Demortai Gatco Belletonte, Pa., April 16, 1915. A ———————— A HUSBAND’S CONFESSION. Yesterday Mirandy voted, But so far I haven’t noted That she’s sprouted any whiskers or adopted trouserettes; And she hasn't indicated Since she got emancipated . ‘That she means to start out raiding with a bunch of suffragettes. Took her half an hour to do it, An’ as soon as she was through it, She went hustling home without a stop to scrub the pantry floor; Cooked the dinner, did some baking, Trimmed a dress that she was making, Mended socks and got the ironing all done by half past four. She appears to be as able To keep victuals on the table And to keep the moths from feeding on my go-to- meeting coat— : Just as handy with the baby (Or a little more so, maybe)— As she was before they told her woman ought to have the vote. Far as I have observed Mirandy, She is just as fond of candy And as keen to read the fashions and the daily household hints As before she was my “equal,” And—however strange the sequel— I've been just a trifle prouder of Mirandy ever since! —W. Kee Maxwell in Judge. GOOD CHILDREN. Ralph paused at the front steps, and shook himself as though literally to throw off the care that had been dragging down his grave young head and shoulders through twenty blocks of bright city autumn. The house had been a hand- some double mansion in the days of old New York; now signs and show-cases, flanking the broad steps, told of trade to the very attic. One of the cases held photographs of a dim, suggestive order, slightly fastened to careless strips of gray paper, and signed, “Sarah Calvert, pho- tographer,” in a small, fine handwriting. Three flights up, Ralph paused bsfore a door bearing the same name over a bronze knocker. “Come in, Ralph,” called a girl’s voice. “But don’t interrupt; we are having a family row,” it added as the door open- ed, letting him into a big green-walled studio. The place was pleasantly bare but for a little carved furniture, evidently intended for sitters, two cameras, and a table piled deep with photographs. A girl with dishevelled brown hair, her gown completely covered by a smock- like apron of dull red, leaned against the table, while an elderly woman sat very erect in a papal chair, bonnet-strings spread on her shoulders, the gloves she had just pulled off straightened across her knee. “Nothing of the sort, Ralph,” Mrs. Cal- vert spoke with good-humored vigor. “But this daughter of mine is so unrea- sonable, so tyrannical—" “That she won’t let Mother go out charring by the day,” broke in the girl impatiently, yet also on a note of humor. “Oh, come, Sarah! Ralph, you know me better than that. All I say is—” “But it isn’t as if I were not perfectly able and willing—'’ Sarah broke off in a tone of despair. “Willing, my dear girl!’ Mrs. Cal- vert’s voice was a caress, a benediction. “There never was such a willing daugh- ter. But here I am, in active possession of all my faculties: Ralph, frankly, don’t you think I might be allowed to carry my share of the financial burden? Do you consider that this girl ought to sup- port an able, energetic woman like me?” Ralph smiled from one to the other, leaning over the tall back of a dark oak chair. “Let's hear some more,” he temporized, with the young lawyer’s cau- - tion. “You have heard it before,” said Sarah, sighing; “only, this attack is the worst yet. Mother won’t admit it, but I think she has been out to an intelligence office.” “Not quite that, dear.” Her mother was compassionate, but amused. “You see, Ralph, if Sarah would let me do our cooking—" “But a high-art photographer has to have a maid,” Sarah protested. “It is part of the stock in trade. And since Ceceline is here all day anyway, she might as well cook our ridiculous little meals. Itdoesn’t cost any more.” “There is no earthly reason that I should not be the maid as well,” inter- posed Mrs. Calvert, rising. “I see noth- ing derogatory in hooking up fine ladies and actresses and attending the door— do you, Ralph?” The erect dignity of her figure, ample, but good still, her fine face, touched with the unconscious aus- terity of a Roman matron when she was grave, the distinction of her simply part- ed hair and quiet bonnet, contrasted with the office of ladies’ maid, sent Ralph into sudden laughter, in which Sarah unex- pectedly joined. Mrs. Calvert did not wholly understand, but laughed too, from sheer good humor. “You are making fun of the old lady,” she protested as she passed out. Ralph came over to the table for the deferred ceremony of shaking hands. Something new had risen up between them as soon as they were alone. Though they shook hands like friends, their eyes exchanged a different greeting. Sarah had her mother’s gray-blue eyes, but not her gravely handsome features, and gave no hint of inheriting her unconscious dignity. Long-armed, and careless in bearing, she would never under any cir- cumstances suggest a Roman matron. Just now she had a look of strain and weariness under her habitual air of good spirits. “You're tired,” he said sympatheti- cally. “Oh, well, Saturday night!” she ex- cused it. “Are you hard up?” “No.” The answer was quick and de- fensive, though she added a temporizing, “If rents weren't so awful! Mother has these attacks about once in three months,” she went on, as he said noth- ing. “Some day she will do it, you know. It worries me to death.” “Well,” he began slowly, “if she is not happy this way, why shouldn’t she? Just by way of argument, I wonder if you Rave feally a right to limit her free- om?” A “Now look here, I wont have you on the other side!” Sarah looked ready to cry. “In Heaven’s name, what can she earn that would for shutting her up and risking her health? Think of your 1 : own mother, Why, you couldn’t bear it. | ness, she could scarcely get it open. Sarah declared more than once in the Oh, Ralph, if you take her side and en- courage her—" And Sarah’s eyes did fill with tears. He put out a hand to pat the edge of her sleeve. “Sarah, Sarah, dear, if you cry, I shall.” “Well, let's cry,” she said, and laughed at the picture. He did not laugh. “Oh, poverty, poverty!” He had the air of looking about for something that he might safely kick. “I am growing sick of it, dear.” : “We are both doing rather well,” she reminded him, but feebly. “But so slowly, so inch by inch! Once everybody married young. How did they do it. Now a man has to wait till he’s so old that nobody wants him.” Their eyes met on that despairing cry, hers with a faint smile. “Oh, I shall always want you,” she said. He held out his hands. “Sarah!’’ “We are not engaged.” “I know. But just this once! She lifted her tired arms to his shoul- ders. “Oh, just this once!” she begged of the powers that held them apart. Neither noticed a step in the passage, nor the pushing back of the unlatched door. Mrs. Calvert, who had come with a hospitable suggestion of tea, drew soft- ly back again and went to her own room. There she sat down as breathless as | d though she had been running. Some way, Ralph—that boy—and her Sarah! Fif- teen minutes of hot resentment had to be lived through before she began to realize that, after all, there was nothing against Ralph personally as a suitor. She had even been fond of him before that blighting moment when he had laid hands on her little girl. “I am a selfish old woman,” she admit- ted as the pain abated. Not till that moment did the practical side thrust itself upon her. Ralph, good and faithful son, support- ed his mother. Sarah, dear and devoted daughter, supported hers. Four people; and then the inevitable fifth and sixth, and Sarah perhaps unable to earn. Sud- denly she read aright the tableau that had overturned her world: it was not impetuous happiness that she had seen, but sadness and resignation. The droop of the boy’s cheek against Sarah’s, the heaviness of her arms on his shoulders, the very quality of their silence, told of heart-sickness and hope deferred. They had never let her even suspect; and now she saw why. Tears rushed hotly into her eyes. Oh, loyal son and daughter! Ah, poor little children! “They must have it. They shall have it,” she said. For nearly an hour she sai erect, one hand, clasped into a fist, poised on her knee like the symbol of a solemn oath, her thoughts running des- perately down every known avenue to earning. There she was, fifty-seven, ac- tive, capable, willing; there must be some way. No use going to them with tears of sympathy; that would merely add the burden of her unhappiness to theirs. No; her part was to aid and abet their chival- rous secrecy till she could show them that she need no longer be an ecomonic burden. “Work!” she breathed. The word was like a strong prayer. “Mother?” Sarah’s head appeared in the doorway. “Ceceline is out, won’t you be a perfect angel and make us some tea?” “I will, my little girl.” The warm rush of the response, her eager starting up, sent Sarah back troubled; even remorse- ful; for an instant she had a dismaying glimpse of their life from the other side. “But I can’t let her work,” she argued down the revelation. Matron in a school, housekeeper, chaperon, the care of motherless chil- dren, family mending: Mrs. Calvert car- ried the modest list of her abilities to all the places where women market their services, and went hopefully, day after day, for results. She met courtesy every- where—often a startled courtesy; but the very qualities that won her this, the unconscious dignity of her bearing, the middle-aged distinction of her bonnet and her parted hair, were against suc- cess. It was unthinkable that she should “step lively;” and that was the order of the day’s march in the laboring world. The consideration that she never dream- ed of asking was subtly demanded for her in every line of her personality. And she was too old. The unimpaired vigor of her brain and body could do nothing against the mechanical demand for youth. 2 “Old women without means ought to be chloroformed,” she decided, wearily climbing the stairs after the third week of disappointment. The studio was unlighted, and Sarah lay stretched out on a bearskin rug, arms spread along the white paws, her favorite way of recuperating from a hard day. “You do gad so, Mother,’’ she said cheerfully, too cheerfully. Mrs. Calvert did not need the white glimmer of a crushed handkerchief to tell her what had been happening. “Tired, my little girl?” she asked. “Oh, sort of. I have just wasted thirty dollars’ worth of plates.” Sarah changed a sigh into a yawn. “Why didn’t you bring me up to a good, plain, honest trade, like plumbing?” “Ah, why wasn’t I brought up to one?” At the cry in her mother’s voice, Sarah lifted a startled head. “Now you're not going to have another wage-earning attack?’ she pleaded. “Mother, I couldn’t bear it.” “No, dear.” The voice in the dimness was reassuring, even humorous. * “I’ll be Now can’t I do something for you?” “No; just let me rest. I'll be all right by dinner-time.” Mrs. Calvert's face was stern “Oh, thatis my part; and that would when she went to her own room. She | come later. The thing is to start, here knew well enough that the thirty |i, your home, a mothers’ aid bureau. dollars’ worth of plates had |The prosperous don’t need us, and the had little to do with Sarah’s crushed handkerchief. Lighting the gas by the mirror, she looked long and unsparingly at herself. “I am good for twenty years yet,” she said aloud. The twenty years of de- pendence stretched desolately out before her. Theoretically it was right and fit- ting that children should provide for needy parents, but to her selfless spirit love was the supreme right of youth, and must not be denied. She took up again a thought that she had daily taken up and laid aside—the thought of going to Ralph’s mother. Was she suffering too, in the pleasant apartment her son pro- vided for her? But, as always, a vision of Tag pose, sengisive: rather Jal Sis tittle ng valiantly not to ong days lonely deterred her. “I have got to fight this thing out alone,” she decided, turning from the mirror. It was then that she saw the letter. agency that had promised to notify it anything turned up, and, in her eager- i Then the light died out of her eyes and i her lips set. The agency made the offer apologetically, not expecting acceptance; but the home was “refined” and the need immediate. Mrs. Calvert faced it square- ly: a little Connecticut town, a mentally broken old woman in her care day and night, small pay, the long winter com- ing. But her spirit had not- really hesi- tated for an instant. There was even a grave joy in her heart when at last she rose to take action. Moving very quiet- ly, she drew a trunk out of her closet and began to pack her clothes and be- longings. When that was done, she pushed it softly back and brought down from a shelf a small traveling-bag. Sarah always went into the studio early in the morning, lunched there from a tray, and did not emerge before late af- ternoon. It would be a simple matter for Mrs. Calvert to walk out undetected with her bag, and a telegram before din- ner would forestall anxiety. If her cour- age faltered before the unheroic light of day, she put brisk determination in its | place. During their brief breakfast, the | next morning, her tenderness encom- | passed Sarah like a warm tide; and, | though she kept it out of her spoken words, the girl rested in it, and was grateful. Before she went to work, she | put an arm around her mother’s shoul- ers. ! “Have a good time, and don’t get too ! tired,” she said. Mrs. calvert’s lip trem- | bled, but she caught it between her teeth. | She wanted to say something that Sarah would remember afterwards, something | to comfort and reassure, but she could ! not trust her voice. She had to let her y go without a sign. ! There was nearly an hour to spare at | the station, and Mrs. Calvert sat quietly at one side, forcing an interest in the hurrying life about her. A young woman burdened with a baby and a bag, and trying to telephone, presently caught her | attention. The child was afraid of the | telephone-booth, and was too young to be Jett out-side. Mrs. Calvert went to her aid. “Let me take him. Babies are always good with me,” she said. The harassed mother glanced quickly into her face, then smiled in relief, and the boy accept- ed her placidly as an exponent of the universal grandmother. “It is so hard when you have no one you want to leave them with,” the young woman said gratetully. “You just have to go shopping once in a while. When a woman is real poor, she can put the baby in a day nursery; but there's noth- ing for us in between.” Mrs. Calvert's response had a startled vagueness. For a long time afterwards she sat gazing fixedly before her, the light of enterprise growing in her eyes, a quiv- er of amusement stealing into the line of her lips. Presently she took out paper and pencil, and began to write, with many hesitations and erasures. Train after train was called, including her own, but she paid no need. At last she rose and turned back into the city. A servant admitted her to the apart- ment where Ralph lived with his mother. “Two maids, two apartments, two mothers,” went grimly through her head as she entered the sunny sitting-room. Mrs. Dunne was watering her window- plants, and greeted Mrs. Calvert eagerly as a possible authority on the needs of a Boston fern. She was a trustful, docile little lady, ready to accept any advice offered in a tone of conviction; her son insisted that she had been known to ¢on- sult the ash-man about the polishing of the dinner-table. Mrs. Calvert glanced at the fern, but went straight to her point. “Do you know that your boy and my girl love each other?” Mrs. Dunne was not really surprised; she was even ready to smile over it, tremulously, until something unspoken made her add a quick, defensive, “He is a good boy, Mrs. Calvert.” “A dear, good boy. But how are they going to marry?” Mrs. Dunne had not confronted the problem in detail. Ralph was doing well, she faltered, lines of anxiety appearing in her forehead. When Mrs. Calvert had put before her the difference’ between what Ralph. might hope to earn in the next five years and what he might have to spend, she was miserably ready to lay herself down and die at once, if only it could be managed without wounding a good son. “We can’t die till our time comes,” Mrs. Calvert said strongly; “but we are both able-bodied and active. Why shouldn’t we go into partnership and earn what we can of our expenses?” “Oh, if we could!” The clasping of Mrs. Dunne’s hands did not - suggest efficiency, but it meant a passionately willing spirit. Mrs. Calvert drew off her gloves as though she were going to work that very moment. “We are both very found of little chil- dren,” she began. “Oh, yes!” interjected Mrs. Dunne, with a look of curious bewilderment. “And I am famous at mending. Mrs. Dunne, there are mothers all around us, hundreds of them, who long for a few Bours off now and then, or even a whole ay.” “Yes, yes!” “Then there are families where there is no smother or aunt to let the mother escape who would jump at the chance of getting a responsible and well- bred person who could mend, for an oc- casional half-day, especially in the sub- urbs.” Mrs. Dunne looked nervous. “I am so pg mt finding my way about,” she hesi- tated. very poor can’t have us; but think of all the overworked, overtired mothers in be- tween!” Mrs. Dunne’s face lit, then clouded. “But how shall we find them?” “Cards.” Mrs. Calvert drew a sheet of paper from her bag, then hesitated, a smile coming and going in her fine face, “We can’t do it half-way,” she warned, and offered the paper. it was written, neatly spaced: - Mrs. Dunne and Mrs. Calvert Professional Grandmothers. Leave your baby withus when you want a little freedom. Leave his clothes to be mended at the same time. Terms moderate. “It wouldn't hurt my pride,” Mrs. Cal- vert said stoutly. “How about yours?” Mrs. Dunne’s face showed bodily fright but an exalted spirit. “I want my boy to be happy,” she said earnestly. “Mother, you are up to something,” fortnight that followed. Mrs. Calvert had an air of suppressed buoyancy, a gay alertness, that had not shone out of her since dependence had overtaken her days. She only laughed at her daughter’s sus- picion, and Sarah was too absorbed in her own anxieties’ to wonder very much; but she felt anew the older w man’s charms and value, and a long- ing to confide in her fought daily with dread of wounding. At iast, one free afternoon, when a sitter had failed her, she suddenly threw down a pretense of work and ran to her mother. Mrs. Calvert was not in her room, and Sarah was turning disappoiatedly away | when a glimpse of the closet arrested her. It was surprisingly empty, and within the door stood an open trunk half filled with her mother’s possessions. Lifelong treas- ures were in it-a shabby little Bible, faded photographs, bits of old lace, a cameo pin. Sarah rose from frantic in- vestigation with wide, frightened eyes, and flew to the telephone. Ralph came at once, and together they confronted the evidence of the half-filled trunk.: 0 “She is going to do it. She has taken some position. She will work,” Sarah burst out. “I have seen it coming; I ought to have known. And she will break herself down. Ralph, I can’t bear it!” No question now about being engaged, Sarah was wholly and frankly in his arms. “We won't allow it, that’s ail,” he comforted her. “But how can we stop her if she has gone far enough to pack up?” Sarah had to dry her eyes. “Ceceline says she has been out every day till nearly dinner- time. I saw she was tired and excited, but I was so absorbed in myself-what is it?” for Ralph’s stare suggested discovery. “Do you know, there has been some- thing queer about my mother lately,” he brought out with sudden conviction. “I have been too rushed to think about it, but she has been like that-tired and ex- cited; and she has asked me for all sorts of addresses.” “So has Mother!” “They are up to something together, dear.” “We'll stop it,” she promised, running for her hat. Ralph cal ed after her. “Sarah, do you suppose they suspect— about us?” “Oh, no! Mother hasn’t an idea,” she assured him. At the door of Mrs. Dunne’s apart- ment lay a printed card. Ralph auto- matically picked it up; then his eye caught a name, and he held the card rapidly before him. “Great goodness!” he muttered. They read it together: “Mrs. Dunne and Mrs. Calvert, Professional Grandmothers. Leave your baby with us—” “Oh, I must say!” they both exploded. Ralph’s latch-key admitted two stern young judges,who came to upbraid; but in the hall they paused, still undetected. The open door of the sitting-room show- ed a sunny tableau: a gentle, elderly woman sat in a big chair, her face softly alight, one furtive arm stealing sweetness from a little blue-aproned boy, lured with the picture-book on her knee, and in a second big chair, alert, radiating content, Mrs Calvert darned a white sock and watched the block building of two small figures at her feet. In the room beyond, at the open window, stood a veiled baby : carriage. The voices came on a note of happi- ness before which wrath faltered, justice hesitated. The watchers stood abashed, and their eyes grew misty as, at last, they saw clearly. Emptiness had been filled; power had found its outlet: a new lease had come into two lives. “Of course our dear children will have to pay our rent,” Mrs. Calvert was say- ing; “but if we can’t manage our board and clothes with this start, we are two very stupid old women.” “It is so hard not to tell them,” said Mrs. Dunne happily. Mrs. Calvert laughed. “They’d take our heads off,” she proph- ested; “but when they realize that they can marry as soon as they like, they may forgive us.” Very softly, with hands tightly clasped, Ralph and Sarah regained the front door and stole out.— By Juliet Wilbor Tomp- kins. Daily Thought. There are souls in the world who have the gift of finding joy every- where, and of leaving it behind them when they go. Joy gushes from un- der their fingers, like jets of light. RETURNING FROM INDIA. By One on Medical Duty in that Far Eastern Country. Beautiful Scenery and Majestic Mountains on the Trip South Through India. DARJEELING, JANUARY 29th, 1914. Dear Home Folk: Dak. Bungalow at Senchal.—I left you at Allahabad and I must tell you of my night jaunt to Calcutta, as you are al- ways talking of my traveling alone. Well, I got into an intermediate carriage in which there were two young Englishmen and as we each had a seat we prepared for a comfortable night and off we start- ed. I was interested in the country, for Jhansi and its surroundings look so bare and barren one is repulsed, but at Alla- habad the irrigation is so wonderful that everything is green, but as we came to- ward Calcutta vegetation became more and more profuse and palm trees were everywhere, and I began to see my In- dia of books. : We came to Mogal Seri, a big junc- tion, and along came the guard and put into this tiny section five soldier boys, off on a holiday. We could only have had two more for comfort and the five made us over-full, but it was truly ludicrous to see how those boys made the best of things and one, while sleeping on the floor, would rouse up and make a witty remark that would send the rest into peals of laughter. They offered me their I should not think it worth while to un- pack my bedding and get comfortable, but I can scarcely manage my “hold-all” when the compartments are not crowded and I was afraid I never would get my things packed up again, so did not make any attempt at being comfortable. We finally reached Calcutta, and I was ‘once more back in a city. Calcutta is |new and thriving, with good buildings and all modern improvements, but as I had not written just what day I would ar- rive, the mission people did not have room for me so I came on that same day to Darjeeling, getting here the next day at one o'clock. The trip up the mountains was as dif- ferent from those others as you could well imagine for the train runs on a two foot wide track and reminds one of a snake and after twisting and turning un- til you are nearly ill, suddenly it switch- es back and then starts its twisting; three or four feet higher up it loops and double-loops in a most amazing way and you see truly tropical foliage on every side—trees hung with long waving moss, great fern trees, twelve to fifteen feet high, and the grass like palm, we grow in little pots at home, here are great trees, and a beautiful hedge was made of poinsettas in full bloom—four to six feet high (as it grows wild;) tkis was so pret- ty about a native house. Then we came to the tea-plantations— the tea plant is not over ‘two feet high and is so trimmed as to spread out fan- dreds of acres planted in tea, all up and down these hill sides, and grown on steps just like the rice in the north. But the native has changed and here the Chinese blood is seen everywhere. These people are Thebetians and are as differ- ent from the people seen in other sec- tions as they are from us. The mud hut is replaced with bamboo, boarded and thatched with grass and all raised on poles three or four feet above ground. The “hookah” of the north is not nearly so common now; the cigarette is in every one’s mouth, the flat, soggy “chappetti” (my Hindustani spelling is purely by sound) is replaced by most appetizing ; looking bread and tea— well, every one i drinks tea by the gallon. And then those | great Hymalayas, snow-encased for long i distances, catch your eye and hold it, | for they are so magnificent you almost 1 Their influence is an inevitable glad- | old your breath in wonder. Here the dening of the heart. Volcanoes in United States. ! mountains are only forty miles away so | that their full beauty can be appreciated. | Today I came by train a little distance In Washington Mount Rainier is a : to the foot of a hill from where Mt. Ev- volcano believed to show evidence of | eret is to be seen, and stopping over internal heat, and Mount St. Flelena ! night at the Dak Bungalow I want to see is reported to have been in eruption ‘the sun rising on these the greatest in 1843, while Mount Baker, the most ! northerly in the United States, was in eruption in 1843. Proof Positive. “Don’t you be afraid, Fritz!” called the ally as Fritz pommelled the new- comer at school. “He ain't got no big brother. His schoolbooks are per- fectly new.” First Brick House in America. mountains in the world. Truly, as sit | here and write—perched thousands (over | 8000) of feet high—the valleys full of | clouds and only the great white moun- ! tain range visible, the world and its at- | tractions can easily be forgotten. They. {look like the Rockies, but as though | carved from marble, and the setting sun {don’t seem to have much effect upon | their cold whiteness, merely making | them stand out in more exquisite relief. The first brick house in America, it | But the mists and the wind are growing is said, was Penn’s Letitia house in | Worse and the cold will soon drive me Philadelphia, built of imported bricks in-doors, where a big wood fire is blaz- in 1682. Beyond Her Understanding. | ing in a most inadequate fire-place. i Sunday afternoon.—I got up at four o'clock this morning and made a cup of A woman can never understand why | tea, boiled an egg, and taking some bread her husband has to work so hard in order to make both ends meet, when he is so much smarter than other men. Never in Doubt. “Does your wife ever doubt what you say when you get home late?” asked the Wise Guy. “Never,” replied the Grouch. “She knows I am lying.” Artistic Discount. Merchant (to portrait painter)— How much will you charge to paint my portrait if I furnish the paint?— Fliegende Blaetter. LS —————————————————— ‘Always a Handy Weapon. Dad used to say that a sense of humor was like a shillalab—“an 1lli- gant thing to have around handy, es- pecially when the joke's on you.”— “Dawn O'Hara.” ‘and butter fortified myself for a one-half mile climb to the top of the look-out; then started and climbed and climbed, finally reaching the “look-out bunga- low.” The sun’scoming was putting the stars toshame and they were slowly with- | drawing from the competition. All the sky | had been black, but off to the west like a phantom one saw the great snow fields gradually growing higher and higher—al- most as though a lime-light was being thrown onto them, all around where we stood, for there were English people, a doz- en strong, also looking at this magnificent pageant, was in darkness and the val- leys were one soft billowy mass of clouds just like a white, fleecy sea. Up, up, came the King of Day and the changing colors were like the ones seen in a prism. The shadows on those marble hills pillows and seemed to be most sorry that | wise at the top, and there will be hun- | 1 changed every few moments until final- : ly the sun’s first rays touched the tops and life—pink, beautiful and alluring, seemed to be breathed into them. My companions exclaimed at the wonder but I could only stand silent in awe drinking in this, the most wonderful sun- rise I had ever seen. The rest of the range stood out cameo-like from the pink sky. It was Kinchinjunga that excit- ed our admiration for away off to the left of it, just showing above the inter- vening mountain like the dome on the top of a Mohammedan Mosque, Mt. Ey- eret was seen, cloud-like; it was interest- ing only on account of its actual superior height, but being one hundred and twen- ty-five miles away, gave one no idea that it was to be compared with the peaks in front of us. Coffee and crackers were served by the servants but I, giving one good-bye look, started down my white pathway, for the daylight showed everything cov- ered white with a hoar-frost and I slip- ped and slid along in a most old-fashion- ed way. The long green moss was glis- tening as though with diamonds and the green ferns looked as though just taken from a watery bath.; the whole world was as beautiful as nature could make it. ! I got my coolie woman with my bedding and we hastened to the foot of the hill, where we took a little way train back to Darjeeling, and now I am sitting on a garden-seat, gazing in the direction of the mountains but curiously enough they are veiled heavily with clouds and if to be seen again today one must wait until five o'clock, for only at sun-rise and sun- set are you sure to get a good view, pro- viding of course the weather is fine. I will go back to Calcutta tomorrow, where Cook's will have my tickets ready. After staying three or four days there I will then start south. I wish you could be with me for I know that I am not traveling fast enough to tire you and this part of India is much more beautiful to the eye than where I have been living. Darjeeling I need not describe as it is iust like Simla, perched on hill-sides so steep you can easily coast to the bottom. There are some very good buildings, as it is the capital of the State and all the government houses and offices are here, brave with their red roofs. It is a damp atmosphere and the moss and ferns, lillies and roses are luxuriant while the fuchias have stems as thick as my wrist; the daphne grows to the height of our shrubs at home and the blossoms are so sweet the whole air is saturated. A new species of fir covers the hills and elk-horn moss is running riotously along the ground. There are but few blossoms and I don’t recognize the bark nor leaves of these grown strong hot-house beauties. I will stop, and finish this in Calcutta. (Continued next week.) The young man or young woman who undertake the voyage of life without some reliable chart, showing the rocks and shoals where health may make ship- wreck, are inviting catastrophe. Of all books, fitted to give instruction on the care of the body, the preservation of its health, none can compare with Dr. Pierce's Common Sense Medical Adviser. It tells the plain truth in plain English. It deals with questions of vital interest to both sexes. Its 1008 pages have over 700 il- lustrations, some in colors. This book is sent absolutely free, on receipt of stamps to pay expense of mailing only. Send 21 one-cent stamps for paper covered book, or 31 stamps for cloth binding. Address Dr. V. M. Pierce, Buffalo, N. Y. In Search of Knowledge. “I shall call upon a fortune teller this morning,” said Mr. Blubb. “Go- ing to try to learn something about the future?” asked Mr. Waggles. “Yes, I'm going to ask him when he expects to pay the arrears of rent for that cot- tage of mine he is occupying as a ‘School of Astrology and Institute for Psychical Research.’ ” First Sawmill in United States. It is said that the first sawmill in the United States was at Jamestown, from which sawed boards were export- ed in June, 1607. A water power saw- mill was in use. in 1625 near the present site of Richmond. Richness of Life. In our friends the richness of life is proved to us by what we have gained; in the faces in the street the rich- ness of life is proved to us by a hint of what we have lost.—Browning. Careful Worker. City Editor—“For a beginner, that new reporter seems very particular not to make any mistakes.” Assist. ant—“Yes; I told him to write om one side of the paper, and he wanted to know which side!”—Judge. Natural Question. “I will wash mine hands in inno. cency,’ ” said infant class Hilda, mem- origing her Sunday school lesson. “What is innocency, mamma? Is i$ & new kind of soap?” EE ————— Daily Thought. “The greatest test of friendship, ib seems to me, is the knowledge that one may tell the truth to a friend with the certainty that no offense will be taken.” One Cause of Old Age. According to a Roumanian scientist, old age is simply due to a decrease in the amount of water in the human system. Por Blood Stains. For taking out blood stains nothing is better than a few drops of ame monia.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers