Bellefonte, Pa., March, 31, 1911. w—" THE BOY WHO FORGETS. | I love him, the boy who forgets. Does it seem such a queer thing to say? Can't help it. He's one of my pets, Delightful at work or at play. F'd trust him with all that I own And know neither worries or frets, But the secret of this lies alone In the things that the laddie forgets. He always forgets to pay back The boy who has done him an ill, Forgets that a grudge he owes Jack And smiles at him pleasantly still, He always forgets "us his turn To choose what the others shall play. Forgets about others to learn The gossipy things that “they say.” He forgets to look sulky and cross When things are not going his way, Forgets some one’s gain is his loss, Forgets in his work time his play. So this is why I take his part, Why 1 say he is one of my pets. I repeat it with all my heart, I love him for what he forgets! & bres were missing. Also they had trim- med the wide, jaunty brims of the cam- paign hats to a scant inch. The result was not artistic, but the hats stayed on r But the figure that rode two horse's lengths in front of the troopers was dif- ferent. Although he had shared the hard work of his company, he had kept his uniform shapely and reasonably clean. | His leather puttees glistened with oil, and | his hat was set at the angle seen in the | “men wanted for the army” posters. He carried his naked sabre in his hand. “Ain't he the dandy, though?" ex- claimed Parsons, nodding at the captain's straight back. Henderson, riding at his side, agreed with a gesture. “And he's proof,” he went on, “that you can make as good a soldier in two rty | “sent out day before yesterday. I'm re- months as you can in twenty years out | of the right kind of stuff.” | “I don't know,” replied Parsons with a | deep frown which indicated a desire to! be fair, “ those regulars——" | “Regulars nothing,” interrupted Hen- | © derson quickly. “I tell you Walter Hurl- but's the best captain in the army this | minute—and he didn't know what war! was six months ago. Why shouldnt he be? Look what he was: head of a big! publishing house, art critic, clubman, | traveller, athlete! A big, broad-gauge man in every way, and he forgets all that he has been, and turns every ounce of | his ability to being a soldier. He thinks, | man! he doesn’t learn all his war from | books!" “Yes, but he's different,” sons. “Different!” retorted Henderson, bend- ; ing to the sudden leap of his horse as the | animal cleared an old stump in the road, | “of course he's different. He's a human being instead of a carefully trained ma- | chine.” i “He's married, 100," Parsons said, as ' though adding an obstacle which argument | could not surmount. | “Right,” agreed his companion, “and | that's the finishing touch. You don't | catch him mooning over his wife's pic- | ture cither! [I've seen her she’s a wife worth going back to. but he doesn't! let that count. He takes bigger chances | than the rest of us. It'll work that way | every time, too. You take a good busi- | ness man and show him the ropes of the army, and he'll make a better soldier | than your trained fighting machine.” ‘ persisted Par- Hurlbut suddenly threw up his gaunt- | of a tangle of bushes witha startling thun- leted hand and pulled his horse up on | abrupt halt. i “Dismount!” ordered the officer quiet- | 5 One trooper was left holding the bri- | es of the horses, and the five men fol- | lowed the straight figure into the woods. “What are we after?” whispered Par- | sons. “I don’t know,” answered Henderson, “but he does!” The little party moved quietly through | the pines, following an old trail, so old that the path on which they stepped was | a full two inches lower than the needle- | handkerchief and looked about him. He' consulted a note-book, then moved ahead | without a word, the men following him | in silence. For half an hour low- lyup a shelves of | knob of a! ey had been watch- | from looked | to his » he said something - = 7 : £3 : : 2 2 i ¥ | | g : of] h i ips; i i 8 £ | 2 g 3 i E i 5 | steadfastly away from the man as the lit- one side. As they neared the foot of the | sight among the trees. One or two of the common feeling. I. Henderson reach- | ed over and caught Hurlbut's sleeve. The latter followed the direction of the trooper’s pointing finger and saw the tri- | pod of a heliograph instrument leaning inst the trunk of one of the last trees. urlbut nodded and rose to his feet. As he did so they heard one of the troopers | off to their left call sharply. | "Don’t move there!” I've got you cov- | ered!” As voice answered cheerfully. “All right!” i The five men hurried quickly toward ; the spot from which the voice had come, | to find Parsons leaning easily against the | bole of a tree, his carbine at his hip, its muzzle pointing at a brown-clad figure sitting on a stump twenty yards away, smoking a cigarette and smiling at Par- | sons cheerfully through a carefully trim- med black beard. As Hurlbut came into | iew the man on the stump rose easily | saluted, paying not the least atten | to the nervous jerk of Parsons weap- on. He was a tall, well-built man, deep- | R 4 tanned; his uniform was similar to of his ca save that it was . Hurlbut walked toward | him without returning the salute, in spite of the fact that a torn shoulder- sap hung from the other’s shoulder. bi t's your regiment?” Hurlbut de- manded abruptly. “Forty- New York,” replied the | The 2 rp x expressions of | astonishment and covert winks, but the | captain made no comment. i “What are you doing out here bevond | the outposts?” he continued. Withnt answering, the other pointed to the in- | strument against the tree. Hurlbut frowned and pulled at his blonde mus- e “There's a scouting party six miles far- | ther up the creek,” exclaimed the man, ! laying their reports back to head-quar- ters.” “What troops are in that scouting par- ty?" asked Hurlbut after a pause. “Half of ‘L’ company of my own regi- ment,” the other answered quickly. Hurlbut studied the ground in front of him, and poked his heavy Colt back into its holster. The five troopers lounged about on the grass or leaned against trees, wiping the perspiration trom their faces and eyeing the two officers curiously. Only Parsons had not moved, but stood against the same tree, the bolt of his car- bine drawn back, the black muzzle never wavering from the strange officer's body. The black-bearded man seemed to have forgotten the existence of Parsons and his carbine. Hurlbut raised his head, and the men who could see him noticed that it looked a year older and was rather white. "The Forty-Second New York," he said coldly, “is something like a thousand miles south of us. There isn't any scout- ing party up the creek. How long have you been on this hill?” The dark man shrugged his shoulders and threw away the butt of his cigar- tte. “Never mind the formalities,” he said quietly, letting out the last of the smoke from his tigarette as he spoke, “I've been here long enough to find out whatI want. Of course I shan't answer any of your questions.” The attitude of the five lounging troop- ers changed as the man spoke. They ceased to look at him cnriously, and their eyes hardened. Parsons jerked his car- bine to a former position against his thigh and his lean forefinger crawled a trifle nearer to the trigger. steadily over his captive’s head and gave the necessary orders. The troopers went forward silently to bind the man's hands. Hurlbut noticed that they tied the cords Yidlictively, drawing them unnecessarily tight. “Never mind tying them quite so tight,” he said. "Thank you,” said the dark man quick- ly. “I shan’t try to escape.” The men seemed not to hear his speech. It was as though a sudden barrier had risen between them, and made of him a different sort of being. Hurlbut looked tle group moved slowly down the slope, the prisoner walking ahead with his hands tied behind him; the troopers close be- hind, their carbines resting easily in the crooks of their arms; Hurlbut a little to hill, a cock-partridge burst suddenly out der of wings, and bored, twisting, out of troopers jumped slightly and gave vent to startled exclamations. Hurlbut and the prisoner stiffened slightly like setters, and followed the flight of the bird with eyes that snapped with eagerness. Their glances met and the dark-haired man smiled brighti%: his white teeth sho pleas- antly through the closely-trimmed beard. Hurlbut had to stiffen the muscles of his face quickly and turn his glance off to- ward the brook to check the smile of “A fine bird,” he heard theprisoner say to the men behind him. Th an old stub and he fell headlong, heavily. The troopers, mistaking his action, half- | shot. then lowered raised their weapons and them awkwardly. The man had fallen in such a way that, with his hands behind his back, he could not rise. “It's careless of me,” he said, “but you've trussed me up so well I can’t get pe Hurlbut felt the blood tingling in his cheeks as the soldiers tive to rise. Parsons even went so far as to dust off the man’s clothes. “Never mind, thanks," said the | a : is 2g 2 fil : i f : ; 2 g g 2 1 man's | himself at the conceit, for it had Hurlbut looked | ly — he cavght himself thinking exactly | looked in evening | every time the picture flashed | before his mind he saw the broad red ribbon of the Legion passing across the shirt-front. He smiled slightly to always | been 2 secret ambition of his own to be able some day to wear one of those red ribbons himself. He wondered if perhaps he and this stranger did not think alike about a good many things—if perhaps they had not left the same sort of things behind them. This other man could not go back to them, and his people would not care to hear how he had met his death—a spy! One of the waiting horses down the road heard the sound of the approachin, and whinnied. The prisoner lift is head sharply and peered down the aisles between the trees. The neigh of the horse went through Hurlbut strange- ly. He seemed to feel all the sensations that had passed through the other. snorting of the horses must have told this man that he was one stage nearer the | end of all things; the little plot of open und, the white-faced officer, and the of nervous, twitching men—one of whom had a weapon loaded with a blank cartridge. They came out into the road and saw the trooper and the waiting horses. Hurl- but breathed easier for some reason. It was a relief to him to have even one more man—though merely a private who had really borne no part—to shoulder the re- sponsibility of this thing which was grow- ing more hateful every instant. The troopers waited for the captain to come up as they reached the horses n- ly the prisoner turned and came quickly to Hurlbut. “It's only a little while now,” he said quickly in a low, pleading tone. “Will you let me walk beside you and talk with you on the way back?” For an instant Hurlbut hesitated, look- ing away, then he turned and met the other's eyes. They were looking at him, | very straight and with a terrible earnest- ness. “Very well,” he answered curtly. The little group arranged itself quickly. Two of the troopers rode ahead; Huflbut followed with the prisoner walking by his side, and the remaining four men walked their horses a few paces farther to the rear. “Little chunks of time,” said the pris- oner suddenly, without looking up at the man beside him, "are queer things. [I had my own uniform done up in a bundle un- der a stone a dozen paces from the stump where you found mie. Had you been ten minutes later, | would have been a pris- oner of war instead of a spy. Hurlbut made no reply, and the manon foot laughed shortly. “I suppose,” he went on, “I owe my life —or rather my death--to tobacco. de- cided I'd smoke one cigarette before I changed my clothes. 1 wonder,” he fin- ished whimsically, “what my status would have been if you'd come on me when I was half in one uniform and half in the other!” Hurlbut fought with a growing desire to ask this man all sorts of questions; to sympathize with him, to ask him what messages he might write, what explana. tions he should make—all this, and even a desire to see the man slip quickly into the bushes before the troopers could shoot. Instead of answering, he set his lips in a firm line, drew the black, ugly | Colt from his holster and laid it across his saddle bow. The prisoner noted it and raised his eyebrows ever so slightly. Hurl- but flushed, pretended to examine the cyl- inder of the weapon, and shoved it back into the holster. “I wish you wouldn't put that away,” protested the man quickly. "I feel better with it boring into my mind.” “I'll run the risk,” said Hurlbut short- They went forward monotonously over the squared logs of the old road. Hurl: but did not have to check his horse for the benefit of the man on foot,who walked with long, easy, tireless strides. The low- | voiced talk of the troopers behind them | sounded distinctly. “I've just been wondering,” said the spy, | “whether, if I'd had my choice, I'd have | picked a day like this as my last. Would { a man rather flicker out with the world at its best or its worst? On the whole, I believe I'm rather glad it isn't raining.” The captain was commencing to regret that he had promised to let the man talk. The spy was looking at things so exactly as he would have had a doomed man look, and yet it made it that much the harder. It seemed to him that he could follow every step of the man’s mind, and all that he said seemed exactly the thing that Hurlbut would, have said. He wished fervently that the man would fall a prey | to fear and keep silent. "It’s a queer thing,” the continued in the same idle jon, “It's a queer thing this Walking to death with your eyes wide open, the best part of what ought to be life ahead of you. [don’t see why it doesn't make me mad with the injustice of the thing.” 1 gish “You took the chance. You didn't! have to play the spy,” his captor remind. | im "Oh, I did,” replied the other, look- | ing up in a straightforward fashion which made the other silent; “there wasn’tany- body else to do it. That isn’t mock hero- ics, you know, but just plain facts. I can't make it seem quite real Why, I've always been so healthy I've never even tt t of dying. They won't hang me, will ?” he finished in a sudden burst of anxiety. “No,” answered Hurlbut in a dry, mat- ter-of-fact tone, and added, to stiffen his and | were not at all are taking me to be shot!” “Talk about aomething else,” ted roughl profile, y. looked steadily at Hurlbut's | after own face set seriously, as though he were trying to convince him- | shoot him—after what he's done for This was a man of his own | mount fell and threw me, and here you cut out for us. Because | 1 § self just what sort of a man lay beneath the tanned skin and the yellow mustache Finally he threw up h air of decision and took the plunge. "Aren't you willing to forget your a soldier, and remember you're a man long enough to keep me sane?” he demanded quickly. "Are you so tightly cased in your uniform that you begrudge the last few hours of life to a man with nothing ahead of him but ceratin death? Don’t you suppose I'm leaving anything behind me that I regret? Do you think I'm talking this way out of sheer bravado? Man, don’t you understand that it’s only by thinking of the things so close behind me and keeping my mind off the grisly thing such a little way in front that I can keep my knees stiff?” Hurlbut swallowed chokingly and kept his eyes steadfastly turned from the eager face at his side. The carnest, pleading sentences cut into the very core of his being. It was al! so unreal: the brilliant sunshine, the thousand familiar sounds of the wood-land, the pleasant, muffled sound of the horses’ hoofs and the jingle of harness, and the low, cheerful talk of the men behind them, broken now and then by a full, deep-chested laugh. And then, cutting sharply across this back- ground of ordinary things, the tense, in- sistent voice of the man at his side, plead- ing only for a few moments of unrestrict- ed speech, speech of the things that they both might understand, and that others —the officer who commanded the firing- squad, perhaps——might not. “Well?” said Hurlbut encouragingly. He did not see the smile of relief on the other's face, but he knéw it was there from the change in his tone. As the spy talked, the stiffness of Hurl- but's attitude began to relax. Now and then he broke in upon the steady flow of the other's words, but always, when he spoke, he heard the dull voices of the men behind him, and caught the easy at- titude of the troopers in front, and fell silent again. "I was going to write about this war, too,” the other man was saying; “I've never written anything but plays before, but I think I could have done this.” Hurlbut turned quickly in his saddle. “You're not Gustav Vermuhlen, are you?" he demanded breathlessly. “Yes,” answered the spy simply. Hurlbut remembered, now, having read the notice that the young dramatist had gone into the army. Then his mind went farther buck, and he remembered sitting in his own office and talking with his as- sistant about the advisability of putting out an American editicn of the young dramatist’s last play. Like a picture on a screen this thing snapped out of Hurlbut's mind, and he saw Vermuhlen's body, limp, lying on its face in the wet grass of to- morrow morning. The steady flow of the man’s speech broke through onto | Hurlbut’'s mind again. “I suppose I couldn't even talk of these things if they had been one whit less perfect,” Vermuhlen was saying, “but a man can't very well complain—though the best thing in his life is cut short when he's had a few years even without a flaw, can be?” “No, "answered Hurlbut almost uncon- sciously, “no, I suppose not.” “But she's so youn —so absolutely without thought of fac ng anything alone, and yet so brave. I know she'll come through all right—" “Who?” interrupted Hurlbut. “Why, my wife,” answered the other quickly, surprised. “I know she'll come through all right,” he went on, “butl know how hard it will be—and I feel— well, I teel so much sorrier for her than I do for myself. ture?" Hurlbut looked down to see the other fumbling in the breast of his brown tunic. “Don’t!” pleaded “don't!” "of my Hurlbut Javier than yours. I'm a 'T've , the responsibility tried hard tote asgcod one—but all, 'm aman first and a I can't take this man men and women in the world!” he , finished helplessly. He stared at the’ head with an in silence for an instant. Hen- cleared his throat noisily, and Hurlbut looked up. ! “I'm going to let him go,” he announc- ! ed. "It's a breach of duty—and you men | will see it. You won't need to report it, | because I shall confess.” He turned sud- | denly to Vermuhlen—"You can go when | you will. [ won't stop you.” Vermuhlen shook his head and smiled. He spoke partly to Hurlbut and partly to the men. \ “No,” he said deliberately, “I shan't take the chance you give. It's a fine last tribute you're paying to whatever I may | have done—but I'll not see a good soldier | broken that I may live. Your captain is goiny to let me walk between two of you the rest of the way to your camp.” Hurlbut started to speak, but the other | held up his hand. P use p ing,” he insist- ed; “If I won't run, I won't and you can't make me!" Without a word, Hurlbut wheeled his horse and rode on. The troopers closed loosely about Vermuhlen, and the little group moved slowly on th the thin- ning trees. Hurlbut rode with his head bent, thinking of the picture in the breast of Vermuhlen's jacket, and of another in the breast of his own. He kept asking himself what Vermuhlen would have done if their positiens had been reversed. His thoughts moved dully around a monoten- ous circle; he felt that he could not go back to his own wife and feel as he had, with the thought of that unknown wife across the sea, waiting hopelessly. And yet, if he ordered the men aside, drove his prisoner into the woods, and then gal- loped away—he could not go back then, with a blot on his army record. The whole color of his life was spoiled, and all because Vermuhlen had wasted five recious minutes smoking a cigarette and not changed his uniform! A hot, re- bellious anger at the unreasoning power of little things surged through him. One tiny cigarette, cold now somewhere among the pine needles, had sent one man to his death and brought to him a lasting unhappiness that would not pass. A murmur of voices behind him made him turn, and he saw that Parsons had taken the prisoner up onto his horse be- hind him. He noticed, casually, that the men were laughing, evidently at some- thing Vermuhlen had said. hat a thor- oughbred this man was! Hurlbut knew that he was clinging to life with all the fervor of youth and a great love, and yet he could smile and talk to the men about him-and more than that, he could be so thoughtful as to take temptation of his own causing out of a stranger's way! And even as Hurlbut thought of the oth- er's handsome, black-bearded face, he saw the lithe body lying on its face in the wet grass. There was a sudden wild clatter of hoofs behind him, and sharp, snapping cries from the men. Hurlbut's hand shot to the butt of the big revolver before he wheeled in his saddle to see Parsons ly- ing on his back in the road, while the . spy, flattening himself onto the neck of Parson's horse, had already swung the animal around in the narrow road. a him!” yelled Hurlbut, “shoot im! He tried to raise his Colt, but his hand seemed nerveless. He sat almost inert, ! watching the other men raising their car- May I show you her pic- bines with unaccountable slowness. Al- ready the prisoner's horse had stopped his frantic plunging and fallen into his stride. “Fire!” shouted Hurlbut, seemingly for- getful of his own Weapon. Then he saw the five men, all of whom could clip coins at fifty or even a hun- i dred yards, send one after another of the Hurlbut thickly; Vermuhlen looked up in surprise, and | drawn. “I'm not playing fair with you,” he said quickly; “I've no right to make your duty harder. I didn't mean—" i ' saw that his captor’s face was white and | “and he spurred h the intensity of his feeling he rested his | {around a turn in the road, and Hurlbut “Look out, captain!” Parsons yelled A almost unconsciously pulled his horse to hand on Hurlbut’s saddle. suddenly. “He's reaching for your The little cavalcade halted su steel-jacketed bullets whistling harmless- ly through the air above the head of the fleeing horseman—not yet a score of yards away from him. “Go after him!” thundered Hurlbut, | hearted pursuit. They went out of sight n!” a walk and then stopped. He listened to ly. | the diminishing sound of hoofs and the The two men, the prisoner and his cap- ' cries of the men. From time to time the tor, stared at the troopers, their carbines | sound of a shot came back to him. Min- half-raised, and then at each other. Ver- muhlen shook his head slightly and smil- ed faintly. “I can’t do it,” Hurlbut muttered uuder his breath; “my God, man, I can’t!” | | | i ute after minute he sat stolidly in the road, waiting for the return of his men. After what seemed an interminable time they came around the turn of the road, Parsons, on foot, in front of them. “You've got to,” the other whispered; “Well?” said Hurlbut as they came 2. - e (“it's a hard price for both of us, but Henderson saluted solmenly. we've got to pay it. Let me go with the | couldn't catch him, Captain,” he explain- men!” Hurlbut sat motionless in the saddle, his face a mask, but behind it his mind a riot of conflicting thoughts, his pulses now racing madly and now almost slug- “Parsons,” he said Shader, "did you ever read a book called ‘The Father’'?” "Yes, sir,” answered the astonished ed. "You know sir, Parson's horse was the fastest in the company. And he got off so quick I guess it flustered our shoot- ing. Ithink we winged him, but we couldn't tell for sure." "You and Tooley go back to that hill,” he ordered, “and stay there until relieved. If any- thing happens, ride in at once and re- Hurlbut looked the question at | port. Bp ego op gi ded their heads wonderingly. “Well, i t with a gest- ure toward his prisoner, “this is the man that wrote it—it and a lot of other things just as or better. And we're taking im to be shot!” The shifted uneasily in their saddles. Hurlbut rubbed his paim slow- ly over the horn of his saddle and stared at the ground. The men were obviously at a loss what to do or say; this was not at all a part of the game of war been playing; these two like Thurston or Crockett or some of the ed for Hurlbut = 3 7 if 55 Hh £ He's but done his duty—but uniform to do it, and the is death.” § 7 £ 3 Fe i : : 52 : g g The in started to wheel his horse bot Benferson, Se an instant’s awk- e again. “And, " he began diffidently, and then more boldly as Hurlbut faced | him, "I guess we ain't any better soldiers | or worse men than you are, and—I guess | we understand!" Impuileively Hurlbut’s hand shot out, | and Henderson gri it hard. i you,” Hurlbut shortly, and and trotted The first of April, some do say, Is set apart for All Fools’ Day; But why the people call ir so, Nor you, nor I, nor they, may know. is own horse as the has n troopers lumbered into awkward, half- shades, and though fairly successful in mistakes, ‘ so that practical information may advantageous. In the first place not all fabrics that need cleaning or dyeing can be success- fully attempted at home. Indeed, there are certain materials and colors that pro- fessionals accept only at the customer's risk, so that an amateur should not feel discouraged, supposing a first attempt is a failure. Possibly the result would have been the same had it been undertaken by a professional. All woolen goods dye better than any other materials; serge and broadcloth also take dyes effectively. Any light color will dye any preferred color that is dark- er in shade than the original tone and of course will take black. red; also brown, Red will dye a purple and and black. Brown will take navy blue, a deep red and a choco- late brown. Green may be dyed a deep- er green, a very dark red, a very dark and red. , brown yida will take a deep purple and black. Goods with a plain surface will dye most successfully. Where there is a pat- tern, as plaid or stripe, whether the de: sign has been in a contrasting color or not, the figured effect will show after be- ing dyed. the design has been in the weave only, then the goods will be as pretty as before. When fabrics are of two or more colors the result will be a mottled or blurred ef- fect, according as the different tints have to the dye of one shade. goods as a rule show that they have passed through the dyeing process. DO NOT DYE WOOLEN AND COTTON GOODS. The mixed cotton and woolen fabrics pro- claim this fact more loudly still, and it does not pay to send such materials to be dyed. If one can manage this at home the cost will be but a trifle and probably the result will be quite as satisfactory as though done by a professional. Another important point to be remem- bered is that all stains must be removed before the dyeing is started otherwise a hole is likely to be the result, as the dye cats into the stain. I fancy this is t reason the directions on home dyes al- ways advise the garment being thorough- ly washed before coloring. Silk does not dye satisfabtorily. Crepe ge Chine, however, takes a color splendid- y. A good satin may be attempted, but a cheap satin is worthless afterward. Taffeta will crack and the fine silks, such as mes- saline, are equally unsatisfactory. The heavier silks, like bengaline, are a little more successful, but professionals, as a rule, do not care to handle silks. On the contrary, the fine cotton goods, such zs batiste, mul'e and swiss, dye ex- tremely well, which is fortunate, for frocks of this description are worn in a hot sun, and so, of course, quickly fade. The Inventor of the Dime Novel. The death of Orville J. Victor, which occurred at his home in Hohokus, New Jersey, recently, remcved a remarkable character and a man puss essing a distinct- ive claim to celebrity. Only two or three newspapers chronicled his demise, and none of thew referred to the work with which he was longest associated. They told of the histories and biographies which he wrote and of the newspapers and periodical which I'e conducted. None of therm mentioned his connection with Beadle's Dime Novels, : 1 of which he ed- ited for many vears. How the pulses of the robust boys of forty or fifty years ago «tir to-day when they recall “Malaeska, the Indian Wife of the White Hunter: Seth Jones; Ono- moo, the Huron"—ard the other paper- covered pocket treasurcs which Orville J. Victor's skillful staff of contributors produced in the sixties and seventies of the past century. Both the Beadles died long ago, and so did Adams, their part- : ner in the publishing business. And now their accomplished and versatile editor departed. The Beadle series were the pioneers in the dime-novel field, and they were better than any of their imita- tors of the later period. Of those who where associated in any capacity in a prominent way with the Beadle novels in their earlier and grea} er days all are dead except Edward S. El- lis and Mary A. Denison. Dr. Ellis's “Seth Jones,’” which was printed just half a century ago and which was the most famous of all the “dimes,” was translated into a dozen languages and had a sale of over five hundred thousand copies. What Folksongs Are. One of the finest pleasures in the world is derived from singi Even savages make an effort to sing uttering weird notes as they beat on queer drums and dance around their war fires. In ancient times before there were any pianos, e sang sometimes to the clapping of their hands, and often to the accompani of crude instruments which looked like old-fashioned guitars, violins or harps. of battles, love, harvest- Da orl EGR oransts 8338S EnBLEnEREES ErSexBace~SRew~al 3 & | SERERRINLIBIVINLT aS g | Brlerlna=adlssLs §| ApNeEeBIRanLFErs i g
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers