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Bingen on the Rhine A soldier of the Legion, lay dying in Algiers, There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman’s tears. Hut a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away, And bent with pitying glances, to hear what he might say. The dying soldier faltered, as took that comrade's hand. And he said: "I never more shall see my own. my native land. Take a message and a token to some distant friends of mine. For I was born at Bingen, at Bingen on the Rhine.” "Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around To hear my mournful story, in the pleas ant vineyard ground. That we fought the battle bravely, and when the d*y was done. Full many a corpse lay ghastly pale, be neath the setting sun, And mid the dead and dying, were some grown old in wars. The death wound on their gallant breasts, the last of many scars, But some were young, and suddenly be held life’s morn decline. And one had come from Bingen, fair Bingen on the Rhine.” "Tell my mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age, For i was aye a truant bird, that thought his home a cage; For my father was a soldier, and even as a child. My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild, And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard. I let them take whate’er they would, but kept my father's sword. And with boyish love, I hung it where the bright light used to shine, On the cottage wall at Bingen, calm Bingen on the Rhine. Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with weeping head. When t,he troops are marching home again with gay and gallant tread, But to look upon them proudly with calm and steadfast eye, For her brother was a soldier, too, and not afraid to die. And if a comrade seeks her love. I ask her in my name, To listen to him kindly without regret or shame. And to hang the old sword in Its place fmy father's sword and mine) For the honor of old Bingen, dear Bengen on the Rhine.” <ls voice grew faint and hoarser, his grasp was childish weak, Hs eyes put on a dying look, lie sighed —and ceased to s^eak. His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life was fled, A soldier of the Legion, tn a foreign land was dead. And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down, On the red sands of the battle field with bloody corpses strewn. Tea, calmly, on t!*at dreadful scene, her pale light seemed to shine, As it shone on distant Bingen, fair Bin gen on the Rhine. —Mrs. Norton. Two Points of View. BY MARY MARSHALL PARKS. Copyright 1901: by Daily Story Pub. Cos) A mocking bird, drunk with sun dime and the scent of apple blos3om was flying from tree to tree and carol ing ecstatically—an animated spring song gone mad. From the door of the little brown house at the head of the orchard ;merged a wee, rosy maiden, herself ts dainty and sweet as an apple blos som. Her hair was primly brushed back and tightly piaited, and her ging ham dress was a miracle of crisp starchiness. She ran down the steps, across the yard, and peered through the lilac hedge. A lanky, slovenly boy of four *een was stretched upon the grams, deep in a book. '‘Rob,” she said, in a stage whis per, “come here.” ‘‘What do you want?” drawled the boy, without moving. “Come here! I’ve something to tell you.” He arose slow'ly, shaking back his mkeinpt hair, shuffling his unlaced ip /. n ' Sob," she said, in a stage whisper. *hoes into place, and slouched across the yard. "Mr. Ames proposed to Aunt Lucy last night, and I heard him.” "Oh. go ’way!” "He truly did.” What’d he say?” You see, I was In the hammock in *he grape arbor, and they didn't know I was there.” "Listening!” said the boy, scorn fully. "I was not! I was listening to the mocking bird. It was spinning among the apple blossoms and singing like * Cl *a*y thing, just as it is doing now. think it sang all night, for I heard ’t whenever I ‘woke. What do you -"oppose it does that for?” “I dunno. Bee stung it mebbe. Get on with your rat killing.” Well, I didn’t notice a word they ®cid until I heard a chair scrape “cross the porch, and he cleared his throat tremendously. Then I peeped through the leaves. He was sitting very close to her, and he said: Miss Phillips, I —I —you must have B * en ~ I that Is, you must know—l I- ’ And then he kissed her.’* Her eyes were exclamation points! Well, said the boy, breathlessly. “That’s all.” “What!!” “S-sh! Don’t talk so loud. That’s all I can tell you. Then they were engaged.” “Jsmentaly! Why, how’d she know what he meant?” “Why, she knew!” Must be a mind reader then.” Pshaw! She knew from the way he acted. She’s known a long time,” said the miniature woman, with a wise look. Well, of all the fools. And he took a prize for oratory last year, too. He ain t much like a feller I was readin' about yesterday. He went down on his knees, so- ” And the youngster flopped down on the grass with the grace of a young kangaroo, and rolled his eyes like a dying cow. “And he said, ‘Qu-ween of my liear-rt’ and a lot more stuff that I can’t remember. It was bully,” j le added, falling back into a lounging attitude. “Lend me the book.” “Pa got it,” he said, indignantly. ‘I kep’ it behind a row of books in the book case and he got a-hunting’ somep’n and found it and chucked it into the Are. I don’t care. I can write a piece just as good, an’ get It by heart. Catch me a-makin’ such a fool of myself as that college dude." “When you have written it may I read it?” "Yes,” he replied, condescendingly, “I’ll let you see it. It’ll be a cracker jack, you bet.” “Maybe I could help you write it,” she suggested, humbly. “Oh, 1 sha’n’t need any help,” he “I d-don’t —you—think—I—er—that is.” • • • said, complacently. “I know just how it ought to go.” ‘‘Grown people are so commonplace,” she sighed. “Do you suppose we’ll ever be like that?” “I-aftd, no!” said he, as he slouched back, to his hook. “If I thought I’d ever be such a fool as that feller, I’d trade myself off for a dog and then shoot the dog.” • • * A mocking bird, drunk with moon light and dew, was careering from tree to tree, singing madly, and send ing showers of pink petals down on a couple w r ho were wandering through the orchard. Her hair was a golden (angle, and the soft folds of her gown fell with studied carelessness from her ivory throat. His manner was the manner of a young man deeply, devotedly in love with the dearest girl in the world. From his high, shining collar to his polished shoes, all was Immaculate, irreproachable. Not a hair on his glossy head was out of place. They were silent. He, because his tongue refused to speak the words that were clamoring for utterance. She, because she was sorry for him. It was not maiden shyness that lurked behind her demure face and down cast lids, but pure perplexity. No master of diplomacy ever faced a more delicate issue than that which con fronted her. “It’s exactly eight years since Uncle John asked Aunt Lucy to marry him,” she said at length. “It was in apple blossom time, and the mocking bird was singing in the moonlight. The odor and the song always bring It back to me.” “By Jove! Eight years He was struck speechless by the contem plation of so much bliss. “Do you remember how we laughed over the proposal? By the way, you never showed me the one that you talked of writing.” “I never wrote It,” he said, with a grin that was almost a grimace. Then with a tremendous effort, “I—d-don’t you think I —er, that is, w-we could d-dispense with anything of that sort, Lucy?” The situation for the next several moments did not admit of connected conversation, but as they strolled to wards the house a litt'e later, she said, with an arch look, “We’ve grown up quite as commonplace as the rest of the world, after all, haven’t we?” “Commonplace!” he ejaculated, fer vently. “Well, if this is common place, I ” Another pause, a lengthy one. “Do you remember wondering why the mocking bird rioted among the apple blossoms and sang like a mad thing?” he asked, solemnly, after a little. “I know now. If I could do the same It wouldn’t begin to express my feelings.” When, after several pauses, they finally reached the lilac hedge, the young man startled the nestling rob ins with a sudden guffaw of laughter. With his mind’s eye he saw a lanky boy on his knees in the grass beyond the hedge. '•A half-grown cub of a boy is sev eral kinds of an idiot.” he said. THE WEEKLY NEWS, CARTERSVILLE, GA. CHANCE OLD NAMES. Moy Foreigner* Begin Fife Here Fndei New Aliases. The clerk of the city court mad a public the names of seventy persons who changed their names in legal form in the year 1900, says the New York Evening Post. Most of the original names are of palpably foreign extrac tion. Asa rule all reasonable requests for change of name are granted. They are then filed away, the petition giv ing the avowed reasons for change and the judgment passed upon it by the court. A glance at the records and the various name changes gives rise to considerable speculation as to the real cause of dissatisfaction. Why, om wonders, should a name of such aristo cratic twang as Waldemar Ruthyar bo cast aside in prefence to the hackneyed title of Henry Smith? On the next page of the records is the reverse of the question of high-sounding names, where one finds the somewhat plebeian cognomen of Gumbinsky changed to Von Tilzer. What evidence of nation ality remains in the name of Jay, un less it Is discovered to be a corruption of Jacobowsky? There scarcely could be any greater effacement of a family name than to substitute the noncom mittal Blank for Polanger. Sebastian Bibo is lost entirely in Frank Walter and Ruzicka becomes the American ized Rose. Many changes result from family quarrels, when another family name is taken in place of the legiti mate one. Often the wills of eccentric relatives demand a change in the nama of the beneficiary, without which no legacy can be obtained. Occasionally debt or imprisonment has brought the name of some person into such disre pute that anew name is sought for which anew reputation may be built. In the case of foreigners who have be come American citizens the stiff con sonants of Russia, Bohemia and Po land prove too much for our Anglicized tongues and a change is really neces sary. Under this reason come such changes, no doubt, as Chmelicek to Luhan, Neugroschel to Rpchelle, Yu zukjian to Yuzuk, aail Rochmovitz to Kockinore. By far tne larger part of the list of changed names belonging to those ending in ski or sky. The ter minal here is generally dropped, leav ing the parent stem. The dropping of this ending results often in names that bear not the slightest trace of the na tionality of the changers. Kempinski becomes plain Kempin; Jumpolsky is reduced to the Dickenslike name of Jam pole. AS TO UTILIZING BAD EGGS. Available for Tannin* So Long as Tlu-y Are Not Bluck, Waste eggs—that is, heated or spot ted eggs—unless they are absolutely black, are utilized for the preparation of a tanning solution known as salted egg yolk. This is used largely by tau ners of America and Europe in prepar ing fine kid skins. The eggs are first broken in a churn, in which they arc rapidly revolved for about twenty min utes. The albumen rises to the top in the form of foam and is skimmed off, leaving the yolks. Next 30 per cent by weight of salt and 1 per cent of powdered boracic acid is added, ana the churning continued, the skimming being again repeated. This compound is then stored in barrels. Crystallized are made from the broken eggs and surplus stock, says the Egg Re porter. These are largely used ou shipboard, but increasingly of late by bakers, as well. Good eggs are broken and churned, thoroughly mixing whites and yolks. The liquid is then dropped on slowly revolving stone cyl inders, through which arms of the same material extend. Over these cylinders is passed a strong current of warm, dry air, evaporating the mois ture from the eggs. After being thus dried the egg is scraped off by means of a stone scraper. The resulting pow der is known as crystallized eggs. When hermetically sealed they may be kept indefinitely. For use they are merely moistened with water and beaten up to the natural consistency of their original state. The Emperor’* Portrait. When Mr. Charles Denby was minis ter to China a publisher wrote to him asking him to procure a photograph of the emperor of China. His reply, printed in a New York exchange, shows that the pictures published as likenesses of the emperor cannot De trusted. Mr. Denby wrote as follows: It would afford me great pleasure to send you a photograph of the emperor if one could be procured. After making inquiries I find that his photograph or portrait of any kind, has never been taken. The Son of Heaven is not vis ible to any eye except when foreign ministers are received in audience. On such occasions all cameras or sketch books are absolutely forbidden. When the emperor goes out In his sedan chair all the cross streets are barricaded with mats, and every door and window by which he passes is closed. Should any one be caught spying, death fol lows immediately. Overlooked the Gold. An old resident In the eastern Trans vaal has told his friends in Kensing ton how he passed through the enemy’s country with SI,OOO in gold, which the Boers never succeeding in detecting. After spending some months on his mine, cut off from the world, he deter mined to say good-bye to the Boers. So he beat SI,OOO worth of gold into clasps and clamps and nailed them onto his box. He daubed the whole with thick paint and set out on his journey. Although his box was fre quently searched the Boer officials never suspected the metal clasp3, and the adventurer at length landed with his treasure on safe ground. ANTS OF WICKED WAYS SOME TOO LAZY TO MOVE AND MANY ARE SLAVEHOLDERS. Qn<>r Cf They Make of Mnro* Their Herd* of Hemp.lic Animal* Orchid* Cultivated by Am.-1 heir Asrieultiiral • k el, ■me—Have a Knowledge of X-ll its. Science is after all your real icono clast. Not content with toppling the busy little bee off her pinnacle of virtues, it goes on to attack the ant, for so long held a pattern and moral of thrift, says the New York Sun. Ants, say the wise men, have about every bad trait of humanity—they are lazy, greedy, tyrannous, given to con quests and coveting the territory of their neighbors. Along with the ter ritory they oftener than not take the neighbors themselves, holdiug them ever after in slavery. Just how this comes to pass Is some thing of a puzzle. There are 700 odd species of ants duly classified. Several of these species, say observers, must possess hypnotic power, since they at tack, subjugate and reduce to slavery other species which are much bigger, stronger and more populous in the nests. After they have got their slaves many other queer things happen. The slaves in some nests are classified, so many told off as soldiers to defend the gates, so many for domestic duties, foraging, the care of eggs and so on. The soldier ants are further subdivid ed. The larger number by constant exercise develop fierce nipping jaws and poison stings. The others in some curious fashiou increase the size of their heads, especially if they happen to he considerably bigger than their masters. The big heads enable them to block a passageway against an in vading foe. Exceptionally elastic slaves are transformed into living honey bottles. They are found with abdomens dis tended, and full of the honey dew the working slaves bring in. Honey dew, be it said, is a secretion of the aphides, or lice, which the ant swarms keep in herds within the nest. Ants are passionately fond of honey —indeed, of all sweet juices. They are, further, fond of mushroom and grow them within their nests. They also cultivate certain species of orchids, and bring about distinct modifications of the plant form, stinging the young tender stems so fiercely that they will become almost globular and distil a thin, semi-saccharine juice, which the ants no doubt regard as rare wine. One particular species of orchid, indeed is so infested with a virulent stinging ant that the collection of it is very dangerous. The minute the plant is touched all the ants swarming over it .such to the point of attack. That is, however, less curious than the fact that the orchid will not flourish with 6ut the ants, but withers away after a feeble, straggling year’s growth. Some few among slave-holding ants remain capable. The most part be come utterly demoralized. They can not build nests, care for their young, or iven feed themselves. Not a few when the slaves have chosen and built anew nest ride to it upon a slave’s back. One species is noteworthy for having only slaves for workers, yet never containing within the nest any slave eggs or young. As with bees, the queen ant is the mother of the swarm. Unlike bees, however, there are often several queens in the same swarm. The workers are rudimentary females. In slave mak ing the victors kill all the perfect ants and take home the others. Perfect males and females have wings, which they drop as soon as the marriage fight is over. Worker ants have no wings. Worker ants, or rather slaves, and the aphiacows, by no means exhaust the list of ant depend ents. They keep various smaller in sects as men keep domestic animals. Just why is not yet clear. The fact remains, though, that in the crannies of some nests herds of a thousand al most invisible small creatures have been found. A year is the average span of ant life, but some species live five years, and exceptional individuals as much as seven. All species show the liveli est concern for their eggs, lugging them up into sunshine upon fair days and scuttling back with them the min ute the sky is overcast. Upon a fickle April day the eggs may be moved a half dozen times. They are nearly as regardful of the apis eggs. Indeed, throughout, they protect their milch kine, shelter them well, and take pains in rearing their young. Hospitality is not unknown among ants. A stranger guest receives dis tinguished consideration. But w'oe to the stranger ant who comes uninvited. He is hustled and pummeled, and final ly hurt mortally unless he saves him self by showing superior fighting pow er or is possessed of a clean pair of heels. After he is down a mere squirm ing trunk, bereft of legs, unable to bite, the slaves lay hold on him, and drag him outside the nest to die. Possibly it is an ant superstition that bad luck follows a stranger’s death in the house. Formic acid, the distinctive ant product, is one of the greatest vegeta ble stimulantß known. The earth of a nest becomes so saturated with it that some people explain the famous Hindoo mango trick by supposing that the mango seed which comes to flower and fruit before your eyes is planted In a pot of ant heap earth. However that may be, it is estab lished beyound cavil that ants of some speies cultivate, and presumably fer tilize their favorite food stuffs. Cases in point are the trimmer ants and the harvesting ants, both of which abound in Texas. The trimmers prune a sort of weed which is to their taste so that it shall grow strong and sturdy. The harvesting ants go even beyond that They clear disks several yards across round about their nests of all manner of vegetation, then plant the disks with ant. rice, which they watch and tend until it ripens, letting no vagrant or alien twig show its head. Ants are entitled to regard themselves as early discoverers of the X-ray and its mysterious powers. Sir John Lub bock experimented exhaustively as to the effect of colored light upon ants in captivity. He laid strips of colored glass over the nests, first putting the ant eggs all under one special color. In the end he determined that the ants did not much mind red light, that green was. in a measure, innocuous, but that invariably the eggs were hus tled from under the violet rays. In no case was more than a single egg left there at the end of two hours, and of tener than not the removal was accom plished within less than an hour. HE KEEPS UP THE STOCK. While Ilin with a Bob Show, lie lloe* the Training: at Home, “Speaking of queer ways of making a living,” said a popular character ac tor who was in this city last week, “I am reminded of a quaint little experi ence of my own a few days before our company started out on the road. I had set out to see a friend who runs a vaudeville agency the other side of Madison square,” he continued, “and not finding him on the premises I sat down in his private office to wait. Pres ently a broad-shouldered, swarthy man sauntered in, leading three fine-looking dogs by a chain, and also took a chair in the back office. Naturally we fell into conversation, and he told me that he was a professional dog trainer for vaudeville entertainments. ‘My wife and brother-in-law does the exhibit ing,’ he said, mentioning a ‘team’ that I remembered having seen on variety bills, ‘and I does the educating. When they are on the road I always have at least two new dogs in hand, so if any thing happens to the old ones we wouldn’t run short of stocks.’ That struck me as being a very curious vo cation and I asked the trainer a good many questions. In reply he gave me a lot of interesting details of the busi ness—how the dogs of the same species will differ widely in intelligence; how tricks are impressed on their memory by a series of cues, and how the best of them will sometimes forget their entire repertoire for an evening at a time and cover the showman with shame. I remarked incidentally that I would imagine the animals would be most apt to obey the man who trained them, and asked whether it wouldn't be an advantage for him to take them on the road himself. ‘My wife under stands ’em all right enough,’ he said, ‘and I want to stay at home and keep up the stock. I was in the profession once,’ he added gloomily, ‘and I got enough of it. This racing up and down over the country don’t suit me.’ “Just then my friend came in and as the trainer turned to greet him I got a good look at his face for the first time. He had been sitting with his back to the light and I only knew in a general way that he was very swarthy, but I now saw, to my surprise, that his cheeks and forehead and even his nose were heavily pitted with black spots, like tnose made by a powder explosion. ‘Who is that man?’ I asked, after he had secured some mail and departed. ‘Why, that’s said my friend, ‘the greatest trick dog trainer in the busi ness. He picked it up himself a few years ago, and now he’s getting rich.’ ‘He seems to have met with some acci dent,’ said i. ‘What is the matter with his face?’ ‘Oh, that’s tattooing!’ re plied my friend. ‘He used to be a tat tooed man in a museum and was fool enough to have the stuff put all over his face. Since he’s set up as a trainer he has tried every way in the world to get it out, but has only succeeded in spreading the marks.’ This struck me as being by long odds the most aston ishing combination of occupations I ever heard of. Tattooed man and pro prietor of trick dogs—two excellent ways of living without work. I’m go ing to cultivate that gentleman when I return,” said the actor thoughtfully. “He must be a remarkable character.” —New Orleans Times-Democrat. It Was a Good Old Pr®*ol. A draper’s assistant was showing a lady some parasols. The assistant had a good command of language, and knew how to expatiate on the good qualities and show the best points of goods. As he picked up a parasol from the lot on the counter and opened it he struck an attitude of admiration, and, holding it up to the best light that could be had. said: “Now, there, isn’t It lovely? Look at that silk. Particularly observe the quality, the finish, the general effect. Feel it. Pass your hand over it. No nonsense about that parasol, is there?” he said, as he handed It over to the lady. “Ain’t it a beauty?” “Yes,” said the lady; "that’s my old one—l just laid it down here.”—Fun. j I® Defying Competition. The country papers have been claiming that Syracuse has the largest apple tree In the state. The Syracuse tree is of the Vandeveer pippin variety and is in a healthy growing condition. It measures 108 inches in diameter. According to the best Information ob tainable the tree is about 60 years old. An apple tree in Bourbon, Ind., was planted by William Carter In 1848 and is now owned by John Baxter. It measures 11 feet seven inches in cir cumference at the ground and eight feet six inches six feet from the ground. The top is 64 feet In diame ter, 45 feet high and 85 bushels of Vandeveer pippins were gathered from it In one season.—lndianapolis Journal. I A WASTED WARNING. *T hear,” said the poet, “There’s anew counterfeit. Ami the people are cautioned 1 To look out for it. | “But I'm not a hit worried. And I'm not looking out. As if 1 bad nothing To do but to scout. “It’s the five-doliar size That is crooked, they say. And that kind of money Aiu't coming my way.” —Detroit Free Press. HUMOROUS. Blobbs—l’ve been sold again. Slobbs —I thought you looked rather cheap. Nell —Jack has proposed to me. Here is the ring. Belle —Yes; 1 had a finger in that. Wigg—He’s an experienced book keeper. isn’t he? Wagg—Lend him a few and see. Sillicus—Everything is machine made nowadays. Cynicus—Yes; even office-holders. lady, can you oblige me with a bite? Kind lady—No; Put perhaps my dog can. “Any bones broken?” asked the cy clist, who had run down the old man. “Confound it., yes!” responded the lat ter; “my collar button is broken.” Ned—l don’t see why you jilted Miss Gotrox for Miss Rluegore. They tell me Miss Bluegore’s fortune is very small. Jack—Yes; it’s small, but se lect. Wife—lt was very nice of you to bring me this candy. Husband —Yes; it reminds me of you. Wife —How gallant! So sweet, eh? Hushand — No; so expensive. “This parrot,” said the dealer, “can speak two languages.” “Really?” re marked the prospective purchaser; “what are they?” “Why-ei-English and his-er-native tongue.” “My darling," he gurgled, “I cannot understand what you see in me to make you love me so.” “Well, Jack,” she replied, “that's what pa and ma and all the rest of the folks say.” Mrs. Mulligan—Poor Pat has had a leg ampitated. 'Twas an explosion. Mrs. O’Rourke—Dear, dear! An’ is he resigned to his fate? Mrs. Mulligan— His fate, is it? Sure, he only has one. “I should think a date pie would he popular,” remarked the patron. “What? A pie made of dates?” replied the pro prietor of the quick lunch place. “Oh! no. A pie that would have the date of Its manufacture printed on it.” “Why don’t you go to work?” asked the good lady, handing out the victuals. “It’s dis way, lady.” explained the tramp. “W’en I’m hungry, I’m too weak to work an’ wen I’m full dejr ain’t no necessityv fer me to work.” Nicaraguan Cuntoini*. Among the many odd customs of Nicaragua, those relating to the dead are the weirdest to the stranger. Some of these have been handed down by tradition from the Indians, others were brought over by the Con querors—and the two are so blended that it is difficult to tell which pre dominates. As soon as the medico pronounces one’s illness fatal, word is sent to the village padre, who pre pares to administer the last sacra* ments of the church to the dying per son. Placing the consecrated wafer in the custodia —a vessel of solid gold or silver, often resplendent with rare jewels—a procession is formed and marches through the street. A small boy, ringing a bell, rushes ahead to announce the approach of the sacred presence, and after him follows a band of music, often a single violin, playing a dirge. If It be possible to secure any soldiers, they surround the padre, who, dressed in brilliant vest ments, is generally carried in a chair, over which four men hold a purple canopy. As the little cortege moves down the silent streets, every one bares bis head and kneels, making the sign of the cross until the last soldier has passed. Woe to the sacrilegious stranger who fails to show this mark of respect, and many have been the In stances where foreigners were pnllecl from their horses and even stoned for neglecting to follow this time honored custom.—W. Nephew King, in Harper’s Weekly. A Woman and til® Telephone. What a wonderful thing the tele phone is, and what a comfort to women it may be made, is illustrated in an in cident of a few days ago, brought about by the kind act of a thoughtful and in dulgent husband, who is a well-known business man of this city. He decided to give his wife a birthday surprise, so he arranged that at a certain mo ment her mother, who lives in New York, and whom she had not seen for months, should ring up her daughter in this city. When the telephone bell sounded in the business man’s house at the time agreed upon he answe-ed the ring and then, turning from the telephone, he said to his wife: “Dearie, here’s your mother on the wire in New York.” The wife bustled to the telephone and heard the familiar voice of her mother In the utterance of one w'ord, “Daughter.” The answer of the business man’s wife was: “Oh, moth er” Next came the sound of a sob from the mother over the wire, which was answered with a sob from this end. These women then proceeded to cry to each other in the most accepted feminine style until the telephone tolls amounted to $5, which announce ment from “central” caused an abrupt breaking off of communication. The business man’s wife declared, however, that it was the loveliest experience she ever had.-—Philadelphia Record. .