•;he voyageurs. Wl\h limbs refreshed we rose at dawn, Aii'l marked the? pallid mr-on that silll. Like some sweet watcher worn and wan, 11 una o'er the shadowy southern hill. Out ready boats were on the shore, And on the stream that ashen liuht Whh li speaks the last caress of night; And so we rowed away once more. The dreaming tide receded fast, . nd strength and spirits grew apace. Po keen the first, so high the last. They seemed to run a blithesome race. Th°n straight behind ns rose the sun, Ar.d (lashed his nrmlcd beams before— \ thousand spears of light, and more, Upgathered swiftly into one! Our liquid way was paved with gold. All gleaming ns a coat of mail. Above the waters high ami bold Up leaped the fish, with glittering seal# The sun ascended bright and strong; The purple hills grew green and clear; And like a chorus In our ear A thousand birds brqke Into song. We passed the village, dreaming still, And white and ghastly further down, Within a hollow of the hill. Another little silent town. And In Ihe meadows, still as stone The cat tic, fresh from bush and brake, Stood calm-eyed by the mirror lake, Like shadows gazing at their own! And so nil day we rowed, and made Our way o'er river, stream and lake; And ere the evening fell, had laid Struight miles and many in our wake. While, like it guide who held in store Out vesting place, the beaming sun, Th .t followed at the dawn, strode on, And Lke x beacon blitzed before. x Ity night we pressed the welcome strand, V And camped upon the grassy plain; While slow, majestically grand, Tlte round moon rose to life again. Our wood fire blazed upon the shore; The ter.ts were pitched; our axes rang; Together lnook and kettle sang; And so by night we camped once more. Churleß Rogers, in Youth's Companion. ELEANOK. BY JENNY WHEN. WAS working" in the mill that first m tiny Miss Meredith ■ yt\ parsed through it " 1:1(1 of 10, z w wilt h i est he i ress j n our state. Yet she stopped when f she dine to t hat part of the machinery I wus directing ttrnl watched me eager ly. I hud seen the men turn, one by < no. front tihcir work, in respectful ad mil tion of lie.r beaut}'. It was little wonder my lingers grew clumsy under her gaze. I had a taste for mechanism a fatal inheritance gome called it, from my father, whom we had found dead, one bright summer morning*, bending overall unfinished model. But, yonug ns I was, Mr. Crane, our superintendent, had confidence in inc. therefore had as signed me the work Miss Meredith had h >i"ored mc by pausing to waYcth. Ho wn by her side, now. Humor said In* was wooing* the young hcifess; but a legnrds that, we miil-hands had little opportunity for judging; only, in one brief glance 1 dared take of the pure, lovely face, smiling so brightly down upon us, I doubted whether he or any . innn were worthy. "Is not this work very difficult?" she questioned. "Ikhoiriri tlhinkn hoy could hardly manage it." "It requires more skill than any other." Mr. Crane answered. "Hut I have great faith in George, alt hough one false turn would throw all the ma chinery out of order." Then he added something in n low tone which 1 could not hear. But before Miss Meredith left the mill she again approached me. "Come and see mo this evening, fJeorge. I want particularly to speak with you." I l owed assent, doubtless in an awk ward way; but all the rit. of the long atiniiiicr day I moved as in a dream. Light o'clock found mc promptly seeking admittance at the door of Miss Meredith's beautiful home. The footman looked at nn* inquiringly when I inurinttrod the name of his mistress: but at that instant she, came forward from one of the great rooms and wel- L. coined me kindly. Iter grneiousness. the luxury everywhere surrounding :ne. the subtle atmosphere of fragrance, seemed 1o intoxicate me as I followed lu r, catching sight, with dismay, of my ungainly figure reflected in the num berless mirrors. Cut when she paused, , we stood alone in a large room more plainly furnished than those we had i parsed through, hut whose walls from 1 floor to ceiling were lined with books. | "George.' she began, and \ fancied a j slight embarrassment, in her manner, "Mr Crane litis interested me so much in yot*. that I think it a pity yon should not have other advantages than those you possess. I sent for you to soy that you liiay have free access to our library, j if you think it will be of service to you." I could in tihut moment have fallen at her feet. The books for which I had hungered were to lie mine at Inst. In her white dress, with no color save the knot of violets in her breast, match ing in hue her eyes, si*' seemed to my I rtish fancy an angel opening the giFes ofilcnven that 1 might enter in. r The next year flew swiftly by. Some times the sun, peeping in at my windrvv, would find me bending over the book I hml so eagerly opened the night before, and I would throw* myself, dressed, on mv bed to snatch an hour's sleep, to prepare mo for the manual labor of the day. 1 grew pale nrul thin, but for that I eared not.hing, until one morning, when it came time to rise, I found my body powerless to obey my will, and sank back on my pillows into uncon sciousness. For weeks I lay tossing in delirium and fever. A memory haunted me when on re more 1 awakened to the realities* of life, of t: tender touch nnd a face en shrined on my heart. Could it be Miss Meredith had been to see me?" With garrulous eagerness my nurse tod' jjnv all. I low she laid come, not ~ once, but tunny times, ev en in the mittet ( of her wedding preparations, how* grand j t.he wedding was, how lovely looked the bride, &£-.! how, ns Mrs. Crane, she hod ' left for me her good-'by-, fjipce they were to eioss the seas and might not be back for many d year.' j; *. I ,* "Married and gone!"* Like a knell the words fell on my ear ns I silently turned my head away, end the bitter tears roiled one by one down j m.y cheek. Ah, how little was i in | her life who had helped till mine with such gladness! Yet she had not forgot ten me. The house was in the care of servants (her father having joined them), but the library was left open to me, vvilh the privilege of spending there as ninny hours as I would. Ten years passed on. I held Mr. Crane's old position now. I had won it through n discover}' I had made of great value to the owners, and which (like all else that 1 was, or might he) I owed to Miss Meredith. I cotild not think of her ns Mrs. Craw*, not even when I learned they were coining home again, with the little girl, born theiirst year of their marriage in Florence, but j without the father who had so vvor- 1 shiped her. w hose body lay in n foreign j grave; not even when, going up an or ; her arrival to offer my res; cclfiil wel comes, she en me forward, holding by the hand n little girl, whose sunny hair fell to her waist. My eyes glanced from the mother to the child. Was it in that moment I transferred my heart's homage? I know not. I only know that for the little creature I would willingly have laid down my life. "We are so proud of you, Goorg"," Mrs. Crane said, kindly. Hut something in my throat choked j my answer. I could only turn avvk- j vvnrdly away. The mill grew* and prospered in the j years which rushed so swiftly by. I would have gone into the world to seek wider scope for my ambition but foro something tugging at my heart which kept me chained. T was an lionoscd guest now at the old home. The poor, i friendless hoy no longer sought ml- i mittnnoe 1o the library, but with eon- j summntc tact was made to feel himself l a friend. Hut how had I repaid the kindness j offered? llow recompensed mv debt of i lls ' ' j "SHE CAME FORWARD AND WELCOMED ME KINDLY." gj ititudc? I had drifted idly down the ! current, to the music of birds, 'mid ihe fragrance of flowers, until sudden ly, like the roar of the avalanche at nr* very feet, though before unheard, this truth forced itself upon me; 1 loved Eleanor Crane. She was as yet but a j child on the boundary lire between girlhood and womanhood, the age when | first 1 had raised .my eyes to look upon ; her mother's face. Yet I had loved her j from that first moment she had stood, a child of eight, clinging to her moth- , er's hand, regarding the stranger with | wondering eyes. "Eleanor w ill marry ere many years j ! Mid leave me. Oh George, if 1 could keep ! her always!" , This wsis the confidence uttered one ! day as we sat alone, that opened my j eyes to '.he fatal truth. This woman, I to whom 1 owed ail, everything, should i i rob her of her one treasure? Some j day. perhaps some man great and noble might sue and be thought worthy, I but for me— 1 turned away with si groan I could not repress. "Are you ill?" asked Mrs. Crane. ' "You linve grown so white." "Yes," I answered. "It is nothing. I will soon recover. I 1 will go homcuml lie down." Lie down! Through tlie long night. 1 paced up and down my floor; hut with the morning the battle bad been fought, the victory gained, my resolu tion formed. I won! go away. I knew now what had kept my ambition dor mant for so'long. There was a question ing look in Mrs. Crane's eyes, a half pleading glance in Eleanor's when I went to make my hasty good-liys, but I dared not seek to interpret them, and so went out into the world. I was years old when I mastered ; the problem which till these years had mastered me. Thirtv-fivc when 1 knew my name was famous, and the discov ery I had marie had made my fortune. For three years 1 had devoted to it every moment of my lonely existence, and the end was gained at last. Hut what availed it? It could not fill the cmpt inc - of my life nor that life's needs. Some part of my great discov ery. they wrote me. they wanted ap plied to the mills. Would T sjmrc them a few days to give it my personal super- I vision? Tt was a summons grnt it tide and honor compelled me to obev. PO I told myself, with a sudden glnd rush of blood through every vein. I should i s-e her; should learn if, us yet, she hod gained the prize. She welcomed me with*A new, strange shyness, but my resolution had uutdo me culm to coldness. No, she was yet heart free, her mother told me. What | had 1 hoped that at her words agreed. I weight, rose from my heart? The im- I provemeuts had been made. The next day I was to return to my work, when it was proposed that we should go in i party through the mill to witness its working. Standing by Eleanor's side, we involuntarily paused before the one quiet worker who filled my place when years before her mother had so paused and made the turning-point in my life. All rushed over me with lightning speed, and when Eleanor bent closer to examine Ihe intricate machinery, turn ing carelessly to me to ask some ques tions a light something whirled in the r.ir, a faint scream burst from my dar ling's pale lips, the light drapery she wore fluttered in the awful wheel, which in another moment would have I caught and crushed her fragile form. | Xo time for thought, no hope of res ! cue if an instant's delay. llovv it-hap pened. no words could paint; but ere an other HO seconds had gone by. Eleanor stood pale and trembling, safe, while my right arm hung helpless by my side. "Oh. George, George, T have killed you!" I heard her say, in n lone which even in that moment thrilled me. but T strove to answer, the agony sickened me. all grew dark, and in my strength and manhood I fell forward at her } A choking sob somewhere near me j was the sound I heard, as, opening my j eyes, I found 1 had been borne hack to Mrs. Crane's house, and caught a glimpse of a girl's retiring figure. Mrs. Crane w as sitting by my bedside, while my right, arm was already bandaged. When I was stronger they told me the truth. It must be amputated. T made j no murmur. So would I have laid down |my life. Hut. now never must I s|>enk j my love. No gratitude must influere * Eleanor's, at pity's call. Hut, oh, how j barren stretched my life before me, as. | the ojh? ration over, I lay one morning ' alano in my room, knowing how strong ' had been tlie unaeknowledgid hope, now ciushcd forever. Kvc.ry ambition must die without my rigiit arm's help. Yet it was,best so. ■ "Are you awake?" a soft voice qucs i I lotted, and I raised my eyes, to find Kleanor had stolen to my bedside. "Awake, and would not call us? Kobel i lions boy! Will you never Irani to obey?" Then—oh, did niv eyes betray my hungry love whicheould not speak? one little white hand en mo creeping ' into mine. A great sob rose in my dar j ling's throat as, in a choking voice, she | whispered: "(leorge, why will you IK* J so sad? You will never go away from us again, never. I will he your right 1 hand, clear. this in low, sol emn tones, "I should rather you had !-.T me die than again to leavens. T< II me. i do you hate me, that even now you turn ! away from me? What have 1 done? ; What have I done?" j As yet my misery had wrung from j j me no tears; but now they blot, from my vision the sweet look of shame j i on mv darling's face. With a mighty effort 1 conquered myself, and the hope, it is torture 1o crush. "Hush, dear!" I said at Inst. "Do not i be so pitiful. I eould not stay, Klca nor. Yon must not ask it!" "Xot. with me?" she questioned. And looking into her azure eyes, I | read her secret even as she read mine. "It is not pity, darling? You are ! sure, sure? I eould not quite bear that, though I would be strong for any thing else. And if I stay. Kleanor, yon will be my—" I pause, but lower and lower sinks the bright, sunny head, until it rest*] upon my heart. In my helpless weakness I am not. strong enough to re fuse the precious gift, she yields as a free-will offering, and so—l win my wife.—N. Y. Ledger. drape Layer Cake. Two eupfuls of four, one cupful of sugar, one cupful of sweet cream, a piece of butter the size of a walnut, two eggs, one heaping teaspoon fill cream tartar. one even teaspoonful soda, dissolved In ere nin. Lake in ; jelly tins and spread with firm jelly. If too rich, add more flour. —Ladies'i World. ' —A curious result of pulling tlm leg Is that no matter how tall the victim was before, he's generally a little short j 1 after it.—Philadelphia Times, ' SUGGESTIONS FOR MOTHERS. A baby los*s in weight during the firs? two or three days after it is i.orir. Tin* gain should then begin and continue at the rate of about a quarter of n pound a week. The increase is sometimes 1 more rapid but this shows a satisfac tory progress. | Little boys of five and six may wear ; lacc collars and cuffs with fine cloth or | velvet suits it) the afternoon or evening. Hippie collars an I cuffs of embroidery with a full rufiic around the edges look 1 well also. They cost from $1.50 to $3.50, the price depending upon the fineness of the material and the elaborateness : of the embroidery, i Children should be encouraged to write letters. It gives them facility in ; expressing their ideas, and if the habit | is established in childhood it is less ! difficult in after life. When they leave ; the old home a regular correspondence is n source of the greatest comfort, to i both parents and children, and fre -1 CjUent letters help to keep the fraternal ! tie st rong and unbroken between brotli i ers and sisters. I Shirt waists of fine French ilatninci make- a convenient change for a girl of i 12 to wear to school. One might be navy blue, the other red, trimmed with three lows of narrow silk braid, white for the ; blue and black for the red. Tliey can j be made, with a yoke, full in front and at | llic back, buttoned behind, and worn | over or under the skirt- as preferred, with a leat her belt or one of the same | material as the waist. POPULAR SCIENCE. Tiie light of the starry sky has been j recently found by Capt. Abney to be : about one-forty-fourth that of the full I moon, which is placed at oue-six-hun- I dredth that of the sun at noon, j The bottom of the Pacific between : Hawaii and California is said to be so i level that n railroad could be laid for | 51)0 miles without a grade anywhere. This fact was discovered by the United States surveying vessel engaged in mak ing soundings with the view of laying a cable. "Music for the Deaf" was the sift) jeer yi a very interesting paper in the phys iological section by Prof. MeKc.mlrick, :>f Glasgow. lie found it. possible to give some appreciation of rhythmical vibrations to deaf people by putting thehr hands in saline solution throng!, which an electric current from the phonograph was passed. It gave a new sen-sat ion to the deaf person. TTow fur away can a spider sec a fly? After sevrnl years of ingenious e.\|;cri men fug, Mr. and Mrs. Peekham. the naturalists, have concluded that the greatest average distance at. which spid ers are aide to see objects dis tinctly Is about one foot. Ifyor.d t'• t distance, then, we may assume that a fly caught in a spider's web would be safe from detection by its enemy, if its movements and struggles to get awry (lid not betray it. The same observers think that spiders have the senses of color and of smell but feebly developed MOMENTS WITH THE AUTHORS. Stanley J. Wcymnn's surname is pro nounced Way-man. Constance Fen ill more Wool, on is buried in Home, Italy. Mrs. Hungerford is quoted assaying t'lvat her nom de plume originated among some friends when once at n-ri "at homo" she was laughingly intro duced as "The Duchess." She was born in Ireland. Anne Thackeray Ritchie is the daugh ter of William Makepeace Thackeray. P.he was horn in 1838 in Loudon. Her first story appeared when she was 22 years old. In 1877 she married her cousin, Richmond Thackeray Ritchie. Franco's Alexander Drlsnrte, a French singer and teacher of elocution, was born in 1811. lie was trained at the. Conservatory of Paris and bcca/mo a teacher of the dramatic art. Reside.: works on voice culture helv.is published several novels. He died at Paris in 1 .71. Olive Schrelner was born in Onpc Town in 1803. JTor mother was an Eng lish woman and her father a (iennian Lutheran missionary in South Africa. She wrote her famous novel, "The Story | of an African Farm," at the age of 17; iit was published three years later ; (18.83), when she went to London. The facts in her own hisbvy do not corre spond to hr story of Lyndall's life. HOME DECORATIONS. j Portieres should never be looped | back. I The best wearing colors in rugs are i the greens, blues and reds, j (Iray tints would not be at all suitable for a north room. A dining-room with a southern ex posure might have for its color scheme : either bronze green or pale blue, j A screen that w ill answer every pur ; pose in a (sickroom may be made from j aii ordinary wooden elothesliorse. It ; may *be stained, painted or enameled, niul covered with burlap, denim or cart ridge paper. Tulip wood is very much used by ; builders for the interior woodwork of ! bouses, particularly for butlers' pan j tries, etc. It Is white, smooth and quite free from knots. It may be stained. . shellacked, varnished or left in its nat -1 urnl color. GEMS OF THOUGHT. K very one has a fair turn tobeasgrent | as he pleases.—Jeremy Collier. Kindness is wisdom} there is none in life but-needs it and may learn.—Bailey. No metaphysician ever felt the de ficiency of language so much as the ! grateful.—Colton, 'J he. true democratic idea is, not that every rrm I he on n level with i ry otlu r num. but that every man shall be what Rod made him without let I or liir.d inner.-—Reeeher. Rnskin once paid: "Do not think of - other's faults: in every pcrpon who <oi es near you look for w hat- Is good loud strong; honor that, rejoice iu it, I (ird, as you :an, try to imitate it." 1 MENTAL ANXIETY KILLS. ! Row Constant Strain cf Caro Wears Away the Brain. t)( a Ht.ruvtlon Is drought About Through n Chemical Action Similar to the C'oiiHtulit Slrikiin; of it lluui uier on the Cells. Worry will kill! Modern science has brought to light jothing more curiously interesting than l this; and, more remarkable still, it | has determined and can give in full ' detail, because of recent discoveries, j just how worry does kill. | It is believed by many scientists— those who have followed most care fully the growth of the science of brain diseases—that semes of the deaths of each year, deaths set down to other causes, arc due to worry, and that alone. The theory is a simple one. Itissosim- I pie that anyone can readily understand I it. Relow it is given in detail. Rriefiy I put, it amounts to this: That worry | injures beyond repair certain of the cells of the brain; that the brain, be ing the nutritive center of the body, the other organs become gradually in jured, and some disease of these organs or a combination of them, arising, death finally ensues. Thus worry does kill. Insidiously, like many another disease, it creeps j upon the brain in the form of a single, j constant, never lost idea, and as the dropping of water over a period of I years will wear a groove in a stone, ' so does worry gradually, imperceptibly, but no less surely destroy the brain eells that lead all the rest and. are, so to speak, the "commanding ofiicers" of mental power, health and motion. Worry, to make the theory still stronger, is an irritation at certain points, that if continued has serious re sults, but produces little harm if it I comes only at intervals or irregularly. Occasional worrying the system, the brain itself, can cope with easily. But the iteration and the reiteration of one idea of a disquieting sort the cells of the brain are not proof against. It is precisely as if the skull were laid bare and the surface of the brain was struck heavily with a hammer every few seconds, with mechanical precision, for days and weeks, with never a sigivof let-up or the failure of i C' S W ljjll MOW MENTAL ANXIETY DESTROYS LIFE. 'i stroke. Such a succession of blows from a hammer would, of course, in jure the brain irretrievably almost im mediately, but that is the principle. For just in this way does the annoy ing idea, the maddening thought that will not be done away with, strike or fall upon certain nerve cells, never ceasing, and week by week din. - i ■ng the vitality of these dek ~t .rg. isms that arc so minute that tin \ ran only be seen umlei . .. . The injury worry dors is a curious one, and the w. \ if- influence worl is a nuu velously str; ng< one. Tin best method of explaining it i to use the exact Avoids of c e.i the greatest ncuorologists or nerve specialists in the country, Dr. George M. Jacoby, of New York, with whom a New York Recorder reporter had an extended talk the other night. "Any one-sided work or effort," said Dr. Jacoby, "is deleterious, is harmful. A person worries on a single subject the same as people frequently over work certain muscles. Rut in the for- ; mer ease the worry is constant. I "Now, the concentration of thought and mind not only tires out the nerve j cells that are being used in this eon- j st ant worry, but the other nerve cells which are not used at all, are, so to say, dormant and waste for lack ot" sutli eicnt exercise. This is the first prin ciple. In corroboration of this it is a well-known fact that a person who gets ill from worry continues to worry over that one thing, broods over it, lets it absorb liini and bis thoughts to the exclusion qf till his other inter ests, bringing into play, it is supposed, | continually the same set of nerve eells. ft is the same as if a man used one muscle or one set of muscles contin uously, only the effect on the nerve cells is far worse, "That is the reason," Dr. Jacoby went on, "why a brain will wear out far more quickly under worry thaw under work. Under work, there is an attenuation of exercise and repose. Then must be a judicial alternation between the two. All parts of the train must be exercised, and then al lowed to rest." '1 he doctor here explained that the eells that Would be affected by worry were those in that portion of the brain (but presides over the intellect, the cortex of the frontal lobes as the upper layer, this lying directly under the upper part of the forehead, where the hair begins in the average man, or pos- I *ibly a trifle above that. The exact <pot. practically the center of the *Mm lelleetual area" of the brain's surface, lis shown in the picture, indicated by I where I Re hammer Is about to fall. Tramps in Winter tjimrteni. j A gang of tramps are living very near Rmi ton Harbor, Mich. They have fixed | up a deserted mill with beds and fire and expect to spend the winter there* ( QjjpJs- [|irg [j-fe A scientific writer recently said: Evolution works by two factors; viz: Heredity, or that which tends to permanency, and Environment, or that which tends to variation. The first repro duces the past; the second adapts the present. This is true also as to Business Evolution. It is fortunate if a business man has the hereditary endowment of hones ty, industry and perseverance, but these are not of themselves suffi cient to ensure the highest success. He must be open to the influence of environment, in close sympathy with the spirit of progress, and quick to adopt modern ways and means. The Successful Men of former generations would not suc ceed today with the same means they long ago employed. Neither should the business man of today expect the largest success without intelligent and persevering use of modern methods. Among modern ways of obtaining and maintaining business, nothing is more reason able or adaptable than Advertising. For several years the Tribune has offered the best advantages to ad vertisers in Freeland. We have co operated with business men in mak ing publicity successful. We can give better co-operation today than ever before. I
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers