6 THE HAVtN OF DREAMS. Vnu-n the weary day with Its toll Is o'er Aod darkness broods over earth onec more, We gij-dly slip through the pates of night, And kail for & mystical shore. tlk the soft-winged shallop of sleep we glide O'er a. silent sea with a rhythmic tide. That lulls to rest each throbbing woa <2uc aching hearts may hide. And though from afar no beacon gleams, Iwv mariner's star sheds Its guiding (warns, Vet owe the unseen ships go by. Seekir.sr the haven of dreams. And when we've entered that haven fair. The wonders untold that await us there! Xfcurk fn the meadows of childhood we roam. Basking again in the lovelight of home. The dear ones we've lost are with us once more, Jtu&t AS we knew them and loved them of yore; {And nor<f ever doubts all Is not as it seems While we linger entranced in the haven of dreams. So It seemeth to me that some shadowy night When death draws the curtain we'll slip out of sight, And eail In a shallop like chat we call sleep, To a wonderful land where no eyes ever weep. And the haven of dreams lieth white. —Mary IC. Buck. In Chicago Inter Ocean. Copyright, 1599, by J. 3. Lippincott Com pany. All rights reserved. CHAPTER X.—CONTINUED. As Frances hurried homeward, choking and sick with her sorrow, she found herself caught in the whirls artd eddies of a great crowd and borne aSonir helplessly past her street. Men carried torches and were cheering themselves hoarse, while horns added their din to the confusion. Upon every hat were the red letters "M.M." It was a dumonstration by the fa mous "Minute Men," who rose in every southern city as they had risen nearly 100 years before when the drums beat. Suddenly she was Jammed against a carriage, the prog ress of which had been stayed by the -crowd. Us sole occupant was a pale, silent man. In the glare of the torches his face exactly filled lines laaelibly fixed in her memory by the brief flame of a match; it was the face 1 of Richard Somers, cold and im ruabile. Upon the seat by his side was a traveling-bag; his eyes looked out calmly, almost coldly, over her head. He was not southern, he was not a Virginian, and the hour awoke no response within his heart. Impul sively. and forgetting, she stretched her hands upward, but memory re turned and checked the words that rose to her lips. Only an inarticulate cry burst from them, a cry low and half smothered in the roar of voices. Yet low as it was, it reached the oc cupant of the carriage. Something sa that voice, a tone, a vibration, touched a memory-cell. He turned quickly and looked back; a girl hold lag' desperately to the arm of an old degress was being borne along by the tumultuous human wave. For an in stant only he saw her white face up turned to his—the loveliest, saddest face his eyes had ever gazed on, and from her lips he heard come back one word— "Farewell!" Forgetting all but that he was leaving his life somewhere in the fierce passions surging behind him, he made a desperate effort to alight from (be vehicle, but so dense was the crowd the door would not open. And then angry men seized the rearing •horses and forced them out of the way. When he was free again only a *ea of flame, in whose depths human figures seemed to march, met his gaze. It had swallowed up the woman's white face. A great transparency, swaying- and wavering like a drunken ■sao. thrust itself before his vision and blotted out the scene. Upon it was the legend: "Down with the Yan &ees! r * CHAPTER XI. Sorrow unmixed with remorse is the sours education. The soul of the woman who grieves in silence broadens sod deepens, sending down into her own life far-reaching roots and un folding upward rare auxiliary blos soms that fill the life about her with divine breathings. Such was the ex perience of Frances Brookin. Thrown hack upon herself, conscious of inno cence. and feeling always the presence of sorrow, the sorrow of a great dis appointment, she saw her girlhood «tt«jping away faster than time itself; £<ir it is true that age is the sum of experience rather than years, ar<d all of life may be lived between the set ftiag and the rising of the sun. But •writh Frances this change was not the •shrinking of the soul into forgetful nets; it was an enlargement of view and perspective in which old headlands assumed smaller proportions. New — imperative duties they seemed, arose and met her; new responsibilities pre sented themselves; she faced them all ihravely. hopefully, lovingly. The fine quality of her soul proved itself in the easting out of all the bitterness which had in the first hours of her misfor tune stormed its citadel and raised sxwnber banners there. The victory self won by this frail girl was so Ottsa.-Ti«lously complete that no cynicism her innocent faith in the sternal existence of truth and good »es« a«d their ultimate triumph over evil. tier touching acceptance of life £B its aew aspect was not born in a day. There were weeks of anguish; Cfce.re were months of dull heartache 4tud loneliness; there were tear-wet .pilSowsaud nights of crying out against Ca£e; for the death of an ideal is the •sdd est death in all the universe. Since Jar this there is as resurrection, i'Us girlish ideal of Prances Brookin was dead at last, and slept under the petals of a faded white rose. Richard Somers was out of her life, out of her heart. The titan she loved had never existed, she told herself. He was a dream, a romance, an immaculate conception of a virgin mind. The real man was the unworthy offspring of base, worldly passions; he was nothing to her but a name. Political events hastened the girl into womanhood and towards that large tolerance with which the strong soul at- last invariably encysts the in explicable and unwelcome facts it can not avoid. With one leap the fierce south entered the arena of war, and Virginia hills echoed the mingled cheers of contending armies and the thunder of mighty guns. Richmond seemed to have become, as in a day, the center of intrigue and of action. On every side flashed the gold and sil ver of war's rich trappings. Plumes danced in the breezes and the ennfjil erate gray met the eye, rest wheiTit would. From the capitol the banner of i new nation floated proudly, and beneath it echoed the tramp of march ing legions, the galloping lioof-beats of horses, through all hours of day and night. Men. in this hitherto staid old southern city, hurried, under the spur of emotions that seemed born of a con tagion in the air, and anxious women went about with willing hands to aid in every department they might in vade. Among these, her life adjusting itself easily and gratefully to the new demands, was Frances Brookin. the tenderness of her fine face softened and deepened into divine womanliness, the love-ray eloquent in her melting eyes. Swiftly the holiday side of the war had faded out of view. Agonized si lence swallowed up laughter. For the drift was coming in from where the storm of battle raged, wrecks of hu man forms once freighted with life's rarest merchandise. Soon every hos pital. every available spaee in church and public building and the most spa cious of private homes were to have their quota of the wounded, the dying, The southern woman was entering upon that field of labor in which she achieved her noblest dignity, her fame its immortality. Foremost among those who first gave their en ergies, their whole lives to the allevia tion of suffering, the inspiration of the hopeless and the despairing, was Fran ces Brookin. Free to dispose of her time as she would and with an abun dant means at her disposal, she made herself a ministering angel wherever a soldier suffered. Day and night she labored, sustained by boundless patri otism and an elation for which she could not account, try as she would. She failed in her self-analysis from ignorance of the fact that a voise that has once spoken to the heart is never quite silent afterwards, and that youth when it buries its dead tramples not the sod above it. Fiery hatred of the invader possessed her, as it did her sisters; bred in the bone and nour ished with the mother's milk, it could not be quelled except by years of gentle association and a common cause, but by a strange paradox this bitterness excluded every stained and bloody blue uniform or haggard northern face. Out of the fight, these were ever out of the sweep of a southern woman's ven geance. Upon the suffering prisoners - 1 ]jf JM & » "ASK WHAT YOU WILL,, MY CHILD.' Frances delighted to lavish the tender ness of her nature, now broadened and deepened by its own ministry; and something touchingly human carried her among them, although she was not conscious of it. For this had come to pass: within the heart, of Frances Brookin there lived a fiction, the Richard Somers of her girlish dreams: Richard Somers as she had seen him face to face one night under the burning match, his voice ringing strong and true and tender upon her hearing. Before him, shut ting him into the sanctity of her room, she had dropped a veil of iridescent gossamer, and within that room, seen only through the veil, the man lived and reigned and had his kingdom. Through this veil, too, stirred by the breath of the suffering and the dying of his own country, he spoke gently, tenderly to her in the lonely hours of her vigils. The other Richard had been dismissed, not harshly or hastily, not in anger, but sadly—a man un worthy; a man at war with the truth and nobleness of her nature and at war with her people. No one knows how such fictions come about, but the hearts of most women carry them. And time had helped Frances, for looking back she re-established many vital facts that lessened the sadness of memory; the m,an must once have been noble—his deeds of mercy and gentle ness proved that; innately noble he must have been when she met him, for in the face of a great temptation he had kept his promise to his friend, even to the extent of shutting his eyes against' the girl whose arms had been about him, whose lip* breathed love for him. And somewhere, despite *ll the CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, JUNE 20, 1901. trickery, there was still nobility, for silently he had ridden away, faithful to his friend. He had lain under her bands wounded by the pistol shot, and no woman ever hated a helpless, suffer ing man. As for his deceptions, his plots, some fearful necessity must have compelled him. The other woman? She had been too base for him—she had been at heart a murderess. She it was who had dragged him down. And was he not caring for the child? Frances would not have admitted it to herself had she realized it, but in the depths of that heart she had forgiven Richard Somers. Her heart was big enough to hold him and all his weakness. Was there a loss of something from her na ture? Or was there a gain? No message had ever come to her from Somers, no good or evil report. None? Yes, just a scrap soon after the war began. From some one, Brodnar, probably, since his name was upon it, she had received a northern paper giv ing in its war gossip information that Richard Somers had been reinstated in the army and promoted to be captain of artillery. But one day early in the spring of ISG2, when the great federal movement against Richmond was beginning and when every train was bringing in a bloody harvest, she leaned above a wounded enemy. The question so often a»ked, "To what command do you be long?" drew forth an answer that filled her with excitement. She felt her heart begin to beat madly and her limbs yielding to a sudden excitement. "Your captain! What is his name?" "Iliehard Somers, miss!" How strangely thrilling sounded the name that morning! It was the first time she had heard it spoken since its bear er had said among the flickering shad ows of her room: "If to carry in mem ory the living record of one face will help you, take mine, and with it. right or wrong, the love of Richard Somers." The scene, never dimmed in all the months that had passed, stood forth again, illumined like some strong pic ture under the swift magic of the light ning. The wounded man saw in her face the'glow of its reflection. Tri umph shone in her eloquent eyes, a sudden agitation locked the soft white hands. "Do you know him. miss?" "I? Yes, yes! Is he well —ishesafe?" The man read more than she suspected, and turned his eyes away embarrassed. He was singularly helpless from his wounds, and she had his face at her mercy. Her woman's instinct dis cerned his thought; her lips moved without sound, but her soul was in the appealing look riveted upon him. "1 think—not," he said, reluctantly, at last. "In fact, I know that he —is wounded." "Dead!—3'ou mean!" she gasped in the struggle to conceal her anguish. "No. miss—not exactly that; but bad ly wounded—very badly, 1 am afraid." "Where is he?" She made no effort then to conceal the truth. She was on her knees, her eyes close to his. "In God's name, my friend, tell me —tell me all! Can't you see? can't you see ?" She covered licr face, unable to con tinue. "I can only tell you what I know, miss. He was not dead when I saw him last. Our guns were in the line w hen the charge came. The line was broken at both flanks, and the yelling confed erates were swarming about us. Every horse we h d wa< down, when word came for us to look out for ourselves, and back we went to escape capture— what was left of us. Well. miss, some body said then that No. 3 had been left loaded—double-shotted with can ister; the man at the lanyard had fall en dead just as he lifted his hand to pull. And so the gun stood, ready to be turned upon us. Then Capt. Somers lulted and looked about for some one t<> send back; but I think, miss, he n ust have seen that the chance was d ;sperate. It was only an instant, and h? wouldn't order any man togo; he 1* ished forward over the 50 yards, reached the gun and seized the cord. He was my captain, and I couldn't leave him there, you know, so I had followed him, too. Then up in front an army of gray seemed to rise as from the ground, and they fired a volley as he pulled on the lanyard. I threw myself on my face When I looked up the crowd akead was disordered and torn, but still coming on; and the cap tain lay by his gun. 1 crawled over and laid my hand upon him. " 'Tom,' he said, cool as I am right now, 'l'm gone, but if you get out take the papers in my pocket and my watch to my mother!' I took them as he told me. H© fainted, I think, and I was afraid he was dead, but he breathed again. And then, miss—l hadn't tried it since I was a boy—he w as lying upon his face, and rolling over, I lay upon him, back to back, locking my arms through his. Turning over suddenly I had him on me adead weight, and then, somehow, I got up. The whole thing was not a minute long. The confed erates gave me a cheer instead of a vol ley till the boys rushed back to meet us. I got it in both legs then and this shoul der, and down we went. The boys took him and left me. which was right; for four men had died there to save him and I looked like the fifth." Frances was kneeling by the wounded man when he finished, stroking his cheek and brow, her frame trembling. "Oh, brave! brave!" she cried. "God bless you and keep you—and keep you!" she sank her face beside him, sobbing for joy. "The watch—the pa pers!" she cried, excitedly, remember ing his commission. "Oh. sir. lam his —I am his nearest relative, south,' Give them to me. give them to me!" "In my coat." said the stranger gently, a wan smile upon his pale face. "Don't worry, miss; I guess the cap tain'll pull through all right." The watch was there, and there too were the letters sealed for his mother ready for delivery if he were picked up dead by friend or foe. No line for her, the woman who loved him once—loved him as she had known him. Upon the inner case of his watch was his own name and address; and still bo line for her, the woman who held him so dear. But in the locket dangling from the chain there were two lines cut into the vir gin gold: "Frances, my wife. "Richmond, April 13th, 1561." ITow roseate then grew life for the girl. He remembered! He had kept her words with him night and day. He loved her; he had told no false hood for the value of her father's wealth. As she stood by the wounded soldier, his eyes resting in sympathy on her. her own seeing nothing but the face in that half-lit room where her shrine was raised, all that was left of resentment vanished out of her heart. When afterward she realized this she was amazed and troubled. One federal soldier at least in all the hosts that fell into confederate hands had no cause to complain of his nurs ing. A hospital stretcher bore him to the home of Frances Brookin and into her room. It was her whim, and the stepmother was indulging her whims in those days. There Frances and mammy, with William as a helper and Brodnar as an occasional adviser, lav ished on hiin suchcare'and attention as he had never dreamed was possible, for he was one of those homeless waifs to whom war had promised nothing but excitement and change. It was all a mystery to him, but he questioned not. He accepted the girl's simple statement as to Somers, and was content to let the sun of bis prosperity shine on. One day when the soldier was able to limp about the garden upon his crutches and sit in the shade by the plashing fountain to read in the Dis patch of the great battles being fought around the endangered capital of the confederacy, Frances, bearing the highest testimonials from surgeons and hospital officials as to the conspicuous and devoted service she had rendered, went to the executive mansion and se cured admission to the presence of its great chief. Mr. Davis courteously read her papers, and, looking into the earnest face of the fair girl sitting be side him, gave graceful expression to his appreciation of her patriotism. "Ask what you will, my child." he said, "and if 1 may consistently grant it your wishes shall be gratified." "it is the parole of a private soldier," she said, "and a safe-conduct through our lines. lie is wounded, but has re covered sufficiently to travel. He will not enter the service again, sir; his in juries incapacitate him." "And is that ail?" "All!" [To Be Continued ] PARDONED INDISCRETION. MnKnnnlnioiirt Act of the German Su perior Toward a Gallant Soldier. The late Field Marshal Count Von Blumenthal, of Germany, once com mitted an Indiscretion that came near ruining his entire life. In July, 180G, Blumenthal wrote a letter to his wife from the seat of war in Bohemia, and handed it over to the military post of fice staff. The mail was seized by the Austrians, and Bluementhal's letter, which contained severe strictures on Moltke, Prince Friederich Karl and the crown prince, was published in the Viennese newspapers, says a London exchange. The criticism of the crown prince, accusing him of unpunctualitj was particularly grave. The Austri ans, in thus publishing the letter, were, of course, acting within their rights. But the publication fell like a bomb upon the Prussian headquarters. The crown prince, however, showed no re sentment against his chief of the staff, and Moltke also acted with great mag nanimity. When the letter was brought under his notice he remarked that "a third party had nothing to do with what a man writes to his wife." But the third person mentioned in the letter was not of this opinion. Prince Friederich Karl found the newspaper containing the unfor tunate letter laid on his writing table. Without saying a word he ordered his horse to be saddled and rode to the king's quarters with the newspaper in his pocket. On his arrival there- he learned that the king could not see him immediately, as the crown prince was with him. Prince Friederich Karl waited a long time in the ante-room. At last the door of the king's room opened and the crown prince stepped out, flushed and excited, but beaming with satisfaction. As soon as he saw Prince Friederich Karl he went to him and said: "I can give you some infor mation which you will doubtless hear as gladly as I give it to you. The king has pardoned Gen. Blumenthal th§ im prudent letter which he wrote." To which Prince Karl made a wry face, putin his pocket the newspaper he had held in his hand, and walked off with the crown prince. When Dean (iott Korgrot. Dr. Gott, who has recently an nounced his intention of resigningthe bishopric of Truro, was formerly the dean of Worcester; hi* absent-minded ness was so notorious that he earned for himself the sobriquet of "Dean For get." He himself on one occasion invit ed a number of friends to dinner, and a short time before the dinner hour he suggested that a stroll through the grounds would be a good appetizer. After spending a quarter of an hour or so admiring the greenhouses, etc., they suddenly came acros« a small door in the wall. "Ah," said the dean to his astonished guests, "this will be a much shorter way home for you than going by the front way"—and, all un conscious of his invitation, he opened the aoor and bowed them out! Had Ileen In Training. First Doctor—A woman applied fox a position as nurse in the alcoholie ward to-day. Second Doctor —Had any experi ence? "She said she used to be a snaltr charmer."—Philadelphia Record. | Changes In Revenue Law I 8 The Reduced War Taxes as They Go 8 0 Into Effect July / 8 Beginning with July 1 certain changes in the war revenue bill will go into effect. The original measure, it will be remembered, was enacted by congress June 13, 1898, just after the breaking out of the Spanish-Ameri can war. Just prior to adjournment the last congress made certain amend ments to this act. Perhaps the changes that will be most noticed by the general public will be the removal of the tax on bank checks and drafts, eight drafts, money orders, leases, mortgages or conveyances in trust, promissory notes and telegraph messages. The tax on bankers of SSO for $25,000 and $2 for each additional SI,OOO is to be retained. So also is the tax on stock brokers of SSO, on pawnbrokers of S2O, on commercial brokers of S2O and on custom house brokers oi $lO. Proprietors of theaters and like places of amusement and proprietors of circuses are still to be taxed SIOO. The tax of $lO on all other exhibi tions is also retained. The new law made no change in the tax of $5 levied on each bowung alley or billiard table. Tobacco and snuff come in for a discount of 20 per cent, on the old tax. There is a distinction drawn in the case of cigarettes, ihe tax on those of a certain grade and weight is retained; on others the tax is re duced. Dealers in tobacco and. leaf tobacco, and manufacturers of tobacco and of cigars, will be taxed according to the rate now prevailing. On bonds, debentures, etc., and on certificates of stock of original issue the tax of 5 cents per SIOO is to be retained. In the provision taxing trans fers of stock 2 cents per SIOO, the same tax i.s extended to bucket shops. The tax on sales of products at exchanges i.s cut in half. In the case of sales of merchandise in actual course of transportation the tax is entirely removed. The tax on all forms of insurance is repealed. Proprietary medicines, perfumery and cosmetics and chewing gum are all to be exempted from taxation. Petroleum and sugar refineries are still to pay one-fourth per cent, of their gross receipts in excess of $250,000. Each sleeping and parlor car ticket will continue to pay 1 cent to the gov ernment.. Legacies of charitable institutions, religious, literary or educa tional in character, will not be taxed after July 1. TABULAR SUMMARY OF CHANGES IX WAR REVENUES. Articles. Beer Bankers Stock brokers Pawnbrokers Commercial brokers Custom house brokers Proprietors of thentera. etc Proprietors of circuses Proprietors 01' other t xhibitior.s Bowling alleys or billiard rooms Tobacco ar.J sr.ufT Cigars owr three pounds, per I.ihh Cigars not over three pounds. per 1,0)0 Cigarettes over thn - pounds, per 1.000 Cigarettes not over three pounds, pi r 1,000. Dealers in leaf tobacco Dealers in tobacco Manufacturers of tobacco Manufacturers of cigars Bonds, debentures, etc Certificates of stork, original issue Certificates of stock, transfers Sales of products at exchanges Bank checks 1 Bills of exchange, inland j Certificates of d posit Promissory notes j: Money orders Bills of exchange, foreign Bills of lading fur export Express receipts Freight receipts or domestic bills of lading. Telephone messages Bonds of indemnity and bonus not other wise specified j Certificates of profits ' Certificates of damage Certificates not otherwise specified : Charter party Brokers' contract Conveyance Telegraph messages Entry of goods at c. h. lor consumption Entry for withdrawal i Insurance, life Marine, inland, fire Casualty, fidelity and guaranty Lease Manifest for custom house entry Mortgage or conveyance in trust Passage ticket : Power of attorney to vote J Power of attorney to sell | Protest j' Warehouse receipts I' Proprietary medicines j' Perfumery and cosmetics Chewing gum •! Wines Petroleum and sugar refineries Sleeping and parlor car tickets Legacies Mixed flour Manufactures of mixed flour Tea Epitaph and Pun. One evening at a small party which included the two friends, Douglas Jerrold and Charles Knight, the au thor-publisher, the talk turned on epitaphs. As they were walking home to gether, Knight, half lightly and half In earnest, asked the wit to write his epitaph for him. .Terrold made no answer, but. when they came to the parting of their ways, he sudden ly said: "I've got your epitaph." "Well, whatsis it?" "Good Knight!"—Y'outh's Compan ion. Tratlle In Iluaitla. Early in April there were lying at the stations of three Russian railroads, waiting to be forwarded, 27,000 car loads of grain, equal tc about 12,000,000 bushels, much of which had been waiting for months. Complaints that railroads a-e not able to handle their traffic are com mon in Russia. Trout of the Ocean. The weakfish is revisiting the At lantic coast, much to the satisfac tion of epicures, who know that the fish thus handicapped by its name is the trout of the ocean. Out-l)oor Heller in England. Tn the southwestern counties of England 37 out of every 1,000 per sons are in receipt of outdoor re lief. This number falls to 19 in 'he northwest counties. Arxenie for Hardening Shot. Shot is generally hardened by the addition of a small quantity of arsenic to the Irud, Taxed by Act of June Taxed by Act of Feb. 1", U»S. j 28, 1901. $2 per DDI., 7'/j per cent. u:s .'. SI.OO per bbl., dis. re pealed. for $25,000, and $2 j lor each addition al sl,uw» Retained. ♦SO * Retained. $lO U. tamed. ♦2O K pt a led. ♦ej Retained. S'OO Retained. SIOO Retain. d. ♦lO Retained. $3 for each alley or 1 table Retained. 12 ci nts p< r 11) jii per cent, discount. per 1.000 per 1,000. fl per 1 ■ • is cents per lb. |s3.»>o per 1.0.10 i Retained. ■51.50 per 1,000 .Valued at not mora than $2 per 1,000. 13 cents per lb.; val ued at more than $2 per 1,0i.0, ill! cents per lb. $6 to $24 Retained. sl2 Retained. $•; to s2l Retained. $6.50 to s2l Retained. 5 cents for . ach SIOO.. Retained. 5 cents for ■ ach s!"<).. Ret lined. 2 cents- for • ach sli*>.., ]ncludi sbucket shop* 1 cent for each $!(»... il cent for each sl->O. Sales of merchan dise In actual course o 112 transportation ex. mpted from tax. |2 cents Repealed. 2 cents for each SIOO.. Retained. 2 cents (Repealed. 2 cents for each $500.. it pealed. 2 cents for each SlfO.. Repealed. 1 cents for each $300.. 2 rer.ts for each s'oo. 10 cents Repealed. 1 cent :Repealed. I cent [Retained. It cent [Repealed. jSO cents ;Ropealed. exe ep t [ bonds of indemnity. 5 certs for each SIOO.. Retained. cents Repealed. 10 cents Repealed. S3 to $lO Repealed. cents Retained. 30 cents for each SSOO. j Exempted below $?.- : 500. Above $2 500 05 cents for each SSOO. I_cent [Repealed. 2-i cents to $1 [Retained. "0 cents Retalred. S cents on each ?'OO.. Repealed. I cent on each ?'.... R, pealed. cent on *"ich $1 [Repealed. "" cen*' to $1 Repealed. *1 to *5 Repealed. t, rer's for each sl.sf<i Repealed. $1 to $3 (Exempted below SSO j in value. to cents Repealed. cents Repealed. cents [Rpnealed. r5 cents .Repealed. ItJ cent for each 5 1 cents Repealed. Vg cent for each 5 rents Renealed. !t cents for eneh '1 Repealed. 1 nt.. 1 cpnt: iro'c than 1 nt., ?wrt«.. Retained. Vt r°r cent, erross r<»- rntn'c In excess of tIWVOOO Retained. 1 oent fcfiir-ert. Various rates . Exclii<l°d from tux— of cha*"!- tible irsti's. reli gious, literary or educational charac ter. I i-pfte n»r barrel detained. S 1 ? nr"' ,r n Retained. Custom cf 10 n«itrd Retnined. Mother and Queen. Queen Victoria always made it a point to keep the religious instruc tion of her children as much as pos sible in her own hands. Once when the archdeaco# of London wa-s cate chizing the young princes, he said: "Your governess deserves great credit for instructing you so thor oughly." At which the youngsters piped up: "It is mamma who teaches us our catechism!" It is not perhaps generally known that the queen occasionally taught a Bible class for the children of thosa in attendance at Windsor palace.— London Beacon. In Honor of an Inventor. A movement has been started in Georgia t.o perpetuate the memory of Eli Whitney by converting into an elegant country club the scene of his labors near Augusta, when* he perfected his cotton gin. An or ganization has been perfected, and a charter for the club secured. Free Medical IIel!». In England 972,000 people 0 year receive free medical attendance, compared with only 230,000 in France, and the cost of these French invalids is only £58,000, com pared with .£ 150,000 spent in medical relief in Ireland. A Ili» llattleMhlp, A battleship of 16,000 tons dis placement, the largest ever designed, is to be added to the Un'ted States navy. If the proposed speed of 21 knots is secured, this ship will lie the masterpiece in uaval construo tion. . -
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers