Bewoaiatdae. Bellefonte, Pa., June 25, 1909. THE WILD FLOWERS. Little Jack ran away to the woods, one fine For his mother, he said, was unkind; In the forest so dark, the fierce Dogwood's loud Made him shake, though he tried not to The trinmpet Flower blew a blast in his ear as The Saapdragon snapped at his toes; Dutchman's Pipe puffed some smoke in his eyes for a joke, Bneezewood tried to tickle his nose. Catnip pinched his poor arm till he screamed The Cowslips sll lowered their horns; The goidenrod beat him, and rushiog to meet ‘‘Say is is the worst attack be bas bad— be does not know me. Ob, burry, dear cbild ! barry !" It may be that she bad never burried be- fore in ber life, this tall, thin woman with the sallow, frightened face,—'‘Aaron Jer- rold’s little girl,”’—who ran stumbling along the uneven brick sidewalk that led auder the thick row of maples. A pink cotton dress, hall-buttoned clung closely to her lank figure, and a leghorn bas, heavy with crimeon roses, flopped with incon- groous coquetry over her anxious eyes. Alone, breathless, running through the si- lent dawn, with the doctor’s brown house at thedim end of the long village street not yet even visible, the dread of death grew in ber steadily. Yet knowing nothing, after all, of the great catastrophe, the terror that ewam in her brain was a great, empty, in. flated thing, like a ohild’s painted balloon. Shielded as she bad been from sane, steady- ing griefe,she was giddy now from the very fear of fear, and leaned heavily for an in- stant against a dew-dampened picket-fence. Through her hrain thoughts flew dizzily, him like mad leaves; she could not seize or de- Were Cudocks and Brambles and Thorns, The Coltsfoot stamped in wrath by the side of | ¢ the path, Tne Spidersort crawled in his ear, tain them. Yet they were crudely elo- uent, like pioture-writing. They told t Rosa Jerrold was pot wondering whether she would succeed in saving her father’s life : she was shrinking from the When the cross Cattails yowled and the Dan. | horror of no longer being ‘‘Aaron Jerrold’s deiion growled Little Jack wus just frantic with fear! The Vines ran at his heels as he fled with shrill squeals To that same unkind mother, who smiled little girl.” Bat before Rosa bad reached the doctor's bouse and pulled its old-fashioned glass bell-bandle with all the violence it was its sullen habit to demand, Aaron Jerrold’e wife bad already seen that no dootor was When he sobbed: “I'll be good, mother! Who needed in that big, still chamber. Her ever would husband was dead. They had told ber it Have believed that wild flowers were #0 | wonld be like this—some day. Yet his wild!® = [Camilla J. Knight. bushy bead and bearded face seemed to lie S— THE PRISON OF AFFECTION, Rosa Jerrold stood idly by ber listle gar- den—a round patch of earth reserved for ber each epring, just as ‘‘saucer pies’’ were on the pillow with a feigned submissive. ness. His strongly vocal presence seemed to be deliberately and jocosely dumb. That carelessly vital personality was irreconsil- able with death; yes it was death that lay there under she still sheet, that each in- stant filled the room with a more and more still included for ber in the family baking stifling presence. —and watched ber father swing lazily up the ebaded strees, Part of the pleasure of | move, Susan Jerrold did not sob or speak or A certain sublimity of those fires being Aaron Jerrold’s daughter lay in his | moments of ber widowhood held emotion eeable conspicnousness, People always | mute. It is the moment when the only liked to watch tbat long, leisarely stride, | solace, as the only loyalty, is the belief that or to linger in the big, shaggy man’s mag: | everything is lcst—when unlovely me- petio presence. It had always heen so mories seem only distortions. A belated satisfying to be his “listle girl,” to be | bas ineffable understanding, the more insi- drawn into bis lap and petted with bis big, | mate for being unspoken, seemed to comforting band, to be teased with boister- between them, the dead and the living. ous tenderness. Rosa was now no longer Trembling,she bent low to kiss him, when, “listle,” as sbe was obviously no longer below, there was the sound of a door hast- young; bat Aaron was always magnificent- | , ly able to overloook the rigidities of faos, ly flang open. It was Rosa, with her case. less, childish ways—poor, dear Rosa, who while bis danghter still swam in the bland | did nos know, who perbape did nos even sea of utter irresponsibility. They bad loog ago stopped wondering in dream — The widow rose bastily to her feet with- Farndon Corners whether Aaron Jerrald's | out kissing ber dead hueband. The sound daughter would ever grow ap. To their | ghat meant Rosa's return bad sufficed to irritated perceptions it had become fairly | detach her from ber irrecoverable commun- apparent that she would nos. contemporaries emerged While ber! on. Her supreme moment was forfeited. from girlhood, | Hastily she placed something over Aaron's married, raised families, and then paused sharpened face and lefs the room. Ountside comfortably cn the serene platean of mid- | ghe seized Rosa by the arm. dle age, Rosa Jerrold remained an elderly young girl, Theoretically of a certain | found the courage to say. ‘‘Rosa your father—isn’t so well,” she *‘I cannot bave bodily frailness, and guarded always by an you in the room. Come with we, child ; over-anxiou® mother, she had spent ber life you are pale—"' in a kind of nursery extension. Neverthe. *“Who is with him ? You must not leave less, various dim buds of talent were popu- bim, mother ; you—"’ larly understood to await their due season of encouragement, and Farndon Corners ‘‘He does not need—"’ There was only a second’s faltering, bot balf-skeptically awaited Rosa's debut in | Roea understood, and signified her under- ose of tbe arts, dramatic, musical, or, for | standing ; ber eyes closed ; she sank down all that anybody kuew, terpsichorean. To this event Rosa herself looked forward upon the floor aud screamed. waye been her way to screaw by way of It bad al- cheerfully, but by no means impatiently, | protest against the unusual or the unpleas- ber thin days filled with the easy and de- | ant. When ber kitten was lost, or when oeptive volace of an ambition not sharp and | a dress bad not come in time for a party, real encogh to be a torment. She sappos- | Rosa bad screamed, and bad heen soothed ed that some more than usually agreeable apd petted nll she stopped. It could only destiny lay awaiting her, did she only be expected that her father's death would choose to grasp it; meanwhile she was 200- | elicit at least an equal demonstration ; so tent to peer with untronhled innocence | that now, while Aaron Jerrold lay alone from ont the stony sheath of her artificial | gud dead, the woman whom his death bad youth. most bitterly bereaved had already tnrned As her father lightly accepted the mir- | to soothe a shrilier sorrow, But Susan acle of Rosa's stationary adolescence, £0 | Jerro'd could not bave understood that ber Mure. Jerrold—who bad on this score seores action was unnatural. It was unthinkable agonies of misgiving, due to ber persistent | that she should fail to relinquish the luxu. recollection of her daughter's date of birth ry of articulate griel when ota demanded —ocberished as hie: particular fetish the be- | service. lief in Rosa's beauty. There was not a Thus they were still together. the moth. celebrated heroine whom the gaunt and | er and daughter, when Abby Barrows, Sa- swarthy young woman bad not been taught | san’s sister, whom the little house-servant shat she io sowe way or avotier resembled, | had gone uosolicited to fetch, arrived, and and the local dressmakers gossiped freely | arrived firmly, to stay, to ‘‘take charge.” about the ordeal of sewing week at the Jer- | Turning blindly toward her, Mrs. Jerrold rolde. It was haid enough to acquiesce in | made swo etatements in what seemed the the theory of Ro<a’s loveliness; but is was | inverted order of their importance. degrading, they agreed, to cast aside the “*Rosa is sick,’’ she said, ‘‘trom too much the grim faces of ber kindred. ‘“My poor little girl, my baby, dressed in black ? Is w kill me to see her. Ges all the crape you want to, Emma, ”’—she spoke as Soough her niece were pleading to gratify b f in some induigence,—‘‘and put it oo me. Iam old ; I will wear it.” ‘‘But Rosa isn’t"’—Mrs, Barrows awal. lowed forbearingly a word that tempted her—*‘a child.” ‘‘She is to me. She was to Aaron. And you know how gay she has always been, how bappy. She and her father were so —I think she bas never cared for anything but him. Isis the moss terrible sorrow that could come to her, and you wish to make it more terrible still? Nobody ex- pects a youog girl to wear mourning. Em- ma, you're very kind indeed, but I shink you will bave to let the poor girl do as she likes.’ Emma flushed again resentfally, “Is may be cruel to talk to yon about is, Aunt Sue, but she hasn’t even a gray dress. Her dresses are all red and pink! In her eagerness to defend her daughter, Mrs. Jerrold appeared to have risen far be. vond ber own affliction. She continned patiently, tears standing in ber innocent, pale-blune eyes: ‘‘But you must remem. ber that she bas to consider her coloring. You don’t realize how handsome Rosa's black eyes are till she gets on a touch of pink. Her father always said so.” Mre. Barrows and her daughter exchang- ed a glance of agreement that maternal fa. tuity could go no farther. And Emma re- turned to the Jerrolds that night with but one moarning dress, In the black decorum of Aaron Jerrold’s funeral there was, therefore, a single stri- dent, scarlet note. A soft, red silk, white. spotted, was Rosa's ‘‘hest’’ sumwer dress, and she wore it on the day of somber dra- peries with a satisfaction that her grief could uot quite dispel. An arrangement of cream colored lace was fastened to her bosom, and a long gold obain suspended about ber neck a beavy, old-fashioned lock- et. But ber eyes burned from long weep- ing. It was plain to her that she was the same beaatiful, beloved, gifted Rosa that she bad always been : but she wept for the loneliness that would come upon her, now that her immediate world was gone. The fall season of dressmaking was plan- ped for as usual, and through recurrent tears Mre. Jerrold looked long and earnest ly at hectic ‘‘samples’”’ from which her daughter's new finery was to be chosen. For the dreariness and solitude which the period of mourning meanwhile imposed apon Rosa her mother felt almost apologet- ic, and conceived a hundred devices for her distraction. As Mrs. Jerrold could not see Rosa leave the house without running to add some trinket to the girl's toilet, so at bome she pursued her constantly with lis. tle cakes to eat or stories to read. Her master plan was an arrangement with a ‘‘professor’’ in the nexs town to give Rosa a course in ‘fancy dancing.’”’ Here, alter all, might lie the opportunity for that pub. lic exhibition of Rosa in costume for whioh she had always vaguely sought a legitimate excuse. Rosa hersell was entirely submis- sive. Her father’s death had left her what she had always been, a child. Even when it became known with cruel promptnoess in Farndon Corners that Tom Kinnerton had transferred his limp allegiance, Rosa her- self, of all her circle of relatives, was by far the least afflicted. Kinnerton had nev. er made himself real to ber, and she had alwas been sleepy when he called. And what if everybody did know that Emma | Hardy, with her brood of babies, was a year younger than Roea,—a lact that Mrs. Jerrold had so strong a passion to obliter- ate” Rosa bad always found it easy to neglect the arithmetic of life. After all, it was not surprising that her relatives, com- menting on her father's death and her sais. or's desertion, declared her an insensible creature, heartlessly immune to experience, Nor could they regard it as less than a vio. lation of decency when Rosa began to take a cheerful interest in dancing lessons, They were not wise enough to foresee the girl’s ultimate contact with the ungracious mirror that should for the first time show her to herself without the magic veil her parents had twined about her. Some months after Aaron Jerrold’s death, his widow eat one day sewing magenta velvet blossoms on a hat for Rosa. The congenial occupation absorbed her, and she bummed softly to herself, scarcely noticing when the outer door closed and a slow step entered. Rosa, apparently returning from her dancing lesson, came in and seated her- sell in an almost theatrical silence, ae What I bave been until now is a sort of child. Now I am old. Iounght to wear black dresses. You know thas | og to shroud oneself and stay hidden. You said ou felt is when daddy died. I didn’t then, t Tar ow. I shall stay at home al- ways, [— Rosa had risen from her cbair and bent ber black eyes unswervingly on her moth- er’s pale face, as if to make her accusation strike more deeply. In her passion of re- sentment and misery she bad a nearer ap- to beanty than she bad ever had ore. Her first knowledge that she was old brought out in her,!rom its very sharp- ness, a fleeting singe of youth. Her ism was dead, that artificial self thas bad a liletimes’s nourishing, bus of her shorn and bleeding state there was born an exalting cruelty. Without a throb of pity, she stared wilently at ber stricken mother, fumbling blindly with the gay fragments of her sewing, and left the r Alone, intangibly bereft, the mother eat and staunched ber tears, and strove to defend to herself the long and lavish zeal of her motherhood. But there came no comfort. The house of affection, it seemed to her, was tenantless, the prisoner fled, the gaoler left to grasp, in lovely bitterness, her in- effectual keve.—By Olivia Howard Don. bar, in the Century Magazine. House Fly Should be Called “Typhoid Fly." The honse fly, which we have hitherto in our iguorance considered as a harmless creature, or, at the worst, simply a nui. sance, has been shown, as the result of sci- entific researches, to be in reality, judged from the standpoint of disease, a most dan- gerous insect. Dr. L. O. Howard, in his recent investigation of! the economic loss through insects that carry disease, de- votes a chapter to the bouse fly as a carrier of typhoid bacteria. The facts brought ont are so startling, and so vitally affect the health of the community, that we are pub- lishing this chapter in the current issue of the Supplement. Limitations of space pre- vent anything more in the present notice than a brief summary of the salient fea- tures of the repors. As the outset emphasis is laid upon the fact thas the term ‘‘typboid fly’’ is open to some objection ax conveying the erroneous idea thas this fly is responsible for the spread of typhoid only. As a matter of fact, the insect is dangerons from every point of view, and is liable to spread the bacteria of all the known intestinal diseases. The true connection of the so-called honee fly with typhoid fever and the true scientific evidence regarding its role as a carrier of that disease, bave only recently been work- ed out. Celli in 1888 fed flies with pure cultares of the typhoid bacillus, and inoculations of animals were also made, proving that the bacilli which pass through flies are virn- lent. Dr. George M. Koeber, in his report on the prevalence of typhoid fever in the District of Columbia, bas drawn attention to the danger of the contamination of food supplies by flies thas bave been in touch with typhoid patients. The prevalence of typhoid fever in the camps of the United States army during the Spanish war brooghs about the appointment of an Army Typhoid Commission, which found : First, that the flies swarmed around the sanitary quarters of the hospital, and Shep visited aga win upon the lood prepared for the soldiers in the mess tents. Secondly, that officers whose mess tents were protected by screens suffered proportionately less from typhoid than those whose tents were not so proiect- ed. Thirdly, thas syphoid fever gradually disappeared with she approach of cold weather and the consequent disabling of the fly in she fall of the year. The final conclusion was that the fly carries the ty- phoid bacillus either by the adherence of infected matter to its feet,or within its own digestive organs. In 1899 Dr. Howard made a study of the typhoid or house fly, in iw relation to country and city sewage, and be wade a further investigation of the species of in- sects that are attracted by food supplies in houses. In this investigation he found that the typhoid or house fly constituted 95.8 per cent of the whole number of iv- seots captared in houses throughout the the whole country, uader the conditions indicated above. The importance of this insect as a carrier of the dreaded disease in army campe, as shown in the Spanish war and in the Boer war and in the camps of great armies of laborers engaged in gi- gantio enterprises, like the digging of she Between Cascode and Const. [Written especially for the Wascnsax.] Our train leaves Tacoma at midnight So there is much thas we miss in the way of scenery, as the train rumbles southward through Washington. But as the morning light breaks it shows the rich, deep grass oo the bill sides, dotted over with clusters of beautiful flowers; orchards in fall bloom all over the wide valley, though itis bus the twenty-fourth of April; the forests skirted with dogwood in fall bloom, the first bloom, for we are told it blooms twice a year here because of the length of the season. There in the distance, before us is a broad sheets of water, and soon we find ourselves gliding over it, for it i= the Co- lambia river. Shortly after this we cross the Willamett. This river seems to have no banks but stretch away into miles of swamp land which makes very good pas tare during the dry season. Bat did you notice the ocean steamers on the Columbia waiting to be laden with the products ol our land, as soon as they are relieved of the burdens they bave brought with them? Bat here we are at Portland with just abont enough time to get breaklast and change cars. A local train will take us up throogh the Willam- ette and Umquash valleys s0 we shall be able to enjoy the scenery to the fall. No mountain climbing here, but a wide, bean- tiful valley extending away to the distant hills. Broad fields of wheat, grass, vege- tables, great pasture fields in which horses, cattle, sheep, or angora goats are grazing; small, pretty looking cottages surrounded hy beautiful flowers; clean pleasant look- ing towns. And to relieve and brrigten all this, can be seen everywhere, even by the road eide, beantitul flowers, As the eye begins to tire of all this brill. iancy, the train glides into a shady glen or grove, one of nature’s music balls, for here, bird and brooklet seem to vie with each other in producing melody. While the trees loaded with gray-green, hair-like moss, which grows here on account of the moistare, form rich curtains trimmed with silver lace. But this does not last so long as the average concert for yon are soon whieked out into the sunlight among green fields, villages and bloom. As you go eouthward you notice the absence of a sign which is usually prominent abous railway stations viz—‘'‘saloon.”’ And still we keep moving onward through variations of glen and open coun- try. At last hill draws nearer to hill, the valley gradually narrows, until the train again begine to climb along the mountain side, and here you come to beautiful Roseburg resting in the embrace of the bills, with Mt. Nebo standing guard over ber. ItisSaturday evening, when every one ie on pleasure bent; but there is no appearance of boisterousness, though every- one seems to be happy and busy. You go to a hotel and find everyone about the premises sober, quiet and polite. And is is all because the people have risen in their might,said through the quiet bat powerful voice of the ballot thas intoxicants shall not besold. And they have the determina: tion to see that the laws are enforced. And it is good to remain over Sunday and no- tice the interest that is taken in church work. How does this accord with the prev. alent notion about ‘Shooting up the town!" Having spent a few days at Roseburg, let us board the evening train for Glendale. Darkness soon settles over the land and \ we can only try to imagine what the wild abroad, came into the barbor. Cow Creek Canon must be like. We can fancy the cougar stalking his prey and the various other wild animals, each after his kind, taking part in the tragedies which thrown backward and inbale the health- giving air which comes to you through the branches of the tall fir, aod pine trees; and you [eel that it is good to be bere—on your own trusty feet, on solid earth. The resuls ie that yon ride where she road is level and whenever the conveyance shows a disposi- tion to be erratic, you relieve the monoto- oy by walkicg. When you bave traveled in this manper for about twenty-four miles, the canon widens ont into a beautiful upland valley and the fair fields of Meadows ranch come into view. Bat, just look there! Six deer quietly feeding in one of the meadows! Ab, there they go! The sound of the approaching team has frightened them, and, running in a line across the feld, they clear the fenceata bound and disappear in the forest. M. V. THOMAS, World's Largest Diamond. For twelve years she Excelsior diamond enjoyed its supremacy, but on January 25th 1905, the greatest diamond kuvown to she world was found 10 open-working No. 2 of the Premier mine, in the Transvaal Colon » South Africa, and from the finding to the cutting of this magnificent stone and ite final dieposal, its history 1# a most romantic one. The day's work at the mine was over, aud Frederick Wells, she surface manager, wae wakiog bis nsval rounds. Glancing along one side of the deep excavation, his eye suddenly caught the gleam of a bril- liant object far up on the bank. He loss no time in climbing up to the apos, where he bad noted the glint of lighs. He had not been mistaken; it was really a brilliant cryetal. He tried to pull it out with his fingers, and as this proved impossible he sought to pry it ont with the blade of his penknife. To his surprise the knife blade broke withont causing the stone to yield. Confident now that the crystal must be a very large one, he dug out the earth about it, thinking for a moment thas, contrary to all experience in the mine, the stone might be attached to a piece of the primi. tive rock. When be discovered that this was not the case, he began to doubs thas the object was really a diamond. He said afterward : ‘‘When I took a good look at the stone stuck there in the side of the pit it sudden- ly flashed across me that I had gone insane —that the whole thing was imaginary, I knew it could nos be a diamond. Allat once another solution dawned upon me. The boys often play jokes on one another. Some practical joker, thought I, has plant ed this buge chunk of glass here for me to find it. He rhinks I will make a fool of myeelf by bringing it into the office in a great state of excitement, and the stor will be told far and wide in South Africa.” Determined to test the stone on the A hefore proceeding further, Wells rubbed off the dirt from one of ite faces with his fin- ger, and soon convinced himself that is was not alomp of glass, but a diamond orystal, apparently of exceptional white. ness and parity. With the aid of a larger blade of his konife be finally succeeded in prying out the stone, and bore it away with him to the office of the mine. Here it was cleaned and, to the astonishment of all, was found to have a weight of 3024} carats, more than three times that of any other diamond that bas been discovered. Before many hours bad passed the tele- graph carried tidiogs to all parts of the world that the greatest diamond of this or any other age had been brought to light. Mr. Wella is said to bave received a re. ward of §10.000 from the company for his discovery. T. M. Cullivan, founder and chairman of the Prewier company and one of the great prize winuvers in the lottery of South African speculation, named the diamond after himself ; others have called it the Prewier, and several different names have been proposed. Jenny Lind's Salute to the Flag. Fifty years ago, when Jenny Lind was singing in New York, the American frigate Saiut Lawrence, retarning from a orunise The young midshipmen, on the firet night of their chore leave, went to hear the famous singer. The next day the boys, td express the emotions that her wonderful voice had decent conventions of the fashion-sheets | crying. And ber father’s dead. You though challenging inquiry. When her | Panama Caval, is obvious. Bas it is cer- | seem to be a Decessary part of patore’s | *tirred in them, called on her in a body. and construct the barbaric costomes that | kpew 2" wother spoke, she looked np with bright | tain that, even under city conditiovs, the reat system of economy. It is midnight | They bardly expected shat she was so Mrs. Jerrold dewanded for beauty’s en-| “‘Sasan, you must leave Rosa to me. | eyes and a tightened month. influence of this fly in the spread of disease gram Sy one abe only igs charmed by their youthfulness and ingen- ent. Haven't you tears of your own ?”” Vaioly | “I didn’t go for my lesson, mother. I [bas been greasly underestimated. Paessen vousness thas when they timorously asked Aaron Jerrold swung open the cate, and comb ting this more solidly resolute sister, | left the trolley and walked back. I over. In a report to the Merchants’ Assccia- | who have traveled from the lass station her if she would like to see their ship, she isslammed bebind bim. Immediately, 10 | Mrs. Jerrold was led from her daunghter’s | heard some people talking about me. | tion of New York, based upon numerous | descend from the car, and you learn that, | accepted the invitation. Then, growing Rosa, the whole inclosure became filled | bedroom. Mother, what good has it doue for you to | observations of the relation of flies to ip- | of thegrade, it has taken two | Polder, they asked ber to luncheon,and she with him. To ber, ber father was an atmos- | J wish you would give her some aro | keep things from me always, to treat me as | testinal diseases, which was published in engines to bring you to Glendale, a pretty | "°2tP'ed that invitation, too. e. matic spirite of ammonia,’’ the widow lin- | a child? December, 1907, it was shown that the When, on the appointed day, she came ‘Why, Dolly, your flowers have grown | gered to urge. *‘I meant to bave- I can- | The last magenta bud trembled in Mrs, | Greatest number of flies ocourred in the | little town whinh nestles in the bosom of | on hoard with ber companion, the captain better than mother’s I" Aaron bad scarce- ' nos think quickly enough. Are you any | Jerrold’s Gugers. “My dear, wha: are | weeks ending July 27th and August 3ed ; | yhe hills at an altitnde of fourteen hundred | 8aw her {rom his cabin and recognized ly glanced at the pansy-hed, bat it was the | betier, Dolly? Lie quietly, if you ean, | yon bus a child? What do you mean? and shat the deaths from intestinal diseases | , : ber. ; . family practice to toss off praise to Rosa, | and I will come hack.’ “I am almost thirty-sev—yes, mother ; | rose above the normal at the same time at There is nothing more strict than the whatever her occupation. ‘‘Come into the | Already the house was filled with soft | we all know. The people on tae trolley | Which flies became prevalent ; culminated | You learn that from here to Anchor you | courtesy observed in ship etiquette among house with me, young lady.” footsteps and whispers. The doctor bad |knew. They said I bad been—an old | at the same high point ; and fell off with | mugs travel by stage. On this route you | officers of all ranks. Of the three messes— How well Rosa nuderstood that tove,and | come, and a little later his wife benevo- | maid for years, but that I wouldn’s seem | Slight lag at the time of the gradual fall- get the wildly picturesque in scenery. | {he captain's table, the wardroom and the bow perfect was her schooling in she ex- |lently followed him. Mrs. Barrow’s | nearly as—ridicalons, it yon didn’t dress | ing-off of the prevalence of the insects. Here is the *‘forest primeval.” It would | tC¢7A8€ mess, where the midshipmen ate— petted reply ! It meant that her fatber | danghter, Emma Hardy, a vigorous yonng | me as you do.” A certain species of mosquito bas been p » uo officer, from captain down, would make brought some sweets for her, and | woman of something less than Rosa's own | “Is wasn't yon they were speaking of, | demonstrated to he the cause of the spread | not be difficult to imagine Indians gliding | himself one of a company at another mess that after he had played caressingly with | age, with fonr or five children at bome, | Rosa. It conldn’t have been.” Mrs. Jer.| of malaria. Yellow fever is cansed bY | from one to another of the bark covered | unless especially biden. ber for a little, he would draw them out, | came to assume the degree of authority | roid felt her fingers growing icy, and the | another kind of mosquito ; and now we pillats of the forest arches. Aloft in the | . 1D th'® case the captain rang the bell for aod she would pretend surprise. They | that the village would consider fitting. | bud dropped to the floor. know that the supposedly harmless house a. shade lleries, can be heard the | *"¢.Crderly. bad played this comedy since she was ten | Faint aud scarcely sensibie as she was, the | ‘They said ‘Aaron Jerrold’s daughter’— | fly is an active agent in the distribution of | green, wy ga h “Tell the gentlemen of the steerage years old. widow resented the forcible smothering of | and they said things—about daddy, too ! I | intestinal diseases. In view of these facts, | soul-stirring songs of feathered choristers, | mess,” he said, ‘‘that the captain is going At supper Rosa drank weak tea from a | her activities that these good people con- | couldn't leave the car while they were talk- | Dr. Howard's contention that this familiar | und these mingle with the merry music of | ashore, and that his cabin is at their dis- pink-flowered cup marked “Baby,” aud | spired in : resented being led to the *‘spare | ing becanse—I felt that what they said was | household ingest should henceforth bel... oi of Cow Creek as they go bound- | Po®al il they care to use it.” ate a rich kind of quince preserve which | room’ and given strong tea. For hersor- | true. It seemed to me the only time I had | known as the “typhoid fly'’ would seem to The luncheon, however, was eaten in her mother made for her alone, Mrs. Jer- | row the others had conventional indal- rold, a slender, fluttery person, described | gence, hut none for her restlessness. And the triumph that was being wrought with | there was perhaps a shade of malice in Rosa's pew pink muslin, and Mr. Jerrold | their tacit determination, now that the repeated, with plenty of emphasis and in- | hour of reversals had come, to thwart for ferences always creditable to himself, the | once Rosa's preeminence in the honsehold. conversations that had taken place in his By noon Mre. Jerrold had yielded some- office durivg the day. Once he remember- | what 1 her exhanstiou, and was lying sub- ed to tease his daughter mildly abouts Tom missively on the bed, guarded by her sis- Kinperton, the widower whose tepid and | ter, when Emma Hardy came in. The intermittent suit had been slyly encouraved | youny matron’s always rosy face was deep- by Mrs. Jerrold. It was a singularly com- | iy flushed, and she repeated her phrases pact and complimentary little family, in again and again as if by way of fortifying which one pleasantly tolerated, and one | points that had been challenged. She was ignorantly accepted, and one passionately | at that very moment, she told the sisters, gave. Each spun his sepazate share of the | on Ler way to ‘‘the city’’ to make the nec- listle domestic web as though some utterly essary purchases for the stricken Jamily. n arbitrary fate assigued it, which was per- Yet Rosa, whom she had just consulted baps the case. Her mother worked and | order to spare Aun: Sue's feelings, had de- strove and schemed for Rosa, and thoughtless affection in return ; her father gained a | clined her services utterly. *‘It ’a no use talking to ber, mother,’ — ever heard the truth. I have been ‘Dolly’ and ‘little girl’ all my life—to you an" daddy. ButI am no such thing. I am old—and vgly—and ridiculous, and you have made meso. Ibaven’st had any life ; I bave been defranded of everything—and it is too late pow. Dancing-lessons ! Dancing-lessons ! You ought to have heard those people langh about it! Then you would know what you have done to me. Daddy didn’t know any besser, perhaps— poor daddy ! But you're a woman, mother; you ought to have known.” Mrs. Jerrold could not meet her daugh- ter's blazing eyes. She knew thas Rosa bad spoken the pitifully belated truth; yes she was distraught with the desire to deny it all, to wrap the girl again in tender falsi- ties, “Dolly,” she began in a weak, uncertain voice, ‘‘I’ve never known a girl who was be well made.--Scientific American. There is a saying that ‘‘a man’s first right is to be born well.”” It is a constant reproach to motherhood to see a puny, pin- ing baby grow to be paling, peevish boy. It is a reproach becanse proper preparation and care will give the mother the health without which she cannot have a healthy child. The use of Dr. Pierce's Favorite Prescription ae a preparative for the baby’s coming gives the mother abundant health. The birth hour is practically painless, and the mother rejoices in a hearty child. This is the testimony of many women who never raised a child until they used ‘‘Fa- vorite Prescription.” ——Do yon know where to get the finest canned goods and dried fruits, Sechler & Co. ing over the boulders which form a part of its rocky bed. But while you have been the steerage. But alter the pleasant meal was over the boys proudly invited their absorbed in the contemplation of these at- | Ruest into the captain’s cabin, where they tractions, the horses have been attending striotly to business and have brought you to where the road winds around the moun- tain sides, and as the vebiole suddenly larches forward or leans over toward one side--always the lower side—you become so interested in your personal safety that yon forget all about the beauties of nature, took their coffee. ‘*Ask her to sing something,’ whispered the paymaster’s clerk. “I'll thrash you if you dare!” returned one of the midshipmen, under his breath. The wardtoom officers had guests, too. They brought up guitars and sat on the poop-deck above, singing “The Suwanee River’ and other popular songs. “‘How pretty!" eried Jenny Lind, with And you begin to wonder whether to place | *"thusiaem, clapping. When at last she was leaving, she paused the blame on the moustain, the road, the | op she step between the carved sides of the vehicle or the driver, and you end by not | gangway. placing it anywhere. Then you begin to notice farm-houses Looking ap at the floating Stars and Stripes, she sa ‘I wish to salute your flag.” Uncovering her head and bolding ber bat with their usual surroundings as you come | in her band, she began so sing *‘‘The Star- petted her, and she adored him. Emma's cheerful voice was oddly plaintive, | so loved and petted —"’ out of the last us place and per. | Spaogled Banner.” An evening in Farndon Corners was con. | — ‘js 's sim ly no use talking to her. We| “Yes ; bus I'm nota Gaugeso bape ycu will get a chance to see a few | AS she sang the first verse every officer rl now ; I'm old. One Thing not Clear, strued as the interval between seven and | have said 1 weocan, Mrs. Ware and I. nine o'clock; but the Jerrold’s, who, it will Rosa says that her mother has never les her be seen, diverged by ever so little, here and | wear black, not even a black ribbon nor a there, from the local traditions, dared to | black belt—"* defer their bedtime on such a night ae this, “It 's true,” the widow eagerly cor- with its moist, hushed atmosphere, pale | roborated. She bad risen from she bed. glitter of fireflies, and cli perfume of e. The sweet honeysuck! pression of it | eons and’’— Emma returned to stifie Rosa when, at dawn the ite fall effest—** ““‘And that it would make her look hid. used to give the word ; and that her father next day, ber mother came to her door to | wouldn't care any more for ber if she did send ber for the doctor. Aaron Jerrold was | it. ,, She says to ask ber mother if is isn's #0.” very ill. “What chall I say, mother?” asked Rosa, childishly. “Oh, she doesn’t need to, does she?" The widow looked in terrified appeal at The people who talked about me said I was old. And I haven't ever been young. There 's Spustog in youth that I've mias- ed, Ifeel it. as there something the matter with me, mother, that you kept me different ? Look at Cousin Emma ! is younger th—"’ “Hush, Rosa!" Mrs. Jerrold fairly screamed. “Do Jou think I would have you like Emma?’ ‘Why not ? Emma ’s bappy. She will always bave comfort in those stous ohil- dren of hers. Of course she isn’t young ; but she was once, in a way. I never was. Baron R. (who has been explaining the mechanism of his new motor car to one of his tenants for over an hour) : ‘I hope you understand is now.” eu : “Perfectly ; all except one Baron R. : ‘‘And whbat is thas 2" Tenant : ““How it.goes without a horse.” — Most men fool a 80 much val- uable time trying to be like somebody else that they have no chance to amount to any- thing as themselves, | and every man came silently on deck. digger squirrels or other small “varmint” When she had sung the song to the end, before you bave cause to look again to eulesiag ehecen tang ont froin fe Saint possible danger of being deposited at the | Lawrence, were taken n every bottom of some small ravine. Isn't it | "DIP near by, for all bad been listening. ers blew their whistles; and strange how quickly the instinot of sell | yan within reach of that thrilling ei preservation will make one oblivious of | knew thas he bad heard one of the moss other things. In this instance you are | inspiring in the world sung as he would probably never hear it sun, seized with an intense desire to get ont Youths 0% aN and walk. It is surprisiog what pedes- trian powers you can develop under some ——Do you know where to get the finess conditions. You walk with shoulders | teas, coffees and spices, Sechle: & Co.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers