Bellefonte, Pa., November 4, 1910. EE ————————————————— SOONER OR LATER. Sooner or later, the storms shall beat, Over my slumber from head to feet; Sooner or later, the wind shall rave In the long grasses above my grave. 1 shall not heed them where | lie Nothing their sounds shall signify. Nothing the head stones fret of rain; Nothing to me the dark days pain Sooner or later, the sun shall shine ‘With tender warmth on that mound of mine. Sooner or later, in Summer air Clover and violets blosson there. 1 shall not feel in that deep laid rest ‘The sheeted light fall over my breast. Nor ever note in those hidden hours The wind blown breath of the tossing flowers. Sooner or later, the stainless snows Shall add their hush to my mute repose. Sooner or later, shall slant and shift And heap my bed with their dazzling drift. Chill though that frozen pall shall seem Its touch no colder can make thee dream ‘That wrecks not the sacred dread Shrouding the city of the dead. Sooner or later, the bee shall come And fill the noon with its golden hum Sooner or later, on half-poised wing ‘The bluebird about my grave will sing. Sing and chirp and whistle with glee, Nothing his music can mean to me. None of those beautiful things will know How soundly their lover sleeps below. Sooner or later, far out in the night ‘The stars shall over me wing their flight, Sooner or later, the darkling dews Catch the white spark in their silent ooze. Never a ray shall part the gloom ‘That wraps me round in the silent tomb; Peace shall be perfect on lip and brow Sooner or later, oh, why not now? —Mrs. W. S. Norwood. The “But they didn’t play after din- “We shall have to give up Bridge while he’s here. Your mo says he won't stay more tban a week, and he may go er. “Minnie will have to smoki . ettes in the en op 3 i mustn't do it in my house,” said Ronald. “I may not care for having bish- ops dumped down on me in this way, but while they're here must be treated ith 9 TEpect. | speak to Min- m 5 “Do. And, Ronald dear, before he Risgue as the thi Minnie frequently says. I hope pn make her under- ; a ag said d speak * t you you’ to her.” “1 shall, about the smoking. The - warning will come better from you. ‘When does the bishop arrive?" “He may be here tomorrow,” said Mrs. “His appear to be rather unsettled. He to drop in on us when- ever he finds himself in this i . room ready for him. Be sure to give Mr. Hutchinson a hint not to leave those Sporting of his lying about. 1 tt) the to we read them. They’ , not very re- ligious, are they, Ronald?” “If I know anything of Gilbert Hutchin- son he'll clear out of this before the bish- op arrives. He's not what I call an irre- ligious man, but stand sitting down to dinner every night with a bishop.” Mr. Hutchinson acted up to his host's expectation. He recollected sudden! g gist sgifl are | said Minnie. g 53% | ’ i 2 you to force it on him,” fugly day that it should in the sanctum so that he can get when he wants it. Bessie Langworthy's usband— “Bessie Langworthy’s husband be hang- 2. FTE Ld 3 § ® Fg .E 557% Ra 23% ; mightn't be up to if they're not accustom- to bi ’ ” me.” “Certainly not,” said Minnie. “You know no more about bishops than they do. You'd simply make a muddle, and what we want is to give the poor man a really pleasant time while he's with us.” “Ronald, said Mrs. Mendel a few min- utes later, “I'm afraid that Minnie—" Ronald lit a cigar loomiily. “Your mother, went on, “won't like the flippant way in which Minnie evidently means to treat the bishop. When hears about it shell blame us.” “I rather think,” said Ronald, “that I'd better go down to Cork and a visit to Gilbert Hutchinson's aunt this busi- ness is over. “If only Minnie would do that! But of won't. She's enjoying her- self.” dressing-room is next door. I'll get you one. “Thanks.” said the bishop, “but I see of my “I thought,” said Minnie, “that being a missionary b you might perhaps—" “Missiona s “That's not what I meant. My idea was that, having lived so long among might who wear no clothes, you ve got out of the habit—" “I assure you,” said the bishop, “that i 3 i 2 { “I suppose he'll want a sitting-room to - | stick to my bag is here, and I have a clothes- | the own.” “My sanctum!” he said. “Have “Yes,” said Minnie, “you have. ranged Ronald's smoking-room, but—"" “l mustn't turn Mr. Mendel out of his room," said the bishop. "It's bad enough to come here as an uninvited guest. | don't want to putyou all to unnecessary inconvenience.” “It's a pleasure to us," said Minnie. ' "We know that a bishop can’t get. on | without a sanctum. My friend Bessie y's husband has one, and he’s joa canon." bishop, smiling Spolugetically, fol- lowed her out of the dra ng-room. “Here we I dare say now that you'd meditate a little over your 0," said Minnie. like sermons. But sermon preached. You can’t meditate too much Bessie Langsworthy's hus- | went to his sanctum after’ tate over his sermon.” Her eye lit on she cleared away! want do you?” The took the volume containi ihe, Evidences” and | at it. you a different sort of book. an excellent one here this morni On the of a ipice. My law must “Please don’t. If she's reading it—" “She isn't. Or if she is she ought not to be. It'snot at all a “Perha r book." ey, after all. be exciting.” “It is, very.” “Then it might disturb my meditation, and I was up early this morning." “Don’t say another word,” said Minnie. right. Dinner is at eight. If I find that you haven't heard I'll come and knock “You're perfectly the dressing. you up myself." She left the room, but came back ed in a deep chair. “Excuse me,” said Minnie. box of take one?” you,” said the bishop, “I left “but from the box and lit it. “Ronald thinks," she said, “that you'll be shocked at my smoking; but I told him you wouldn't mind. worthy’s husband keeps Bessie for me when I am with them.” sure don’t mind my smoking?” “There is a * I ar it for you myself. It used to be for hi yn fhe a open ee flo m. “I hope it comfort- able. Tou like to sermon. “Do I preach while I'm here?” The asked the question in a tone of “Not unless you particularly want to. We sha'n’t ask you to. As a matter of fact, we none of us will have to preach paused for an instant and then bishops ought to be treated with some at the bishop. He started vio- » te pression “My own im is,” she him. | “that he went to sleep.” five volumes of Paley “Dear me," she said, “I thought I had | ou don't out to gather blackberries. It doesn't! Paley some years ago,” he said, yesterday I found him reading On the “and I don't or to read him pi “Quite right,” said Minnie. “I'll get shall never hear the end of it." There was | called | sense.” Precipice. ter-in- ve carried it off. I'll fetch it.” | than any bishop I ever heard of. Good " said the 1 Key “I'd better | Their The novel may i tion. n a few minutes later. The bishop, with a volume of Paley on his knee, was stretch- a here. Why didn't you ." Minnie took a cigarette ! “You're against ladies Adopting the buen said the bishop. , isn't it? It's not really wrong, | vou, Harold? AR \ : 's like to know how to do it. With a little Sir Walter Raleigk, First American Colo- Kind oF asceticiom. * Min ) ! you'll be able to take in anybody. | little nis are so Soetel Fo i aren't they? I'm sure you' a thing : like that most attractive to the heathen.” _ The Elizabethan Era is renowned in The bishop suddenly. It may | English history, not only for its literature but for its growing power upon the sea, and especially for its hardy and skillful and his half brothers. Drake pizer—July 13. the rest of the evening, to prefer her con- | versation to Ronald's efforts to get back ; Was the first to put into practice the pol- j to the more orthodox subject of the | icy of weakening Spain by attacking her j i America. Drake it was who made the t voyage around the earth in 1580. Athanasian Creed. on lin part in the most momentous event of the century in which he lived—the defeat of the Spanish Armada. | between afterncon tea and the sounding | - of the gong which gives warning to the aj of dinner-time. Ronald Mendel and his wife sat on the gravel sweep in front of the house. ot mo he said, with tisfaction, “that bishop goes. - think," said Mrs. Mendel, “that he | Onization with little danger of hindrance has enjoyed his visit. Your mother is | from the Spaniards. Sir Walter Raleigh greatly pleased. I had a letter from her | must ever be considered the “father of this morning in which she said that she'd | English colozination on the soil of the heard from him and—" United States. “Nothing could be more outrageous h was one of the best represen- than Minnie’s behavior from start to lishmen of his He was a finish. I've never for a moment felt safe. | Student of books and a r of men. A I've sat, so to speak, on the edge of a | Pupil of Coligny, a friend of Spenser, he ! volcano." “She took him off our hands.” said Mrs. Mendel. "Be a little grateful, Ronald.” “She ought to be whipped.” “Ronald dear!" “Well, she ought. Fortunately, 1 don't believe he understood half she said. Be- ! sides, I don't approve of dragging | into dangerous places. He came in wet to the waist the day she took him up the Jiver in the punt. She must have upset m.” “He didn’t seem to mind.” “No, but I did. I may not be much of a man for going to church, but I think | pronounced the opening event in the his- a sigh of | tory of the United States. From that i “still,” said Mrs. Mendel, “your moth- greatly i “She won't be when she sees him. 1 ' don't know how Minnie managed it, but his face is all scratched.” “That when she took him seem to have been her fault. He said he , sli and rolled down a bank.” | ought not to be taken near | banks of that sort,” said Ronald. “And | Edge of a Precipice. If he tells my moth- | er that he got that book in my Tore “He won't tell her. He has too much “He has very little sense—less sense Lord! Look at him now!” The bishop and Minnie emerged from the shrubbery at the far end of the lawn. gppearance justified an exclama- innie had grasped the bishop's wrists and was towing him toward the | house. He was ng back; but every i now and then Minnie, exerting her full | strength, succeeded in breaking into a trot. The bi a to be a good deal emba onald took his pipe out of his mouth and laid it on ground beside him. “Congratulate me at once," said Min- nie, breathlessly, “both of you, without an instant’s delay. The bi and I are engaged to be married.” “If this is any kind of a joke,” said Ronald, “it strikes me as in re- markably bad taste.” : | “It's not a joke" said Minnie. “It's | quite true. Isn't it Harold? Didn't you say name was Harold?" “Harold Cyril," said the bishop. “I shall probably call you Hal after we are married,” said Minnie. “No bishop,” said Ronald, “would mar- ry a girl like you, Minnie.” “] assure you," said the bishop, “that if Miss M —] mean to say—Minnie— can only herself to— - You know I'm only a . just it,” said Minnie. “You RE When at last help came the colony had utterly Sisappeated and its ing was never known. Years afterward e among eyes, and it was believed that they were descendants of members of White's colo- ny who were probably adopted by In- dian tribes. Raleigh was still undismayed. Finally his fortune took a downward turn. He fell into disfavor with the king and was cast into prison, where he remained for 12 years, meantime writing his “History of the World.” Then after a brief season of liberty he was again im and was soon after beheaded. Notwithstand- ing none of the colonies planted by Ral- h was permanent, he must be award- the honor of securing the possessi of North America to the English race, of making known the advantages of its soil and climate and creating the spirit of colonization among his countrymen. On July 13 was the famous “Ordinance of 1787” for the Government of the Northwest Territory; Junius Bru- tus Booth, the actor, made his first ap- pearance in America in 1821; anti-draft riots in New York City occurred in 1863; the Great Eastern started to lay the third Atlantic cable in 1866; and the Berlin treaty of “peace with honor” was signed “That's don't understand in the least, Ronald. What the bishop says is that I'll be a help to him in his work. You said that, didn't in1878. It I the rh James Ald- you know, not like marryi r de-| “Yes,” said the bishop bravely. tor I ceased sister's husband.” yo “You'd be a help!” said Ronald. “Oh, Ne oor, the confulersty “That,” said the “is distinctly it all, Minnie, that's a bit too thick!" | cop "oboe oman (1847); and the date of forbidden in the . “Not at all," said Minnie. “My man- the death of Richard Cromwell (1712); “Quite so," said “and even if it | ners and general gayety of disposition | yo. "paul Marat (1793), and Rufus wasn't, I shouldn't dream of doing it. 1] are just what are wanted to attract the don’t see how any self- girl | heathen. Isn't that what you meant, Choate, the American statesman (1859). could put up with a -hand hus- | Harold?” —_— band. When I marry—But I really| “Not exactly," said the bishop. “What Easter in Jerusalem. mustn't disturb you any more. Your ser- | I feel is—" —— : mon will be on your mind.” “Still, I shall attract them. You can’t| After the wonderful midnight mass on The bishop t, but was not quite | deny that. After all, I attracted *— | the eve of Easter, when at 12 o'clock certain. that she again as she left A. Birmingham, in Harper's | bells sounded within the church, and, as the room. ‘eekly each one of thousands assembled Dinner, that night, began badly, be- r— fighted his candle, the went up, cause Ronald insisted on trying to talk| Fancy a man dying of thirst, the is risen!” came the morn- about a recent Church in which | side of a spring of sparkling water. . | ing ceremony in the court of the Holy the bishop had taken a part. He | sands of thirsty people pass him, . was aware that there had been a pro- | their thirst at the spring and go on their |, Ah, how gent'& how tender,how touch- longed discussion about the Athanasian |way rejoicing. ne doesn’t know | ing how vital It was, that simple greet- Creed, and he tried to discover, by a series | whether the water will quench his thirst | ing of the wonderful morning after the of cautions the bishop's opinion | or not. He never will know until he | delirium and the fury of the holy fire! uestions, about the recitation of that formula. But the g et 2 ge : i i 0 2» 0 : : | i i | : fi 1 : EE i i i 4 i if g [ Z il § § 1 MH 7 i il 3 od 5 # i ! : 3 g £ ; 253 £8 a All hearts were excited to frenzy by the holy fire. The Easter morn proces- sion moved hundreds to tears, tensely silent. Instead of the blue dome, spa with artificial stars, a faint blue sky over our heads. Instead of the glare o the torches, the sunbeams fell mild} iff 3 never yet made the trial remedy. They | ful bells. They began to peal forth just are not sure it will cure them. It has court cured ni t per cent. of all who church have used it. It always helps. It almost were h 5 g ’ have to admit in the old world,” a New York theatrical man, “that we've got them beaten on every count. Talk to them about the matter and they which, unwearied, reiterated their marvelous message to the the cavasses in z i low, ‘pear! color, gold, lighted candles. And last of Dimi: \ Eg Aa an proces- The bells were silent, ZA w= It was that pleasant hour of the day | Eight years after he took an important gradual The defeat of this armada has been moment North America was open to col- | was a statesman and a scholar, a courtier and a soldier, and in each he was one of | | took ! the jeweled | soward them and Weeping with joy, moved for- ward and hid him from my sight. The crowds meited away; but the bells never ceased their . g = g good he became a director of the Home Mi Society, 533 Arch street, Philadelphia, gave large sums to the work © children in suitable homes and ng those in need. While living in a beautiful home at Oak Lage near city, by every , almost as much as i which follows came into his hands. | Vig once read it, he could not forget I it. It haunted him night and day, until | it became impossible for him to live any | longer in what he called “selfish ease.” | He said he realized that he had been liv- ing in a little heaven of materiality, and | th poem was the call to give up all for Christ. Many might say he was mis- RR i ty an purpose w! i of the Pe so dear to him i and follow where his ideal led at avery i cost of material things? He took up resi- : dence in the poorer section of the city, a | mean street, one side of which was oc- i cupied by a coal yard. He secured to himself an income of $15 2a week andjbe- came his own executor, administering all the rest of his large estate for the benefit of individuals and causes. Although feeling keenly the change of surroundings he never wavered from his course and spent his earthly existence in this poor home. For him a God of love demanded this persons) sacrifice, and he made it because loved God and would to the ut- termost. He gave what he to give and this is certainly demanded of every an. Here is the poem which made so mark- ed a change in the course of his life: 1 said, “Let me walk in the fields;"” He said, “No, walk in the town.” 1 said, *“There are no flowers there," He said, “Ne flowers, bnt a crown." 1 said, ‘But the skies are black: There is nothing but noise and din.” And wept as he sent me back, “There is more,” he said, “There is sin,” I said, “But the air is thick, ! And friends will miss me, they say.” {He answered, “Choose tonight If I am to miss you or they." 1 pleaded for time to be given: He said, “Is it hard to decide? It will not seem hard in heaven To have followed the steps of your Guide. George MacDonald in the Home Forum: mple leak ha i i g E E : 2 g EE. i: i 14 : 3a i. E 88 5 : § Ee ; = p& ! £518 : i 28 i 7 ; ] : & g § s g i HE i iL: g : 4 t ke I —"“So you think worry kills more than work?” 'm sure of it," replied the sarcastic "Why?" | so many people find it easier : than work and devote their time to it." —“What'’s that boy yelling at?” asked the farmer of his son. -
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers