FREELAND TRIBOIE. ESTABLISHED IBSS. PUBLISHED EVERY MONDAY, WEDNESDAY AND FRIDAY, BY THE TRIBUNE PRINTING COMPANY, Limited OFFICE; MAIN STREET ABOVE CENTRE, LONG DISTANCE TELEPHONE. SUBSCRIPTION RATES FREELAND.— The TRIBUNE 1B delivered by •arrlern to subscribers In Freeland at the rut, •f 12H oonts per month, payable every tv,-o months, or $1.60 a year, payable in advance. The TRIBUNE may be ordered dircctform th, carriers or from the office Complaints of Irregular or tardy delivery servico will re ceive prompt attention. BY MAIL —The TUIBUNE is sent to out-of< town subscribers for $1.60 a year, payable in advance; pro rata terms for shorter periods. The date when the subscription expires is on the address label of each paper. Prompt re newals mast be mails at the expiration, other wise the subscription will ba discontinued. Entered at the Postoffloe at Frealand. Pa, as Second-Clubs Matter. Make all money orders, ohecke. ete. ,pnyable to (he Tribune J'rinling Company, Limited. Charles M. Schwab's presentation to the Austrian monarch is another Illustration of the Biblical promises that the diligent man shall stand he fore kings. King Edward has pleased the Welsh people immensely by directing "that there be added to the ■achievement of the Prince of Wales the badge of the Red Dragon." The Red Dragon of Cadwallader of Wales was quartered by Henry (Tudor) VII in a banner .with his other badges in recognition oi his direct descent from Owen Tu dor, the Welsh Prince. When the Stuarts ascended the throne the dragon was dropped from the coat of arms, and it has not since reappeared until now through its restoration to the achievement of arms of the heir apparent who takes his title from the little principality. The record of deaths in Alpine climb ing in Switzerland during last year amounts to 110, which is said to be more than double that of the previous year. Probably many of these fatali ties may be traced to lack of experi ence or fooliiardiness among tourists. Mountain climbing is an art, and to be successful in it demands a clear head, steady nerves and no small skill in keeping one's feet in dangerous places. Nothing is more exhilarating than mountain climbing when a mis step may mean swift and sudden death; but Switzerland ought to pass some law restricting this pastime to those who are able to prove that they have had experience as mountaineers, thinks the San Francisco Chronicle. Khaki has been llnally discarded by the British War Office for service dress, and in its place has been substi tuted a rainproof, drab-mixtured cloth for coats, which is supposed to be equally suited to summer and winter wear. Trousers are to he made of a similar cloth, which, however, instead of being a solid color, are to be of drab tartan, and the puttee and boots for privates and non-commissioned officers have been discarded in favor of leather leggins in the mounted service and canvas in the Infantry. It is notice able also that the slouch campaign hat, heretofore peculiar to our own ser vice, has been with a few modilica tions, generally adopted iu the English service, and that the cork helmet has suffered the same fate as the khaki. Too l(iky. During the dinner hour at a certain factory not long ago there was a some what heated argument iu progress, when one individual, who had hitherto kept silent, was appealed to for au opinion. i "Come, Bill," remarked his friend, "we knows you loves a argyment, an' can spout wi' the best. Wot's your opinion o' this Boer war business ?" "I ain't a-going to discuss it," said Bill, promptly. "I've threshed the mat ter oot afore." "An' what did ye arrive at?" he was asked. "Woy," was the cool reply, "me an' t'other chap didn't agree, nohow. We took different roads, so to speak. lie arrived at the 'orspital an' I arrived at the police station, an' I ain't a-goiu' to thresh that matter out again in a hurry 1" Neither was Bill pressed to do so.— Tit-Bits. The Cook wagon works at Prospect employing 75 men, has been purchases by the Hubers and will shortly be re moved to Marion. Roy Wilson was run down and ins tantly killed by a passenger train al East Liverpool. The farm of Israel Franks, south ol Wooster. was burned. Loss, $3,500; no insurance. The new memorial chapel of tht University at Wooster, was dedicatee Wednesday. Robbers looted the postoffice at Ox ford of $1,500 in stamps and SIOO it cash. J THE CONTRARINESS OF MARY. ! ÜBy Elizal e'.h McCracken. 0 "Have you decided yet, dear, wheth er you will go to California with us, or out to the farm with Aunt Rachel? We won't urge either course, but you must decide something before Satur day." Mary's mother stood in the doorway, buttoning her gloves. She looked anx iously at Mary, who sat on the lowest step, holding three open letters that she evidently was eager to read. "Well, mother dear, here is my last 'complete and unconditional' deci sion." "Really, Mary? You aren't going to have another before night?" "No, mother, I've wavered long enough." "You certainly have." "Don't be 'sarcastical' to your one and only Mary," said the one and only Mary, with an embrace that almost ruined her mother's chiffon ruchings. "You see, mother, if I go to Aunt Rachel's, I shall get so bored that Aunt Rachel will regret she ever asked me, and forget that she had ever labeled me a 'sunny presence.' Of course it would be near enough for Cousin Burney to come out and stir us up; but Burney is so absorbed in his summer hospital that he can talk of nothing else but slum children with the measles. Burney is a perfect bore —at times —since he got his M. D." "My dear —" "Now don't he shocked with your own Mary. I don't mean anything dreadful, but I'm not interested in measles and germs. Now if Igo with you I'll have a lovely time, and Aunt Rachel will he none the worse in the end. So I am going with you. Arc you glad?" she asked, with a wheed lesome smile. "Of course I want you myself, dear; but Aunt Rachel does need the 'sunny presence'. She is so lonely! If you should change your mind again, re member that Aunt Rachel will enjoy having as many of your friends visit you as tho house will hold," said her mother. "Ye-es, I know; hut I shall not change my mind now. In fact, I don't want to go to Aunt Rachel's, mother. I don't like farms, and —I would rather go with you." A little shadow came over her mother's face; but she merely said: "Then it is decided that you go with us." "Aren't you glad?" "I am always glad to have you with me. Your father and I would be quite desolate indeed without you; but, dear, I wish you would learn to be more interested —" "In uninteresting people? Perhaps* I shall some time, hut I am so tired of them now! Burney doesn't know any other kind; and really, mother, 1 couldn't stand a whole summer filled with a farm —and —and Burney's in evitable enthusiasm over dirty little children —aside from Aunt Rachel, who is always urging me to help Burney, No, it's dreadful! But I don't believe in Burney's giving up his sum mer to keeping children alive who have nothing to live for." "Wo won't discuss that again," her mother said, gravely. "I must go now. Good-by, dear." Mary returned to her seat on the steps. "Mother doesn't understand," she thought, wistfully. "I never want ed Burney to study medicine; and to give his time to saving lives that are better ended, when he might at least save valuable ones, it is too much. I simply won't stay near him all sum mer and listen to him! It will teach him a lesson," she concluded virtuous ly. She had never wholly forgiven her cousin because he had, against her advice, studied medicine with the in tention of devoting himself to the free wards of the city hospitals for chil dren. "Why don't you do something that will benefit humanity, Burney," she had repeatedly said, "instead of keep ing children alive who have no past no present and no future but misery?" "You don't understand," Burney as repeatedly had said, "that I am reliev ing their misery for the moment. You don't know what they may have to live for. They are little human chil dren and have a right to their lives; they want them, and I shall help them keep them." "You are very foolish and sentimen tal," Mary said; but possibly slio rc spected his foolishness and sentimen tality more than she admitted. "I think Burney might at least con sider his family and come to Califor nia, instead of setting up a summer Fresh Air Hospital." sho said plain tively to herself, as she unfolded her first letter. It was from Aunt Rachel; and it said, in part, "I hope that you will Bpend the summer with me, dearie. I am getting to bo an old woman, and won't *.ave many more summers. You may fill the house with 'pretty maids all in a row,' if you like. . . Do he kind to Burney. He is doing a noble work. Let him tell you about it." "As if lie didn't, day and night!" ejaculated Mary. " 'Do—be —kind to Burney.' I'm not unkind to him, and he is chasing a shadow." She began to read her second letter. It was from a distant friend, who said in it: "Father says your cousin, Dr. Burney Harri3ton, is doing such a fine piece of work this summer, with his Fresh Air Hospital for poor children. Do tell me about it and let me help if I can. I suppose you are absorbed in it. What kind of children are they— Irish or Italian? How much It will mean to them! And how unselfish of your cousin! I remember seeing him once at college. Is he as nice as he used to be?" Mary sat, with her chin in her hmds gazing into space. "'Absorbed in it!' I've never even seen it. I suppose I shall have to or, Grace will think I am a heartless wretch. Perhaps I am; but —Burney is so exasperating!" Her third letter had fallen to the floor. She savagely pulled it from its envelope. It was, as sha inew, from her cousin, Dr. Bumey Harris ton- who was so exasperating. "My dear Mistress Mary (quite con trary)." (Burney is getting more hor rid every day," commented Mistress Mary.) "Won't you come down and see my garden grow," before you go away? I know you will see how val uable all lives are if you will just see and know some that are different from yours. You judge too much in the light of your own theories." ("The audacity of the boy!" exclaimed the theorist.) "You don't realize that the poorest, smallest human life is a part of the plan of the world, and can't be disregarded or forgotten. "You'll come down on Thursday, won't you? Please do. When are you going to California?" Mary slowly put the letter in the en velope. Perhaps I haven't been very nice to Burney. He is trying to do good, but he is carried away by enthusiasm. I don't know much about slum people, but I do know how they live. They are just like animals; they have no higher natures. They don't have any ideals." Mary pulled out Burney's letter and read it for the second time. "I'll go Thursday. I might as well; and Grace wants to hear about it." She went upstairs to her room and wrote a note to Burney. In the post script she said, "I am not yet abso lutely certain that I shall go to Cali fornia. If I do it will be next week." Dr. Burney Harriston's Fresh Air Hospital for children was merely a large house, very near the sea and not far from the city, and it had room for twenty children. Interested and gen erous friends had provided Burney with funds for the work, and five or six nurses, who expected no summer employment had volunteered their services. "Why, Burney!" exclaimed Mary on Thursday morning, as they approach ed the hospital. "It looks like an or dinary house." It is an ordinary house—only wit!) more children in it than most houses have." "What kind of children are they— Irish?" asked Mary, mindful of her friend's questions. "Some of them. There are all kinds. They aren't very ill, most of them. They merely need a little special as sistance and good food and fresh air. Some of them would have died without it." "O Burney, wouldn't It have been better for them if they had?" askud ary. "Mary, how can you ask that?" satd the young doctor reproachfully. "It seems better to me, Burney. But don't look so shocked. Show me your hospital. It is very much like a hos pital inside, except that the rooms haven't so many beds; and there are so many windows that its like being outdoors." "That's the important part of it." said Burney, eager to explain. "You see the children need principally air and they get a lot this way; and it does them so much good!" Burney fell into Mary's habit of italicizing, and Mary smiled at liim more ap provingly. "Now, Mary, I have to go around and see the patients. Will you come or will you wander about as you like?" "I'll wander, thank you," said Mary. "" will be more interesting." She felt out of her element with the nurses; they evidently looked upon her as superfluous, and Mary was not accustomed to being viewed in any such light. She peeped into the dining-room, smiled at the queer kitchen, examined with interest the cots on the broad piazza, and finally went into one of the cool rooms, through the door of which she saw four little white bed 3. The little children in the beds were asleep, and Mary would have left the room had her attention not been at tracted by a man who sat beside the bed in the corner, with his heavy eyes fixed upon the small yellow head rest ing on the pillow. He was, to all ap pearances, a commonplace Irish lab orer, but something in his utter ab sorption in the child aroused Mary's curiosity. She stepped lightly across the room and looked at the small, white face, with its pathetic mouth and droll, little turned up nose. "What a cunning little girl!" she said to the man, resolving to scold Burney for failing to tell her the chil dren in the hospital were so dear. "Sure, miss, an' it's thot she is. She's me only wan, and she's the amidge of her mother. She's homely, but she's real cute." "Why, she's pretty!" said Mary, ar gumentatively. "An' do you think so, miss? Well an' I've seen wuss-lookin' wans." He carefully smothed the coverlet with his coarse red hand. "She isn't very ill, is she?" Mary asked. "Where is her mother?" she added suddenly remembering that the man had mentioned her. "Ah, miss, she's dead; an' me little gur-rl would ha' been dead, too, but for Docthor Harriston. An' do you know Docthor Harriston. miss?" "Oh, yes, he is my cousin. I kno* him very well," said Mary. "Sure it's a foine man ye ne knowin'; and it's proud ye must be to be havin' him for a cousin." Mary had never happened to take this view of Burney, and she made no reply. After awhile she said, "is your little girl very ill?" Her theories with re gard to the value of such a child's life began to tremble somewhat. "No, an' she's gettin' well now; but miss, it was sick she was. Ah, but Docthor Harriston worked, miss, for me gur-rl! It was near to dyin' she was, miss, when he took her in here, an' now she's gettin' well!" Mary's eyes were large with wonder and interest. "The idea of Burney's never telling me anything like this!" she thought fiercely. The man cared for this little girl exactly as other men cared for their little girls; and Burney—perhaps she hadn't encouraged Burney to tell her. "And if she hadn't got well," she said to the man, "would it —It would have been dreadfully hard, wouldn't—" "Hard? Ah, miss, I can see as yo don't know how a mon feels wid his gur-rl. She's all the loife of me is for, miss. If she'd died, it's nothin' I'd had left to me. It's the most them that's pore has, their children." He gently touched the child's yellow hair, not noticing Mary was silent. "It's next wake she's to lave here, miss, and it's hard it'll be for her be fore she's strong, wid me gone all day," he said musingly. Mary no longer hesitated. Let her come and spend a week with me after she leaves here. Please do! I'm go ing to stay all summer on my aunt's farm, and I'm going next week. It is only ten miles out to it, and you can easily come out when Aunt Rachel sends in for groceries; and I am Dr. Harriston's cousin," said Mary with a suspicious break in her voice. "Oh, it's glad I'd be, miss, and it's yourself I'll be askin' the saints 10 bless, together with Docthor Harris ton." He took Mistress Mary's patrician little hand in his hard red one, and pressed it with a fevor that made her wince. "Sure, ye have Dr. Harriston's own way wid ye." Mary's chin went up slightly; then she laughed softly at herself, and asked the little girl's name and ad dress. "I must say good-by now and find Dr. Harriston," she said. "He will arrange everything with you." She went swiftly to the hall, where her cousin stood talking earnestly to one of the nurses. "Burney, come here this moment!" she commanded. "What do you mean by not telling me the truth about the people in this hospital?" "Why, Mary—" "You never told me the children were sweet, and that their fathers and mothers were fond of them." "Why, I should think you would have known that," he began, but Maty interrupted. "You needn't begin to make ex cuses, Burney Harriston! I'm going home now. It doesn't matter whether you can go now or not; I can go alone —but you'll hear from me about this, Burney Harriston!" Poor Burney was kept in suspense for three days. Mary had suddenly gone to spend two days with Aunt Rachel, and Burney could get no hint of the revenge that she was contem plating. "Mary always has been contrary," her mother said, and Burney did not see the laughter in her eyes. Finally he did "hear" from Mary,— on twelve pages of her best monogram paper,—and these are the words ho read in the concluding paragraphs: "Aunt Rachel says the house will hold ten children at a time. You can send them for ten days each as soon as they are well. Grace is coming t:> stay all summer, and so are two of the other girls, so we can easily take care of them. The money father gave me in place of my tickets to and from California will be enough to pay for the things they need. First of all, though, Burney Harriston, you will just explain, if you can, why, in the hours you have talked about your slum children, you never happened to men tion that they were sweet, and that they made as much difference to theli fathers and mother's as any children. —Youth's Companion. Olilnt-.e Honesty. As for the honesty of these people, I appeal to every English merchant or banker, from Peltin to Hongkong, to answer if he ever heard of a dis honest Chinese merchant or banker. So far from that, not only has every English bank two Chinamen to re ceive and hand out money, but every bank in Japan has the same. The English will tell you, half in jest, that the Japanese is an Oriental Yankee, and does not trust his own people; and they will tell you, half in earnest, that the English bankers employ Chinese to handle their money be cause they never make mistakes. These people of China have never had anything like a bankrupt law. If a man cannot pay his debts, or some one does not secretly come forward and pay them, at the end of each year, he has "lost his face," and so he dies by his own hand. Yet, with all their piteous poverty, they have no such words as 'hard times," for everything must be settled up at tho end of the year. There can be no ex tension of time. Confucius forbade it. —Joaquin Miller, in the North Ameri can Review. Kffective Window Draperies. Colored madras, or one of the effec tive Japanese canvas weaves, are among the most favored thin, colorej window draperies of artistic decora tors, yet they, too, are only used un der protest, as a white or cream is so much preferable. Colored silk, velour or tapestry hangings used over thin white or cream window draperies are quite comme il faut, but used alone next a window are not first choice by any means. Oiling the Sewing Mncliine. When a sewing machine is heavy to work take out the cotton and thor oughly oil every part of the machine with parafflne. Work it briskly for a few minutes that the oil may pene trate thoroughly, and extract all dirt and grit, and then wipe every part of the machine carefully with a soft old duster. When the parafflne has been removed, oil the machine again with the proper lubricating oil. Parafflne should never be allowed to remain on the machine, for it heats the bearings and causes them to wear out. A Perfumed Hanger. For dresses the sachets are arranged In the form of pads for the waist and skirt hangers of steel wire. Silk of any desired shade may be used, well wadded with cotton in the layers of which is placed the scented powders, according to the Philadelphia Inquir er. The hangers hold the waist and skirt in good shape and the perfume permeates the gown, giving off an evanescent, impalpable fragrance which is fascinating and individual. The long, flat sachets for the bureau drawers are made of silk or linen, and three or four may be used in each drawer, being placed between layers of underwear. Smaller ones of fancy or plain silks, exquisitely embroid ered, may be fashioned for the glove and handkerchief case, though in many instances these boxes are wad ded with cotton and sachet powder and are lined with silk to match the dresser scarf. Tim Unsightly Storm Door. Our climate with its extremes of cold md varying degrees of humidity, is a hard one on front doors, writes an architect in Good House keeping. The veneered door stands swells less) than the solid, except the latter be of such a wood as white pine. If a door is to show a natural finish of hardwood, the veneered may bo made lighter than the solid, and there fore easier to swing and less likely to sag on its hinges. Elaborately pan eled doors are less likely to stand well than simply paneled, but very wide panels are more likely to warp or split than narrow ones. The more exposed the front door, the greater the weight that should be given to these consid erations in its design. We must have a good door before we can hope for a beautiful. And here let me enter a protest against that ugly, obtrusive, makeshift box, hardly fit for a hen house, if nothing meaner, commonly called the storm door, planted at so many front entrances and left there for live months out of the 12. If a proper vestibule is impossible and an exposed situation demands the protection, put your storm door for the winter where the screen door hangs during the summer, but don't in sult your neighbors and demean your self by putting up the ordinary storm door contrivance. Jtes%pjc(/sg?fe> t>D Cracker Gruel—Roll some crackers until very fine and measure two tablo sponfuls and add one saltspoonful of salt and one teaspoonful of sugar. Pour over one cupful of boiling water and simmer for a few miuute3. Then add one cupful of milk and serve with out straining. Cranberry Shortcake —Make a crust of one quart of flour, one-fourth cup of butter and two tablespoonfuls of baking powder; bake in cakes. Split open with a hot knife and butter as soon as they are taken from the oven. Fill with woll-sweetened cooked cran berries, and serve with cream and sugar or sauce. Potatoes and Chicken—Take three cupfuls of seasoned mashed potatoes, one tablespoonful of butter, one-half cupful of bread crumbs, one teaspoon ful of finely minced onion and the well-beaten yolks of two eggs. Mix thoroughly together, roll into small cakes, cover rather thickly with minced cooked chicken to cover with another layer of the potato mixture. Fry a light brown in boiling lard. Cauliflower, Parisian Style—Boil a good-sized cauliflower until tender, chop it coarsely and press it hard in a mould or bowl, so that it will keep its form when turned out; put the shape thus made upon a dish that will stand the heat and pour over it a to mato sauce. Make this by cooking to gether a tablespoonful of butter and flour in a saucepan and pouring upon them a pint of strained tomato juice, in which half an onion has been stewed; stir until smooth and thicken still more by the addition of three or foul tablespoonfuls of cracker dust, salt to taste, turn the sauce over the moulded cauliflower; set in the oven for about 10 minutes, and serve in the [ dish in which it is cooked. THE SONG OF THE AUTOMOBILE. Ohnck! Chuck ! I come In a swirl of steam, Or foul with the reek of oil, Conoeived in a mad inventor's dream, And born of his thought and toll; My heart Is aflame with a hidden fire, And X rush with a hurtling speed On, on to the goal of my heart s desire— Oh, I am the tireless steed! My voice is the cry of the hunter's horn, And I orush 'neath my throbbing weight The sage or the child with a reckless scorn, Like the wheels of a heedless fate; My heart is aflame, for my food is Are, And I burn with insatiate greed, As I rush to the goal of my heart's desire— Oh, I am the tireless steed ! —New York Herald. HUMOROUS. Nell—What a delightful conversa tionalist he is. Belle—What did he talk about? Nell—Me. Teller—Time is money. Asltln— Why don't you make money,, then? Teller —I haven't time. "In the matter of wedding pres ents," says the Cynical Bachelor, "it is better to give than to receive." "What's the matter with you late ly? Has she thrown you over?" "No; that's just what she refuses to do." Sillicus—Do you believe that clothes make the woman? Cynicus—More of tban the woman makes the clothes. Blobbs—Why do you suppose Hard uppe is raising whiskers? Slobbs— Maybe ho can't raise the price of a shave. Wigg—Borrowell did me out of 50 cents the other day. Wagg—l never before knew Borrowell to do things by halves. Wife —Oh, doctor, Benjamin seems to be wandering in his mind. Doctor (who knows Benjamin)— Don't trouble about that; ho can't go l'ar. Tommy—Pop, to prune a tree is to cut the limbs off, isn't it? Tommy's Pop—Yes, my son. Tommy—Then does that make prunes grow on it? Hook —Where do you suppose the greatest pleasure comes in to the wom an who entertains? Nye—ln not send ing invitations to some other women. Mrs. Gadabout —She appears to be pretty well-to-do. They say she's got quite a collection of old laces. Mrs. Nocker —From her family's old shoes? "A woman's favorite weapon is a tear," remarked the Wise Guy. "Yes, even the Eskimo women are addicted to blubber," murmured the Simple Mug. Tom—l don't think I'll ever get up •nough courage to ask you to marry me. You know "faint heart never won fair lady." Belle (blushing)—B-but I'm a brunette. Cholly—Your father bowed to me very pleasantly on the street today. Edith —Indeed? Mamma said he'd make some awful blunder if he went without his glasses. Lovelorn—l've written her two let ters, proposing to her, but I haven't got any encouragement yet. Funnicus —well, what can you expect? One has to write 13 letters before he gets "encouragement." When It's Fun lining Sick. One of the local girls' boarding schools includes among its day pupils a young miss of 17 years who repre sents the concentrated affection of her parents, a sister and a number of old er brothers. She bubbles over with merriment, is healthful to a degree that alarms the family physician and speeds through her lcssonsas thought fully and regularly as could be ex pected of a girl who takes music les sons and must give half an hour a day to each member of a large family. The other day she went to school in good spirits, but succumbed to a tooth ache at the end of her first study period. Instantly the whole school went to work to nurse her—possibly out of recognition of her father's in fluence and his interest in the school. ~ She was taken up stairs to the room ct one of the boarders, blankets were heaped on her until she almost smoth ered, the superintendent came in the room and lowered the blinds, the his tory teacher came and offered edibles, and every girl in her class poured in after each recitation period to inquire how she was. But no one gave her any remedy for her toothache. She lay there two or three hours, suffering bravely and counting the figures in me wall paper design, when suddenly the pain ceased. She accoruiugly arose put on her wraps and walked home. Yesterday she vouchsafed to tell her home folks something about it. "Why in the world didn't you tell us before?" they all asked. Then the sly little school girl's eyes began to twinkle and she replied demurely: "Well, you see, I knew if I did you would have my <( tooth fixed for good and all. And its a mighty lot of fun being sick in a boarding school, 'specially when you don't know your lessons."—Washing ton Star. The Quips of Little Ones. Grandad —What makes you look so unhappy, Willie? Willie—JCause nobody never calls me good unless I'm doing something I don't want to do. Some time ago little Walter had oc casion to differ with his aunt upon some trifling matter. "I tell you," said auntie, playfully, "I know a few tilings." "And I know as few things as any body I guess," said Master Walter, in dignantly. "Daddy," asked little Jack, "where does a snake begin when he wants to wag his tail?" Mamma (at the breakfast table) — You always ought to use your napkin, , Georgia A George--1 am usln' it, mamma; I'v.) got the dog tied to the leg of the table with it.—Motherhood.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers