i MG By Tha Firelight. “The night was cold, amd dark and dreary, And the wind was never weary” Of making ceaseless moan! Only the fire was bright and cheery: By it I sat, alone. And thought how unlike childhood’s dream- ing Were time and place, and all the seeming That to my life belong; And how in vain the happy schem.. . Of oars so quickly gonel I thought of other homes, where mightly, I'he firelight shines as warm and bgightly On others—not alone— Who dream of coming years as lightly, As of a joy well-known, For Youth and Hope, in all the ages— Read only rhymes upon the pages That tell of coming years; No tragedy upon the stages Of Fauocy's play, appears. And it is well; for Time is truthful And soon enough brings to the youthful, W hate'er it has in store, The Future—whether harsh or ruthful— "Tis well none can explore, For lives well-lived—however lowly— Like voyages safe tho’ made but slowly, Will bring us home at iast;— W here all is peaceful, pure, and holgy And wreck and fear are past! THE BOGUS PROFESSOR. “But that’s nonsense, you Know, mother,’ said Gray Clement, 1mpatient- \¥, “‘about my staying in the house, and ill that sort of thing. Because that I save been sick is not an infallible sign that I am ill yet. 1 think fresh air and 3 brisk walk will do me more good than anything else, and I'm going to take shem; Dr. Finne notwithstanding.” “Gray, don’t be rash!” exclaimed 3ray’s handsome mother, genuine ter- ror and alarm in her voice. “If you nust go out, then order our carriage.” ++I shall walk,” said Gray, In a tone which his mother knew from long ex- serience it was useless to combat, *‘It’s wo warm to be shut up in that uncom- lortable coupe, and to take an airing in the phaeton will only make me more azy than ever.” s*Here are the goggles, then,” said Mrs, Clement, with a little sigh of re- rignation. ““You know how bad sunshine is for jour eyes in their weak state.” +] am nothing but a big baby in your wtimation, it seems,” laughed Gray, as se adjusted the huge, green things be- ‘ore the glass, *‘The more hideous you nake me appear, the happier you seem jo feel.” You could never look otherwise shan a gentleman, Gray,” said Mrs. Dlement with maternal pride. “But if rou had not over-taxed your brain and yes so much at Heidelberg last year, 311 this care and worry could be dispen- led with.” “Never mind that now, mother dear.” aid Gray, feeling & slight twinge of re- morse as he looked at ber fair anxious lace. “I'm almost all right now, you lone.” Then kissing her good-bye and prom- sing not to go far, he strode down the zreat stone steps, gaily whistling **Rob- n Adair.” It was a lovely August day, and Gray ‘ound the air so pure and bracing that ended to, He had walked several miles ont of the city before be realized that he was »ecoming very tired. The sunshine was so warm, 100, that 1is brain began to reel, He decided to ask for a drink of wa- ter at the very next house, and rest there before returning home. Anna style of architecture, with spa- cious gardens and orchards, taste, A young girl was bending over a rosebush, clipping the great blushing fowers and arranging them in a bon- juet, Gray thought he had never seen such a fair vision in all his life. Her hair sung in two shining braids down to her waist, and was tied with rose colored ribbons. She was clad in the most bewitching of German peasant costumes which barely reached the trim ankles, If Gray had been less exhausted with his walk, less dizzy, and if the hideous goggles had mot obscured his eight, be would certainly have noticed that the gown was of too rich a fabric for a peasant’s wear, and that it was more of thing else, “Pardon me,” he said, raising his hat with his old inimitable grace; “may I srouble you for a drink of water? The seat has made me decidedly thirsty." He spoke in German, without mak- ng any serious grammatical blunders, tanks to his Heidelberg training. The girl quickly looked up at the sound of his voice, evidently not catch- ng the meaning of his words, the sur- srised look on her face was quickly suc- seeded by one of pleasure and delight, *You are Professor Vaa Thiell” she axclaimed, holding ont both her hands, which you may be sure Gray was not jong in taking, She spoke in German, too, but by no means with the flueney of a native, “I'm ever so glad fyou decided to suth hour. Oh, why didn’t you come pefore? We have been waiting for you sver a monen; but now mamma has gone to New York. I’m so sorry, but she didn’t expect you to come at all, jou see,’ “But here I'm chattering away, with. yut introducing myself. I'm Celia, Mamma has Geen sounding your praises 0 mueb—ever since she came from Germany ~pardon me for saying #o— that I knew you right away. “Grandma and auntie will be so glad w see you! You must stay with us till mamma comes from New York, which will be a fortnight, I think, “But you are ill Herr Van Thiell How thoughtless of me! Of course the long walk from the station has been very wearisome, If you had only let me know when you were coming, 1 should tiave driven out for you n To do Gray Clement justice, he had really intended to announce who he was, when he discovered that Celia Warner took him for Professor Max Van Thiel. whoever he might be, Dut he felt so faint and 111 that the thought slipped from his dizzy brain before it was half formed. The next moment he found himself in the Warner's parlor, undergoing an in- troduction to Grandma Warner, a charming old lady of sixty, who imme- diately become sympathetic at the sight of his pale, handsome face, and who de- clared, in & queer mixture of German and English which would have sounded very funny to Gray on any other occa sion, that he must retire at once to his own room and rest. During the night he was tempted to take French leave, and would have done go but for his weakness, Ie promised himself to fully explain the mistake in the morning, little realizing how hard it would be to do so, now that he had got- ten so deeply into the matter, Gray felt decidedly better the next morning, and for the first time he reali- zed the awkwardness of his situation, What could he say ordo because of his unwarrantable intrusion? That was a question Gray Clement could not an- swer to his own satisfaction. With his old self-possession and non- chalance, however, he took breakfast with the Warners as Professor Van Thiel, talking volubly and entertaining- | ly in German about his travels, which alone were no myth. He learned several things that morn- to this country; that Mrs. Warner had met him in Europe the year before; that Celia Warner was a charming girl, and that he had fallen heels over head in love with her, conceived the wild idea of personating the professor, The plan was as foolish as it was hazardous, but *‘all’s fair in love,” you ever losing Celia Warner's presence. Directly atter breakfast he repaired to the nearest telegraph station, and sent the following telegraph dispatch to his mother, who, be knew, must be feel. ing anxious concerning his safety. “Have comfortable and elegant quar- ters in the country, where I shall stay for some time. Don’t be anxious ou my account, as 1 am feeling better than I ever did since my illness, Will write in a few days. Yours with love, G.” “Don’t you think I am becoming in- tensely German, Professor?” gald Ce- lia, laughing, as she encountered him in the garden one morning. She had on the same costume she wore when he first saw her. “I really am of German descent you must know, and it is all mamma's fault —about my dressing this way, I mean, Her enthusiasm over Germany ever since she came home has been infect- jous, I wore this costume at Mrs, Bartlett's masquerade last week, and now grandma wants me to wear it every day. She is pleased to say itis very becoming. | **Do not discard it I pray you,” said | Gray quickly. *It is Lke a glimpse of the dear old Fatherland to see you.” As Professor Van Thiel, Gray was | supposed not to know how to speak | English, and had been on the point of committing himself more than once, However, thanks to his quick wit, he had saved himself just in time. (Celia and the Professor were thrown almost constantly together. Now it was a walk, now a ride over the cool, | breezy country roads, now a ramble in | the grass-grown meadows, the Professor | meanwhile expounding learned facts(?) about the flora and strata around them, {of which he was as happily Ignorant as | Celia herself.; Celia had conceived the wlea that the | Professor was a middle-aged gentleman, the disfiguring goggles confirming ber ! belief, Nevertheless, that did not hinder her | from thioking him very charming and | entertaining. Tous the days passed by, all too quickly for Grdy, when he thought of the denouncement that must come, They were reading Goethe together almost a month after Gray's uncerimo- nious arrival, when a servant breught in a letter for Miss Warner. “From mamma,” was Celia's brief explanation, as she quickly cut the en- | velope open. “You will pardon ms, Professor, if I read it now, as [ am very anxious to find out when she is coming home." | “Which I am not!” said Gray, sotto | voice, as he bowed acquisscence, He had grown very pale at mention of Mrs. Warner; aud he could feel his | frame tremble as he saw a look of abso- | Celia’s lovely face. | “I—I do not understand it,’’ she said, i looking at Gray with wide eyes, | “Mamna says she has come across Pro- | fessor Van Thiel at lastat Mrs. Moyle's | musicale, and that she has prevailed | upon him to accompany her and papa | home. What does she mean? Are there | two Professor Van Thiel's?”’ | Gray's face was deadly pale, and | rising to hus feet, he took an involunta~ | ry step forward, his hands appealingly outstretched. “For God’s sake, Celia, do not judge 166 too harshly!” he exclaimed, hoarse- ly. **I loved -you—l loved you-—and did not think of the monstrous wrong I was doing.” | Im the intensity of his shame and | emotion he spoke in English, and thus | added to Celia’s bewilderment, “I am not Professor Van Thiel at all,” le went on, not sparing himself in the least, rifts of red and white cross. ing his face, “but a mean, weak, cow- ardly wmpostor! Oh, forgive me Celia, 1 have done you a grievous wrong, bat it was through excess of love for you, “Dio noteome near mel’ she exelaim- ed, with flashing eyes, ‘‘How dare you Jue talk to me of love--you, who are so w and coutemptib.e enough to sail boar the. thought of losing ou, Oo o you, C Miss Warner,” he ne miserably, “Can’t you m “No; I confess such knowledge is be- she your insolent deception. oblige me by leaving the house immedi- “Your wishes shall be obeyed, Miss Warner.” he sald proudly, his eyes *. burning flercely with resentment and bitter anguish of mind. minutes later, for the last time as he thought, he could not resist a sudden wild impulse to look once more upon the girl for whose love he had dared so much, all, She had thrown herself upon a sofa in a paroxylsm of grief, and was sob- bing as if her heart would break, “You do love me after alll” Gray cried, a triumphant ring in his volce, as he gathered her to his heart despite her feeble resistance. ‘‘I was almost sure of it! Oh, my darling, do not let your pride separate us now.” “Yes, Ido love you, Max,”’ she sob- bed and her admission came reluctantly, as if against her better judgment. “And oh! it nearly broke my heart when you told me that you weren't Professor Van Thiel.” “What's in a name?” he retorted. “Am I not the same if my name is Gray Clement, instead of Professor Max Van Thiel? Will you not try to forgive me dear?” pleadingly. “You do not deserve,” she said, *‘but I suppose I must, for 1 cannot give you up. Mr. Gray—though you are not at all what my fancy painted you.” “But I will try so hard to improve,” he said earnestly ; then he added artfully: “With you as my example, darling, I will become a perfect paragon before { long.” The real Professor Max Van Thiel less than Gray about theology and bot- any, When he heard how Gray mas- name, his amusement was unbounded, Even Mrs. { ly appearance and unquestionable con- i nections, Many of Mrs. Gray Clement’s friends, $ i tic way in which she had been wooed calls her husband ““The Professor.’ mses tly MA MAINE'S VANISHING RED MEN. A Handful Left of the Once Powerful Tarratines-~The State Annuity. The handful or indians who repre- | sent all that 1s left of the once powerful | Tarratine tribe, who were the foes and | now loud in their lamenmations over the death of Bockbesin Swasson, the UGov- | ernor of the colony on Old Town Island, | twelve miles above Bangor, | Swasson dropped dead recently, and the | election can be had. | the French-Canadians to a great extent, | | to count Maine's red men on the fingers, | mounds, shell heaps, otc. The Tarra- | tines or Penobseots, as they are ocom- | monly ealled, live by river driving, | faint attempt at farming, and by the | baskets, ete. No white man can make a canoe like the Penobscot Indian; | neither can any other Indian fashion the | birch so gracefully, Their snow shoes | the pretty bows and arrows aud birch bark bric-a-brac—the like of which is | not made anywhege else, The old men | aud squaws and the children make these | wares and the sales DOW amount to | about $12,000 a year. The state government pays the Tar- ratines an sopuity of about $8,000 a | and what the young men earn river survivors of this once powerful tribe, latter commodity being obtained in Bongor, on the streets of which ecily | may be frequently seen a red man *‘over | the bay.” { squaws, principal among whom is one | called “Betsy Francis,” who are familiar | sights here, coming down in the morn- | ing with tLeir burden of baskets and | going back at night drunk. But the | Tarratines are a great deal better people | than they once were, and this 1s because | of the watchful care and guidance of the | Catholic priest and the island nuns, sre MPI OARS A Strange Story of Lord Byron. “Speaking of men who have known great men,’ said Mr, James Russell Young, “I remember meeting a gen- tleman who had been a personal friend of Lord Byron, He told me a curious story, He was in Greece with Byroo, and they were traveling together to Missolonghi, A heavy raipstorm came on and they had to ford a river, and they came to a little Greek inn, riding horseback, aud of course very wet Byron and his iriend went to their room until their clothes beeame dry. Byron lay down upon the bed, put his arms under his head and said: “Do you believe in witches and war. locks?" “Why?” asked his friend, + You know,’ replied Byron, ‘I am aknost a Scotchman, I spent my early days in Aberdeen, and when 1 was a ehild a gypsy read my fortune. She told me that very important events would happen in my Ife at 10, 28 and 86. At 10 I was a lord, by the death of my grand-uncle, At 28 T was mar- ried, And now, continued Byron, ‘the third event comes, What will it bet’ ‘My friend said to Byron: ‘0, that's nonsense, ABOUT STATE DINNERS, social Event ington. A state dinner at the White House is the highest social event of Washington, and only the most noted men and wo- men are among the guests, Dinners are given in honor of the cabinet, the The Highost at Wash. Arthur dined nearly every public man in Washington during his last year, and his dinners cost him the greater part of his salary, President Cleveland will dinners will be comparatively lunited. The President's dinners are given in the state dining room of the White House. This isa great oblong room, as large as the ground floor of a house thirty feet wide and forty feet deep, and a ceiling running as high as the base of the windows of the second story. It adjoins the red parlor, on the east, and is entered from the grand promen- ade corridor, in which full length por- traits of all the Presidents look down upon you as you walk into it with your lady upon your arm. At the west end of 1t & window looks into the White House couseryatory, which 1s filled in | midwinter with blooming flowers and tropical plants, under nearly an acre of | glass, and at the back you may see { upon the White House lawn the Poto- mac beyond and Arlinglon away in the distance, | National palace. A modest carpet, with the figures of a camel’s hair shawl, | covers the floor, dark cream paper fresco hides the plaster of the ceiling, At the two ends of the room great flat | mirrors, in frames of gold hang over | marble mantles which are upheld by base, women are fairly | fastened to a post-like | faces of the marble | the marble mantel may not rest Loo bea- ter like diamonds under the light of a | state dinner. Great bronze sconces, with large circular mirrors of French plate, in the front, and golden | add to the brilliancy of the glitter from their places upon the table, The floral decoration for such a din- per is wonderful, and the flowers used if bought outside of the White House would cost from $500 to $600, | a time the whole house 1s fragrant, and flowers are in every parior. The man- reigns in all her beauty. with a pearly the length of the dining room { table. It has a rim of gold about three imnohes high, and this duriog a state din- per is framed in the choicest of flowers and greens, All kinds of designs are | made up in flowers and stand upon the | table. At one dinner there may bea A long lake sculptured in what appears to be mar. ble, and dishes of various sorts made np into the most wonderful forms, During Arthur's time no dish was served fiat, and the food was all ralsed up into some shape or other, A vase of rice upheld meats or birds, and it took days to pro cure the dishes for the table. The steward of the White House has the sole charge of the state dinners, and as such he 18 one of the most important men of the present administration. He gets $1,800 a year, and has full charge of the eating arrangements of the White House, President Arthur's steward was a colored man, who had been Roscoe Conkling’s valet. FPresi- dent Cleveland has a white man for a steward, He is a bright young fellow of about 30, with a dark complexion, bright black eyes and a luxuriant black mustache. His name is St. Clair, and boil at Albany and at Buffalo. At a state dinner, woen he is present, he ap- pears like the waitersin a full dress sult with a white vest, over every thing very carefully, and would rather hgve a hand cut off than have a waiter drop a dish. The kitchen of the White House is directly under the dining room. It con- sists of two large rooms, hung with copper cooking utensils of every char- acter and color. Two great ranges set into the walls, and one in each room are burning, and mammoth boilers smoke upon them before and during a great dinner. A big z ne table stands in the center, and at this you may see the cook and his | lieutenants working away at their cu- | rious shaped dishes, with as much care as a painter upon a picture or a sculp- President Cleveland’s | cook 18 a round faced German with blue | eyes and a little blonde moustache. In | the kitchen he is covered from head to foot with the whitest of white aprons A white coat covers the upper part of { his body, and a great white cap of linen, with a tall puffed-out top, stands high upon his head, He isone of the most noted cooks in the country, and the president brought him here from the Gilsey House of New York. 1 don’t know what President Cleveland pays { him, but Arthur's cook got §1,800a year, and he had served dinners for | John Jacob Astor and Jay Gould before he came to Washington, The cost of state dinners isa big item to the President and it bas made | most of the presidents of the past leave | the White House with nothing laid up | for a rainy day. Arthur's state dinners { cost at least $10 a plate, and he spent | $5,000 and more on the nine dinners which he gave In 1883, Grant's hos pitality left him nothing from his eight | year's salary, and Andrew Jackson had to sell his cotton crop to keep up hus White House table. President Cleve land uses wine at his state dinners, as have been done by all of the presidents except President Hayes, Garfield died too soon to give a state dinner, but the average cost of the wine at Arthurs dinners was about one-third of the whole cost of his dinners, and his wine was noted for its choice quality and the profusion with which it lowed. mcs A AI R550 entirely of flowers, A book of laws it will take about 2,000 flowers. thousand roses are used at each stale carnation pinks. last winter the state dinners consumed 6,000 sprays of the lilies of the valley, 400 strings of smi- lax and thousands of lies and so on. garden of Semiramis. corsage bouquets beside the plate of | ench lady. and fishes, fruits and temples are among | the designs gotten up by Mme. Demo- | net, the old French woman who has | supplied the presidents with their ice day you have a lobster in its natural | eolor, next week the ice will come upon state dinner there may be cantelopes, | fruit and vegetables in natural colors { and of natural size, which on being cut, | turn out to be the most delicious of ! The table runs the full length of the | room, and is so arranged that it may be | made into differents shapes in accord- | ance with the number of guests, Its ! full capacity is fifty, though at the cab- inet dinner only thirty sat down to it, and its shape was unchanged from its usual oblonz form with round corners, The forms are used for different dinners and they are printed upon white cards with a bevelled edge of gold, one of these cards with the numbers of the seats for himself and lady marked upon it. He is notified beforehand as to who he shall take out to dinner, and his plate is also marked with a gilt edged card containing bis name under a cut of the White House coat of arms in gold. This coat of arms is stamped upon the elegant paper used for invita- tions, and these invitations by the way are engraved upon white cards about the size of a cabinet photograph and read as follows: “The president requests the honor of the company of the secre- tary of the treasury and Mrs, Manoing, (for instance) at dinner on Thursday evening, Jan. 14, at 7:30 o'clock.” Such an invitation supersedes all other invitations, even though having been accepted beforehand, and the request of a President like that of a monarch, is considered here equivalent to a com- - Why Major Went to Church. 1 once visited a pleasant country- erful and sagacious dog called Major. This dog was highly prized by his mas- ter and by the people of the neighbor. hood, He had saved many lives, Once { when A SWing rope became entangled held her up until help came. | One day the butcher brought in his {bill for Major's provisions, Major's | master thought it altogether too large, | and shaking the paper angrily at the { dog, he said: | ‘See here, old fellow, you never ate | all that meat —did you?" The dog looked hard at the bill, shook himself all over, regarded the | butcher with contempt, and then went | back to his rug, where he stretched | himself out with a low growl of dissat- | isfaction. | The next Sunday, just as service be- | gan at the village church, into my | friend’s pew vaulted Major. | we all arose for prayer; then he sprang {upon the seat, stood on his hind-legs, | placed his fore-paw upon the tront of | the pew behind, and stared gravely and | reproachfully into the face of the | butcher, who looked very much confu- | sed, and turned first red and then pale, | The whole congregation smiled and tit- tered, Major's master at once took the dog home, But the butcher was more considerate in his charges from that time. Evidently he felt mortified and conscience-stricken, rats AAPM ’ Where do the Patterns Come From, ——————————— Can anybody guess in what undiscov- ered country the persons who draw em- | broidery patterns find the flowers which they portray? With them, a fern looks like a skeleton leaf; a daisy has petals pointed at each ond; and golden rod grows in racemes. The colors which they mark to be nsed in working the patterns are, if auything, worse than their drawing, and if their directions were exactly followed, the result would be nothing if not wonderful. Fortunately, there are few women who do rely upon them implicitly, but their complacency when faults are pointed out to them is amazing. day when a say that the newest growth was usually at the end of a stem and that the colors used should indicate it. “Dear me, we don't follow Nature! It is not fashionable.” 1f one be intent prod one i A I. Hard Life of the laslroad Bralemens —— One has to be among brakemen for a time to realize how many of them are crippled, A man with ten sound fin- gors is almost an exception, Theis hands and faces sre like the limbs of the little Jellybys, perfect cetanders of distress. Of course, if & mau loses a leg or an arm, so that he is of no fur ther use, he must leave the service un less a place can be found for him ae flagman or ealler, Accidents, partica- larly in the winter season, sre numer ous. If itis a mere loss of a thumb or a vrushed foot the chances are that it is pot heard of outside of the company’s offices, but ail sueh seccidents of a serious nature that ocenr in this Stats must be reported to the Ruilroad Com- missioners, It has been calculated from figures thus obtained that 70 per osnt, of train hands employed on a road for five years become crippled. A railroad manual estimates that 1100 employes are injured every year in the United States while in the discharge of their In ten years this smounts to quite an army of eripples, Whether or not a brakeman gets any remunerstion for lost time by secidents met with in coupling trains depends on the chance of us proving that he was using his coupling stick at the time, or rather the probability of the company's proving that he was not using it, If the mao was not using the coupling stick it is considered a violation of rales, and he must live as best he ean until he gets well again, If it is otherwise, he gets half pay until he is able to resume work, on consideration that he accepts it as a quit claim of possible damages against the company. Sometimes, if the case 1s very destitute, he gets a wooden leg. On the Pennsylvania Railroad the brakemen get $1.80 for day work and $1.90 for night work. Local freight is usually so brisk on this road that the men sre not compelled to lay off much, and they can average about $42 a month, But the general conditions of the service are about thessme. Almost every brakeman has a hope of promo- tion until years of hard serviee have crushed it out of him. Berths upon passenger trains are looked upon as “soft” places. Brakemen, as a rule, sre sober, conscientious, hard-working men, fully awake to the responsibilities of their positions and not suxions to shirk them, But many of them are called upon to stand more than nature can bear, and to 8 man in the business it is a wonder that sccidents growing out of the carelessness of “gangs” of hall- | asleep, overworked and underpmad em- | ployes are not more frequent, i tl A —— - i The Oricie’s Song i ————————————— A ———— | The bird’s song consists of four noles, { and it is curious that there 18a peculiar | nich, flute-like quality by which the | oriole’s notes may be recognized, no two | sing alike. Robins, song sparrows, and | perhaps all other birds sing differently | from each otber, so far as I have obser- | ved, but none differ so grestly—in my | opinion—as orioles, The four that I | have been able to study carefully enough | to reduce this song to the musical scale, { though all having the same compass, | arranged the notes differently in every | case, The oriole is, of course, not lim | ited in expressiou to his song. 1 have | spoken of his cry of distress or of war, | which was two tones slurred together. | The ordinary call, as he goes about a | tree, especially a fruit-tres in bloom, seeking insects cverand under each leaf or blossom, is a single note, loud and | clear. If a pairare on the tree together, it 1s the same, but much oftener. | An oriole that I watched in the Cats- | kill Mountains regularly fed his male | while she was sitting, and as he left the | nest after giving her a morsel he uttered | two notes which sounded exactly like | “A-dien,” adding after a pause, (vo | more which irresistably said, **Dear-y. ’ | There wasa peculiar mournfulness in | this bird’s strain, as if be implied, **it's | a sad world; a world of cats and crows land inquisitive people, and we ay never meet again.” Perhaps It was prophetic, for disaster did overtake the little family; a high wind rocked ile eradle—which also was on a small ma ple tree—so violently as to throw out tue youngsters before they could fly. The accident was remedied as far as possible by returning them to the nest, but whether they were injured by the fall I never learned. Scolding is quite ready to an oricle’s tongue, and even squawks like a robin’: are not unknown. The female has similar utterances, but in those I have listened to her song was weaker, lacked the clear-cut perfection of her male's and sounded like the first efforts of a young bird. In the case of those now under cousideration, the female repro- duced exactly her partner's notes, only in this inferior style, which seemed rather unusual. The sweetest sound the oriole utters isa very low one, le his mate when near her er flying away with her, or to his nestlings before they leave the home. It isa tender, yearn- ing call that makes one feel like an in- truder and as if he should »=g pardoz and retire. 1t is impossible to descrilx or reduce it to the scale, but 1t is wel worth waiting and listening for. ——————— A Some Indian arrow heads were latel) shown at the Societe d’Anthropologie, Paris, which were poisoned with cura over a century ago, but still retained their deadly power. Small animal scratched with them died in hail an hour. ations To brighten tarnished brass and cop per, clean the brass by warming it, and dioping in water charged with washing soda, into clear water to remove the grease. Next dipit ina bath of 1 part by measure of sulphuric acid, 1 sal ammoniac, 2 parts mitrie acid water, Dip for a moment, in clear water and dry iu hot I)
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers