— pe cls pd RP Toke rE EE tm f —From Collier's Weekly. JOYCE'S DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE OW, isn’t that pink lovely!” A merry group of girls were chatter- ing on the lawn of Miss Floyd's Acad- emy for Girls on a bright morning in June. School was just over, and they were planning great things for the Fourth of July, when Miss Floyd held ber commence- ment exercises. “Of course, we'll wear white for the said pretty June Winthrop. exercises,” “But I rather think we can have what we like for the reception in the even- ing. I shall coax mamma into getting me that pink chiffon—indeed I shall.” “I'll have the crep de chine I told you of,” declared Laura Dean, a gypsy beauty of sixteen. “Do you remember that Miss Floyd asked us not to buy expensive dresses?” Beulah Wilson reminded them. ‘She said she didn’t wish Joyce Harwood and Kathleen Hunt to feel uncomfortable.” June tossed her head. “I really cannot dress down to Miss Floyd's charity pupils. 1 don’t think they ought to come If they can’t keep up to our standards of dress.” Beulah Wilson was rich, and her pro- test had been made solely on behalf of her friend Joyce, who could with the | and | utmost difficulty present a fresh appearance. neat “Blue for you, June; leave the pink | “Do bave pale | for me,” cried Laura. green, Beulah.” “I shall have a new white lawn for the Fourth,” replied Beulah, firmly. “I think it’s absurd to have two dresses for what is, after all, one occasion.” “Here comes Joyce and Kathleen,” remarked June. “Were talking of our commencement dresses, Joyce.” The words were not without malice. Both Joyce and Kathleen had made June feel small in the classroom. “1 think my dress is bought,” re- plied Kathleen, a tall girl of fifteen, with a pretty, irressclute face. She looked wistfully at her questioner’s dainty lawn, inset with lace, her rich ribbons and gold buttons. She could not have imagined greater bliss than possessing such things herself. “For the exercises, yes,” said Laura. “But we mean to wear colors in the evening.” Ye thleen almost turned pale. “You will have two new dresses for commencement?’ she gasped. in alarm. She turned to Joyce—strong, beauti- ful Joyce, whom no one ever snubbed or put down, and whose clear, dark eyes were now fixed, in some contempt, upon June and Laura. “Shall you not get two?’ persisted June. “Ob, if you do—" began Kathleen, helplessly. Joyce had not spcken. The whole question seemed very trivial to ber. Not that she did not care for pretty things, but just now ber thoughts were with her sick mother. “This is an important struck in Laura, returning to occasion,” the AMERICA DISCOVERED! charge. “Miss Floyd's two married sisters will be here, and she will want everything and everybody at their best. They are so wealthy.” “And alone in the world—widows and childless,” remarked Joyce. “It seems to me wealth is not of much good un- der such circumstances. Come, Kathie.” “What shall we do?” asked Kathleen, when they were alone. “Do?” inquired Joyce, vaguely. “About the Fourth,” said Kathleen. “My lawn cost just fifteen cents a yard, and I can’t have any lace. How I hate to be so poor.” “Kathie,” said her friend, earnestly, “don’t care about it. I'm not even go- ing to have a new lawn—only my last summer's let down. I don’t intend to worry about it. I was sorry not to hear you speak more decidedly about the two dresses. You know you can’t have two.” “I did wonder, for a minute, if mother wouldn't let me have her wed- THOMAS JEFFERSON. ding dress made over,” hesitated the the other. “She neve zZoes anywhere hardly, and so doesn’t need it as I do.” 2 Joyce's dark eyes flashed. “And you would make her going out at all quite impossible by taking her only good dress?’ she cried, indignant- ly. Then, softening in a moment, she added, “No. dear, don’t do that.” They reached Joyce's own home at that point, and Joyce went in without waiting for a reply. “Mother, darling,” she called softly, as she entered the darkened room, ‘is your head better? Did I wake you?” Mrs. Harwood smiled faintly. “You did not wake me—I was listen- ing for your steps,” she answered. “Did Mrs, Jones come in?’ went on Joyce. “Yes,” was the reply. “But, my child, she must not come again. We And this is so near You wiil soon be cannot afford her. the end of the at home.” Joyce did not answer went into the kitchen and soon re- turned with a slice of golden brown toast and a cup of fragrant tea. “Now, try this,” she said, coaxingly. “Ob, mother mine, I do wish you'd econ- sent to my giving up schocl and getting some work.” “We will see after the Fourth,” said Mrs. Harwood. ‘Now, dear, get your own luncheon while I take a nap.” term. at once. She * * * * * * * The Fourth of July dawned as that historic day should dawn—showing a cloudless sky, a blazing sun. Miss Floyd was in a pleasant flutter of ex- citement. Her sisters, Mrs. Danes- ford and Mrs. Jerome, sat beside her near the platform. She felt very proud of her school. The girls were charming in their snowy frocks as they sat, looking like white winged birds, on the platform. “That is a lovely child at the end of the front row,” said Mrs. Danesford suddenly. “Whe is she?’ “That is Kathleen Hunt,” replied Miss Floyd. her is Joyce “And the dark one next Harwood They must both work for their mothers are widows and poor. I have given them their schooling and hope to start them in some wax.” S001, The exercises passed off delightfully, and after them the parents and other “grown ups” enjoyed the lawn tea. But the girls burried home te change their dresses or freshen up for the evening reception. It was a little after dusk. The dim streets grew ever and again momen- tarily brilliant with the light of Roman candles or the radiance of Catherine wheels. The cheerful ‘pop’ of count- less firecrackers resounded through the air. The reception was in full swing when Mrs. Danesford sought a moment's rest and quiet in the breakfast room. A screen had been pushed near an open window, and she sat down be- hind it. She had determined to take Kathleen Hunt home with her, if she would come, as reader and companion. She would offer the widowed mother a cottage near her own magnificent mansion on the banks of the Hudson. The daughter should be hers by day, the real mother’s by night. ; “Try it,” Mrs. Jerome had said. “If the plan succeeds I may try tbe other.” A group of girls, merry, chattering, flocked into the room. A torn skirt seemed to bave been the cause of their coming. Mrs. Danesford did not move, thinking they would go out in a mo- ment. “DId you see that dress of Joyce's?’ demanded June. “Her last summer's one, and darned, at that.” : “Kathleen's looked about ten: cents a yard,” added Laura. “If they're as poor as that comes to they, have no business here.” She stopped abruptly. Mrs. Danes- ford thought at first that they had seen her behind the screen, but the silence was caused by the entrance of Joyce and Kathleen. “We couldn’t help hearing you,” re- marked Joyce. “You have no right to decide that We are poor because we don’t dress as vou do,” said Kathleen. “Some people think it in bad taste to dress much be- fore you come out.” Mrs. Danesford could see them all— Joyce and Kathleen, in their shabby frocks, contrasting so painfully with the chiffons and crepe de chines of the others. But Joyce stood. erect and proud, her eyes aglow. Laura and June looked at them coolly. “I fully admit it was no business er mine,” replied June icily. “You are right—it is no business of yours,” here struck in Joyce. “And, for my part, it does not matter to me at all that you should know we are poor, very poor. Poverty is no dis- grace. This is the Fourth of July,” she went on, her color rising. “It is the anniversary of the day when our fathers shook off unjust and galling bondage. Let us, Kathleen,” she said to her friend, *‘shake off an allegiance to a lie. No, we do net dress like this from choice. We prefer crepe de chines to ten-cent lawns. But, not to bave every dress in New York, would I" care as much for such things as yon do!” Her eyes blazed upon the girls in | front of her. “Nor choose my friends | by the amount of their drygoods’ bills. | No, poverty is no disgrace, and wealth | you have not earned no merit, no | honor, except as it is well and nobly | spent.” “What a Fourth of July oration!” sneered Laura. “It's a pity none of the guests can hear you.” “One of them has,” said Mrs. Danes- ford, coming forward. She put her hand on Joyce's shoulder. “Come with me, my dear. I want a little talk with you and my sister.” ;: * * * * * - * Joyce and her mother are very happy in the little cottage (‘part of your sal- ary. my dear,” Mrs. Danesford had said) by the waters of the noble Hud- son. Kathleen never knew how near that dainty home came to being hers, nor did Joyce ever learn that she owed it to her “Declaration of Independ- ence.” —Frances Harmer. FROM MARS. “Is it a.new comet, or the destruction of some planet?” “Neither, Your Majesty. It is the celebration of the Fourth of July on the earth.” The Stremunovus Life, “Zz A Uncle Sam's Patriotic Celebration of Independence Day. By FHallie™ C 1 had a diary Christmas, And father laughed and said, “If you'll keep that till the Fourth of July I'll give you a dollar, Ned.” Queer way to earn a dollar, But easy as a b ¢; So I put it in my secret box, Safe under lock and key. It’s a pretty book—bright red leather— And Spud Jones wants to swap. He said he’d give me his two-blade knife And his second-best spinning top. But I'd rather have the dollar, So I put it away again; The pages are just as clean and white— Not a bit of a spot or stain. Father asked me last Sunday, “Are you keeping that diary, Ned?” And when said “Yes,” he looked sur- prised. “Well done, little son.” he said. Fourth comes a week from Tuesday, And oh, I can’t hardly wait, For Spud’s got a dollar, too, and so I tell you we’ll celebrate! We're going to buy some pinwheels, Those things that whiz round in rings— Crackers, of course, like we always have, And whole heaps of other things— Big Roman candles that send up stars All yellow and red and blue— Oh, T just hope father’ll want me to keep A diary next year, too! ALL NATURE CELEBRATES —Puck. Thoughts For the Fourth. To have freedom is only to have that which is absolutely necessary to enable us to be what we ought to be, and to possess what we ought to possess.— Rabel. Countries are well cultivated, not as they are fertile, but as they are free— Montesquien. The cause of freedom is identified with the destinies of humanity and in whatever part of the world it gains ground, by and by it will be a common gain to all who desire it.—Kossuth. Best AntieToxin For the Fourth, The Health Department in its weekly bulletin urges that the anti-toxin treat- ment for Fourth of July tetanus vic- tims be not neglected. Quoting an Eastern medical journal to the effect that not a single blank cartridge wound treated with aunti-toxin injection has been known to develop lockjaw, the department insists that with such a valuable remedy available every effort should be made to use it in all cases of wounds of the dangerous class on the Fourth. That is excellent advice and it is to be hoped that parents and doctors alike will heed it. But there is even better advice than this to be given. There is an even better anti-toxin against Fourth of July deaths than the doctors use. It consists in repeated applications of strict law enforcement. both before the Fourth and upon the Fourth, Toy pistols, all kinds of blank ecar- tridges and dynamite crackers are the most active agents in the production of lockjaw. The sale of toy pistols to minors is forbidden. The less danger- ous explosives are permitted only upon the Fourth, but not before it. ! If the ordinances are strictly en- forced we may pass through the cele- bration this year without the sacrifice of a single victim to the Fourth of July lockjaw. The next two weeks should be a period of steady applica- tion of the variety of anti-toxin which the Police Department makes its spe- cialty.—Chicago Record-Herald. List Days of Molly Piicher. Molly Pitcher left the army soon after the Battle of Monmouth and died near Fort Montgomery, among the Hudson Highlands, soon after the close of the war. She was buried at Car- lise, Pa. where a handsome monument has been erected over her grave by the patroitic citizens in the town. y 1 i eried Xe 1% aL => Vs — Na =) SS 7 1a Sg 8 <SXie =h=z, { The Change. Last year, when Sammy Snow was four, Oh, it was long ago!— He heard the giant crackers bang; The Fourth had come, you Know. He sct a few torpedoes off, And sister did the same. He walked most half-way down the block, Then back again he came. The cannon boonied, the pistols cracked, Great was the din’and roar, He stayed up in the mursery, For Sammy Snow was four. But this year Sammy Snow.is five, A great big bey, déar me! His closct’s tilled with fireworks, And punk, well, you shouid see! I s’pose he’ll get up early. And go out with the boys, While Sister Jane is in her crib He'll make such lots of noise; He'll fasten pinwheels to the fence, The gladdest boy alive, While friends appear from far and near, 'or Sammy Snow is five. —Alix Thorn in Youth's Companign. Conundrums. What tree belongs to the Church? Elder. What is the burn? Ash. What is the most melancholy tree? Pine. tree you can never What tree is it that every boy dreads? Birch. ‘What is the tree that everybody likes? Poplar. What is stands near- est the sea? the tree that Beech. Our Puzzling Language. Lillian was a great reader, and even at the age of eight found great pleas- ure in reading books suited to the un- derstanding of colder children. One day, however, she found her Waterloo in a word she pronounced ‘“duffnuts.” Lillian thought she had heard of all kinds of nuts from cocoanuts to grape nuts, but “duffnuts” had certainly not been among their number. She in- quired of her mother what kind of a nut a “duffnut” might be; but mother insisted she had made a mistake in the word, for no such nuts existed. Lillian went for her books in which the contested word appeared. Mother had a hearty laugh at Lillian’s ex- pense when the word pronounced “duffnots” turned out to be spelled “doughnuts.” But if “rough” spells ruff, why shouldn't “dough” spell duff? The Snapdragon. This is probably the favorite of thildren over the civilized world. They make up various fanciful names for them, such as “Dog Face,’ “Lion Mouth,” “Monkey Face,” “Mad Dog” and many others. To many children there seems to be something living about the snapdragon, owing to the ease with which the flewers may be made to open and shut their mouths like ap animal, and they are a source of endless delight to all of them. They come in many beautiful shades and colors, being now in the hands of the hybridizers, who putting out named varieties. While they are per- ennials, for the use of children, they sheuld be treated as annuals. They should be planted in clumps in a sun- ny lecatien, as they do not do well as specimens in light soil. If your soil is heavy, add enough sharp sand to it to lcosen and lighten it. When the soil is w in the early spring sow them where they are to bloom, and when two inches high thin to a foot apart. Give a top dressing of bone meal, and keep well cultivated.—Sam- uel! Armstrong Hamilton, in Weman'’s Home Companion. are Why the Sensitive Plant Closed. “Did rilant?” You ever see a sensitive asked Uncle Tim one day, as they were walking across a sandy road. “I've never even heard of such a queer plant,” answered Rob. “Do please find one to show us, if you can.” Then Uncle Tim pulled up a little weed growing along the side of the road, and held it while the children were told not to touch it, until he was ready to have them. They noticed what delicate leaves it had, and what a fluffy blossom there was near the end of the spray of laves. “Now put your fingers on the leaves, and then watch.” So they smoothed the leaves, wondering what was going to happen next. “See it!” suddenly exclaimed Ethel, “the leaves are all closing up tight,” and sure enough, wherever they had touched it, the leaves were moving all by themselves, until they were ail shut. “This little plant is just like some people,” laughingly replied Uncle Tim, as he saw the look of astonishment on their faces. “You see it is too easily influenced by outside things. Never forget this; when you are sure you are right, do not allow outside in- fluence to keep you - from doing your duty. Another thing, all your friends can eacily tell. from your actions dur- ing the six days of the week, how you will be likely to spend the seventh. If you do as God would have you six days of the week, whether working or playing, you will be very sure to ‘re- nember the Sabbath day to keep it holy.’ Isn’t that so, my dears?’— Ram’s Horn. Saving Bobbie’s Tears. One there was a little boy, and he very “easily, so easily that it troubled his mother very much, ana vet nothing she did made Bobbie any braver about being hurt or frightened. When Aunty Lou came to visit Bob- bie, she was delighted to see him again, but it was not an hour before Bobbie burst out crying, and calling, “Mama! Aunty Lou! Mama!” Both ran quickly, and he sobbed, “I've lost my cap! I know I have!” Mama started to comfort him, but Aunty Lou laughed merrily, and said, “Don’t waste another tear, Bobbie. Save them for something worth while. A penny to the finder!” In a moment Bobbie found his cap behind the sofa, and with a shout claimed his penny. How queerly she talked about wast- ing tears! But all that day and the next and the next Aunty Lou ran when Bobbie cried, to see what was the reason, and every time she told him not to waste his tears, but save them for some great big hurt or fright. At last Bobbie said, “Aunty lou, when will there be a big enough fright or hurt for me to use all the tears I've saved?” And Aunty Lou said, with a twinkle in her eye, “You've saved so many, Bobbie, I'd keep right on saving them, and have enough to cry with when you are a man—and have a—big— hurt!” Bobbie put his hands deep in his pockets and looked hard at Aunty Lou. Then he said, “Youre a’ joker, Aunty Lou, but I'll do it. Only I won't cry when I'm a man, or a little man, cither!”—Katharine Walker in Youths Companion. A Dirty White Rabbit. “I truly don’t know what to do with that naughty Peter,” said Dick, gazing reflectively at his white rabbit. The white rabbit was white only by na- ture. In reality he was sooty black, S0 that his funny white nose and his bright pink eyes looked most comical. “I’ve washed him and brushed him, and spanked him,” said Peter, ‘‘and it doesn’t seem to do a single little bit of good. I can't imagine where he gets so dirty. None of the other rabbits have a speck on them.” It certainly was hard to imagine where Peter could get so sooty. Every morning he was brushed uniil his beautiful white coat looked like milk, and then, sometimes not more than an hour afterwards, he would come hopping along looking like a chimney sweep. It was all the more exasperating be- cause Peter was really the finest rabbit of the lot. So at last Dick's elder brother set to work ernestly to solve the mystery. And what do you suppose he found? He watched Peter, and soon noticed that the big white rabbit would scram- per under the woodshed as soon as he thought no one was noticing him ana after awhile he would come out, biack as coal. So Dick’s brother began to clear away the kindling wood and at last he got down to a place where Peter had made himself a comfortable nest. Ana that nest of all places in the world, was in the end of an old dirty stove pipe! Peter was terribly offended when his fine house was taken away, but after a few days he stopped sulking and from that time on he was the handsomest white rabbit for miles around. Digging for Apples. A man was laboriously digging in the earth. He had already made a hole in which half the length of his leg disappeared and was making it still deeper. Children were playing near by. Born curious, they approached the man at work, and asked, “What are you digging for?” “Apples,” answered he. Unanimously the youthful flock burst into Homeric laughter. “He is digging for apples! What a joke! Apples in the ground! thinking of potatoes! But appies—it is toc funny! Ha, ha, ha! “Can’t you see that he is laughing at us?” said one of the more shrewd among the company. “Let us £20 along and leave him to his apples.” “Laughing at you?” answered the man. “Indeed not, children. What I tell you is positive fact. There is neither joke in it nor nonsense. I am digging this hole in order to have ap- ples, and, if you will wait a moment you will understand.” “Let us wait, then, and we shall see whether they are crabs of leather-coats he will dig up.” After taking out a few more spade- fuls of earth, the man thought the hole sufficiently deep, dumped into it a basketful of rich soil, went off, and returned, bringing a little sapling, which he carefully planted beneath the attentive eyes of the children. The operation complete, he said to them: “You see, I told you the truth. In two or three years from now this young apple-tree will blossom. The following autumn it will bear fruit, You shall come and taste the apples with me.” Those who work for the future are often the butt of mockery. Their ef- forts seem absurd and sterile. The short-sighted call them fools, but they are not troubled by this. They know that, if they would one day see golden, juicy fruit swinging above their heads they must begin by digging a hole in the earth.—Sunday School Times. He must be Explained. Johnny—Pa, what is intuition? Pa—The mother of I told you s0.— New York Sun. ’ an insu launder! Queen “treasur er-o’-pes casts of and five of the h dren, t: and aga F Heart cards fo ange flo it in wh a spray the top the cen! In the hearts « Another has ora a wedd slippers soms ar F Clever son whi economy) season’s for the and the refurbis skirt to the fron used in on some you an waist, w the mat ry. Me: trim it material bodice, « Btyles o sleeves, in the ty at T it.—New Sani When of the E self at | tion to ably she two tub shocking been the tates the temporal; table re popular tarium first que lutions, . ommend baths a ° sponge | state the is most in water degrees, tered by body to to the p ties. It applicati minutes. tial. —Ha Ho Clear, charm ii can poss body. The e; like othe great ob, ercise, fi the nece disease : healthy It is dent the tion, ant between To ins through take car Many ar marred f posing tl and ever through be strair The w doing fin Rest i The sens the expa One fi people w they do Beauty under th standpoi
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers