Pa., March 6, 1914. eT
Bellefonte,
Is s—
Worth While.
It is easy enough to be pleasant;
When life flows by like a song,
But the man worth while is the one who will
smile
When everything goes dead wrong;
For the test of the heart is trouble,
And it always comes with the years.
Ahd the smile that is worth the praise of the
earth
1s the smile that shines through tears.
1t is easy to be prudent,
When nothing tempts you to stray,
When without or within no voice of sin
1s luring your soul away;
But it’s only a negative virtue
Until it is tried by fire,
And the life that is worth thehonor of earth
Is the one that resists desire.
By the cynic, the sad, the fallen,
Who had no strength for the strife,
The world’s highway is cumbered today,
They make up the sum of life,
But the virtue that conquers passion
And the sorrow that hidcs a smile,
It is these that are worth the homage on
eart
For we find them but once in a while.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
THE HONOR BOY.
It was at the beginning of the Christ-,
mas holidays. The boarding-school boys
let go the last session in a hurrahing
shout and disbanded by the first trains
for more than a score of homes with an-
ticipation of fun clearly marked on their
faces. Earle Mitchel parted from his
last comrade at a little junction station
and a dozen miles farther on he got
down from the train at his home city.
It was threatening snow. The station
lights were already blinking in the deep-
ening twilight and on the street outside
there was the busy traffic that comes at
the close of a short winter's day, men
and women hurrying about to get home
before the storm should break.
By the time Earle had got clear of the
business portion of the city his young
face had sobered. The day had quite
gone now, and the street lights were
twinkling out of the cold night. True, it
was jolly to be coming to Uncle Nelson's
for the holidays; the fun of it had loom-
ed large at a distance: but when one
was coming home on a holiday with a
hard won honor to show, one wanted
mother to be always first to see. And
there was a dull ache in Earle’s heart as
he thought of the little mother he had
lost not a year before. She would have
been so proud of her honor boy, and so
glad to feel the hard muscles he could
bulge out on either arm.
Earle clinched his hands a little after
he had touched the bell at Uncle Nel-
son’s door.
“I suppose I'll have to show it to the
others!” he said.
And he thought a shade bitterly of the
father who had not yet come back from
the hunting camp in the wilderness
where he had gone in the early autumn.
It seemed to the boy that he might be
be here now, or at any rate have paid
some attention to the last letters he had
sent to the hunting camp. There were
minutes in his life when Earle felt that
the two Mitchels did not stand hand in
hand as they ought to. The boy rather
feared his tall, gray-eyed father who was
already well known in the surgical world,
and he felt that the man was always too
busy with cases in hand to find time for
his boyish interests. And Earle stiffened
himseif into his own little shell and tried
to be learned in the great man’s sight.
But the house door opened, and in the
blinding glare of the lighted hall Uncle
Nelson was welcoming him with
heartiness.
“Hello, nephew! We were just reckon-
ing you wouldn’t stay over at school till
morning!”
“Isn’t father back yet?”
Something flashed into Uncle Nelson's
- keen face that baffled the boy and the
answer seemed to hold a wall before it
over which he must not climb now.
“Not yet, my boy!”
Then the crowd of cousins rushed out
upon him and there was a volley of wel-
coming. But there had been a quick,
keen disappointment for the boy. He
did not know until then how he had
clung to a vague belief that the doctor
would be there for a surprise, and to a
longing that his father would be the first
to be told of the honor which he had
won.
After supper Earle went up to the
room that had been his since the home
had been at Uncle Nelson’s. He hadn't
told the people downstairs about honor.
He put the suitcase he had brought from
school down on the floor and looked
around the room. Everything was the
same, and as he noticed the door open
into his father's room he stepped in
there and flashed on the electric lights.
* It was a large room, bare of draperies
and cushions and things to catch dust.
The only ornament it held was a picture
of a sweet-faced woman with a baby in
her arms, which hung on the wall where
the glow of the lights brought out the
living beauty of her young face. For a
moment Earle stood looking at his moth-
er’s picture, then turned away with his
teeth set to keep back the sob that was
in his throat.
The only thing about the room
which was strange to Earl was the neat-
ness of the big flat desk between the
windows. He had never seen it when
it was not heaped high with what
looked to him like a wild confusion of
papers, and it struck the boy unpleasant-
ly to see the top cleared and the desk
chair set precisely on the floor. It seem-
ed to him like the affairs of a house put
in order for solemn moment. Uncle Nel-
son’s cheery voice came from the door-
way.
“Everything all right, nephew?”
Earle turned straight to him.
“Uncle Nelson, why doesn’t father
come home?” he asked.
The answer was a counter question.
“What makes you want to know that?”
The boy gripped his hands; he did not
often speak of his sweet, young mother.
“Mother wanted me to write to him
once a week always, and lately he
doesn’t answer!”
Uncle Nelson walked the length of the
room and back to where Earle stood.
“You're no coward, boy! And no tale-
bearer, either, I hope! Your father said
some things about this before he went
away that I couldn’t agree with. I told
him if you asked me straight you should
have the story.”
Earle put his hand on the back of the
desk chair, and without speaking waited
for his uncle to go on with what there
was to say.
“The doctor's eyes have rather gone ;
back on him, nephew. It's a matter of |
overstrain, and we are hoping that the | BY THE REV. C. H. BALDWIN.
rest up there in camp is bringing back | pastor Methodist Episcopal Church, Nome,
his sight. He doesn’t want the world to | Alaska.
know he’s laid up like this, doesn’t want | Dogs have been very useful animals in
the notoriety of it; and he had a notion | Alaska. They have sleds in the winter
it would grieve you to think of him grop- : time, and they carry packs during the
ing around in thedark.” | summer season. But the period when
Earle bowed his head a little. | the dog accomplishes the most work is
“I'm glad I know it now, Uncle Nel- after the snow begins to fly. All sum-
son!” he said, simply. ' mer long many of the dogs have nothing
When his uncle had gone, Earle went tg do but sleep in the sunshine and for-
back into his own room. The news had . age for food. The dog that is “native
been surprise enough; he had never |gapd to the manner born” will lie on the
thought of anything like this coming to sidewalk for hours and let hundreds of
his strong father. And there was self- | people step over him or walk around
ALASKAN DOGS.
¢10-MINUTE-A-DAY HOUSEKEEPING.”
reproach in the boy’s heart as he thought
of the judgments he had made in the
past few weeks, and the stiff notes he
had sent up to the hunting camp toward
‘him. He is apparently oblivious of his
! surroundings and seemingly indifferent
' to any fear of injury. During the sum-
‘mer season an observer unacquainted
the end. He had been once to their with the country and its denizens would
“hunting camp up by the little junction ' pronounce the Alaskan dog the laziest
village that wasn’t even a township, and prute in creation.
his imagination pictured it now with his | But the first snow of the season trans-
father there alone trying to regain the | forms him into a new being. He seems
use of his clear grey eyes, fighting out to be electrified, and all the dormant life |
all shadow of the mountain outlined on the
his tremendous battle with a clean
strength and an honest faith.
Earle put his hands out with a quick
gesture.
“I'm going to father!” he said, and he
went downstairs to find Uncle Nelson in
the big library.
“Going to your father? I say allright
boy? When do you want to start?”
Earle drew a long breath; he had fear-
ed meeting with unanswerable objection
from his uncle.
“Isn’t there time for me to go on the
night train?” he asked.
Uncle Nelson pulled out his watch. He
did not ask how Earle came to be so
well posted on the train service boun
toward the hunting camp.
“It goes north in an hour. If we can
get you a berth you can go on it!” he
said, and took down the telephone re-
ceiver.
Earle took out his pocketbook
«I have money enough to pay my fare,"
his manhood and wanted it to be so.
When, an hour later, the night train
north pulled out of the station Earle was
berth of the sleeper with a longing wish
that the train would go faster, faster
over the rails, and then the regular noise
of the wheels bumping over the rail ends
lulled him to sleep.
The colored porter roused him in the
morning.
“Next station’s yours, sah!”
And Earle came awake with a start at
the unfamiliar surroundings of a sleeping
car. He got into his clothes, and they
finally slowed into a station, a small junc-
ticn place with a very little town attach-
ed and all the world white with new-fallen
snow. The train pulled out over the
northward track, and the boy saw he
was alone with the station master, who
was handling his received express at a
truck on the end of the platform. It was
too early yet for folks to be out except
necessity called them.
The junction village looked strange to
Earle under its mantle of snow. It was
“Happy Thought,” and he had meant to
get a team to take him out, but the boy
felt like putting all the time he could be-
tween the meeting with his father, and
he trudgéd along the village street with
the suit case he had brought from school
in his hand.
Out on the country road the light fall
of snow was still unmarked by a single
foot-fall. The fields and hills were white,
and the trees bent low under their bur-
den. Earle had commenced to climb,
and he stopped a moment tolook back at
the broad river in the valley that he re-
membered having seen sparkle in the
autumn sunlight more than a year be-
| fore. It was frozen now and the snow
ilay smooth upon it with the sunrise
| whiteness.
! How mother had loved it here that
would have loved it now in the mantle
of snow that made the familiar things so
strangely beautiful. She had named the
little bungalow camp for which he was
ness with which she had first called it
Mitchel.
As he kert on up the road Earle won-
dered what the welcome from his father
would be. He dreaded it more with
every step, and the old awesome fear of
the man crept back into his heart. What
if he was not wanted here? What if it
were the mere toleration of his coming
that he met? Last night he had refused
to open the suit case; he would do that
when he got home to father. This morn-
ing he could only hope that at least the
honor he was bringing would make his
father glad! :
could see the rambling bungalow lying
full in the morning sunlight. The blinds
were drawn and the curtains down, but
a thin line of gray smoke curled up from
the chimney and showed the signal of
habitation. The boy opened an iron gate
and went up the lane.
The house door was unlocked and Earle
pushed it open. The hall was still and |
room. A man sat there with a white
bandage over his eyes. He was leaning
forward in a startled postare and the
strong white hands worked on the arms
of his chair.
“Who is it?” he asked quickly.
“Father!” cried Earle, and he ran with
a hand out for each of those faltering
ones on the arms of the chair.
It was a minute before either of them
spoke. Earle had forgotten his fear, for-
gotten everything but the great love that
was between them and pity of his fath-
er’s need.
“] don’t care how you came son, sO
long as you're here!”
The boy’s voice shook as he began to
answer.
“Uncle Nelson told me last night. I
wanted you, dad! I've got an honor at
school, and so many, many, many things
to tell you!”
The man kept a hold on his sleeve.
“I'm beginning to take the bandage off
a while every day, and we'll have a good
holiday together!” he cried.
Earle looked up to see a young fellow
standing in the doorway, amazement
written all over his face, and shirt sleeves
rolled up above floury hands. Earle
knew it must be the young fellow who
was standing by his father in all this.
“I say, Dr. Mitchel!” he ejaculated.
A rare smile broke over the strong
face as the man pushed up the bandage
from his gray eyes.
“This is my son, Jack! He’s an honor
boy!"”’—Rejormatory Record.
he said; and Uncle Nelson understood |
that he was coming into the stature of !
on board. He crawled into the lower
a sturdy two miles to the camp called |
autumn they came! The boy knew she |
bound, and he remembered the gentle- |
“Happy Thought,” and how she had said |
it should always be that to the house of |
Earle finally stopped at a cement-posted |
gateway. At the end of the lane” he |
darkened, and he went on into the living |
‘and energy are aroused to highest mani-
| festation. He wants to get in the har-
(ness. A dog may be an “old soldier”
{in a team, but in the beginning of the
| winter season he is as frisky as a puppy, |
i and on his first trip witha team will give
| promise of plenty of energy and industry.
| But his character is like the character
| of a great many people. He soon gets
i tired of his work, and he knows how to
| shirk the responsibility of doing his share
| of the labor. The dog that is the great-
| est favorite in Alaska is the one that is
| used for the leader of the team. The
| leader is always an intelligent animal.
| eyes that are almost human in expres-
{sion. Leaders are trained to obey the
! command of “must-on,” “gee,” “haw”
“whoa.” They know more than this, but
they can’t talk and tell us how much
they do know.
The past winter we were caught in a
| blizzard many miles out from Nome. We
| missed the trail and became bewildered
and lost, but trusted to our dog team,
which, after hours of roaming on the
tundra, brought us finally to a place of
refuge. But the Alasksn dog is sui gene-
ris. He is not very far away from his
wolf ancestry. He has not yet learned
the happy faculty of expressing himself
by barking, but he has a prodigious ca-
| pacity to howl. During the long winter
nights some of the gatherings of dogs
bear evidence of premeditation. A great
convocation will assemble, and if the as-
sembly place happen to be in the vicini-
ty of your habitat your slumber will be
disturbed by a concert louder and less
musical than Sousa’s band. There are
many varieties of dog voices, pitched in
many keys and tones, and these dogs
i seem to be infinitely happy when howl-
ing.
The Eskimo dog has a woolly under
coat to protect him from the intense cold
of the winter. His feet are hard, and he
can travel a great distance over ice and
snow without becoming footsore. Dogs
from the States are called “outside dogs,”
and until they become acclimated and
adapted to the country, a short winter
journey will injure their feet until they
leave a trail of blood. But such a mis-
fortune seldom befalls the native dog.
He knows how to protect himself in cold
weather by digging a hole in the snow,
and getting into it and away from the
cutting blasts of the Northland. In the
severest weather he will curl up on the
crusted snow and sleep as soundly as a
high-bred dog in the warmest kennel.
The natives breed their dogs with
wolves in order to secure a strain of
toughness and durability. A dog that
belongs to an Eskimo receives no consid-
eration except in feeding, and the native /
| dogs of Alaska manifest very little of
| the trait which we designate as affection.
| They may fawn and look supplicatingly
i and wag their tails when they are hun-
gry, but when their stomachs are full
| they are indifferent to caresses and pre-
i fer to be left alone. A disease which is
called hydrophobia afflicts dogs in Alaska.
A dog suffering from this malady, which
i is always fatal, can infect another dog by
| biting him, but there is no case of a per-
i son being infected with rabies from the
| bite of a mad dog in Alaska. Usually
when a dog is atilicted with this disease
| he acts like a crazy being and travels
until he is shot or until he dies.
Fish is the principal diet of dogs in this
part of the country. A native dog will
eat raw fish in preference to bacon, and
during the summer season if his master
fails to provide him with his accustomed
food he will go fishing. This story may
sound fishy, but an Eskimo dog knows
how to catch fish when he is hungry.
Of all the lower animals the dog is
man’s best friend. In Alaska his friend-
ship has been tested by patient service.
A dog is the inseparable companion of
the Alaska prospector. He has been
with him when the adventurous and rest-
less spirit of the man has taken him
into strange countries of the Northland
guarded by morasses, mountains and
treacherous rivers in the summer time
and by the merciless blizzard in the win-
ter. He has shared the hardships and
suffering of his master, and more than
one chapter of misfortune in the Alaskan
wilderness has ended by the sacrifice of
a dog for food.
Bricks of Flour.
Wheat flour is now made into bricks
by hydraulic pressure. Almost every one
is familiar with tea bricks, but flour
bricks are entirely novel.
Flour in bricks possesses many advan-
tages over the loose powder. In the first
place, the enormous pressure exerted de-
stroys all forms of larval life already
present, and the bricks are much too
hard afterward for any insects to work
their way in. The bricked flour is equal-
ly secured from mould, and is to all
practical purposes water-proof, so that it
could suffer no damage in shipment, even
though carelessly handled and exposed
to the weather. The bulk of the flour is
much reduced, and a barrel oi ordinary
flour pressed into bricks could be packed
in a square case about the size of a soap-
X.
Before using the flour, it is of course
necessary to reduce it to a powder, and
this is done by first breaking up the
bricks between cogs and then running
the pieces between rollers. Small home
grinders, made on the principle of a
coffee-mill, will undoubtedly appear on
the market if the brick flour becomes
popular with housewives. —Harper’s
Weekly.
Easily Pleas~d. :
“Mrs. Brown has the kleptomania.”
“Indeed. What is she taking for it?
“Anything that looks good to her.”
——Subscribe for the WATCHMAN.
So runs the heading under which the
interviewer of the New York 7ribune
describes the household arrangements of
“the beautifullest. suffragette,” formerly
Miss Inez Milholland, now Mrs. Boisse-
vain.
“ ‘Housekeeping,’ she said serenely to
the reporter. ‘It doesn’t bother me at
all. I don’t let it bother me. I get my
housekeeping for the day donein ten
minutes. In ten minutes from the time I
leave my room, I am ready togo down
town. 1 leave things in train for the
housekeeping to be done by some one
who is fitted to doit, who knows how to do
it, while I, who am most inexpert in
housekeeping, go to my law office, at
No. 115 Broadway, and earn my living at
my own particular job .... There is
absolutely no reason why a woman who
doesn’t like housework and can do some-
thing else better should be tied down to
| housework. Why,’ said the newest suf-
frage bride, with shining eyes, ‘I should
go crazy if I had to do housework one
| whole day.’
“Children, Mrs. Boissevain admitted,
complicate matters for the woman who
\ wants to be out in the world. ‘Young
children need their mother. But the age
| at which they can be left to others is
{ much less than formerly it was supposed
{to be. At three, now, children can be at
| kindergarten, and it is good for them to
| associate with other children.” ”
These details of one woman’s private |
"life would be trivial, but for the fact that
they illustrate the principle for which so
many of the younger suffragists contend
—the principle that “a woman should be
Boissevain is herself a conspicuous ex-
ample of the type of woman to which
such a principle appeals, a woman of ex-
ceptional talent and training with an ex-
ceptional career open before her. Such
| a woman may have a two-fold reason for
cular job”—the job is attractive and it
promises to pay so well that she can pro-
vide a competent housekeeper for her
home. (Not all of us would admit that
money will provide some one to fill a
mother’s place for children, even at
“three” but thatis not the present point.)
But how about the average woman,
whom Mrs. Boissevain and her group of
thinkers seldom seem to take into ac-
count? Are the young girls who crowd
the morning trains, the young girls who
turn out when the factory-bells ring, go-
ing to work that is pleasanter or healthier
or better-paid than the work of the aver-
age house? Would their happiness be in-
creased by keeping on with such work
after marriage? Would #zey be able to
earn enough to pay ‘some one who is
fitted to do it’’ for taking care of the
house they had left?
The theory of “woman’s economic in-
dependence” is largely based on this nar-
row, partial view of life, seen from the
standpoint of a few brilliant women, with
exceptional careers possible to them. It
is not a theory that promises any gain to
the woman of average gifts and training.
Students of modern conditions regret
that, with the introduction of machinery,
so many men must spend their days do-
ing over and over again the same monot-
onous bit of work, with no chance for
initiative, and none of the delight that
comes from seeing a finished product.
They regret that so many men must work
under a master, with the sense of per-
sonal independence almost gone. So far,
woman in the care of her own house, has
retained what too many men have lost,
—work that offers variety, that gives
large room for initiative and that has
the supreme satisfaction of being done
for those she loves. It is extraordinary
that any movement calling itself progress
should wish her to surrender this vantage-
ground.
The Making of Flags.
In the Brooklyn Navy Yard alone about
50,000 flags are made every year by Un-
cle Sam. Each battleship that leaves the
yard is compelled to carry two hundred
and fifty flags. In addition to the flags
of our own country it must be ready
with flags for saluting, signaling and for
all forms of ceremonial and official occa-
sions, and must show proper naval eti-
quette to foreign officers of high rank
who may board the ship. As many as
fifty women and some men are kept con-
stantly employed in the Brooklyn Navy
Yard in the flag-making establishment.
The sewing machines are run by elec-
tricity, but much of the difficult and te-
dious hand embroidery is done by skilled
needle-women.
Times have changed since Betsy Ross
thought she had discovered a lobor-sav-
ing device when she folded the paper to
show General George Washington how a
five-pointed star could be made with
one cut of of the scissors. Now, an in-
genious machine worked by electricity,
and with special cutting dies for each of
the eight sizes of stars used, cuts from
fifty to one hundred stars at a time. The
largest flag made is the U. S. ensign No.
1, thirty-six feet long by nineteen feet
wide.
The President's flag, with which few
are familiar, consists of a blue ground
with a United States coat of arms in the
center, and is made in two sizes, three
feet by five feet, and fourteen feet by ten
feet. Owing to the fine, painstaking em-
broidery on the coat-of-arms and other
emblems, which takes the constant work
of one person for nearly a month, this is
he Jost difficult flag to make.— Uniden-
tified.
Inactivity Increases Age.
It may be only gathering postage
stamps, or it may be founding colleges;
it may be keeping the home up to its
best, or it may be making the most of
one’s self, but whatever it is, let interest
in it be directed not aimlessly. No one
who has a single definite purpose in life
can be altogether unhappy, for a positive
ideal tends to draw to itself from the
outside. We get from the world pretty
much what we give it, and we give to it
enthusiasm, sincerity—then we may be
rewarded by having our efforts received
with enthusiasm and sincerity.
Many persons waste their energies and
time by taking a sham interest in life or
some phase of it. They pretend they are
interested in art, music, books, because
their friends are interested, or they de-
vote themselves to charity because it is
expected of them.
No one grows old so fast or unattrac-
tively as those whose minds are inactive.
You can prove for yourself that this
must be so. Let your mind become
passive for a moment and you will note
how the jaw drops, the facial muscles
sag, and the eyes grow dim. Imagine
the effort of a mind never, or only spas-
modically active. Verily to be interested
is to keep the mind alert, and that spells
youth. =
Te
Giving or Forcing?
Members of the Massachusetts Legisla-
ture, or of the Legislatures of other
States, who are urged to vote this winter
for suffrage bills or amendments, should
remember that what they are really
asked to do is not to give the ballot to
women, but to force it upon them.
That is what it really amounts to. The
suffragists are admittedly a minority |
among women. As a matter of fact,—
though this they do not admit—they are
a small minority. Tested in any wa
one pleases,—by the membership of their
organizations, by the signers to their
petitions, or by the votes cast at school
elections,—they are a small minority.
Actions speak louder than words. If
the suffragists do not know that they are
a small minority, why do they always
FROM INDIA.
By One on Medical Duty in that Far Eastern
: Country. Hot Weather in January. A Min-
strel Beggar. Training Local Nurses and a
! Taste of Venison.
| —
JHANSI, JANUARY 27th, 1913,
' Dear Home Folk:
. The work at the hospital is fairly hard
' just now and more curious cases have
‘come in and my time is taken up
| with trying to think of remedies to help
, save them from dying, so that our hos-
| pital may not have a bad reputation. The
| weather has become hot and one is peel-
| ing off all extra layers of clothes. It was
80 degrees in one of the offices tcday,
bitterly oppose every proposal to submit | and this is but the 21st of January—
the question to a referendum of women’s | h ill it be b 2"
votes? Th's course is inconsistent in two what Witney June? jd ;
ways. First, theoretically; for they Tonight I have been dining with some
clamor for ‘votes for women,” yet, on
: * ”
| Some of the leaders of dog teams have | in her home as a man is, no more.” Mrs.
liking to “earn her living at her parti-
the fundamental question whether wom-
en shall have votes they are unwilling
that women should vote. Second, prac-
tically; for their case would be won if
they could once show that the majority
. of women want to vote. That would be
all that would be needed. The Legisla-
tures would yield; the male electorates
would yield; and the suffrage would come
as a matter of course, for the average
! man is dispcsed to give the average wom-
an what she wants. The only reason
that can be given why the suffragists do
not take this short and easy way to the
' suffrage is that they know that the great
| majority of women are not with them.
| have forgotten how the suffragists acted
last year with reference to the Drury
bill, which proposed to allow women to
\'a similar proposal has been made the
suffragists have opposed it vehemently,
and have denounced the legislators who
If suffragists can point to a single in-
stance in which they have supported
such a proposal, The Remonstrance will
gladly print the facts.
Let legislators then make no mistake.
What the suffragists ask them to do is to
override the fundamental principle of
| democracy,—the rule of the majority—
and to impose upon the majority of
women, at the demand of a small but
noisy minority what they do not want
! and never have asked for.—From the Re-
monstrance Against Woman Suffrage.
Queer Traits. ;
Many animals and insects have curious
{ ways of doing things for which there is
| no apparent scientific reason. A fly on
| the window pane will crawl to the top,
| fly back to the bottom and crawl up
again.
why, no one knows. It is on record that
a fly crawled up a window pane thirty-
| same place.
Hens scratch for food with the sun be-
rays reflect on the minute particles. A
kernel.
fo fhe fire. Usually they lie on the left
side.
the fire.
A mouse will ignore a food supply
to nibble at wholesale supply.
hide at the source of food supply and
turbed. It isn’t true that a mouse runs
terian.
em esas ———
Fetichism marks the lowest point of a
gross and degraded superstition. It be-
longs to savages and not to civilized peo-
ple. Yet there are social fetiches to
which mothers sacrifice their daughters
in this enlightened land. And these sac-
rifices are no less horrible than those of
the degraded African who throws his
writhing child into the fire. The name
of the great social fetich is ignorance.
Mothers see their daughters “standing
with reluctant feet where womanhood
and girhood meet,” see them take the
motherhood, and yet they say no word of
warning or enlightenment as to the great
to women.
ed through ignorance, and have allowed
disease to develop in the delicate organs,
Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Prescription is a
true minister of mercy. It stops drains,
heals ulceration and inflammations, cures
bearing down pains, makes weak women
strong and sick women well.
rr ————————————
Anatole France on Journalism,
M. Anatole France, in reply to a
toast of his heaith, said: “I have been
a journalist and am one still. 1 owe
to journalism some ef the qualities
that you have exaggerated. Journal-
ism taught me a great part of the art
of writing. The two things most use-
ful in writing are ease and simplicity.
Journalism teaches those things so well
that the style even of great writers
like Chateaubriand gained from jour-
nalistic experience.”—London Times.
New York’s Sewage.
Every day there is poured into the
Harlem river 99.000.000 gallons of sew-
age; into the North river, 132.000.000
gallons; into the East river, 264.000.000
gallons. So in the course of a year
New York city pollutes its harbor with
about 495.000.000 gallons of refuse
matter.—New York World.
Judicious Charity.
«] don’t believe he is so miserly as
they say. 1 hear he invites his poor
relations to visit him each year.”
“Yes. They all live at a considerable
distance and are too poor to come.”
The Reason He Jokes.
When a man jokes about his wife
being jealous you may depend upon it
his wife has not a jealous bone in her
body. Men with jealous wives do not
joke about it.—Atchison Globe.
Grief can take care of itself, but to
get the full value of a joy you must
have somebody to divide it with.—
Mark Twain.
— For high class ‘Job Work come to
the WATCHMAN Office.
Massachuetts legislators can hardly |
vote upon the suffrage question. If they
will look up the records in other States, |
they will find that invariably,—in Rhode |
Island, in New York, in South Dakota, !
{in Indiana, and in other States in which :
introduced it as enemies of their cause.
This order is seldom reversed— |
two times, returning each time to the
hind them, the reason being that the
blind hen will pick grain and not miss a !
Cats seldom lie with their feet:
Dogs lie with their fore paws to:
sufficient for a meal and run great risks |
It will
not depart from it until actually dis-
to its hole at the first alarm.—Presby- |
step beyond and assume the stupendous |
responsibilities involved in marriage and |
physical change which marriage brings
For those who have suffer-
| railroad people and of course black cof-
i fee was served, and I feel as though I
i would never want any sleep. I rode
{home on a bicycle and the moonlight
| was as though a heavy mist was hanging
{in front of it, the wind was very high
| and they warned me that rain was com-
ling. Rain! well, I could almost as read-
| ily imagine snow, as there has been noth-
| ing but sunshine and dust since the last
of October, and being of a doubtful turn
of mind, think it will take seeing to make
me believe.
On my way to visit a little “Parsee”
maiden, who has broken the rules of so-
ciety, and is being hidden by her people,
in a bungalow near our hospital, I saw a
curious sight. A long, low building,
which opened upon a field in which were
! several oxen and cows, dogs and chick-
ens, and indeed so unsanitary I hated to
walk over it. Just at one end of the
building was a big palm tree; at its base
was a native bed and on it squatted a
man of middle age, having a beard, a
large red mark on his forehead, wrapped
in a white cloth ‘“cupra.” Sitting facing
him was a younger man with what look-
ed like a guitar, made of a kind of gourd
with one string drawn over the skin
which closed the open side of the gourd.
This instrument had a neck probably
twenty inches long, and this my min-
strel held with his left hand and twang-
“ed the one string with his middle finger.
. In his right hand he had two small cup-
| shaped silver cymbals, perhaps one and
one-half inches in diameter, one fastened
to his thumb, the other held between the
fingers. While I was crossing this lot he
' started to chant some sort of lay; they
have what is called a “budgeon,” it is
about two lines long and they rhyme
over every conceivable virtue to this
short measure. He twanged his one-
stringed “chikar,” tapping the bells to-
gether, and was thus entertaining the
“holy man.” It was an odd sight at
about 9.00 o’clock on a beautiful Janua-
ry morning. He told me he was hungry
and asked if I couldn’t give him some
“pice.” "I felt like saying, “if you would
work you would not need to beg.” Beg-
ging is no crime or disgrace in this coun-
| try, any more than is lying, or thieving,
| or deceiving; in fact, laziness seems to
be a common virtue and if one’s servants
| are fairly good you say not a word, but
| horrors, how they make you want to
: scold.
Just now I am sitting in our best room
' while the nurses are having their sewing
"class. All are seated on the floor and
: the only noise I hear is an occasional
| whisper, that makes me know that I am
| not alone. They do pretty drawn-work
and fairly good embroidery. They are
supposed to spend one hour a week
| working for the mission, and in this way
help to pay for their new bungalow,
where they all live. They are a pictur-
. esque looking group in their white “sau-
ris” which are always soft and so drape
very beautifully. They all have hair as
| black as a crow and since they always
oil it, even after washing, their heads
look like pieces of black ebony. They all
| have good features, much better than
my own, but thank goodness, when I
| was ten vears old I was ancient in sense
| in comparison to them at eighteen and
| twenty-two years of age. I told them I
! was writing home and with one accord
they said to “Salaam ko mother, Salaam
ko bua” (meaning how-do to mother and
! sisters.) Somehow their lives are so
narrow, and as nearly all of them are or-
phans taken from some school to be
trained here for a nurse, any one who
has any “kin-folk” 1s of great interest, as
well as the “kin-folk” themselves, so
that I am often asked “how you all are,”
just as if hey had known you well all
their lives.
Yesterday an Englishwoman, whose
husband had been out shooting sent us a
pea-fowl, four birds and a leg of deer, so
we are feasting on wild animals; the
deer especially, is nice and tender, one
just wants to eat and eat. These deer
are very small in comparison to those at
home, being but little larger than a
sheep. As this is after dinner and the
pea-fowl was served to us, I want to tell
you that it tasted very much like an es-
pecially dry turkey, although the meat is
very tender. I imagine that under a good
cook’s hands, it would become delicious;
but everything is spoiled in our kitchen.
I wish I could send you a big bunch of
heliotrope as it is standing on the table
just now, and the pink roses that seem to
grow by themselves. Ours are not very
large but such quantities, and I know
how nice they would be to you at this
time.
(Continued next week.)
Not Particular.
He—Do you believe in love at first
sight? She (thirty-eight)—I believe in
any kind of love.