hours without seeing a tree. As far as the eye can see the unbroken level of the prai- rie, everything bas the color of dried grass except where is has been burned or plowed, and that is black. A tiny speck oa the distant horizon may bea house, a hay-stack or the top of a wind-mill; the difference in sizz is nos great. Youn occasionally come to some low rolling hills. Away in the distance where the sky seems to bend down to greet the earth, a line of smoke can he seen rising, it must be the breath of another hig'worm; your own particolar worm is rushing across the top of the earth, while the other one seems to be creeping along the side. By and by yon cross she Missouri river windiog its way throogh the sage brush which grows along its banks if one may speak of perfectly flat ground as “‘banks.”’ Again you enter some low hills or rolling country. To disoribe the peculiar forage caused by the erratiostreams washing away the soft, loose earth, is impossible. Here, miles away from any other habitation, is a house, which in size and appearance might dooredit to any town. Near it are fine, { large, modern farm buildings and bess of | all (what a relief to the ejes) a large or- {obard. Not more than a mile away is a | berd of cattle. As you go on westward you | will notice many such scenes as this. Later we come to wonderfal rock formatians, bare and bleak on top and sides, the low lands{and ravines among them being cover- { ed with sage brush grass. You can only gaze io silens wonder and admiration, and try think how many thousands of years is bas taken the elements, set to work hy the architect of the ages, to bring these marvels to their present stage of development. And some way you get to speculating mentally on how long a regiment of soldiers could hold this place against the Bad Lands. Think of traveling sixty hours in a flyer without seeing a mediom sized forest tree! but now you begin to eee snow-capped mountains in the distance, fringed with low pines, the level unbroken plain stretch- ing away for miles, a tiny house may oo- oasionally be seen on the plain. ‘What can yon see in North Dakota?’ You can see enough to give you some faint idea of the size of some things in this big world; You begin to understand in a vague way, the term: Granary of the United States; youn begin to realize what it means to be the man behind the plow, who feeds the hangry millions. You begin to con- template in your poor way the vastness of the plans of God. By and by as you gradually approach the Rookies youn notice the trees more in evidence, though they are by no means large. They are mostly of the evergreen varieties. You also notice that you have been for some time climbing into a bigher altitude. Now yon are descending at a rate thas gives you a oreepy feeling when you allow yourself to think of the possibil- ity of an accident. You soon reach thas nest-like depression among the mountains in which Helena rests. Where we have ten minutes to look about, let us step out on the station platform. How good it is to be able to inbale this pure air! See those Indians in their gorgeous blankets and moceasine, walking about among the crowd offering for sale post cards and bead purees as well as some other curios, at prices to correspond with the altisude—high. From here we again ascend the mountains, here snow crowned mountain, there, low hill or rolling plain, all sparsely wooded with small or medium sized ever-green trees. Do yon see that hole in the ground with a pile of gravel beside it? It is only one of a large number, each of them is the grave of and a monument to the disappainted hopes of some poor prospector. Your worm has now become a double headed one. It continues to snort and poff about ‘‘getting there,”’ with equal deter- mination, though with more difficulty. All as onoe we are plunged in darkness, it is only a tunnel, we shall pass through several of them before we reach the highest point on the road. We come out of it in a few minutes bat our worm has to wind about the mountainside where-ever it has found a suitable place to climb. Here it leaves the mountain-side and rushes through mid-air across a high tres- tle. You can now see both heads of your worm as they form the two ends of a hall- cirole of cars. They are still impatiently snorting and speeding upward. As yc reach the high table land where you oros to the other side of the mountain you are surprised to see fertile fields, fine houses, well-traveled roads, large ranks of market- able wood brought from somewhere back in the mountains, streams of clear water, cattie grazing, and people going about ap- parently as thinly clad as those living at lower altitudes. But still we are carried across the great highland through changing scenery, still climbing and clinging to the mountain sides, now shooting off into mid- air across a trestle not quite three hundred feet high, from which you look down upon a beautiful cultivated valley. A few hun- dred feet away we glide along a mountain side and look down hundreds of feet below us upon the silver spray formed by the water dashing down from rook to rock in its course down the ravine. As we reach the divide or table in crossing, the scene changes. Here are saw mills; large pastures in which are horses, cattle and ponies in herds, cropping the fresh, green grass; small bas neatly built farm houses sur- rounded with rich meadows, and plowed fields showing the rich black soil. Yonder is an attractive little school building with Old Glory Hoating above it. A short dis tance away are two Indian maidens riding their ponies; and over there under a tree is is Indian tepee. Away in the distance, beyond all this, rise the snow covered peaks iu silens grandeur. As we view this scene we start dowo grade and vow we seem to he ruuning a race with the sparkling wa- ters of a gurgling mountain stream. As you are carried down throngh the valley you see pretty towns, artistic cottages, wigwams, and farm-hoases nestling as it were noder the protection of the mighty mountains, and looking out over the green waters of Clark’s Fork, as it winds in and out among the tall trees. As you come to a pretty town called Plains you learn that you are traveling through she Flat Head valley and the Indian reservation of that tribe. As twilight falls we are still speed- ing by over-hanging rocks far above us while under their shelter yellow daisies and mountain pioks are blooming. Daybreak finds ns in the Yaquima valley with its wonderful irrigation system; its rich alfalfa fields, and its great orchards in tall bloom, its fertile farms planted with various crops, and among these, its barren plains where there is no irrigation. Far to the south ward is Mt. Adams, its majes- tio snowy crown rising above the clouds which can be seen floating about it. Now we are climbing up, up, with two engines puffing and proclaiming ‘‘we’re getting there, we're getting there!” We are de- soending the Cascades. Again, darkness comes upon us at intervals as we enter the several tunnels on this part of the route, the longest of which requires eight min- utes to pass through. And before emerg- ing from this one we can hear the brakes at work and tell by the motion of the train that we are rouning down the mountain. Do uot fear; the lever is under the control of nerves of steel and a will of iron. Look down the mountain helow you at the saw- miils, see the timber which bas been reck- lessly wasted, lefs to decay, and handreds of acres of standing timber which has been destroyed by fire. Here we are down at last beside the Green river with its beanti- ful scenery. Sparkling, leaping, laugh- ing, singing cascades come bounding down the mountainsides surrounded by veidure of wondrous richness. But we cannot en- joy it long. We simply ges passing glimps- es of its heauty as the train dashes along. We are over an hour late; and are now en- gaged in a wild race agains time; and time is several lengths ahead. On arriving at Tacoma we find that with all the efforts put forth we have lost the race. The Southero Pacific train left the oity before we entered it, and so we have eight hours to wait for the nexs train. Let us improve the shining hours. We will take this car to the wharf on Pages Sound. See those large ships, they will soon be laden and ploughing the broad Pacif- ie. Over there on the beach is a large sign which says, “Watch Tacoma Grow.” And traly when yon have seen more of the place!you will decide that it grows ‘‘while you wait.’ As soon as you hoard the car you are impressed with the politeness of the people. The car we have boarded rans from the whaif to McKinley Park, from where you can look over the city, and a beaatifaljeity it is, built upon the hills. Is looks like a city of homes, dainty cot- tages which are marvels of art and beauty, surrounded with brilliant flowers and smooth, green lawns. There are no street crossings, they are not needed for the streets are paved {from end to end with bricks, concrete blocks, or solid concrete. There are signs reading saloon, barroom, eto., but youn can see no drank men nor loaters, everyone seems to be too busy to patronize these places. We learn later that the lawe are strict aod the citizens have the backbone to see them enforced. Seeing several church spires we decided to view the churobes, but at the end of an hour or more we bave seen only a few of them, so we return to the station. Here is a man who wears an official cap, but on being ask- ed how wany churches are in the city he answers ‘You've got me there, I can’t tell how many, but I know there are a good many" In the station we find a representative of the Y. M. C. A., who kindly bands ue a copy of the directory and volunteers many bits of useful information. From the di- rectory we get the following information. There are seventy-seven ohurches repre- senting fifteen denominations; eleven un- denominational organizations for the up- lifting and obristaanizing of mankind; twenty-eight church auxiliary societies; thirty schools and colleges, educational and industrial, not counting the common schools which number twenty-three. The dainty homes show the pride of owner- ship, public works, the pride of citizen- op, [To be Continued. A woman who bas mislaid her hat bas been known to look for it in her purse, among other impossible It women realized that much of the medical treat- ment received from local practitioners was an effort only to locate disease,and a search for it in most unlikely and impossible places, they would place a higher value on the opinion of a specialist like Dr. Pierce. His wide experience in the treatment and cure of more than half a million women enables him to promptly locate the disease hy its symptoms. For all diseases of the delicate womanly organs there is no medi. cine eo sure to heal as Dr. Pierce's Favorite Prescription. Sick women are invited to consult Dr, Pierce by letter, free of charge. All cor- ence striotly private, Address Dr. R. V. Pierce, Buffalo, N. Y.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers