i TRAUMEREL Out of the ashen day that's done— (O violin, wail for visions fled—) Out of the shadow that was sun, Out of the roses that were red. Come, as of old, ye dreams that died, Gray and chill with a hope denied; Time has blotteca what Life begun; But dreams return, be they quick’ or dead. Joy o' the morn is withered soon, (O violin, soft the song grows old—) Into its wonder flames the noon, Falters and fades and shudders cold ; Dreams of the day-—the 5s drift high— Far, cold in a mocking sky. Life grow 1int, and the hopes of June Fade and follow like tales untold. None of the old, sweet loves remain— (O violin, whisper, love flees far-—) Never a goal is left to gain, Never a ps is left to mar. Come from the dusk, ye dreams and steep Heart and brain in your magic sleep. (Call, O violin !—soft, again—) Hope returns with the dreams that are. —Fannie Heaslip Lea, in New Orleans Times-Democrat. RALAAAA AULA RARRARAARA RARE Mattie Hunter's Confession. Satna ; By R. R. ENGLE. REF IREREFEFARTS but that LOLOL: Mattie had a: fiery temper, was her worst fault. When she married Marsh Hunter, people opened their eyes in wonder, and said: “She’ll make his life a warm busi- ness for him.” But Mattie thought differently. “I'll show them what a triumph love will work. [I'll teach them not the vixen I seem,” and so she married him. The wedding was a very pleasant af- fair—something to look back to as long as they lived. Mattie looked very sweet in her white Swiss muslin and apple blossoms. Her jetty curls trembled and shone in the brilliant lamplight; her eyes sparkled like twin stars, and her soft cheeks were man- tled in softer blushes as she leaned trustingly on the strong arm of the stalwart man who was to be her guard and guide through life. The honeymoon was rich with the pleasures of new-married life to the humble pair; but the time soon came when the bride must leave the old rooftree for the untried realities of a home of her own. That was the first sorrow—the trial of leaving home and mother—but it was fleeting, for in the excitement of ‘setting up” housekeep- ing in the white cottage ,on Squire Blackburn's farm, the little sorrow was drowned. It was very funny, and Marsh laughed, when. just they two sat down to the little new table and ate from the new dishes on the new cloth the wholesome viands prepared by Mattie's own hands and cooked on the new stove. «+ Everything was new and strangely sweet. Everything went on nicely, and Mat- tie was- triumphant. But-all things earthly must change. Happiness: does not come unalloyed. The weather grew warm and the kitchen hot, and one of the hottest days of the season Mattie had a distressing headache, and the supper must be ready at five o'clock. Mattie tried to get it ready, but burnt her wrist to a blister on the stove; then she burnt the bread in the oven. Then she looked at the clock, and saw it had stopped, and looking out at the door she saw Marsh wash- ing his warm face and hands in the water trough. “Is supper ready?’ he asked, and she blurted out something, and they had their first quarrel! Oh, dear me! the first quarrel! How sorry it made the sick little woman. But Marsh looked sullen, and went off to the field with- out kissing her. They never talked that quarrel over simply because each was too proud to broach the subject. After that quar- rels came often and easier. They did not mean to quarrel, but somehow an- gry words would come up. After a while a little boy came to their household, and it seemed a month or two a good deal like the well-remembered honeymoon; but Mat- tie’s wretched temper would fly to pleces again, and the happiness was spoiled. “It’s curious we can’t get along with- out so much quarrelling,” said Marsh, one winter day, after he had just put on a heavy “back log.” Mattie felt the tears in her eyes in a moment, and her heart softened to- ward Marsh, and she was about to con- fess her failings and ask his forgive- ness, when he continued: “It is all your hateful temper, Mat- tie; you know it is.” . “Oh, dear me! It is my wretched temper—I know it is,” sobbed after Marsh went out; “but he needn’t have said so.” “If 1 wasn’t so blunt,” said Marsh to himself, with a sigh, as he sauntered toward the stable. So things went from bad to worse. Little mistakes were magnified into terrible wrongs. The neighbors had their fill of gossip about the matter; and finally, one day, when Marsh was away, Mattie thought the thing over “] am a wretched littie nuisance,’ she said, mentally; “I don’t know why I am so, either; but I caa’t help it!” she said, despairingly, her lips quiver- ing, and her eyes filling with tears. “I’ve a great mind to take Neddie and 80 home, and stay there. My unhappi- ness couldn’t be greater than it is.” She clapsed the baby close to her arms and the big tears fell fast on his curly head. Her heart seemed burst- ing within her, but she wrapped the child in her shawl, and with quicken- ing step she fled the place and hurried across the snow-covered fields to her mother’s. “What's the matter, child?” asked her mother, as Mattie, pale and shiver- ing, appeared at the door. RERRRRRRRRRE RY thoughts | with sure welcome to the boy, Mattie, | i the world to get hold of a boy “Don’t ask me, mother,” sobbed the wretched little woman. “You haven't left home?” “Yes, mother, forever!” “Don’t say that to me! You shall go right back this instamt!” said her mother, thinking of the scandal.that was sure to follow such a proceeding. “Oh, ‘don’t, mother!” and Mattie looked the picture of despair. “Tell me about it, my child!” said the mother, melted into tenderness by that look. Then Mattie, through her tears, told her mother all, and ended with these pitiful words: “But, oh, mother, 1 love him, the father of my child—I love him, but. he doesn’t understand me. If he could but understand me!’ and she fell sob- bing beside her mother's knee. “Let me advise you, my child,” said the mother, softly stroking her daugh- ter’s glossy © hair. “I’ve passed through it all, and 111 tell you a little secret. It is almost certain that little mistakes will come up beween hus- band and wife, and often words are spoken that are regretted a moment afterward. But, my child, such a word can do no harm, if it is repented of and confession made. If you have said anything to wound your husband's feelings, no matter what he may have said to you, go and tell him your are sorry, and I insure it, he will not only forgive you, but will beg you to for- give him. The hour that follows will | be more delightful than the hour of, your wedding. Let me tell you.of a little instancz in my own life;” and the mother told her of one of those lit- tle family differences that come up be- tween so many worthy couples. The story ended so pleasantly that it soothed the tempest in the breast of the heartsick daughter. After the story. was done, Mattie still kneeled, resting her tired head on her mother’s knee. Her mother stroked the glossy hair in silence for a quarter of an hour; but Mattie’s were busy. Suddenly she arose, took her child in her arms, wrapped it close in hér shawl, and prepared to go. “Where are you going, my child?” asked her mother. “To make my confession,” answered Mattie, through ‘her tears. “Heaven bless ‘you!” mother, with’ deep emotion. ‘When Marsh Hunter came home that night a pretty scene met his view. The fire was burning joyously on. the hearth, and before it stool Mattie, dressed in a neat’ calico wrapper with snowy collar and cuffs, and a scarlet bow of ‘ribbon at her throat. Baby sat on his pallet_before the fire, crow- ing Iustily and beating the floor with a tin rattle. Supper was on the table, and the tea was steaming on the hearth. « Marsh was cold, but Such a scene warmed him. He went straight to the pallet and commenced a romp with baby. Mattie went and knelt there, too, determined to make her confes- sion; but she did not know how to commence. , It was easy to think of beforehand, but when the.time came she was lost. There was an awkward pause; then both spoke at once. ..: “Mattie, I've been——" “Marsh, I'm sorry——"’ Their eyes met, -and each saw the tenderness in those of the. other, and all was told in an instant. Both had made their confession. Marsh opened his arms, and Mattie fell sobbing on his breast, while baby looked on in amazement. “Mother told the truth,” she said; “It would be better than the wedding,” whispered Mattie. ‘‘Have you seen her? Did she tell you the same she told me?” cried Marsh. “I don’t believe I want any supper tonight, do you?” said Marsh, after they had their talk, and the supper had become cold. “I guess I'll drink a little tea,” said Marsh, and he did.—New York Weekly. said her The Unchaperoned Boy. ‘We chaperon our girls and carefully guard them against unworthy boys, but we leave the boy to choose for himself his associates and his achieve- ments. Girls are naturally winsome, gentle, companionable. They win their way in homes and hearts. But the boy, noisy, awkward, mischievecus, is invit- ed into few homes, and feels none too much at home in his own About the only door that swings about the only chair that is shoved near the fire especially fcr the boy, about the only place where he is sure of cordial greeting, is where he ought not to go. It is one of the hardest things in to get a sure grip on him. | and will have it. He is hungry for companicnsiip, You can’t chain him away from it. He wants the compan- ionship of boys, and nothing will take its place. If the rime of selfishness has so en- cased your heart that the joys and hopes of vour boy cannot enter inte it, the boy is io be pitied, but so are Milwaukd® Journal. you. The Rez! Grand Duke Vl!adimir, The Grand Duke Vladimir, who, on the authority of the less well informed part of the London press, has been held up to oblcquy as the leader of the ducal ring which seeks to sweep bac! tide of reform with the knout an sword, is said by those most conversant with Russian affairs to cccupy po Uo n imperial fami lic affairs and ence on them. of the 152 I izes that t absolutism is a w than anarchy itse grand in the ecog- p of the idol! of of monarchy The Slaughter of 3 Railroad Employes } | i By Frederick Upham Adams. (2 rire BT HE appalling slaughter of railway employes due to the re- tention of the old-fashioned freight car. couplers so aroused public sentiment, years ago, that congress was forced into passing a law,making. obligatory the use of automatic de- vices. .. The railroad interests had figured it out, to their own satisfaction, that it was cheaper to keep on killing and maiming tens of thousands of their men than it was to buy new couplers. ' Every possible influence has been employed to delay and defeat the enforcement of this law, the aim of which was to check the wholesale murder of hard-working employes. The corporations declared that there were no practical coupling devices, so puerile a falsehood and so absurd on its face that even those who would have been willing to aid in the outrage declined to do so on this ground. The railroad companies fought the law in the courts and were beaten. It seemed incom prehensible to them that a corporation should be compelled to spend money for so vain and profitless a thing as the saving of human life. : They induced congress to give them an extension of time, That exten- sion has long since expired, yet the statement is made and not denied that that there are thousands of cars not provided with automatic brakes. The more progressive railroad managers now recognize that the change from the murderous old couplers to the new ones is a profitable one. No modern war has wrought so vast a devastation in human life and happiness as the reten- tion of the-antique couplers years after-inventive genius had solved the prob- lem. A report recently issued by the Interstate Commerce Commission shows that the total number of casualties to persons on railroads in tie Unitea states, during the fiscal year ending June 30, 1904, was 55,130, comprising 2787 killed and 51,343 injured. This shows a large increase over any other year. It is a large total, and, in comparison, may be said to be similar to the complete destruction of any.one of such cities as Salt Lake City, Utah; San Antonio, Texas; Racine, Wisconsin; .Topeka, Kantas; “Waterbury, Connecti- cut; Wilkesbarre, Pennsylvania; or Augusta, Georgia, neither of which has anything like 53.000 inhabitants. In both the American and British armies, September 19, and October 7, 11, and 12, 1777, in the series of fights and movements around Saratoga, as included by E. S. Creasy, in his “Fifteen De- cisive Battles of the World,” there were less than twenty thousand men; while the highest total given by C. K. Adams, in Johnson’s “Cyclopaedia,” of the killed, wounded, and missing on both sides at Waterloo, one of the great- 1 ¢ est battles of all time, is 54,428 men—not so many hy. 702.as last year’s total of United States railroad casualties. The number of. collisions. and derail- ments during the past year was 11,291, involving $9,383,077 in damages to rolling stock and roadbeds. This gives the astounding increase of 648 colli- sions and derailments over 1903—astounding but for. the reduction of em- ployes, in 1294, by 75,000.—Success. “ i pms Respect to Parents { By Beatrice Fairfax.« : 1 0000600696 ACK of respect toward their elders is a ‘deplorable character- : S istic of the young people of this country. ® b 4 Girls speak to their parents in a manner “which both 3 3 they and the parents should be heartily ashamed of. The ® @ parents are quite as much to blame as the child, for this Asani ad lack of respect is the result of bad up-bringing. i @ "5 ri If from infancy a child is allowed to break into all con- S 2000S versations, to have a voice in every discussion and to thrust itself forw ard on all occasions, the chances are that it will grow self-assertive and domineering, and as it grows older come to think that it knows more than ‘both its parents put together. If it is a boy he will patronize his father and call him the “governor” or “the old man;” if a girl she will take precedence of her mother on all occa- sions, answering when the latter is spoken to and acting in a general way as though she—the daughter—were the one to be most considered. If the girl who speaks disrespectful to her mother.only knew the impres- sion she creates on outsiders, I am sure she would try and change her way of ‘speaking. There is nothing that so prejudices people against a girl as seeing her by word, look or deed show the slighest disrespect to her parents. The false pride that makes a girl ashamed of the hard-working mother and father, who have toiled and sacrificed themselves in order that their chil- dren may have luxuries and education, is the outcome of an-ugly feeling that should be strangled at its birth. Many girls who really love their parents grow into the habit of thinking them old-fashioned and ignorant. You often hear a girl say, “Oh, mother means all right, but she doen’t know,” and then the daughter goes ahead and does some foolish thing that, had she consulted her mother’s wiser judgement, she might have been saved from doing. Excepting in very rare cases, the mothers always know best. Guided by the instinct of love and mature wisdom, they invariably choose what is best for their children. Not long ago I overheard a delicate mother complain of not feeling well. “Oh, mother,” broke in her disrespectful daughter, “I’m tired hearing of sick- ness; you're always ill.” What do you think of that daughter's manner to her mother, and if any man who was thinking of marrying her had been there, don’t you think he would have gone away in a very thoughtful mood? One thing that leads to this state of affairs is the badhabit of many Ameri- can parents of effacing themselves when their children have visitors. The re- sult is that the young people get into the way of thinking that they can run things themselves and that the presence cf their elders is quite unnecessary. The American girl is the best girl in the world, but she is just a trifle too independent and cavalier in her treatment of her elders. A well brought up English girl would exclaim in horror at the free and easy way her American cousins have of speaking to their parents. Nothing is more beautiful than the tender respect and deference shown by youth to age, and it is a great shame for the American girl to let her charms be marred by this one blot.—New York Journal. SPW Se To FAS ha Causes of Unhappiness By H. B. La Rue. Lonnie enfin p ©90000060000 AN is a creature of his senses; woman of her ideals. And P¢P00099009 i13t is the main reason that woman can never understand why men do not and cannot love as women do. A woman loves the man that honors her; he loves the woman that takes care of his comfort. Like a dog, he loves the hand that feeds him, and no other. He may claim toc have the higher ideals and expatiate ‘on them, but he must be com- fortable before he can expatiate on anything. The great cause of the mass of human unhappiness is that we expect too much of each other. Our ideals are very largely formed The heroes and heroines of our best fiction always present vear shoulders, but marriage dispels all such illu- 00090000 96990000 : i by our literature. fifty year heads on tweaty sions. A man marries simply for a home, and the woman that takes care of it and him can do anything with him, and if s does not she can do nothing with him. When a man, is looking for a wife he does not demand beautv or accomplishments, but does want the *“‘zood face to have around the house.” That is the won he is looking for. He will leave society beauties and mar- rv a demure little “country mouse,” and society wonders. : A girl less twentv- five or thirty years old is not fit to select a hus- band; any 3 acknowledge that. A man that a girl wc ould elope with spise at thirty, fight at forty, anc fifty, if he proposed jo) 1 shoot at IT iage. PEARLS OF THOUGHT. Custom is the arch foe of progress. Self-conceit deceives no one but yourself. Returned wanderers may make the nest guides. + Adversity tries faith; rosperity tries fidelity. Our service does not depend upon our smartness. Righteousness is praised by all,.but honored by few. Character may be lost, never be stolen. To neglect the moral is to under- mine the mental. As the deed is, so was the thought which inspired it. A little forethought usually much afterthought. A man may be measured by his esti- mate of other men. The idle rich are paupers, as truly as are the idle poor. The higher you climb vou fall, and the harder. The man who suspects everybody is surely a suspicious character. Running in old ruts may be more risky than blazing new trails. If the mind is open to the sunlight, there is no room for the darkness. The man who sows nothing always reaps something a good deal worse. Individual honesty is the only last- ing -foundation for national prosper- ity. : It is easy to preach on the benefits of walking when you are in the band wagon. but it can saves the easier cinch > halter ‘When a man thinks he has a on sin he is apt to find that the is on him. THE PRINTED BOOK. Its History Traced Down toc the Pre- sent Day. “The Evolution cf the Printed Book from the Ancient Manuscript to the Present Day” was the subject of an in- teresting lecture delivered recently by William D. Orcutt, of the University Press, in Wesleyan hall, before the members of the Society of Designers and. Engravers. The lecturer * first pointed out the antiquity of the “mova- ble type” and its having been known to the Romans, Chinese and Coreans, but never applicd in a large way cr with a knowledge of its possibilities until by Gutenburg about 1439. Soon after this came the period of the “Humanities” in literature and the making of elegant manuscript books. On the splendid work of the scribes in the manuscript books of this period ‘was based the type races which have beccme the standard for all time in the Occident. : The lecturer described the various vicissitudes of erratic forms in types through which the title page went, and told of the contributions made to the cause of printing by such men as Aldus Manutius and his sons; Jensen, Chris- topher Plautin, the Dutch printer, who carried the title page to elaborate per- fection, and William Morris, who might be said to have restored the .art of printing to its early ' glory. Some of the defects of the Morris style were pointed out, especially his aversion to putting leads between the lines of type, which resulted in a mas- sive page withcut any relief in color value to the lines. Still Morris ef- fected a revolution and placed book printing on a higher plane that it had been for centuries. Mr. Orcutt called attention to the American faces that had been the re- sult of the Morris movement in Eng- land—the De Vinne, Renner, the Mon- ‘taigne by Bruge, Rogers and the Mer- rymount face, by Gcodhue. These var- ious type faces and the early manu- scripts from which Aldus and Jensen made their types were shown by means of lantern slides, as were a number of title pages by the various printers, and finally the new type face designed for the University Press bas- ed on some of the best of the manu- seript volumes of the “Humanities per- iod” in Italy.—Bostcn Transcript. “A National Calamity.” The announcement which was made by the New York correspondent of The Times recently of the sale of the great Rowfant library will come as a real shock to many book lovers. That such a collection should be bartered away for American dollars seems lit- tle short of a national calamity. Fred- erick Locker-Lampson had a genius for collecting. As his friend, Mr. Austin Dobson, recently put it, *“ he may have haunted Christie's and the bric-a-brac shops but he certainly never ground laboricusly at handbooks, or worked museum cases. Not the less, he sel- dom failed to secure the rare copy with the A flyleaf, the impression with 0s unique remarque, the impeccable ang de boeuf, the irreproachable rose er He had the true collector’s flair—an ounce of which is worth a pound of pedantry. Of his success in this way the ‘Rowfant Catalogue’ is a standing monument, a veritable treasure-house of Shakespeare’s quartos, priceless manuscripts, first issues, tall copies, and Blake and Chedowiecki plates.”—London Chron- icle. A Well Spent Life. The other day a man died at the Limerick Infirmary at the age of 644 who had been brought there when 24 vears old, crippled for life by exposure in a boat after shipwreck. But in the 40 years he has learned thcroughly Greek, Latin, French, German, Spanish and Italian, and had amused h himself by rcading the classics in all these languages, besides closely following} the events of his time ! the club,” LESSLESSNESS. Now that they have got horseless rigs Frum here to Kalamazoo, An’ telegraph that's wireless, An’ smokeless powder, too, There ought to be more lessless things It sort o° seems to me. Why can't we have a stingless wasp? Also a stingless bee? v Why can't we have sum schoolless towns? An’ workless work to do? An’ spankings that are slipperless? An’ gogless orchards, teo? An’ acheless stomachaches as well? An’ wetless hair, w’'en We go down to the swimmin’ hole Ma won 't know where we've ben? An’ w'en we getethese lessless: things Pwill fill our hearts with joy, An’ then you'll never see again A hapless, joyless boy “New York Press. JUST FOR FUN Poet—I can’t get a bit of fire in my lines today. Friend—Here's a match. —Chicago Record-Herzald. “Oi was at a wake last night.” “Wag Kelly Tiss ‘“Whoi, Kelly was the loife av th’ wake; he was the corpses.” —Puck. rocer—Be that an auto out in front o’ the store thar, Ezry? Boy—I. dunno, nothink.—Puck. He—What would rou do if I should attempt to Kiss you? She—I would call for help. He—But I den’t need any.—Philadelphia Record. “What do you think of railway re- bates?” said one citizen. ‘Any chance of our getting any?” “None whatever.” “Then, I'm against ’em.”—Washington, Star. : . Teacher—Now Johnny, if your papa. caught one fish of three pounds, one of five, and one of four, how much would they all weigh? Johnny—Twenty.— Harper's Bazar. Hick—Didn't somebody tell me that Bjenks has a hcuse over in Chelsed” that he wants to sell? Wicks—I guess so. Bjenks has a house over in Chel- sea.—Somerville Journal. Ma—Willie, what's your little brother crying about? Willie—Jist ‘cause he don’t ‘want to learn anything. I jist took his candy and showed him how is eat it.—Philadelphia Ledger. : First Chauffer—What’s the matter with you lately? You ain't got no more nerve than a motorman. Second Chauffeur—Oh, I cut out the hit-and-' get-away game latelyv.—Brooklyn Life. Mrs. Wheeler—Whatever else his faults, we can’t but say Elsie's yourg man is constant. Mr. Wheeler—*“Con- stant”? Humph! 1 should think “con tinuous’ expressed it better. ae She—So you loved me for six months before you dared to tell me? He— Yes. ‘Your dad was mixed up in that copper deal, and I thought he was on the wrong side of the market.—Judge. Mike—Sure, me rich Uncle Terry died and left me all his money. Pat— An’ did you get it? Mike—Oi’ did not; after his death they found he was a pauper, an’ oi’ didn’t get a cint av his fortune! —Puck. Mrs. Kalm (angrily)—Vat your brud- der means by running down mein soli- taire ven I show it to him? Mr. Hock- ski—Excoose his absent-mindesses. Id’s second ndture to him to run down eferydings.—Judge. “Is your husband a very generous man?’ “Indeed, he is. You remem- ber those nice cigars I gave him for a birthday present? Well, he only smoked one and gave the rest to his friends.” —Pick-Me-Up. Burroughs—Can you lend me a dol- lar, old man? Markley—Don’t talk that way. Surely you don’t mean that? Burroughs—Why don’t I? Markley— You mean, “Will you lend me a dol- lar?”—Philadelphia Press. Clarissa—Of course, I love you, Clar- ence. Haven't I just danced eight dances with you? Clarence—I don’t see any proof in that. Clarissa—But you would if you only knew how you dance.—Chicago Daily News. “After all,” said the moralist, “the Almighty Dollar is man’s greatest ene- my. It—" “If that’s so,” inter- rupted old Roxley. “1 guess that young wife of mine merely loves me for the enemies I've made.”—Philadel- phia Press. Alice—When I came in she was turn- ing her rusty black silk inside out.” Carrie—And no doubt singing, “Turn ye, turn ye, for why will you dye?” She invariably sings something appro- priate, no matter what she i3 doing Boston Transcript. Lady—For goodness sakes. Bridget, what kind of greens are these? Brid- get—The spinage was fed to the cow by’ mistake, ma'am, so I cooked up one s o’ them parler palms. The guests won't know the difference. Lady— But, Bridget! Those palms were ar- vaca wf Free Press. nr Ma,” said Tommy Twaddles, look- ing up from his reading of “Terry the Tenspot,” “what is a bootless at- tempt?” “It’s the sort your father mikes to get in without my hearing him when he comes home late from answered Ma Twaddles, in- cisively.” Pa dcesn’t stop to remove ‘em at the foot of the stairs now. He knows it’s no use—Cleveland Leader. “Sunk Upward.” Oozes sionally a mine-shaft is > a paradoxical expreg 1, for someé special reason. 1aft is divided.temp borarily by brat- -WOrk, the space on one side being with excavated ork The and form- the men.—Engi- Journal, sir, 1 god such a cold I can’t smell Bro the ASwe John Temp ‘thew into temp faste after tempt art th these He a ten, live, forth Ager The 8pecit Lord after the n these parab eral is app infiue they revels 80 ur that ness i when Dperier tingui plane The plane: It inc all me that 1! life ii datur: Dist call © thoug have « ests tl Its la faith, and c liefs 1 by rel duct 1 impos over t Conse predo inant alty t the nu: itual ‘The: and a They aman true | dently itual | £8 ano fore tv few C about all rel define comm; God v mind ‘neighl that tl love a sion o will a shall s alway count
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers