Bellefonte, Pa., December 2, 1910. GUARDING THE TONGUE. If each of us, as we pass through life, Would bridle and curb the tongue, And spezk of only the pleasant things To te said of every one. What a wonderful difference there would be Between this world of ours And the paradise it might become With all pathways strewn with flowers ! How surely a little reflection Will show us as plain as the day The mistakes we made when we hastily Allowed our tongue full sway. When the day is done and we think it o'er Ah, me! that it should be true— There are few of us who can honestly say There is nothing we would undo. Too often the faults we clearly see In others are faults of our own— And those who dwell in the houses of glass Should be wary in casting a stone. So, have charity, much charity—, The loveliest virtue of all, And look well to the member unruly, For it's prone to slip and fall. THE DAGO. Weare sure to have trouble unless we make a change. It's better to take the Italian out of the gang for a while than to have a strike on our hands.” The Jong foreman, who had grown in foundry, spoke seriously to the office superintendent, who sat drummi his nicely manicured nails upon the pol- ished desk. ae the other said, with a . “At times, Mason, your imagina- tion gets the better of your judgment.” Sis sinner, as he finished speaking, was sneering. The foreman'’s jaw set a little harder, but he had grown up in too stern a field to let his tem be aroused easily. “I don’t believe I'm wrong in this case, Mr. Gunter,” he said, coldly, “and I haven't fi the riots of two years ago.” “Oh! that strike!” said the superinten- dent, loftily. “If a different man than old Banford had been in charge at the time, things would have gone very differ- tly.” e foreman got up and went out quickly; he did not dare trust himself longer with this conceited fanfaron. Standing on the polished granite steps of the elegant office-building, he looked across the foundry yard with its long, ragged rows of pigiron, enormous heaps of coke,and littered maze of truck tracks; at the gloomy foundry, its smokestaihed, staring windows flashing back the glare from the setting sun. He shook his head doubtfully as he went down the steps and out of the gate in the high, spike-topped fence that surrounded the works. He would have a talk with Big Mike in the morning and give him a warning; possi- bly he might quit of his own accord, but the foreman didn't think he would. In the semi-gloom of the late afternoon the motionless steel cranes, like watchful sentinels, stood silent guard over the gap- ing pipe-pits. On top of the ugly brick ovens the sheet-steel covers wa in bulging rolls from the intense heat of the fire. In front of the ramming-ma- chine, from long heaps of crumbly gray sand. hot from the last shake-out, steam- ed clouds of white vapor tinged with red from the clay of the mixing-water. The air was heavy with odors of burning sand and cooling castings, and throat-smarty from the acrid fumes of coal-gas pouring from under the loose-fitting oven covers. Over all, like a living, crushing weight, a heavy, expectant silence. It was the brooding silence of a tired giant resting after the day's maddening rush of struggling, half-naked men, who strove with the fury of demons, uttering hard, gasptng curses inst inanimate things as they toiled and s ed with massive moulds, or fought as living be- ings the fifty-ton, crane-swung ladles of molten metal; ing in impotent wrath against the unwi mass, Io crouching Mo shield their faces from the shrivelling t. From under the side-roof at the canal end of the foundry came the sound of voices as the six-inch-core gang hurried and sweated in feverish haste to finish the day's work. Three of the gang worked on one side of a moulding-board ruuning the length of the twelve-foot core. Facing them on the opposite side worked the “mudder- up,” a big-boned, swarthy Italian, his face and shiny black hair spattered with flecks of brown core-mud so that little of flesh or hair was visible. he three Irish SOREmBlkors Silke and ughed as they worked, but always am: themselves, ignoring the big Ital- ian who labored in Re swing- ing with ease the scoop-shovels of mud upon the moulding-board; running it along, handling the heavy, dragging ight as if it were a toy. “Hello, Mike!” A handsome, merry son of Italy stuck his head inside the door es 3, mn. 1 drink-a one, two myself," ) “Come on, then,” said the coremaker, | answered Mike, good- , ‘ ; and when came to where “Like hell ye will!” roared Moran, the | Fi was the track look- tallest of the Irishmen; “no dago drinks closely at the truck, he said to him: | with us.” “ t as well tell Kelly about ut: he's Mike straightened slowly, know, » : in hand. “I drink-a where dam’ Insh stop-a for me,” and the two across the moulding-board like wild beasts. “Cut ut out an’ git t' waurk, all of ez,” rasped the boss coremaker, and as = shoved Moran back he whispered, fiercely, “Don’t be a dom fool; this ain't th’ time.” : . Moran hesitated, rebelliously shoving back Farley. his militant Irish tempera- ment demanding an immediate issue. The Italian, with his Old World training of inherent submission to authority, swung his shovel and bent to his work, his hearty, good-natured laugh echoing into the gloom of the rafters. ; Big Mike was the first Italian to be employed in the foundry and hold his job for any length of time, and he bid fair to stay on and break down the prejudiced animosity against his race. Only shortly arrived from his native country, he was slow to understand the petty spites and sectionalism, and pe blunder- ingly in his efforts to make friends with his fellow workers. Openly repulsed and frowned upon, he ignored the insults, ing them by with the broadness of a DE ors disposition, while with his prodigious strength he tried to compel friendly recognition by doing the greater of the g's work, unknowing that violated code of the laborer in doing more than his share. But as dripping water wears into stone, the repeated insults, snubs, and sneers, and the manner of the foundrymen in turning their backs whenever he ap- proached a p, gradually bored into his dull intellect. He began to understand that he was not wanted, and that, re- gardless of his overtures, or of what he might do, as long as he stayed they would treat him the same. “We're th’ first on th’ mud in th’ marn- ing’; git here airly,” ordered Farley as the coremakers were leaving that evening; oe wal 80 ou , & Ds Co as Le eenry Tn he the urt on of a St Bernard that had been chained for bois- It was a -hour later when Mike fin- ished his work and, stripping, Dlusiged in to the big water-tank, splashing play- ing like a schoolboy in a summer Foul As he climbed out, end stood up to | the splendid health of his magnificent body glowed in the foundry gloom. He was humming rapidly to himself as he dropped his time-check at the gate, when the timekeeper cursed him for be, ing late, slammed his office window, and hurried out up the street. Mike looked after the young clerk, a puzzled expres- sion on his face as he wondered what was the cause of his resentment. Glancing slowly over his big hands and body, he shook his head uncomprehendingly and went his way. Hands deep in his trousers pockets, his eyes on the sidewalk, he did not look up as he passed Sweeney's saloon; he had forgotten his boast, and did not see the glittering eyes that watched him go by, or of the preparations that had been made for his reception should he dare to enter. Mike was thinking, trying to fathom the reason that these men had for hating him, when he was so willing to serve them. What would he not do for them if they would only speak to him, smile and be friends? That night for the first time in his life he tossed restlessly on his bed, unable to sleep. It was after midnight when Farley pressed the button at the foundry gate that rang an electric bell in the engine- room. “Hello, Kelly!” bawled Moran's hoarse voice. and the little round-shouldered watchman hurried out, carrying alantern. “What's th’ matter, b'ys—don’t the da- go keep yer fires in shape?” Moran's lurid answer was convincing, and the old watchman nodded under- Standingly as he locked the gate after t “Why don't th’ give us a white mon on th’ job? There's Pe ain't had a day’s Nyon for a month,” rasped Farley, thick- y “What's th’ place comin’ to, anyway!" complained the watchm t's aisy to see that ye b'ys yer fathers before yez,’' and he them into the foundry, his little glit- tering in the swingi lanternight rom the scarred mask of his burned The ventilators were closed and the air was heavy and dense from the all-night housing of the fire- Moran coughed, and, cursing, gra the lantern from the watchman and led the way. The melancholic, brooding silence of the interior was like the midnight gloom of a the men’s voices, - ing hollow the high steel roof- among girders, were flung back along the big | Fl columns in y whispers. “Dom ut,” said Farley, coming toa stop, and he shivered as he glanced supersti- tiously about him, “th’ place gives a man th’ shivers, ut’s that dom clammy like.” “Shut yer gab, with yer -country banshee talk," ordered Moran, turning add shaking his fist under Farley's nose, y chuckled to himself as he o of the pits. the side wall back of the core yas a BarDw iron gar-ack running the ength of the foundry. It was set high on the wall, supported on top of the box-like core-ovens, and held up trussed steel-brackets fastened to the foun- dry wall. A sheet-steel box-truck drawn by an endless cable, travelled back and forth on the track, carrying the mixture for the cores. ve-wheels at either end of The big Shi 1 electric motor, its control being in the hands of the men who worked at the mud-mixing The watchman did not heed mark, but followed them to the er and watched them fill 7 3 BR fii 5 i : i Bi: : i fis neha | got , anyway. “Yes, I'll tell Ye. Kelly,” said Farley, | confidently. “We're goinl t' put a crimp | in the dago, or the on day, an’ what's th’ likes of him t' throw men out of waurk?” “Right ye are, my by,” said the watch- | man, heartily, “yer th’ brains of th’ gang. I'll be after goin’ back t’ th’ gate an’ keep | an eye out fer anyone that might be com- in’ along,” and he shuffied off, chuckling to Hiunbel! as he thongiit of what was go- ing to 1 to the “dago.” Shen oran and Farley got through there was a half-inch Manila rope tied to the mud-car, the other end noosed, and laid across the open track in such a way that it would drop when the car started. The noose was directly above where 2 man would stand to pull a slide- door in the bottom of the car, to empty the core-mixture into a concrete tub un- derneath the track. After testing it several times until it worked to the exacting Farley's satisfac- tion, they left the foundry, hiding their coal-oil torches near the door as they went out. “Mind ye hould yer mouth shut, "warned Moran, as the watchman opened the gate for them. “That I will, me b'y,” man. “We will be after scadin’ one of the b'ys down t’ ye with a drop of the cra- ture,” said Farley. "It's a cowld night,” he added, shivering as he glanced back at the gloomy foundry; and they went back to Sweeney's saloon. Unsuspicious of treachery or danger, Big Mike lumbered his way through the foundry to his gang, a troubled expres- sion in his sleepy eyes. He had come early as Farley had ordered, but the rest of the gang were ahead of him. “Hello!” he greeted, cheerfully. Farley turned his back. Moran walked to the next core gang and Flannigan, the other coremaker, hurried to the mud-mixer and climbed on the switch platform, where he was out of sight of the six-inch gang. “What's da matter, you no speak-a for me?” the “dago"” asked. Farley leaped away at the touch of the Italian’s hand on his shoulder. He ripped out a string of oaths. “I don't care t’' assured the old in- | spake t’' yez. Do yer waurk, that's what Jet here fer. Git t' waurk.” “Th’gang’s n waitin’ fer ye. Git t' waurk.” He walked around the moulding-board, putting it between himself and the big talian. ‘ With a puzzled frown deepening his forehead and the hurt of unjust abuse dulling his eyes, Mike hung up his coat and, without suspicion, picked up the iron hook for pulling the slide-door on the mud-car. It was too early for the pit gangs and what few men were in the foundry went softly about their work, while furtively watching what was happening on the six- inch gang. As Mike raised the hook Farley's eyes | glittered, and he rasped, hoarsely: “Come on, men; here’s th’ dago. Let's git t' waurk.” It was the signal agreed upon. Moran pressed the button, the electric bell rang clear. Flannigan shoved home the knife- blade switch, there was a burr-rrr, a flash of blue flame, and a whine fiom the mo- tor as it started. The mud-car jerked clumsily forward, and the noose dropped over the Italian's head, pinning one arm to his side as it jerked him off his feet. With a snort of surprise Mike caught his feet on the second bound, grasped the rope with his free hand, and, as he was d upward, braced his feet against the side of the core-oven, throwing him- | self back in an effort to hold the car. After the first surprise, not a cry nor’ sound did he utter. Thegmuscles stood out on his legs like those of a truck horse, a swelling ridge of | flesh buldged around the rope as it sank into his body, the blood rushed ts his face, | and his staring eyes seemed about to pop | out from the purple flesh under the terri- ble strain. : The motor whined and spat crackling | blue flame, the shive-wheels cracked and led to silence as they settled on the | ngs, the steel cable became taut asa | bow string, throwing off a fine oil spray, | like a tug-boat’s hawser. Slowly, inch by inch, as all parts of the machinery settled for the pull, Mike was being drawn up to | what was certain death if he were dragged i across the over-top and caught in one of | striking the edge, gashing his scalp. The free end of the cable whipped back to the shive like a flash of light, its snaky coils wrapping themselves about annigan and the motor. Knocked from | the switch-platf the coremaker, to orm, save himself, grasped at the blades | hands switch. There wasa sheet the accy- | pay- give him a job inthe yard ' Like a flash the big | through the bar watched him closely as he set his suspicions. : “Does he know what happened?” Mason asked Tony, who translated. Mike shook his head and got upon his feet. “I don'no,’” he said, and he showed the foreman the rope marks. “Tell him he'd better quit, Tony. I'll They'll kill him if he stays in there.” Mike understood without the transia- tion. “No, no, I no quit—a da core gang.” He started for the door, stopped and came back. “llike-a you." he said, reaching out a big w and shaking hands with the foreman. e turned and went decisively into the | foundry. The coremakers bunched together as Mike came back to the gane, but he gave them hardly a glance as he picked up his scoop shovel and went to work. The cable was quickly repaired, and soon the clash of the machinery humimned and roared with the rush of the day's work. Sudden death—coming, as it often did, to the foundry—occupied but a few moments of the men's time. The crush- ing grind of the work demanded their undivided attention: a lack of vigilance, a moment's thoughtlessness, might miean the snuffinz out of their own lives. The superintendent. wearing a linen duster to protect his clothes, was met by the foreman as he came into the foun- dry. He listened in doubtful sifence to the foreman’s suspicions. “And you really think they roped him to the ceble, and he broke it by main strength?" “I certainly believe it, although I have no means of proving it," answered the foreman, stoutly. “Impossible, man: impossible. Why, there isn't a human being living that could do that!” and the superintendent went his way, leaving the foreman biting his lip in chagrin. All day as Mike worked the constant rasp of his clothes against his rope-burn- ed flesh kept the idea constantly before him that these men with whom he tried to be friends had planned and attempted to kill him. For what reascn he did not know, or how it was done, for it had all happened so quickly that he did not re- member whether it was Manila hemp or steel rope that had wrapped itself about his body, but he had a growing blief that they wee responsible. e coremakers soon began to sense a poitent of danger in the change that came over the demeanor of the Italian. It caused them to walk warily and leave him alone. Even Moran forgot to sneer, and dropped his eyes and looked away whenever Mike glanced in his direction. But during the noon hour there was a gathering of the gangson the cana! bark, and much planning and low talk while they ate their lunch. e six-inch-core gang was late again . that night, and as Mike dropped his : check at the gate the time-clerk cursed him without [ooking up from his desk. talian’s arm reached the window and caught the young fellow by the throat; he lifted him up and jammed him back into his chair with a force that made his teeth rattle. "You-a too fresh; nex’-a time I break-a you neck,” he said. Then, giving a hitch to his trousers, Mike Slanced up the street at the saloon sign. “I guess I go now, drink-a for whiskey, at Sweeney's.” ! ey's saloon occupied the front parlor of a dirty yellow house two blocks | from the foundry. The low-ceilinged ! room, with its short bar, reeked with the smell of cheap beer and vile whiskey, the air was heavy with tobacco smoke, the sawdust-covered floor was smeared and ' stained with tobacco juice and littered with bread crusts and bologna skins from the free lunch. Many men were crowded there, most- ly big men, clothed in coarse woolen trousers, belt at the waist, and sleeveless undershirts open at posing broad, hairy chests; the hard, knotty muscles bulged through the flesh; | the skin on their faces was shiny from the scorch of the fires, and drawn tight | across the cheek bones, from lifting and | straining at heavy weights. They were hard-faced, frowning, glittery men, | who talked in short syllables colored with | hard explosive oaths. i As the unexpected bulk of Mike shoved | through the low doorway, the loud-voiced talk suddenly silenced and the men glared at him, raising on toes, muscles tense, waiting for the first move. M the ominous silence for fear or fri p, Mike smiled as he to the bar and said, softly, "Give-a da whiskey, 4 t a brown bottle and spun a glass over him. Not a move or a sound was there ' Mike filled and raised his glass. As his lips touched the liquor the door was slammed shut, the glass was knocked from his hand, and he staggered sidewise from a blow on the neck. Before he soul recover himself they were upon im. Two of them he caught in his great and flung ng against the mirror. But they were too many for him; fierce, brutal fighters, they swarmed over | him like a pack of wolves; battered and | bore him to the fioor amid the wreck of the bar and fixtures. i He fell fighting, his back against the overturned bar. A hoarse voice called a harsh command, and the man cli to his throat loosened his hold and was - ged back. At the same time a boot-heel | raked Mike's ood i his head jerked | down | | | i i : g : & Es . Again he same time scream kicked, | Mike : toward ° as cried, calling on the | help. i Behind him the sound of pursuers’ i - | zans, but only on ioc swelled, and grew into the surly roar of a Bis dor ewl ed ourke, newly appointed po- liceman, resplendent in blue uniforn and brass buttons, his soul burning for an op- portunity to achieve a reputation, was standing at the far end of the canal bridge when he saw Mike. Drawing his pistol, he stepped behind a truss beam and waited. As the big Italian reached the bridge, O'Rourke stepped out and commanded him to stop. Mike did not seem 10 see or hear, but, knife in hand, blood-spattered, he rushed straight on. Suddenly, near the centre of the bridge, he stopped, and fung out his arm, send- ing the knife spinning. One hand clutched at his breast, the other was extended pleading toward O'Rourke's smoking pis- tol. “Pleas a, | no hurt somebody; they— they try for—for kill-a me.” A great, broken-hearted sob heaved his shoulders, his arm dropped, and, like a forest giant, he reeled, half turned, and feli crashing to the bridge; hung for 2 moment on the edge, over-balanced. and plunged 10 the slow-moving, greasy waters of the canal. —By Jack Fletcher Cobb, in Harper's Weekly. How iv Govern a Grea! City. As the times for election periodically approach, the same demand of a large number of people is regularly heard: “Just select some merchant or business man and let him run the city government as he runs his own business.” How easy it sounds! But this is one of the worst delusions concerning city government. It is true that the business affairs of a city should be carried on in a business way, ! and that good business and technical men should be put at the head of departments | and details; but for the general manage- ment and political control—a prime es- sential which cannot be dispensed with— something more is The govern- ment of a large city is a highly complex legal and political machine. It has, pre- scribed by law, all sorts of necessary checks and limitations upon official power. A business man may do just as he likes | in his business, but not as a mayor or in any public office. There he is a mere in- strument to carry out the laws. His power of attorney is the law. The chief obstacle to the nomination and election of fit men to city office is national and state party prejudice or | bigotry carried into local politics. It should never be mentioned there. The | motto of every sensible man should be, | national politics and issues for national | elections, state politics and issues for state elections, and local politics and is- sues, and none other, for local elections. Every time this is said people who talk more than they think, including some newspaper editorial writers, immediately cry out that it is visionary, that parties cannot be done away with, that they are necessary. Certainly they are necessary, and there is no suggestion of doing away with them. Voters in local elections should cross | the national party line freely, being in- fluenced by local considerations only. Certainly a voter who will vote for the | candidates of a party in a local election simply because he believes in a protective tariff, or in free trade, or in a tariff for revenue only, or in a single standard of metallic money, which has nothing what- ever to do with the case, is doing a very stupid if not degrading thing. He is re- ' sponsible for local bosses; his party pre- judice plays right into the hands of the boss Nothing should influence the voter in a local election except the local questions of men and measures which are up for con- sideration. And it is a misnomer to call officials nonpartizan who are elected in this discriminating way. They are parti- entirely seemly and proper for them to make their appointments to office or e pry which elected e cause of corrupt local from the local An inevitab goverment is the control of the ment or the conduct of officials by outside bosses or that condi many hall during the last mayoralty con- test in the city of New York he received more ridicule than sober consideration being Sompletsly emancipated from such tions. iy an ignorant or corrupt community co! elect a mayor who would be such a tool. A public official should act from a sense of official - slity only. This does not mad that he ould ignore politicians or party leaders, or refuse to consult with them or listen ' to them, but only that in the end he ' | should follow his own enlightened official ' act. A mayor, governor, or President may learn much in respect of what not i dy by listening to the advice of politic- al leaders, or even political bosses, as theyarecalied. It is only a weakling who will declare after reaching some high office that he will have nothing to do with “politicians”; and it is always ful of his own fortitude or integrity, 4i' else so confident that he knows every- thing, as to assume such an attitude. It is the of a little man. From Wil. ilam J. Gaynor’s "The Problem of Effi- cien: City Government” in September Centu,y. The Chuach and the Saloon. was a maker and user of wine, and applaud- 5 the ui of intoxica as of temperance sentiment. They afford us reminiscent glimpses of a time when to be an abstainer was to be rated a fanatic; when there was no rec- ognized ethical side of the temperance problem, when the deacons in the church da were as likely as not distillers, and when the minister received liquor as part of his fi To-day, as we all know, the liquor | dealer is a social outcast; as we have just seen, the liquor interests, even in their least offensive forms, are on the de- fensive, ting for existence. Truly a metamorphic change of attitude! ——The wise are polite all the world over; fools are polite only at home. issues, and it is’ govern- . izations. The long era of | is passing. When the writer of this article so stated in ‘Tam- a — a ————— EE —— ie te sos os . « cable, as told by the coremakers, he had | Shot Albino Deer, Scoffs at Curse. The of awhite, or albino, deer, in the Larrys Creek region, the other day, by Grant Hoover, has aroused a flood of exclamation among the deer hunters who are at all superstitious, because there is a well-settled tradition that to shoot a white deer is to call down upon one’s self a terrible fate of some kind. But Hoover, who is a prominent insur- ance man of this city, is losing no sleep over the thing. He is satisfied with the fact that the shot that brought the splén- did deer down at 200 yards was one of the prettiest made in this section this yea:. He is willing to run the risk of spooks and hob-goblins and bad luck, and will have the hide of the white buck fine- ly mounted and then present it to the Larrys Creek Fish & Game Club, on whose preserve the deer was killed, and of which Hoover is a member. TAKEN FOR PATCH OF SNOW. That the club is not afraid or super- stitious is shown by the fact that it al- ready has as a club-house trophy a white deer skin, the animal also having been killed in the same woods. But it is far inferior to the Hoover specimen. The Hoover deer was seen last year by a hunter named Linck, from Williams- port. The deer was in an old orchard, and was a fine shot for Linck, but he de- clined to shcot, whether because of his respect for the popular belief that white deer lead a charmed lifc or not, is not known. The white deer was also seen by other hunters during the past two sea- sons, but until it came within range of Hoover's rifle it escaped. And it came near escaping Hoover, too, for until it moved Hoover thought the white thing was a patch of snow. But i once it started it went like a streak, and only the fact that Hoover is an excep- i tionally good shot prevented its escape. Over in Miffiin township, near where the old Jay Cooke preserve is located, several years ago, a white deer was found wounded. A hunter who had fired at the animal on the spur of the moment, when he found that his game was of the pure albino variety, refrained from dispatch- | ing it, preferring rather to run the risk | of the deer surviving and recovering from its wound. But this did not occur. It died in a | few days. But never since has the man ‘who shot it handled a gun, either for ! hunting or anything else, so firmly con- vinced is he that the shooting of the white deer will avenge itself upon him if he indulges in the use of firearms. HUNTER ENCOURAGED TRADITION. In Sullivan county, three years | Henry Shelly shot a deer in a deep w ' The animal fell over the edge of a cliff toward which it was running. Shelly at- tempted to hurry down the same cliff, when his rifle was discharged, the bullet grazing his head. He was stunned and fell to the bottom of the cliff, where his hunting companion found him quite bad- ly hurt. The dead deer beside him wag an albino, an almost unknown specie in that section of the State. Shelly's accident following wo quickly | the killing of the white deer was looked upon by those who heard of the case as a quick retribution. Shelly was of the opinion that the deer had snow on its back. He could see culy its head and its back, and while he noticed its whiteness, yet he took it to be caused by snow from an overhanging brush und fired. Had he known that it was an albino he would , have permitted it to go unharmed.—Wil- liamsport correspondence in Philadelphia Record. Women are to Blame in a great measure for home unhappi- ness. Not always the woman who helps make home unhappy, but her mother per- haps who let her daughter assume the obligations of marriage in ignorance of the consequences. When a woman is careless of her appearance, too tired to “fix up” for her husband; when she scolds the children and neglects household duties, there is discord and mi to come. Why not use Dr. Pierce's Favorite Prescription and be a healthy woman and have a happy home? There's no excuse for the majority of women who are so down with suffering. “Favorite | Prescription” cures ninety-eight per cent, of all “female diseases” even in their ! worst forms. More than half a million !forit. And yet we are on the eve of women are witnesses to these cures. i “Favorite Prescription” will cure you too, | if your case is curable. It has cured ' hundreds of cases pronounced incurable | by doctors. i You can consult Dr. Pierce by letter, i free. All ivate. ‘dressDr. R. V. NY | Few e who know mistletoe only ‘asa feature of Christmas deco- j rations understand that the Plant Ba | parasite dangerous to the life of trees , the regions in which it grows. It is only | a question of time, after mistletoe once , begins to grow upon a tree, before the | tree itself will be killed. The parasite ranches. | painful to see such an official so distrust- | saps the life of the infected b | Fortunately, it is of slow growth, taking years to develop to large proportions, but when negl it invariably ruins all i trees it reaches. The only method of | extermination is the cutting down of dis- , eased trees. | ——"What a noisy thing that bass drum 1s!” remarked the clarinet ¥ | "Yes," replied the trombone; “just like _ Until less than a century ago the liquor 2 NR prin id bd : SA Sharh “Yes; it's the one with the big head ‘ 3 : that makes the most noise.” In the year 1807 the society known asthe Brethren of Christ was o in a| Stakinr Eads room guar a distillery. LE the Bish- Shaking E . op of Vermont wrote a denouncing pa, e know how to shake hands the temperance workers 2s infidels and ' oo general run of folk either give ts of scripture. As recently as; yim, paw and allow it to be shaken or 1866 an article written by a "else grasp yours in theirs and nearly dis- Hous] clergyman, and published in a Bb locate it with their violence. claimed with gusto the alleged fact ‘that If bees are winteredin ordinary, thin, the founder of the Christian Church unprotected hives, the moisture arising : from them will condense and freeze to _ the hive, thereby encircling the bees with } ice. having tid many TS pi medi to quick relief in Dr. Pierce's Golden | Medical Discovery. It is suprising, but it is a surprise which is taking place every ting stout again, and the to try your medicine. I home doctors and received but little lief. After e- three bottles Pierce's Golden Medical Discovery one wal | of his "Pleasant Peles. stout and hearty. It is due en your wonderful medicines.”
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers