| 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
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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.