| staring while the robbers searched their : master. Democratic, ata, “This is a stray " said one, “he ocThia ina stray dog.” wid one, the _— — Belletonte, Pa., November 14, 1913, THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. : ] a mouthful wine on him. and leave him for the “What have the vultures done for us,” iii ' Let us take his cloak and drive off his The melancholy days are come, the saddest of flock, and leave him to die in his own the . time. ods usd skied woods. ard mess With a kick and a curse they left him. ows brown and sear. He opened his eyes and lay still for a mo- Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn | ment, with his twisted smile, watching he sath i Ro Sveup like sulla” bu. said. "1 ‘They rustle to the eddying gust, to ou creep . oad, Hough Jou had marked my time to- ‘The robin and the wren are flown, and from the | night. t \ shrubs the jay, for nothing. I must pay for all, it And from the wood-top calls the crow through | seems. all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, Fak & away, slowly scattering and reced- of his frightened flock as the robbers, that lately sprung and stood runni and shou to Tn brighter ight sud solter sis,» beauteous sis- over the hills. Sting tied od up and hood took shepherd's pipe, a worthless Alas! they all are in their graves, tie gentle of reed, fi the t t of his tunic. He Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and | DIEW again that plaintive, air, aod of ours, sounding it out over the dis- The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold | November rain ng nor end; a melancholy, plead- ing tune that searched forever after Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely , something Jost. ones again. | The windflower and the violet, they perished summer glow, | But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in | the wood, | And the yellow sunflower by the brook in au- tumn beauty stood, | “Till fell the frost from the cold. clear heaven, as falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was gone from | valley. long ago, | by rou And the briar-rose and the orchids died amid the | While he played, the sheep and the ts, slipping away from their captors t ways, hiding behind the laurel-bushes, following the dark gullies, leaping down the broken cliffs, came cir- cling back to him, one after another; and as they came, he interrupted his playing, now and then, to call them by name When they were nearly all assembled, he went down swiftly toward the lower and they followed him, panting. upland, glade and glen. | At the last crook of the path ont | steep Iside a straggler came after him And now, when comes the calm, mild day, as | 5100 the cliff. He looked up and saw it still such days will come, | To call the squirrel and the bee from out their | Outlined winter home; nst the sky. Then he saw lit lea slip, and fall beyond the When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, | Path nto a deep cleft. though all the trees are still, ! “Little fool,” he said, “fortune is kind to you! You have escaped. What? You And twinkle in the smoky light the meen ofthe | are crying for help? You are still in the rill, | The south wind searches for the flowers whose | ¢ fragrance late he bore, i And sighs to findthem in the wood and by the | And thenl think of one who in her youthful beauty died, The fair, meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side; In the cold, moist earth we laid her, when the forests cast the leaf, And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief; Yet not unimeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours, I must go down to you little , for I am a fool too. But why l must do it, I know no more than you | He lowered himself quickly and peril- | ously into the cleft, and found the crea- | ture with its leg broken and bleeding. It | was not a sheep but a young goat. He | had no cloak to wrap it in, but he took off his turban and unrolled it, and bound it around the trembling animal. Then | he climbed back to the path and strode on at the head of his flock, carrying the | little black kid in his arms. There were houses in the Valley of the heard the rustling and bleating | trouble to save a tiny scrap of worthless e. ! Even when a man does not know or | care where he is going, if he steps ahead "he will get there. In an hour or more of | | walking over the plain the sad shepherd | came to a sheep-fold of gray stones with ' a rude tower beside it. fold was . a little fire of thorns was burning, around | which four were crouching, | weanped ih thelr thick woulien Cluales. : the stranger a they - ed up, and one of Ae to | his feet, grasping his knotted club. But when they saw the fiock that followed shepherd, stared at each | other and said: “Itis one of us, a not even that is given to me | of sheep. But how comes he here in this | amount of rocks and | raiment? It is what men wear in kings’ | “No,” said the one who was standing, “it is what they wear when they have | been thrown out of them. Look at the | rags. He may be a thief and a robber with his stolen flock.” the oldest “Are we not four PebiaBadogrin Nay Rg a tra m fair. t is the will of God—and it costs nothing.” “Peace be with you, brother,” cried the and father be blessed.” "May your heart be enlarged,” the stranger answered, “and may all your families be more blessed than mine, for I have none.” t shepherd; “may your mother 4 them had lost ambition and had permit- | \ ! To the Citizens of Bellefonte. [Second Article Contributed by the Woman's Civic Club. } A walk on Water street between High and Lamb streets, at ten o'clock of a week-day morning, impressed one thought feed them? ' full of sheep, and at the foot of the tower on my mind most forcibly. Tennyson never would have written “The Brook” had he had the Bellefonte creek for his | inspiration. Of all deplorable streams of water—I beg your pardon, Bellefonte's | creek at ten o'clock of a week-day morn- ling is not a stream of water. It's little | more than a mud-hele with its natural its unnatural | amount of rubbish donated by the citi- zens of Bellefonte and vicinity. { Statistics are a bore but I'm going to ' give you a near-official count of just what I did see in Bellefonte's creek. One round round dozen barrels, not one dozen round barrels, for they were no longer round. They were in all stages of decomposi- tion. One or two of them were making | a brave effort at rotundity but most of ted their staves to fall out. Some of i them had given up the ghost entirely and | were lying with their staves supine in “A homeless man,” said the old shep- the mud, and their wire hoops standing herd, “has either been robbed by his fei- bravely up, in hopes of a festoon of rags, lows, or Punished By ae” answer. Papers or weeds. There were dozens of ed the stranger; "the end is the same, as | boxes, wooden and pasteboard, in all see.” you | stages of decay; several crates with wa- “BY Your speech you come from Gali- | ter.soaked straw still in them: tin cans lee. are you going? What are shiny and tin cans rusty; an old bucket You was going nowhere, my masters; here and there; old brooms, broken bot- and each day I am more impressed. If but it was cold on the way there, and my | tles, remnants of bed-springs, pieces of ' their thinness feet turned to your fire.” man, and warm your feet with us. Heat is a good But you shall have bread and salt too, if you will.” “May your hospitality enrich you. I | wall of the fold: there is good picking with us.” So they all sat down by the fire; and hem lik hom h sparingly, like a man to whom hunger brings a need but no joy in the satisfying of it; and the others were silent for a proper time, out of courtesy Then the oldest shepherd spoke: | “My name is Zadok the son of Eliezer, ! of Bethlehem. I am the chief shepherd So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with | Mills; and in some of them lights were | of the flocks of the Temple, which are the flowers. —By William Cullen Bryant. THE SAD SHEPHERD. Out of the Valley of Gardens, where a film of new-fallen snow lay smooth as | feathers on the breast of a dove, the an-! cient Pools of Solomon looked up into the | night sky like dark, tranquil eyes, wide | open and motionless, reflecting the crisp | stars and the small, round moon. The | full springs, over-flowing, melted their | way through the field of white in winding channels, and along their course the! grass was green even in the dead of win- , ter. But the sad shepherd walked far above the valley, in a region where ridges of gray rock welted and scarred the back | of the earth; and the solitude was deso- | late; and the air was keen and search-' ing. “His flock straggled after him. The sheep, weather-beaten and dejected, fol- | lowed the path with low heads swaying from side to side, as if they had travelled ' far and found little pasture. The black, | lop-eared goats leaped upon the rocks, restless and ravenous, tearing down the | tender branches and leaves of the dwarf oaks and wild olives. They reared up! . and scrambled among the boughs. It! was like a company of gray downcast | friends and a troop of hungry little black | Sevils following the sad shepherd afar |: . i He walked looking on the ground, pay- | ing smal] heed to them. Now and again, when the sound of pattering feet and | panting breaths and the rustling and’ rending among the copses fell too far be- | hind, he drew out his shepherd's pipe and blew a strain of music, shrill and plaintive, quavering and lamenting | through the hollow night. He waited | while the troops of gray and black scuffled and bounded and trotted near to him. Then he dropped the pipe into its place again and strode forward, looking on the | ground. | The fitful, shivery wind that rasped the hill-tops, fluttered the rags of his long mantle of Tyrian blue, torn by thorns and stained by travel. The rich tunic of striped silk beneath it was worn thin, and the girdle about his loins had lost all | its ornaments of silver and jewels. His curling hair hung down dishevelled under | again the twisted trunks and crawl. | 4! | burning; and the drone of the mill-stones, | where the women were still grinding, ! came out into the night like the humming ‘of drowsy bees. As the women heard | the pattering and bleating of the flock, they wondered who was passing so late. One of them, in a house where there was no mill but many lights, came to the door and looked out laughing, her face and bosom bare. But the sad shepherd did not stay. His long shadow and the confused mass of lesser shadows behind him drifted down the white moonlight past the yel- low bars of lamplight that gleamed from the doorways. It seemed as if he were bona to go somewhere and would not elay. Yet with all his haste to be gone, it | was plain that he thought little of where | he has going. For when he came to the foot of the valley, where the paths divid- ed, he stood between them staring va- cantly, without a desire to turn him this way or that. The imperative of choice halted him like a barrier. The balance of his mind hung even because both scales were empty. He could act, he could go, for his strength was unbroken; but he could not choose. The path to the left went up toward | the little town of Bethlehem, with hud- ed roofs and walls in silhouette along the double-crested hill. It was dark and forbidding as a closed fortress. The sad shepherd looked at it with indifferent eyes; there was nothing there to draw im The path to the right wound through rock-strewn valleys toward the Dead Sea. But rising out of that crumbled wilderness a mile or two away, the smooth white ribbon of a chariot-road lay upon the flank of a cone-shaped mountain and curled in loops toward its peak. There the great cone was cut squarely off, and the levelled summit was capped by a palace of marble, with round towers at the corners and flaring beacons along the walls; and the glow of an im- mense fire, hidden in the central court- yard, painted a false dawn in the eastern sky. All down the clean-cut mountain- slopes, on terraces and blind arcades, the lights flashed from lesser pavilions and pleasure-houses. It was the secret orchard of Herod and his friends, their trysting-place with the spirits of mirth and madness. They called it the Mountain of the Little Para- i Rich gardens were there; and the | before you in the fold. These are my | sister's sons, Jotham, and Shama, and | Nathan: their father Elkanah is dead; and but for these I am a childless man.” "My name,” replied the stranger, “is Ammiel the son of Jochanan, of the city of Bethsaida, by the Sea of Galilee, and I am a fatherless man.” “It is better to be childless than father- lees,” said Zadok, “yet itis the will of God that children should bury their fath- ors, When did the blessed Jochanan ie?” “I know not whether he be dead or alive. It is three years since I looked upon his face or had word of him.” “You are an exile then? he has cast you off?” “It was the other way,” said Ammiel, looking on the ground. At this the shepherd Shama, who had up in anger. “Pig of a Galilean,” he : cried, “despiser of parents! breaker of the law! When I saw you coming I knew you for something vilee Why do you darken the night for us with your pres- ence? You have reviled him who begot ; you. Away, or we stone you!” | Ammiel did not answer or move. The twisted smile passed over his bowed face again as he waited to know the shep- herds’ will with him, even as he h waited for the robbers. But Zadok lifted his hand. “Not so hasty, Shama-ben-Elkanah. “Come then, if you are a peaceable ft; divide it and it is not less. | am your unworthy guest. But my flock?” “Let your flock shelter by the south there and no wind. Come you and sit herd ate of their bread, but old furniture, bits of crockery, some rags to state, but when time and water get in their work these treasures will be brought to view and be added to the museum of As the fall comes on—although you relics now on exhibition in our beauti- would never call this fall weather, for of ful (?) stream. However, there is one good thing about itall and that is this: It is an ever- changing scene. What is today is not tomorrow; for as we are given a little water from the mill race, or Providence sends showers, so the scene shifts. The familiar object moves on to its neigh- bor’s place, but something just as unique and sometimes more antique comesdown FROM INDIA. By Ome on Medical Duty in that Far Eastern Country. A Land Where People Love to be Sick. Women are Extremely Thin. Hird to Grow Flowers. Good Cooks Scarce. Peculiar Burial Rites, Ete. Juansi, OctoBer Sth. Dear Home Folk: There is scarcely a day goes by that Dr. McMillan or I are not called out to see a woman who is having a case of hysteria and the entire family are stand- ing about simply frightened to death, not knowing what to do, and finally running for a doctor whom they hope will casf a spell over the woman and make her well again. Sometimes it is laughable but more often it is irritating and I feel most inclined to use a stick for medicine; but instead, I must make up a good concoc- “Salute him when he comes near,” sai ‘dozen barrels. You notice I say one tion and her devoted people keep watch , night and day, sometimes in their zeal | giving three powders instead of only one | —and she gets well, more because there was nothing the matter in the first place, ' than that the medicine was any good. . These people love to be sick; they re- ally have so little to do and, you see, it gives them something to think about. ' There are many, many days when I am | hard pressed to prescribe a fitting “dope” for it must neither help nor injure and jour drug-room is stocked with drugs . only, not make-believes, as one readily | finds at home. I know I have spoken of the thinness and the daintiness of all these women : is due to living on vege- | tables--well, then I am going in for meat, of horse blankets, and other rubbish of meat, meat. I saw a young girl yester- | unknown variety. Right in the centre ; day and truly her bones are almost push- | “was a mysterious package about four ' ing through the flesh, and she had been i feet by two, neatly wrapped in heavy pa- ill only a few days. Although she was but | per and tied with heavy twine. Just, fifteen or sixteen years old she looked all what this package contained I am unable of twenty-five or eight. Iam glad Idon't live in this country, or rather, I am happy . that Iam an American. [course we are wearing all our thin clothes and it is very hot in the middle | of the day, we are planting our flowers ' and the new garden truck is just coming ‘in. I have spent hours looking over seed | catalogues and now flower seeds galore ' are waiting to be put into the ground. , am told the gardeners are not to be trust- tive houses I was surprised to see some men working with what looked like a small ladder, having about four rungs; at the end of each cross-piece was a stick standing upright, with a silver knob on the end, and above this was a little red paper flag Other men were sitting un- der a near-by tree, showing interest in their work, but nothing more. Just be- hind the men was a table one and one- half feet long and one foot high, covered with a brilliant red cloth spangled in glass, and standing on the top were two vases of poor looking flowers and about six balls of candy. I happened to look behind this and there lay a body, merely covered with herown old “sauri” and I was told “she died at the hospital last night, her name is —." It was our patient. The mourners were there, the drummers and the cymbals ready to be- gin but the native priest had not come so all were waiting, watching the prep- arations. They then informed us that the “burning Ghats" about a mile away would be the place to which they would take the body and by three o'clock it would all be over. No dignity, no pity, no grief; merely a dead animal body to be put out of sight as soon as possible. They must have a “show,” so let it be with red flags and drums. It was ghast- 'y to my western views. (Continued next week.) i WASHINGTON, D. C. We ail went down to Washington, And of all the beautiful sights we saw In the City of Washington, D. C. We visited the National Capital, And I tell you it was grand. Saw all the statues of our Presidents, And they were very grand. We went down to the Navy Yard, and Saw the big ships there, We went on board of one big ship, And I tell you it was grand. We went down to the White House, And walked all through the grounds, But saw nothing of our President, But I talked with the friendly guards, And they was just as gentle, as gentlemen can be, But of all the towns and Cities, ! That I have ever seen, There is no town like Old Bellefonte, For it is "Home, Sweet home to me.” By MARY E. GUNSALLUS, i i There was a young man who started in I life with the proposition that he would believe nothing he could not prove for ed with the seed; they will probably sell | himself or see with his own eyes. For i them and keep the money, saying the listened with doubt in his face, started | ad | in is going on there. stream to take its place. | seeds were no good and did not come up; I have often read of “barns bursting but really, very few of the ordinary flow- with plenty,” but when I raised my eyes ers grow on the plains. I am going to from the creek and beheld the rear of | experiment and will tell you later wheth- —well, it was bursting all right but er any flowers result from our efforts. there was no association of prosperity There are but few things that can resist with the bursting thereof. In direct op- | the hot, dry seasons followed by the position to the rear of this barn was the long, heavy rains and therefore In- rear of a certain Supply company's yards ! dia has but few flowers, so that one is which are as neat as the front of any surprised to see a pretty bunch of roses house in town. This demonstrates, it | or, in truth, any other flowers, and yet seems to me, the fact that all such places | the weather is just what one wants at can be made clean and neat. home for their good growing weather— From the track of the Central Railroad | sunshine in plenty, just now heavy dews, to the bridge of the creek was practic- | since the rains stopped; no wind, just ally clear of rubbish, for there seems to | charming breezes, and vet no flowers, be much more water just along there. | except what have been most carefully But I was surprised to find the bank of | tended. the creek at the Central Station strewn | [am invited to a native house next with rubbish and branches of trees with | week, and this time it will be truly na- an accumulation of old bricks, ashes, ! tive for they are typical Indian, of the roofing-paper, etc. I wondered if filling Going up the east side of the street I | was asked in letters three feet high—and better class; then I shall have something | Capa of Englan to write to you that will be at least a bit | Discovery” cures pulmonary diseases. interesting. Three invitations to dinner | You can’t afford to doubt this evidence after rather a long spell of home eating, | OF reject it, if you are sick. You also break the law by judging a man a picture of the gentleman himself—to unheard. The rabbis have told us that | smoke “Bull Durham;” also in equally there is a tradition of the elders—a rule | emphatic way to get my clothes at a cer- as holy as the law itself—so that a man |. may deny his father ina certain way tin store, and very modestly was asked without sin. It is a strange rule, and it to attend the Centre County Fair. Per- must be very holy or it would not be so haps many would be willing to adopt se- strange. But this is the teaching of the yare cures for extreme cases and would elders: a son may say of anything for which his father asks him—a sheep, or a DP€ Willing to obey these commands if, by measure of corn, or a field, or a purse of | 80 doing, they might destroy the necessi- silver—‘it is Corban, a gift that have 'ty for these signboards, which are a blot shall have no more claim upon him. Have you said ‘Corbin’ to your father, Ammiel-ben-Jochanan? Have you made a vow unto the Lord?” “I have said ‘Corban,’” answered Am- miel, lifting his face, still shadowed by that strange smile, “but it was not the Lord who heard my vow.” “Tell us what you havedone,” said the old man sternly, “for we will neither judge you, nor shelter you, unless we hear your story.” vowed unto the Lord;’ and so his father ypon the landscape. i In an article on advertising Hugh Chal- | mers said that businesses sometimes ad- | vertised themselves the wrong way, some- times unconsciously just as people do. It seemed to me that there was an apt relation in this to a town and that Belle- fonte unconsciously advertises herself. | An individual may attract our attention | but cannot hold our admiration unless a turban of fine linen, in which the gilt | dise. threads were frayed and tarnished; and ' cool water from the Pools of Solomon his shoes of soft leather were broken by Pplashed in the fountains; and trees of the road. On his brown fingers the van- | the knowledge of good and evil fruited ished rings were still marked in white ' blood-red and ivory-white above them; skin. He carried not the long staff nor and smooth, curving, glistening shapes, “There is nothing in it,” replied Am. there is harmony in the toilette. A pair miel indifferently. “It is an old story. | of rundown heels may spoil an otherwise But if you are curious you shall hear it. | charming appearance. Would it be too Ateryard you shall deal with me as you | much to say that our unsightly stream {and alleys and other places are Belle- the heavy nail-studded rod of the shep- | Whispering softly of pleasure, lay among herd, but a slender stick of carved cedar battered and scratched by hard usage, and the handle, which might have been of precious metal still more richly carved, was missing. He was a strange figure for that lonely place and that humble oc- cupation—a fragment of faded beauty from some royal garden tossed by rude winds into .the wilderness—a pleasure- craft adrift, buffeted and broken, on rough seas. But he seemed to have passed beyond caring, His young face was frayed and threadbare as his garments. The splen- dor of the moonlight flooding the wild world meant as little to him as the hard- ness of the rugged track which he fol- lowed. He wrapped his tattered mantle closer around him, and strode ahead, looking on the ground. As the path Sropped from the summit of the ridge toward the Valley of Mills and among huge bro rocks, three men sprang at him from the shad- ows. Heli is stick, but let it fall again, and a strange ghost of a smile twisted his face as they gripped him and threw him down. “You are rough beggars,” he said. “Say what you want, you are welcome to it.” “Your money, dog of a courtier,” they muttered fiercely; “give us your golden collas, Herod's hound, quick, or you e “The Juicker the better,” he answered, eyes, closing The bewildered the ers and glided behind the trees. All this was now hidden in the dark. EN Of the mopntain 3 sharp black pyram crown- ed with fire, loomed across the night—a mountain once seen never to be forgotten. The sad shepherd remembered it well. He looked at it with the eyes of a child who has been in hell. It burned him i from afar. Turning neither to the right nor to the left, he walked without a path straight out upon the plain of Bethlehem, still whitened in the hollows and on the | sheltered side of its rounded hillocks by the veil of snow. He faced a wide and empty world. To the west in Slecping Bethlehem, to the east in flaring Herodium, the life of man was infinitely far away from him. Even the stars seemed to withdraw themselves against the blue-black of the sky till they were like pin-holes in the vault above him. The moon in mid-heaven shrank into a bit of burnished silver, hard The lay 2 glittering, immeasurably remote. table ri f T ol orizon, and between them he caught y =F glipee of the sunken Lake of Dea gleaming in its deep bed. no sound on g + | gi e Rock OF gray and black, gathered in a silent ring, stood | his So the shepherds, wrapped in r warm cloaks, sat listening with grave faces and watchful, while Ammiel in his tattered silk sat by the sinking fire of tale with a voice that had no room for hope or fear—a cool, dead voice that spoke only of things ended. “In my father’s house I was the second son. My brother was honored and trust- ed in ail things. He was a prudent man and profitable to the household. All that he counselled was done, all that he wish- ed he had. My place was a narrow one. There was neither honor nor joy in it, for it was filled with daily tasks and re- bukes. No one cared for me. I was a beast of burden, fed only because I was useful, and the dull life irked me like an ill-fitting harness. There was nothing He gave it to me. It did not impoverish him and it made me free. To ‘Corban,’ and shook the dust of Beth- saida from my feet. “I went out to look for mirth and and joy and all that is eyes and sweet to the taste. If made me, thought I, he made me worship him openly or in secret. (Continued next week.) thorns and told his | in it. “I went to my father and claimed my | share of the i tance. He was rich. fonte’s rundown heels? Or what part of | Bellefonte's costume is the creek? Per- | haps it would be better to say that it is one of her physical attractions made un- | attractive and ugly by neglect and abuse. | The old saying, “man proposes, God dis- poses” is turned around when we think of our creek, for with it it is, God's pro- ! posal, man’s disposal. It seems to me ‘ that a paramount issue in our town is | the cleaning of the creek and the devis- | ing of some way to keep it clean, free | from disgusting accumulations of rub- | bish. — { Pimples | Are looked upon generally only got of in some way as speedil posible But th pimples ay ‘ the disease is ob ptions, the jie ie i ; i : gh £5 + £ 2 § E 7 | : I ! §-PEFEE : : | 7 i : i: E : ; : i Th i i ii B3% esting although, unless the people with whom I eat are nice, I am even getting tired of dinners. Just here I had to stop and talk alum- inum kettles with one of the girls. All the cooking is done in big U shaped ves- sels set directly upon a charcoal fire and are usually made of copper, lined with a metal that looks to me like lead. Either on account of the cooking or the clean- ing, this lining must be replaced each month and a man called the “Khli-walla” comes around with a few strips of metal to show you the quality and being satis- factory he goes to work, first with his feet and then finishes up with his hands, and our pots look as though lined with silver. This process is expensive in the year so we decided it would be better to buy some vessels that would not need this constant fixing. Aluminum stands the wear very well and except that at first it is expensive, being sold by weight, it is much the nicest and best. As I am supposed to be housekeeper I had to show a wee interest in all these things. You know how very little I know about kitchen things and honestly I care just as little. I find the others know just as little; housekeeping seems to be a lost art among these teachers, nurses and doctors that make up our household, so if you are tired cooking come out to us, we will furnish the cook (for none other but a native could stand the native stove with its smoke and odor) the food, and all you need do will be to use your best gestures, as one can only half talk, even knowing the language. You can learn the pantomime play I go through with each time I wish to tell the cook what I want; I am becoming rather graceful (?) in the use of my hands. So come along, you would honestly find lots of time to study the country and other things about here; then think of the fun we would have having a really good housekeeper to see that these five servants do their work. It is not hard work, but mighty trying to a red-headed temper. I had to stop to go to the postoffice and I want to tell you what I saw by the side of the road on the way. A patient died in the hospital last night, rather ' that man history was a sealed book, foreign lands did not exist, astronomy was a fable, chemistry a fairy tale. For | the foundation of all knowledge is the | acceptance of facts which have been | proven by other people and belief in the | records of history and geography written x chroniclers and travelers long dead. | That young man would be doomed to perish by his own ignorance, because he {would take no other man's word and | trust no other man’s experience. There is a class of people who might be blood ‘relations of that young man who see | time and again the statements of cures | following the use of Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical Discovery. Yet they go on | coughing, Spitting blood, and losing strength with every hour. The fact that ' Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medicol Discovery ! does cure coughs, bronchitis, weak lungs, | hemorrhages and conditions which tend | to consumption, rests upon evidence as sound as that which proves the salient | facts of history, geography, or astronomy. It is not more certain that Washington | was at Valley Fo that London is the or that the sun rises the east, than that “Golden Medical make the next few days look fairly inter- | : Marry and Part For a vear, Among the many peculiar customs prevalent among the people of Central America is that of parting for one year after the marriage ceremony has been solemnized. This custom has prevailed among the Jarnos from time immemo- rial. There is no courtship allowed to be carried on between the parties prior to the wedding. When a man selects a woman he obtains the consent of the parents on both sides, and if this is given they are at once married. The reason, however, for their not living together as man and wife for one year after marriage is in order to permit of the parties visiting and staying with their respective friends in different parts of the country, which is a cus- tomary thing and occupies the time specified. Ninety-nine out of a hun- dred of these marriages turn out well. Ways of Burmese Beauties. Instead of a coming out party as we know it, the Burmese girl's entrance into society begins when she has her ears plerced. As soon after this as she feels inclined she selects a husband and goes to live in a home of her own. The home is provided by the man, but it becomes his wife's as soon as they are married. All women, young and old, are addicted to the use of tobacco. The women seem to prefer the very large size black cigar. Often one meets a woman on the streets of a village with one of these huge cigars in her mouth and two or three more stuck in the holes of each ear, The Cosmic Law. There is neither waste nor econ- omy in nature. Energy is as inde. structible us matter—no trace of waste anywhere, no economy. Nature does not use a fraction more than necessary nor less. The two words “waste” and “economy” cannot apply to the stu- pendous cosmic law, the conservation of energy.—Edgar Lucien Larkin in New York American, No Luxuries, “Any insanity in your family?" ask- ed the life insurance man, “No,” replied Farmer Cornter el. “I couldn't afford to hire any alie, st. If our boy Josh gets into any trouble we'll jes’ have to admit that he's suddenly. As we passed a group ef na. plain foolish.” Washington Star.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers