ite K@pllege has iS aqfar,chery” answered Kate. 71 #fkink it wonld frighten you, Dutehy’s THE OLD HOME. An old Jane, an oid gate, an old house by a tree, A wild wood, a wild brook—they will not let me be; In boyhood I knew them, and still they call to me. Down deep in my heart’s core I hear them. and my eyes Through tear mists behold ’Mid bee-boom and rose-bl 1 hear them, and heartsick To walk there, to dream there, bengath the sky's blue bowl; Around me, within me, the Te talk with the wild To walk with the morning and watch its rose unfold; To drowse with the noontide, lulled on its heart of gold; To lie with the night-time and dream the dreams of old. To tell to the old trees and I'he longing, the yearning, The old hope, the old love, The old lane, the old gate, The wild wood, the wild brook—they will not let me be; In boyhood I knew them and still they call to me. ra AE ED NS ASE A Ie aay Vo rt A ab od Li 1! DHONI NOILI SR RSI SL RTE 0DBIBEISC DBO DBE IEE DIFCO N 9) EP 3692 : Hox RUORRIORIER FINO IO SNS ON NE DSR INN, NAA TWO MOTHERS. he on . Anns ahete Winifred Kirkland. By TN, PRIN ICCA FET 2XO3%. OU certainly hav the most KC ¢ curious friends, Agatha © QS Day!” , RN “Do" you include ‘your- OR” self, Kate?” “Yes, «miss, Another lump, if you'll be so good, but don’t disturb the lemon; it’s just right. You make the most agreeable tea in col- lege, by the way. To resume, you have curious friends. For instance, there was that gaunt grad from the Middle ‘West, with the sunken cheeks, the voice of a nor-easter, and frizzes. Now who would suppose that a person like Yyourself—who shows. generations of culture in the very lift of your eyelid and slope of your shoulder—would have taken up with that same grad?” “She was a girl who had never had a good time.” : “She had a sleepless eye,” meditated Kate. “She promised me to go to bed at 10 every might. She's doing it, too. She wrote me so.” “And that wild little Florida fresh- man, with the picture hat and hysterics in chapel.” “It was only ihat once, Kate, and Ruby doesn’t have them now at all.” “But of all your varied cabinet, Dutchy was the most extraordinary.” “Nobody but you ever calls ner Dutchy now, Kate.” “I see her still as she was that first day of lectures, four years ago, so big— big as to pompadour, side-combs, hands, feet, belt-buckle, redolent with perfume as any modest violet, and wearing a pink satin waist, gold chain and earrings! Do you remember how she said ‘already’ three times the first day she was called upon to recite? Yet Dutchy- had good eyes even in those days, I grant you—great, black, burning things, that took in everything. Hun- ger and thirst after knowledge— Dutchy has always had that. Think what she has grown to be in four years! The most regal young person in college, the president of the Stu- dents’ Association, the buyer of rare books and Holbein prints, and finaily, one who never forgets to say bean and ~ svaresunder all circumstances.” done © everything her!” cried Agatha, glowing. “Agatha Day has done everything “1 should for Doesn't it ever?’ 1 never thought ¢ evation. . “No, of course not. of it that way.” “And yet,” said Kate, slowly, “and yet Dutchy doesn’t in ihe least appre- -ciate either you or college.” “Helen Shellbammer doesn’t appre- ciate college!” Agatha’s amazement awas profound. “Kate, how strangely you do talk! Helen worships college! I never knew any girl who loved it so. She says it has meant everything to her; that she loves every stick and stone of the place; that she would give anything to have the chance of serving the college in any way. She can hardly speak of commencement and leaving.” “Nevertheless, Dutchy does not ap- preciate either you or college. She is taken with the show of things—the show of culture, the show of scholar- ship, the show of service, even. She thinks that learning and study and beautiful buildings and Greek casts and the Students’ Association, too, are college. and they're not. She thinks that your books and your pictures and your dresses and your music and your travel are you, whereas what you real- ly are is”—here Kate, with one of her sudden flashes of great tenderness, stooped to the little figure seated by her knee, and drew her close—‘‘what you really are is the sweetest, sweetest girl 1 ever knew.” A moment's silence in the twilight, and then Agatha, troubled, for Kate was so horribly prone to be right, asked: “Do you really think Helen has missed—missed—what I most wanted her to get?’ Kate, the truthful, answered, “I should not trust her to clioose in any T } brook of all the long-ago; To whisper the wood wind of things we used to know When we were old companions, before my heart knew woe. them bengath the old-time skies, oom and chard lands arise. with longing in my soul weary world made whole. to each listening leaf as in my-boyhood brief, would ease my heart of grief. the old house by the tree, -Madison Cawecin. A a ~ ~~ O82 oe 2, 200 ); BEARERET S ONPERCAO CX S ova ly -r ~~ nT They were both quiet again, think- ing of the dead mother of whom Agatha never spoke, whose picture never appeared anywhere in her room. After a while Kate said, “Your mother would be glad about you, Agatha;” and then, because she felt that she had started memories that made Agatha wish to be alone, she pressed a light kiss on the brown curls, and went out. To the chair that Kate had left, the chair on which Agatha had bowed her head, there ¢ame a gracious presence. As in the days five years - before, Agatha sat by her mother's knee in the twilight fire-glow. She felt a hand upon her hair, she looked up into eyes shining with love. Not a thought had Agatha had in all those five years which she had not spoken into the ear of that shadow mother. “She knows, she knows, she knows!” said Agatha to herself. Now Agatha spoke low: ‘Mother, is it true what Kate says? ‘In any crisis Helen would not choose right? Be- cause, if that is true, then I have failed, and you told me to take care of Helen—you told me to take care of her four years ago. I've only two weeks left to be with her; but you’ll help me, won't you? Youve helped all the time. It ought to do some good, somehow, all my wanting you.” Agatha pressed her tense hands over her eyes and buried her head deeper in the chair cushions, but there were no tears; there never had been any tears in Agatha’s loneliness. The gongs clanged out 6 o'clock, and Agatha rose and lighted the gas, and began dressing for dinner. Half an hour later a dainty little person in a white muslin of Parisian make, a little person whose eyes and cheeks glowed brightly, and who hummed a bit of a Brittany sailor song, passed out of Agatha’s door, and went tripping down the hall. Other girls, rustling out for other doors at the dinner summons, called Agatha to wait for them, and linked arms about one another's waists, so that they were six abreast by the time they reached the dining room. But there in the doorway another girl was waiting . for - Agatha, and for this girl Agatha slipped away from her other friends. Helen had stood there waiting for fully five minutes, not unconscicus for all that dead-earnest face of hers, of the admiring glances of certain freshmen, and the more familiar, but also more flattering glances her classmates. She heard the words of one of these last, knowing that it was more than half-meant that she should hear them: “What a stunning creature the Shell is, to be sure!” Little did the freshman dream that any one had ever dared to call the glorious Miss Shellhammer “PDutchy.” Kate had been right when she cailed her a most regal young person. Big she was, most certainly, but graceful and stately. Beneath her dark hair her black eyes burned eagerly. As little Agatha slipped a hand into hers, Helen's face brightened, and the two walked together down the hall, and seated themselves side by side. t was a beautiful dining room, with its dark, carved wainscoting, its great fireplaces, its old English windows, its candle-lit tables. Never before she came to college had Helen Shellham- mer seen any of these things. Helen was eager with her news. “What do you think, Agatha? Prexy sent me ‘a summons to-day, and told me that Miss Ainsley is considering giving up the secretaryship, in order to live abroad with her invalid brother. It n't settled yet. Miss Ainsley is taking two weeks to decide; but if she does decide to go, Prexy wants me to take the position! OG Agatha, think of being able to stay here in college! I can hardly stand the waiting.” “It would be beautiful, Helen,” an- swered Agatha. i added, of she “Bul.” ut how will your family feel about crisis the things that you and I count as best. But perhaps I am wror SO | don’t worry. You do too much worry- ing over the good-for-nothing, any war. | Why is it, Agatha, that you've been so busy mothering people ever;since you! came into college—ancient grads, fresh- | men in arms; Duichy. not to mention | that sullen and cynical Kate Pratt! Higgins-—-why have you mothered us | all?’ Agatha whispered, “It Kate.” } was mother, | hinyro 9? heres ving you stay “Theyre; exp to be at home,” answered Helen, a dark shad- ow coming over lier glowing face. “Have you written them about it?” “No. “But you will?” 1 me ing | that made the mother and daughter life! Why, Agatha,” and the red in Helen's chetks deepened, “at home they, my family, talk Pennsylvania Duteh!” ‘ . Agatha’s hand stole into Helen's as she whispered: “But in your heart you know they want you, Helen. You will write and ask them, anyway?” But Helen said nothing. She turned, after a moment, and began talking to the girl on ‘her other side. ‘Her lips were set in a sullen way that Agatha knew weil. There was no use saying any more that evening, or, as Agatha discovered, saying anything more in the days that followed, for Helen steadily avoided further confidences, and Agatha could only wait. Those last two weeks are the busiest, the most bewildering in all the four years. It is just as well, perhaps, that one is too hurried to realize how much it hurts to go away. r : Then toward the end the relatives be- zin to arrive, welcomed so joyously by those to whom they belong, and ree garded with such frank curiosity by those to whom they do not belong. There ran an awed whisper through college, “Have you seen the Shell's mother?’ There were rumors—not ill- natured, merely startled and wonder ing—of a bonnet of imposing plumage, of a gown of most curious manufic- ture, of a coiffure: belonging to the fashion of faded family daguerrotypes, of a heavy, vacant face, of the English language spoken in a way never before heard in those high halls of learning. This was Helen Shellhammer’s mother! “Kate,” said Agatha, one afternoon, “why do you suppose Helen doesn’t in- troduce me to her mother?” “I suppose because she’s ashamed of her. I told you that Helen doesn’t appreciate either you or college.” There were many thoughts in Agatha’s head those last days, but one thought never left her, and that was of Helen. Still no opportunity to speak to her, to find out, to know—not until the very morning of commencement. Fifteen minutes before the time when the class must assemble for the entering march Agatha knocked at Helen's door, and found her standing before the bureau, just putting on the black gown and bachelor's hood. Agatha wasted no preliminaries. “Tell me, Helen,” she said. “Miss Ainsley is going.” “And you, Helen?’ “Oh, I don’t know! Mother is here, you know, and I can’t tell her. She thinks I'm going home now to live. But, Agatha, I can’t give up college! I love it so!” ‘Agatha spoke with a strange stern- ness: “If you loved it more you could give it up.” Helen turned upon her. “Would you give it up—to go home, to my home— you, Agatha?’ Agatha raised wide eyes to Helen’s face, and in them there was—for the first time to Helen's view—a great weariness. “Do you ask me,” whispered Agatha, “if I would give up college for the sake of my mother?’ Just then came a tapping at the door, and some one entered who started back shyly on seeing a stranger. The bird in her bonnet was purple and orange. The hair was drawn from the temples in little braids looped over her ears, from which dangled jet earrings. Her dress was made with a basque. The black mitts showed the hands of the farm wife who works along with her maids. She spoke with a drawl, and with a softening of s’s and an inter- change of w’'s and v's. Agatha held out both her hands. “I am so glad to meet Helen’s mother!” she said. “I'm Agatha.” “Oh, I have heard my Nellie speak of you!” cried the mother. “You are the one she loves the best of them all. She’ is a good girl, my Nellie—and smart?” Call that face dull or vacant, ali alight with love as it was! “Now she comes home at last to her papa and me. Papa says, when he put me on the cars, ‘At last she comes home to stay!” Papa he couldn’t come, and Nellie thought maybe I'd get tired, but I guess mammas don’t get tired. And now we go home together! It is quiet in the house without Nellie; and four years is long at home alone. The others arc all gone away. Nellie is our baby.” She turned from Agatha to gaze proudly at her tall daughter. Helen was quiet, looking into the mysterious dark eyes that met hers in the mirror. The two weeks’ battle was at its crisis; it was to be fought through now. The mother spoke again to Agatha: “Sometimes I worry. I do not say it to papa, but sometimes I think Nellie will not like to stay at home. It is not like her school. Perhaps she will not like to stay with papa and me.” The @7istfulness of her words made them a question, which Agatha answered: “Oh, ves. I know Helen will be happy at home with you.” They were speaking to each other, but they both looked at Helen. “S07?” asked the mother, but of Helen, not of Agatha, seeming almost to guess the. conflict. Then, when Helen gave her no reassuring word, she turned to Agatha with forced po- liteness. “Your mamma, Is ¢ The words were like a which Agatha grew white. one here,” she said. “My dead.” What wn Nn ® 3 stab, under “I have no mother is was there in that still veice turn so quickly to each other? A veil fell from Helen's eyes. The battle was won forever. Helen folded her mother close in her arms; she kissed her. “Mother,” said Helen, and her voice was solemn with love, “I would rather beauty of a mother who has missed ker child, and whose longing is sat- isfied. x It was not Helen, but her mother, who first remembered Agatha. She put aside Helen's clinging hands, and turned to the other girl. She stretched out her arms to her. “Deary!” she said. i _ Agatha put her arms round ner neck and bowed her head on her shoulder. “Kiss me,” she whispered. “Kiss me, because my mother isn't here.”’- Youth's Companion. A NEWSPAPER “SCOOP” Example of the Average Man’s Idea o the Value of News. The average man’s idea of the value of news is curiously nebulous and cut of line. A Washington correspondent was walking toward his. office the other afternoon, trying to fix something in Lis mind wherewith. to lead off his story of the day in Washington, when a wildly excited man of his acquaint- ance grabbel him by the sleeve and whirled him around. “Say, I've got the greatest piece of news ever!” exclaimed the wildly-ex- cited man, pantingly. “It’s a sensation right! I'm the only man in town that knows about it except the Navy De- partment people, and” they wou’'t peach! I've got a blamed good notion to give it to you exclusively, although I certainly ought to give it to the As- sociated Press—it’s so big, you know.” The -correspondent had heard this kind of a preamble before, but never- theless he thought that, after all, the excited man might really have run into a piece of news of moderate worth by accident. ! “What is it?’ he inquired, without, however, permitting the frapped pers- piration to break out on his forehead. “Let's have it.” “Ob, it's a corker!” went on the man with the stupendous sensation up his sleeve. “Can’t give it to you here— somebody might overhear me, and you'd lose the scoop of your life. Come over to my office and I'll tell it to you.” So they repaired to the office of the man with the paralyzing bit of news. “You mentioned the Navy Depart- ment people,” said the correspondent on the way to the man’s office. “Who's going to get court-martialed, and what for? Who's—" “Oh, it’s nothing like that!” hoarsecly whispered the man with the colossal scoop hid away on his person. “Dif- ferent kind of thing altogether. But T'll tell you what, it'll be a big thing for you, and you want to be duly grate- ful to me henceforth and forever for passing it along to you exclusively! It ‘ud be the making of some poor struggling young correspondent, but it’s so important that I dor’t feel like intrusting it to—" “Say, ignite up—you're being extin- guished,” suggested the correspondent. “Come to taw. Is this—" “Well, I'll tell you what it is,” said the excited man, beading his lead over close to the correspondent’s and look- ing around furtively to see that nobody was rubbering. “It’s paint!” “Paint?” repeated the correspondent, with mystified expression. “Paint? Who's been painting? Is it red? Where is—" “It’s paint,” said the agitated man, solemnly, pitching his voice still lower and glancing about like an Italian opera conspirator. “A Yankee genius up in Connecticut has invented a new kind of paint to paint the bottoms of ships of war, and I've been commis- sioned to bring this paint to the atten- tion of the Navy Department. Y’see, the kind o’ paint they use now on the bottom of warships makes it necessary to dock the boats and scrape them every couple o° months while they're cruising in tropical waters on account of the barnacles and so on, y'under- stand. Well, the barnacles and things won't stick to this new kind o’ paint, and so when it comes into use men-o’- war down in tropical waters'll only have to go into drydock and be scraped about every year or so. See? Ain't that a wonder? Wouldn't that scrape you? Won't that just make the Jap war news look like zinc money when you write four columns about this paint for the first page of your paper? Won't they just wire you an increase in salary, and——-"> And then the agitated man became real huffy when the correspondent told him that he was making 2 noise some- thing like a brick.— Washington Star. City’s Greatest Change. Some one had asked the Inglishman, who had returned to New. York after an interval of ten years, what had struck him most in the changing life of the town. So ‘“You’d never imagine what it was, So T'll1 tell you at once. It was the signs on the churches. When I was here last it was almost impossible for me to tell what church I was looking at, for that seemed not so important as the name of the undertaker, whose ad- dress was always given in large let- ters. Now 1 find on almost every church front the name of the building, in large letters, with the hours for vices below this and the undertaker's name in the least conspicuous place. It may sound like a trifling thing, but I liked it better than any change I've noticed in. New York.” — New York Press Army Cflicers Must Swim. A writer to the London Times urges the War Office to insist that all com- missioned men in the army and navy be required te pass an examination in swimming. Recruits for the ranks should be instructed in this art, he thinks, as regularly as the drill regula- tions. go home to live with you and father than anything else in all the world.” “Why?” “Because——" But Melen interrupted in a low, eager ton “I couldnt give up the chance if it comes. I can’t! You what it means—you who've! and much more, all your | i The mother did not speak. The tears were running down her cheeks, but her face was beautiful with the; “In soldiering.” he says, “whether in | peace or war, there are countless oceca- cions when the absence of this power may involve the sacrifice of valuable . Bevere shooting pains attack me,” he TO EVERY ONE; top telling people what to do; . Stop it, this day, this hour; . Check the advice you're yearning to Impart. Restrain your power To guide—For oh, what rest, what peace, Could counseling and advising cease. Stop tellin~ people what to do— Perhaps, as tit for tat, Others may then stop telling you— Picture the joy of that; Oh, endless rapture—blissful thought i Never to bear “You must,” “You ought. Stop telling people what to do— For neither young nor old ‘Are heeding—any more than you Have done you've been told— Good counsel is pure gold—=but, strange! It never passes in exchange! 2 Stop telling people what to do— And inward turn your eyes, Where vou will find the blunderer, who Most needs your sage advice— There you will find the only one Poor blockhead, you are fit to run t ! —Madeline Bridges, in Collier's Weekly. “Is your engagement a secret?’ asked the girl of a young man. “Oh, no,” he replied; “the girl knows it.”—Kansas City Journal. — ing Dyer—“So Higbee has become bank- rupt!” Wyld—"Yes. He tried to run a forty-horsepower auto on a five- horsepower salary.” Little Ada, on being told the story of Lot's wife, who was turned into a pil- lar of salt, asked her mother, anxious- ly, “Is all salt’ made of ladies?’ "The wise man’s ahead of his age, But I think you will find it That the woman who really is sage Is some years behind it! —New Orleans Times-Democrat. “He'll never reach the top of his pro- fession.” “Why, he believes he's there now.” “That's the very reason that he’ll never get there.”—Philadelphia Ledger. Nordy—“There ain't but one thing worse than an end-scat hog.” Butts— “What's that?” Nordy—“A middle-seat hog when there's a rain-storm.”—Phil- adelphia Bulletin. “Why is young M great social favorie “He can eat anything that ever came out of a chafing-dish and act as if he enjoyed it.”—Washington Star. “The automobile has not accom- plished much in actual business,” said the utilitarian. “Oh, yes, it has. It has helped accident insurance a great deal.”—Washington Star. °Tis oft our own convenience, That keeps the conscience warm. And the man who has no office Is the man who wants reform. —Washington Star. “Professor Skiggs has a wonderful mind.” “Yes,” answered Miss Cay- enne. “When you think how hard one of his lectures is to listen to, you shud- der to think of the cerebral strain it must have taken to evolve it.”’—Wash- ington Star. “How are yon coming on with your new system of weather prediction?’ “Well,” answered the prophet cheerily, “I can always get the kind of weather all right, but I haven’t quite succedeed in hitting the dates exactly.”—Wash- ington Star. ? Mrs. Gaswell—“1 wish I knew of something that would improve my hus- band’s appetite.” Mrs. Upmore — “I believe jiu-jitsu would help him.” Mrs. Gaswell—‘That’s something I never heard of. How do you cook it?’—Chi- cago Tribune. “’Pears to me your mill goes awful slow,” said the impatient farmer boy to the miller; “I could eat that meal faster than you grind it.” “How long do you think you could do it, my lad?” asked the miller. Replied the boy: “Til 1 starved death.”—Boston Transcript. “It seems to me,” said Mrs. Oldcastle, “that the dogmatists have about had their day.” “I know it,” replied her hostess. “Me and Josiah was talkin’ about it the other might. You hardly ever see a lady carryin’ one on her lap in the carriage now.”’—Chicago Record-Herald. Shocks From False Teeth, “False teeth have been known to generate electricity in the mouth and shock their wearer painfully,” said a dentist. “Only last week a gentleman came to me and said he feared he was get ting a cancer on his tongue. ‘Such Skiggs such a I. Vb to said, ‘that often I utter loud oaths in the most unseemly places—at teas, he- fore the minister, and so on. It is like knife thrusts. Do you think I am going to lose my tongue? “I found that two different metals had been used in fixing the poor man’s false teeth. These metals, combining with the saliva, had formed a small battery. Electricity generated in the battery continually, and shock after shock was administered to the tongue. “I painted the metal with an insulat- ing varnish. Thereafter the man ha no more trouble.” v Two Laughs in This Story. The American in the corner of the non-smoking first-class carriage in- sisted.on lighting his cigar. “The indig- nant Britisher in the other corner pro- tested, and protested in vain. At the next station he hailed the guard with hostile intent, but the placid American was too quick for him. “Guard,” he drawled, “I think you’ll find that this gentleman is traveling with a third- class ticket on him.” Investigation proved him to be right, and the in- dignant Britisher was ejected. A spectator of the little scene asked the triumphant American how he knew about that ticket. “Wall,” explained the imperturbable stranger, “it was sticking out of his pocket, and I saw it was the same color as mine.”—ZLon- lives.” i Olive Oil for Nerve Dicorders. Sufferers from nerve disorders should certainly try the olive oil care. The best and purest olive oil must be obtained, and one teaspoonful three times a day is the dose if the victim of neuralgia, anaemia or disordered nerves is in a hurry to be cured. Otherwise it is recommended that the oil taste should be cultivated by the addition of a very little to the salad taken once or twice a day, with a dash of vinegar added, says the Searchlight. The patient should gradually lessen the vinegar and increase the oil, until it is so well liked that it can be tak- en raw. It is claimed for olive oil, just as it is for apples, that it keeps the liver in good working order, thus preventing rheumatism, render- ing the complexion healthy and clear and the’ hair glossy and abundant. The value of this treatment is most highly commcnaded. BOX OF WAFERS FREE—NO DRUCS —CURES BY ABSORPTION. Cures Belching of Gas—Bad Breath and Bad Stomach — Short Breath-— Bloating—Sour Eructations Irregular Heart, Etc. Take a Mull’s Wafer any time of the da or night, and note the immediate good e fect on your stomach. It absorbs the gas, disinfects the stomach, kills the poison germs‘ and cures the disease. Catarrh of the head and throat, unwholesome food and overeating make bad stomachs. Scarcely any stomach is entirely free from! taint of some kind. Mull’s Anti-Beloh Wafers will ‘make your stomach health by absorbing foul gases which erise fro the undigested food and by re-enforeing the lining of the stomach, enabling it to thoroughly mix the food with the gastric juices. This cures stomach trouble, pro- motes digestion, sweetens the breath, stops belching. and fermentation. Heart action | becomes strong and regular through this process. i Discard drugs, as you know from experi- ence they do not cure stomach trouble. Try a common-sense (Nature’s) method that does cure. A soothing, healing sen- sation results instantly. We know Mull’s Anti-Belch Wafers will do this, and we want you to know it. SpECIAL OFFER.—The regular price of Mull’s Anti-Belch Wafers is 50c. a box, but to introduce it to thousands of sufferers we will send two (2) boxes upon receipt of, 75c. and this advertisement, or we will send you a sample free for this coupon. 10215 FREE COUPON 125 Send this convon with your name }! and address and name of a druggist who does not sell it for a free sample : box of Mull’s Anti-Belch Wafers to Murvr’s Grape Tonic Co.. 328 Third Ave., Rock Island, T11. @ive Full Address and Write Plainly. Sold by all druggists, 50c. per box, or sent by mail. LOST ART OF SPELLING. Little Time Left For Teaching It In the Maze of Fads. In this commercial age, when the an- cient classic languages are being clim- inated from the courses of study in colleges and universities, and poetry is being banished from a place among the fine arts of which it was once the head and soul, and every energy and faculty of the human being are being devoted to the acquisition of material wealth, it is not strange that the art of spelling correctly is being shame- fully neglected in the schools. It is a fact that great numbers, if not the greatest numbers, of graduates that are sent out of the highest educar tional institutions in the country are grossly deficient in ability to spell or dinary words in the every day use of our language. To-day in the primary and grammar schools so many new-fangled subjects are taught that the children have na time for spelling, and that is one reas- on why there is so little good reading except by professionals. Persons who spell poorly skim over what they read without giving to each letter in each word its proper value, and they do not understand what is so read with suf- ficient clearness or accuracy to be able to recite it intellizibly aloud. To be able to read well is a fine accomplish ment, and is absolutely necessary if one would be an orator or an effective public speaker. f : It is greatly to be regretted that so few university graduates are able to spell correctly, or to read properly, but unless they are proposing to be- come actors or orators, probably they will not feel the need of such accom- plishments. What is wanted in educa- tion is knowledge that can be sold for cash. Every other sort is of comparas tively little use in the estimation of the official educators—New Orleans Picayune. COFFEE NEURALGIA Leaves When You Quit and Use Peostum, A lady who unconsciously drifted into nervous prostration brought on by coffee, says: “I have been a coftee drinker all my life, and used it regularly, three times a day. “A year or two ago I became subject to nervous neuralgia, attacks of mner- vous headache and general nervous prostration which not only incapacitat- ed me for doing my housework, but frequently made it necessary for me to remain in a dark room for two or three days at a time. = “T employed several good doctors, one after the other, but none of them was able to give me permanent relief. “Eight months ago a friend suggest- ed that perhaps coffee was the cause of my troubles and that I try Postum Food Coffee and give up the old kind. I am glad I took her advice, for my health has been entirely restored. I have no more neuralgia, nor have T had one solitary headache in all these eight months. No more of my days are wasted in solitary confinement in a dark room. I do all my own work with ease. The flesh that I lost during the years of my nervous prostration has come back to me during these months, and I am once more a happy, healthy woman. I enclose a list! of names of friends who can vouch for the truth of the statement.” Name given by Postum Co., Battle Creek, Mich. There’s a reason. : Ten days’ trial leaving off coffee and don Chronicle, 9sing Postum is sufficient. 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Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers