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SUPPOSE. „ vml r mind a garden were, cuPP oSC u inr the spring. T "Sh ng you planted there Son be blossoming. that evil thoughts were weeds gurr ost grew apace, lliat ** .Iream of selfish deeds A’’ 1 l ‘V ' i i.'ssom in disgrace; ghouia 1 , , r impulse to be kind, M'D 1 " some other's woes, l l ’, 1 , , ,|.| and blossom in ;.our mind and fragrant rose, a( , that every idle whim, gui l P ( ’- ..,, vv thought ot scorn, Ai'. 1 ~Y its fruitage in a grim Sl vii r'ison-laden thorn; , V ,. r v purpose of uplift M from sordid ways v , s,,:n in a snow-white drift Ifc lib ]y with no danger fraught ' • \b ■ things like this — b a, ! . here’s a seed of thought An. 1 1 ;- 1.V.-r l .V.-r forth in bliss. ‘,'niin Kendrick Bangs, in Youth’s ~~ComP anion - liat the Snow Told i By ALICE E. ALLEN. \ Many jolly things happened that •inter UP on the farm. But best of al! David and Philip agreed, was the big blizzat and. The storm began at night. The SIIOW came down in sheets. Behind it ‘, anie the wind, driving it against the windows and heaping it in great drifts around the house. Next morning there were no paths, no roads, and no fences. David and Philip tried one window after another, but all they could see was snow. David thought he could see the wind, there was so much of it everywhere. And, if he could, why of course Philip could too. When darkness came, everything crew quiet. Through the window near his bed a big bright star winked and blinked straight at David. And another star, almost as big and bright, hur ried out and winked and blinked straight at Philip. Sure enough, next morning the storm was over. And what a changed" world David and Philip found outside! A wonderful white world, crisp and crackling with cold, and dazzling with sparkles,— snow-sparkles, sky-sparkles, and air-sparldes. Old John harnessed Sampson to the big iron kettle and started out to break roads. He walked behind in the track of the kettle, and in the kettle, looking like a couple of mis chievous brownies, rode David and Philip. After that old! John and David and Philip made paths to the bam and the chicken-house. Old John pointed out some clear, sharp tracks in the snow around the chicken-house. “Been a iox ’round,” he said. “See how the snow went and told on him?” "Here’s where he leaped the fence, isn’t itr cried David in great ex citement. He pointed to a long line of footprints leading, fleet as the wind, over the hill toward the woods. "My—ee, wasn’t he in a hurry though?” “Guess he heard old Towser bark down to Brown's farm,” said John. "I did.” "So did I,” said David. 'N so did I,” said Philip. “0 John, hero are some more foot prints,'' called David a minute later. 'They look 'most like some of the stitches mother makes in her em broidery.” "Ask the field mouse about ’em/’ said old John. “She’s been out maltin’ calls on her neighbors, and the snow’s told on her. If you could get nearer the woods, you’d see where the gray lAj’bif s been hoppin’ along looking’ op some breakfast, —the marks of hi.s hind feet ahead of the fore feet every single hop. Maybe the squirrel’s been °ut too. If he has, the snow’ll tell about it.” i lots of stories the snow tells, ( ‘ ot ‘ sn 1 11- John?” said David. His eyes v |-' dxed wistfully on the woods, far u ‘- dark, and quiet against the bright sky. ought to see a pa’tridge track ? nee ’” s& ld old John. “That’s a track for you!” "' ( re could I, John?’ asked Da- Vl( l. eagerly. Old .John waved his hand in the cuoction of the woods “They keep to u ' w °ods mostly,” he said. - j ’ween mouthfuls of currant jam * ! 'l bread and butter that night Da ;i( asked, “Aunt Eunice, how big is a Pa fridge track?” Ufcss the boy,” cried Eunice peer ’ ' ;i him over her glasses, “How shonid l know?” ,r s pretty big, I guess,” said Philip. ( !) ' >r heart alive!” said Aunt Lois, suppose it is. There aren’t many Partridges about here now.” , M ! J Ulsn ’t strange that Aunt Lois Aunt Eunice didn’t know much ' 1 , n the footprints of pa’tridges and , ’ v ' lio ds and all such things. But old ' 1 ■ knew. Deep in his heart David tip, 1 o,d l o * lll knew about all the p i f5 ‘ s real Jy worth knowing. <.../ ' ' he next morning David sat up a l w ,! gat in hed. He shook Philip ‘Th •> 1 ken ke shook him quiet, tuid ' ® a * d ’ * 1 don ’t w& nt to dis ' v one , hut I’m going out to quii U f Pa ’ tridge track - lt di(ln,t secm jfj “7 n ° L to give you the chance Jour along if you wanted to. Do Q,,j, Z l ' Was re ady as soon as David. The J, st °J e ou t the house, fire], 1 vvas J list coming up red as the T iC n° nd tke woods. As far as it st ‘, Went > they went in it. When into 7] )1)Cd ’ tkey stepped out bravely aioij,, i snow * David had brought heavl , and John’s snow shovel; it was Usii.p j md awk ward. They took turns ’ SOffi eliow, they got along until there was only one field more between Ihem and the woods. David was some distance ahead of Philip; he was using the shovel. About half-way across the field, he stopped short. There, just in front of him, on top of the snow, crossing the path he was making, was a long line of tracks. Da vid rubbed his snow-blinded eyes and stared at them fascinated. They were such strange tracks. All in one fright ened little minute David saw how long they were, how broad, and how, in places, they had cut sharply into the snow. No bird —not even a pa’tridge—could leave such gigantic footprints behind him. Could an ani mal? And how could such a big animal walk on top of the snow? Suddenly the whole world, which had been so kind and beautiful, grew strange and lonesome. The woods, which had seemed so far away, looked very near and dark and gloomy. Sup pose the animal should decide to come back the way he had gene and should find David standing there, and should see Philip just.behind? Philip was a little boy. Mother said David must always take care of him. David turned about. He ran straight into Philip, knocking him down. He pulled him up. “Hurry, hurry, hurry!” he said in a queer choked little voice. “There’s been a dreadful big animal along this way. I guess he was looking for his break fast. You mustn’t be afraid, Philip, but he might be coming back soon now.” Shivering with cold jgfid fright, plunging headlong into 1 the snow, tumbling over each other and the big shovel, David and Philip rushed blind ly back the way they had come. At last, shovel and all, they staggered in to old John, who had just come out to feed the chickens. “Sakes alive!” cried old John. He looked as if he had been run into by two big snow-balls. “What’s this? Why bless my soul, it’s little David and lit tle Philip.” “O John,” panted David. That was all he had breath for. And all Philip could gasp was “Oh!” David caught old John’s hand in both his. “There’s been a dreadful big animal across the lot over there neift to the woods,” he said. “It had terrible eyes”— “And such long fierce teeth,” said Philip. “Sakes alive!” cried old John. “Where did you see it?” “I didn’t see it,“ said David. “But it’s footprints were in the snow.” “It had just been along,” said Philip. “I’ll get my gun,” said old John. “Could it have been a panther, Da vid?” “Do panthers have feet a good deal larger than yours, John?” said David. “This animal’s feet were twice as long as yours, and twice as broad.” Old John looked in a puzzled way at his feet in their pontiacs. “They were sort of rounded tracks, John,” went on David anxiously. He took a stick and traced in the snow. “They had a kind of little handle at one end —so and there were queer lines running across them —so.” A look of sudden understanding dawned on old John’s face. He threw back his head and laughed till he had to stop to wipe the tears. “Want to know what those tracks were?” he said. “Those were snowshoe tracks; there’s a pair hanging up in the shed. After breakfast, you can try ’em. And the animal,” —old John chuckled —“the animal that wore ’em, David, was old Farmer Brown!” —Christian Register. RIVER TRAFFIC IN MEXICO. How Products of the • Interior Are Brought to the Coast. It would be a difficult matter to es timate the number of people who are, directly dependent upon the mercan tile supplies of this port, but it is cer tain that the number can be written with six figures. More than 5000 of these boats are in commission on the Tamesi and Panuco rivers, they vary in length from 20 to 60 feet and carry the wild and cultivated products of the interior to Tampico, where they dis charge their cargoes and reload with merchandise and other supplies. With two great waterways, the Tam esi and the Panuco, the native naviga tors find their business profitable, de spite the fact that it requires about thirty days to make a round trip to dis tant points cn the river. Every con ceivable form of tropical plant and fruit may be found in their cargoes, as well as native made earthenware and other manufactured articles. A long pole is the only compass required by the captain of one of these barques, but he wields the bamboo which pilots him safely over the shoal filled waters of a tropical waterway. Many of the plantations along the rivers keep sev eral of these boats in commission all the time, carrying their smaller pro ducts to the market and bringing back supplies for the hacienda. In the early hours of the morning green bananas are piled up along the wharves like cordwood, baskets of co coanuts, pineapples, wild and cultivated lemons and oranges and innumerable other products of the tropics can be seen in enormous quantities. And it is surprising how quickly the supply of the day is exhausted. A string of freight cars on the track opposite the market are waiting for a portion of most every cargo,and by noon there is little left but the small fruits and vege tables in moderate quantities.—Tam pico correspondence Mexican Herald. Our Trains. The American Globe Trotter —Talk about traveling. Why, in America trains go so fast that it takes two people to talk about ’em —one to say “Here she comes!” and the other to say, “There she goes! ’’—Sketch. POSSIBILITIES OF ' COUNTRY NEWSPAPERS ILLUSTRATED Us Close Relation to the People ot tin Village f.nd the Countryside Makes It a Medium For Merchants. Every town of any pretensions' whatever has at least one country paper, published at home and dealing with home affairs. Is that paper worthy of patronage? Should you #lace advertisements in it? Will it benefit you to secure its favor through advertisements on its pages? These are questions which many a country merchant has-asked him self when approached by the solici tor, usually the editor and proprie tor, with an advertising proposition. '“Let us consider. When spread out beside the great city daily which comes on the train from the metro polis it looks small and of no ac count. It is dwarfed and insignifi cant. The pages are smaller and there are not so many of them; the wording of the reading may not he equal to that of the city paper; the typographical work may be deficient: its errors will seem more glaring when you compare the two. If Theodore Roosevelt wrote you a letter, saying that he had taken his stand against wrong because be believed it was the proper thing to do, and if at the same time, while you were reading the letter, your little son should come in and tell you that he had broken a window pane and was sorry for it, to which would you pay the most instant attention, tlie letter or the boy? We imagine that you would look on your son and heir with pride that he had the cour age and manhood to tell you what he had done. The letter from the President would interest and please you, too, perhaps, but' little Johnny is your boy and he is a little fel low, and he is right beside you, doing what you would have him do. Johnny is not possessed of the stature and years of the President; he has not the physical energy or the teeth of our chief executive. He may never be as well known or great. The fact that he broke a window is reprehensible, and the mere fact that he came and told you was but proper and creditable —nothing wonderful in it at all. But Johnny is bone of your bone and flesh of your fiesli. In your heart, Johnny is of more inter est to you than even the President of this nation. So with the country paper and the city publication. The people may take both. They peruse columns on columns of reading, skipping from page to page with interest. They like to know what is going on in the great world. But the little paper holds for them a nearer interest. In it are chronicled the little homely details of their neighbors an’# them selves. It may not be so powerful, so large, so important to the world; it may not be so wise, so skilled in argumentation. But it is a chronicle of things at home and it holds a c),on' relation to the people of the village and countryside than the big city paper can ever obtain. This being the case, it behooves the country merchant to recognize the possibilities of the country paper. One man may differ from his grocer’s opinion of the President, and still come to the store for groceries. But if one man smites the merchant’s son carelessly, he and the merchant are not as a general thing on ami cable terms. The boy and his welfare are of vital interest to the parents. As to the President, there is always room for argument in a calm and dispassionate way. Your opinion of the city paper may not be the same as that of your best customer, but you do not find fault with one an other about that; but the country paper is right with you, and when one espouses its cause it becomes more of a personal matter. It is a part of the town family. Now, what is the attitude of the little paper on your business? How does it stand on the matter of the parcels post, the catalogue house trade and similar matters of impor tance to von? Have you ever talked it over with the man at the head? Perhaps he does not understand the matter clearly. Possibly his back bone is weak. Once in a while he may get an advertisement from out of town while you do not patronize his columns. We believe that advertising is vi tal and that the merchant - should use the means and instruments within his reach for his own benefit. The advertisement .in your home paper serves a- double purpose—it gives you the support of the paper in a busi ness way and it brings your business to the attention of the people who may be customers of yours. Too many merchants consider only the first of these two purposes, and the result is that their advertise ments are poorly displayed and poor ly written, too. “Oh, put in ‘John Smith, Fancy Groceries,’ and let it go at that,” some merchants are apt to say. You have bought space not for advertis ing purposes, but to “support the paper” and keep it loyal to you. The first thing for such a merchant to do is to consider the worth of ad vertising. It is unquestioned by those who know. If real advertising is of value, why not put some of it in that barren space you ha vs pur chased,,? The publisher will be glad to have it pay you, for it helps him to have his advertisers realize some thing from their spaces. The next thirig is to prepare your advertisements properly. This is not so difficult as it may seem. A little effort and time and thought and you may produce a very creditable line of advertising. The main thing is to remember that you wish to talk to possible customers. A plain, homely •onversation in advertising space at tracts attention. Your store has iome particular things in it which he public would like to have—tell hem. You have some special bar gains which should move—tell them, v’ou have added some new feature to he store, ask them to come in and ;ee it. Get them coming your way. The country paper is worthy of patronage. We have no interest in any country paper, but we have a vital interest in the ■ prosperity of the merchant, and we believe that we are justified in urging him to ad vertise in his home publication. Most merchants do, you may say, and that is true in a way. Look through the country papers we do week after week, and we get quite a bunch of them, and you will realize how few merchants, comparatively speaking, advertise with any vim or earnest ness. They pay for two things .and only take one of them. The pub lisher is willing that you should have both—why not take them, then?— Oregon Tradesman. The Family Quarrel. By JOHN H. McNEELY. The telephone bejl jingled joyously. Mr. and Mrs. Newlove were seated at the pretty mahogany table, reading. *“ Nellie, dear, will you answer the ’phone?” warbled the benedict. “Now, Charlie, you know I never like to answer,” she replied. “But it’s some member of your family. They generally begin tele phoning about this time every even ing.” “It is not so.” “Probably your mother.” “No, it isn’t, Charlie.” “Or your father.” “No, not father.” “Maybe your brother, Willie.” “The truth about the matter is that some member of voui family is call ing.” “How absurd. They never call.” “I suppose they want to tell you how to crush my spirits.” “Rather, it is your mother with some instructions on liow to work me for my money.” “It is untrue.” “Well, the ’phone : mssage isn’t for me. ” “It isn’t for me, either.” “But your family are always call ing up here. ” ‘'They never do.” “Are you going to answei.” “What’s the use when it’s your mother or father trying to tell us how to manage our affairs.” “I will say the same thing about your family.” “Nellie, I* want you to distinctly understand that you cannot abuse my mother and father to my face.” “And, Charley, 1 want you to un derstand that you cannot abuse my mother and father to my face.” “And Charley, I want you to under stand that you cannot talk about my family to my face, eituer.” “Well, I’ll end this by answering the ’phone. Of course, I will have to call you, but what’s the difference as long as we have peace. “Hello! . . . “No. This is not B IS4. You have the wrong number."—From Judge. The Case of a Drunkard. The decision of the Appellate Court upholding a verdict of S3OOO against a saloonkeeper proved to have sold liquor to a drunkard is not a “blow” at the saloon interests, but, rightly interpreted, a timely and most valu able bit of advice to this class of the community. It was proved in the lower courts that the owner of a barroom had sold liquor to a man ad dicted to intemperance, and the lat ter’s sister sued for damages on the ground that she had been deprived of her brother’s support. The jury in the trial court awarded her S3OOO, and this verdict has been upheld by the Court of Appeals. The law is clear, lt expressly pro hibits the sale of liquor to drunkards, and the saloon man wilo violates this prohibition should be punished in the way he will feel most —by reducing his bank account. Nothing can be more horrible than deliberately pan dering to the cravings of a man whose will has been weakened by protracted indulgence in alcohol. Such an individual is no longer a free agent, he requires to be watched over and guarded from the results of his own weakness, even as the in sane. The law seeks to proect him,, and those who thwart the law’s ef forts deserve the penalty.—Chicago Evening Post. Ages of Cabinet Ministers. A calculating Canadian has been reckoning up the ages of Cabinet ministers in liis own country and in ours. He arrives at the conclusion that Mr. Asquith’s government is con siderably the more juvenile of the two. The average age of the British Cabinet is fifty-two, whereas .that of the Canadian is sixty-one. There are ten British ministers under fifty and only three Canadian. No Canadian minister is under forty, whereas we have two in the thirties —Air. Church ill and Air. Runc-iman. The youngest Canadian minister —Air. Lemieux —is forty-two. He recently went on . a mission to the government of the Alikado to negotiate an agreement in reference to future Japanese immi gration into Western Canada. —Dun- dee Advertiser Brave Scientist Makes Friends With Condors. Venturesome Artist Risks Life in Land of Clouds and Finds Nest High Up in Rugged Crags cf Mountain—By Frequent Visits Calms Fear of Birds—ls at Last Allowed to Handle Their Fledgling and Tako Close Photographs. *>. „ There are still a few California condors that have escaped the rapa city of hunters for plumage and eggs, writes the £an Francisco correspon dent of the New York World. These birds are an extremely rare species, entirely different both in size and p'**nage from the vulture of the Andes. The condor's total disap pearance seems now to be only a question of years. In fact, it is be lieved that this species now numbers only thirty individuals. Before long the condor of California must join such extinct races as the epyornis of Madagascar and the dronte of Isle Maurice. Its eggs, eagerly sought after by collectors, are worth from $250 to S3OO apiece, a price that sufficiently explains why egg-hunters are willing to brave the dangers of almost inaccessible heights in order to reach their nests. William L. Finley is the young and active president of the Oregon Audu bon Society, a league formed for the protection of wild animals still extant on American soil, whose future is threatened by hunters and trappers. Convinced that a full study of these rare birds would prove an in valuable document in view of their expected disappearance, Mr. Finley determined to make a personal in vestigation as to their habits and has put his project into execution. Accompanied by a guide and equipped with a complete photogra phic outfit he left Marietta ranch, in Southern California, on March 10. His objective point was the San Bernadino Mountains. Next morn ing he reached the entrance of the canyon of Carnello, where he had been informed by Indians that two condors had been sighted. Condor is Discovered. After a two hours’ climb up ragged cliffs lie found himself on top of the mountain. The search commenced amid a mass of denuded rocks and a labyrinth of ravines and precipices. The two men were on the point of giving up the quest when the idea occurred to Mr. Finley of firing three pistol shots. A few minutes after the triple ex plosion had awakened the mountain echoes the Mexican uttered a cry of joy. Some thousand yards in front a bird of huge size, risen from the canyon, poised itself on th,e top of a rock. Then, resuming its heavy flight, it described a number of cir cles and disappeared ‘further away ill the depths of the abyss. But not before Mr. Finley had identified it, through his glasses, as a condor. According to the experienced Mex ican The nest must be somewhere in the immediate neighborhood. Re gaining confidence the two men struggled on to reach the ravine in which the bird had disappeared. Clinging to the edges of the rocks along the almost perpendicular moun tain side they at last reached it. Again Mr. Finley fired three shots. Ready to Pounce on Them. Suddenly, a few yards above them, they heard a great fluttering of wings. Looking up they saw the bird, with bristling plumage, perched in front of the opening of a crevice, as if making ready to pounce upon them. As they had come only to observe they took care not to further anger the condor, which, on its side, did not stir. The first part of their program had been realized by this happy encoun ter. As the bird did not fly at sight of the hunters the crevice undoubt edly sheltered its nest. Within that nest there must be an egg, perhaps ready to hatch. Mr. Finley was able to convince himself of this fact by scaling the rock on which the condor was still keeping guard. On a bed of dry leaves and feathers—that is all a condor's nest consists of—he was able to discern a large bluish egg. Buoyed with hope he retraced his steps down the perilous descent with the intention of returning again. On his subsequent trip, which was de layed three weeks by bad weather, clinging to the roots of shrubs and the corners of rocks—having first taken the precaution to attach his companion to him by a long rope— Mr. Finley reached the slab which formed a sort of terrace before the crevice. This time he surprised the condor on the nest. He noticed a bare, pink head and its ferocious looking eyes. And he could hardly repress a cry of joy when the mother, rising to her feet, uncovered a little ball of white down, still sticky with albumen amid the debris of egg shells. But the light was too feeble in this cavity to permit him to -use his cam era successfully. How could he per suade the newly born to come and pose in the open? Not yet was %t strong enough to lift itself on its rosy talons. And the mother, her eyes Rfiame, seemed preparing to defend her progeny with beak and claws. Handles the Fledgling. Mr. Finley did not abandon his task. Advancing inch by inch he crawled toward the end of the crev ice. He arrived so close to the moth er that he could have touched her by extending his hand. Emboldened, he delicately took hold of the little one, and slowly pushed himself backward toward the terrace. He deposited the prize in the sunlight, and after tak ing five snapshots, brought it back to the enraged mother. Little was required to turn this first victory into disastrous defeat. The male condor came rushing to the spot in full flight. Would he be as complacent as the mother? For one moment Mr. Finley expected that the bird would pounce upon him. He hovered a few feet above the natur alist's head, uttering raucous cries. But an energetic waving of the pho tographic tripod disconcerted him. He took refuge some distance away on the highest branch of a tree, while Mr. Finley and his companion beat a hasty retreat. Oil his return from this expedition Mr. Finley telegraphed to one of his friends, H. Bohlman, a professional photographer, who hastened across a thousand miles to join him. On April 11 the two friends set out together. They had reached the approaches to the nest when a large stone, loosened by Mr. Finley's foot, fell with a crash to the bottom of the canyon. The noise drew the mother bird out of the crevice and she perched upon the branches of a dead tree. As she showed no disposition to return, after a quarter of an hour of waiting the friends climbed along the cliff to the foot of the tree and put their apparatus in order. At that moment the male came flying at full speed and perched near his com panion. Then followed a curious scene. Tho female, crawling along the branch, put her head under the neck of the male with a caressing gesture. He responded coldly to this conjugal ad vance, turning away his bald head with an air of boredom and drawing back as she approached until he had reached the end of the branch. He was forced to unfold his wings in or der to leap above her and regain his foothold on the other side of the branch. This little incident put an end to his ill humor. The two con dors perched side by side for a long! and tender exchange of caresses be-" fore winging their way together into the shadows. A visit to the yo as now in order. Mr. Finley had grown considerably. As big as its egg seventeen days before, it now , just fitted the naturalist’s hat! Its down, which had previously been of a dazzling white, had now taken a grayish tinge. The pink of its head and neck had turned a vivid yellow. The sight of Mr. Finley wrung from it strange cries, followed by stifled whistling. It even sought to defend itself with its beak against the hands which bore it to the outer ledge. While the photographer was fixing his apparatus Mr. Finley stood on guard, his eyes toward the sky. Thrice had the instrument clicked when a barely perceptible speck in the heavens grew bigger with aston ishing rapidity. The male condor was rushing to the rescue, followed speedily by his consort. Again the pair contented themselves with a hos tile demonstration, and the men withdrew in safety with their pre* cious films. Baby Bird Still Antagonistic. 1 Anew expedition on April 25 sur prised the mother bird asleep beside her progeny. This unexpected delay, enabled them to set their apparatus in order. Then they awoke the con dor with a whistle and she sailed slowly away to her accustomed perch on the dead tree. The next visit was paid on May 15. The nestling, now fifty-four days old, had grown as big as a chicken. Its body was covered with a thick gray down, whence feathers were sprouting. Anger swelled its neck, the breath, which it exhaled in fur ious whistles, filled the crevice with stifling odors, and its beak would have torn Mr. Finley’s hands had they not been protected by gloves. On June 11 naturalist and photog rapher were again in the crevice. Though the young condor, now eigh ty-two days old, defended itself more vigorously than ever, its parents had become accustomed to their presence. They no longer protested as the strange visitors approached the nest. They even allowed themselves to be photographed from a distance of five feet. At the last visit, July 4, the moth er carried familiarity so far as to take Mr. Bohlman’s sleeve gently in her beak. She had become as mild as a pet cat. The two friends had been amply, rewarded for their pains. After four months of watching over the nestling and its parents they had been enabled to study from life the habits of a spe cies doomed to speedy extinction and to bear away with them the photo graphs. Competition For Engaged Couples. Nearly a hundred engaged couples took part in a novel shooting compe tition which has just concluded at Argovie. The competition was lim ited to lovers who were engaged and willing to be married as soon as pos sible. The distances were 300, 500 and 1000 meters, and the scores of each pair were added together. The prizes were a complete mar riage trousseau for the woman and £4O for the man. The winners were a young man named Glauser and his fiancee, Louise Mathys, aged nineteen. They will be married on Sunday.— London Express.