Beilefonte, Pa., De
PHILOPENA.
c. 4, 1891.
Phyllis, maid of gay demeanor,
Fair, with fasicination fraught,
Bade me eat a philopena
And, consenting, I was caught.
But the debt I quickly paid her
Ere the sad time came to part,
And her keen perception made her
See the torfeit was my heart
William Barclay Dunham,
THE PERVASIVE TOOTHPICK.
(From the St. Louis Republic.)
The tablecloth fresh and neat,
The china bright, the viands sweet,
And slim and straight beside the meat,
Stood proudly up—the toothpick.
Stood stiffly, asa toothpick ought,
Which once was shunned but now is sought,
For time has turned and fordward brought
To prominence the toothpick.
The dinner done they passed it round,
And none said “Nay” and no one frowned,
But all, with dignity profound
Applied the nimble toothpick.
Oh, other things of meaner sphere,
Comb ! tweezers ! brush ! The time draws near,
Perhace when each shall be the peer
Of the promoted toothpick.
TWO THANKSGIVINGS.
BESSIE CHANDLER.
BY
Form Harper's Bazar.
The congregation of St. Luke's
Church was on its way to the post-of-
fice. There was no delivery at Inwood
and the post-office on Sundays and
holidays was open only from twelve to
one, consequently a united postal pil-
grimage always took place after church
which had come to be recognized as a
regular appendix to the service.
This Thanksgiving morning, how-
ever, one of the pilgrims, after going a
few blocks, broke from the ranks and
turned bown a side street: She was a
tall girl, with a slender figure and a
bright attractive face, She carried a
large basket, and before she had gone
far she was joined, or rather overtaken,
by a young man of twenty-five or six.
“Why, Jack,” she exclaimed, when
she saw him, “when did you come
home ?”
“Last night,” he answered, taking
her basket from her. ‘Are you carry-
ing a Thanksgiving dinaoer to some-
body ?!
“No; this is just some of the fruit
from the church—grapes and apples
and things. I'm taking them to that
ridiculous Hodge family. There are
nine children, and they're always do-
ing something dreadinl. Last summer
the youngest one partook freely of fly
poison, and now one of the older boys
has monkeyed with a buzz-saw till he’s
only got half his natural number of
fingers. I presume a few of them are
down with a contagious disease; they
generally are. Do you care to go any
farther?”
“Yes,” hLe said, laughing; “you
can’t frighten me off like that. Any
place that’s safe enough for you will
do for me. Did you trim the church
this year ?”
“I’m responsible for that pyramid of
pumpkins in the corner, and that lamb-
requin of white grapes across the front
of the pulpit. I am not guilty of the
wheat stack nor ‘that symphony in
beets. Do you know,” she added,
“T think these Thanksgiving decora-
tions are being carried a little too far.
TI expect to meet a roast pig and some
apple-sauce in the chancel yet.”
“Yes,” he answered; “they don’t
seem to know where to draw the line.”
“It's a good deal of a farce, the
whole thing,” she went on. “I looked
round the church this morning, and I
wondered who was really thankful.
There was old Mrs. Robinson, poorer
than Job's turkey picked. and with a
dranken husband besides: There was
Mrs. Andrews, with no husband at all
—he ran away from her sixteen years
ago. Then those forlorn Roger girls
—one of them takes in sewing, and the
other is a type-writer. You know they
hadn't a penny when their father died.
I don’t know whether there is more
trouble here in Inwood, or whether it's
because it's a little place and we know
people so well, but I think there are
more pitiful stories, more broken lives,
here than I ever heard of. Thanks-
giving indeed! I wonder we don’t
have a four o'clock tea, and all take
strychnine together!”
She spoke half-laughingly, and yet
with an undertone of bitterness. Jack
Littlefield looked at her earnestly.
“I don’t believe they feel it as keen-
ly as you think they do,” he said. “I
think happiness is pretty evenly divid-
ed atter all.”
“It isn’t,” she answered, quickly—
‘it isn’t at all. Now, Jack, you know
me. You've lived next door ever since
1 ean remember, and I suppose I'm an
average happy girl; and I tell you I
get 80 tired of the whole thing some-
times, I wish IT were dead.” Her voice
trembled slightly.
“What makes 1t so hard, Edith ?”
he asked, slowly.
“Oh, everything!” ehe answered,
recklessly. “I hate this place. I
think it’s narrowing and demoralizing
to live in so little a town. It stifles
you: There aren’t two people in In-
wood with an idea in their heads.
Mother and father are dear, of course,
and Auat Nan is juet as sweet as she
can be: but I’m tired of the same old
things day after day. [Itisn’t life here
it's just stagnation. I want to go
somewhere where I can breathe, And
then, Jack, I just hate to be poor. This
miserable kind of poverty, where
you're forever saving ten cents and
pinching in little things—darning your
curtains and turning your carpets and
dyeing your dresses—scrimping along,
and keeping up appearances. Seems
to me real genuine want in a garret
would be easier. That wonld he a
dowuright blow ; this is a series of lit-
tle exasperating nips. Oh, [ know I
am ungrateful and rebellious and all
that, but I would like to live my own
life in my own way once!”
There was a moments silence be-
tween them ; then she said hastily :
“Here we are at the Hodges.” Give
me the basket, and I'll run it with it.
You wait outside.”
Jack Littlefield put his hands in his
pockets, and whistled softly to himself
while he waited. He had known Edith
Armstrong for a great many years.
They grew up together side by side.
He loved her very dearly—how dearly
he hardly himself knew, for there had
been little time for introspection in his
young, busy life. Left fatherless in
his boyhood, with his mother and a
younger brother partially dependent,
he had early put his shoulder to the
wheel to help the family coach along.
He was doing well, and had a good
position in a neighboring citv from
whence he came home for occasional
holidays.
It had always seemed to him that
Edith formed part of his home life, he
knew her so we!l and liked her so very
much. Vaguely, in the dim future, he
had thought that they would marry.
It seemed such a natural thing, more
like a development than an event. But
it had been far in che future, for the
care of his mother still rested upon
him, and he was but beginning to win
his place in the world. It seemed
further than ever this Thanksgiving
morning, affer he had listened to
Edith’s despairing talk.
When she came out of the house
with her empty basket they walked
along in silence. They were both
thinking of her last words.
“did it ever occur to you, Edith,” he
said, finally, “that you might marry ?”
“Yes,” she answered, frankly; “but
who is there in Inwood ?”
They both laughed a little.
“You're not complimentary,’
said. “Ain't I here?”
“Yes, you are,” she answered, “and
you're the greatest comfort I've got.
But we're too good friends to spoil it
with any sentiment. I want you to
marry a vich girl in the city, and she
might have a rich brother that you
could send over to me. Wouldn’t it
be fun?”
They had come to the bridge across
a little river or creek. They stopped
together, and looked over the railing
into the water below. It was frozen a
little by the edges of the banks, but
flowing turbidly along in the middle.
“You wouldn’t marry a poor man,
would you?” Jack, gazing steadily at
the water.
“No,” she answered, looking fixedly
at it in her turn. “I really couldn't,
Jack. If I'd never been poor, I might;
but I kaow the ghastliness of it too
well.”
“Not even if you loved him ?”
“I shouldn't love him ; IT wouldn't.” N
“And you’d marty the rich one |
whether you cared for him or not?’
“What a disagreeable question! Of
course I shouldn’t marry him if I did'nt
care for him.”
“I see. You've got to have a sort of
thin sugar coating of affection to your
pill. I'm afraid it would wear off,
Edie, and let the bitterness out.”
“What nonsense it all is!” she said,
walking on. “I shall probably never
marry at all. I shall be an old maid,
lice Miss Pilsbury, and have a little
store on Franklin Street, where I will
sell doughnuts and homemade bread.
Will you buy some?”
“I'llequander my substance there,”
he said, fervidly; “that is, it you'll
make your doughnuts with a hole in
the centre. I like that kind best.”
“Yes,” she promised, “I will. They
shall be all hole, if you prefer it.” And
80, talking lightly of other things, they
walked on home.
Jack Littlefield was not quite cer-
tain whether he had offered himself or
not, but he felt very surethat he had
been rejected.
It was perhaps three weeks after this
that he received a long and most jubi-
lant letter from Edith.
“I am going away, Jack,” she
wrote ; “the curse of a granted prayer
has come upon me! Itis so far a very
pleasant curse. I shall shake, not the
dust, but the snow of Inwood off from
my feet next week, and go to Chicago
for a month. Alice Redfern has asked
me to spend Christmas with her. Do
you remember her? She was at that
picnic that we had at Church’s Pond
three years ago. She was stopping
with me then for a few days. She was
one of the boarders at the seminary
when 1 went to school. She 1s rich,
and they live delightfully. I expect
to fairly loll in the lap of luxury.
There is a great deal going on, she
writes, so I'm making some gorgeous
gowns from nothing and the Bazar,
to wear. Maria Fenton is here sewing
for me, She is the strangest girl.
When things don't fit or are wrinkled
or soiled, she always wants to put a
bow on. Such a spotted fever of bows
as I'd break out with, if she had her
way, you never saw! Then she al-
ways observes ‘Your neck is too small
for this collar,” or ‘your arm is to long
for that sleeve,’ till I want, to say, ‘Oh,
never mind, chop it off I’
“I'm making a red toboggan suit
out of a blanket—Alice writes that
there are lots of tobogganings—and
dear Aunt Nan has given me her pearl
gray silk. To be sure it has been
turned repeatedly, but you don’t know
how lovely it looks with gray tulle over
it. Don’t expect me to talk of any-
thing but clothes, for I can’t.
“Ishan’t gee you before I go,and I'tn !
sorry. [saw your mother yesterday, |
and she was counting the days until |
you come home for Christmas.
“Did I tell you that the third Hodge
boy has now broken his other leg?!
It 1s well he is nota centipede, for he
seems determined to keep right on.
“Write to me in Chicago. [send you
the address. I hope you may have a
very merry Christmas, and am alway
affectionately yours, Epirn.
A merry Christmas! Jack Littlefield
did not feel very much like it as he
he
read. Christmas without Edith | He
had never spent such a one since the '
old days when he had given her dolls,
and she had made his marble bags.
Yet he was glad she was going away— |
glad ehe would see that other wider
life which she had so craved.
It seemed very lonely without her
when he went home. And then her
letters began to come, They were jol-
ly letters, full of sparkle and fun, and
reflecting in every line the gay society
life into which she had plunged:
Jack Littlefield watched for them
anxiously, and read them eagerly;
yet in spite of all their brightness, he
had, after reading each one, a strange
feeling of depression. It was the “left
out” feeling, though he did not recog-
nize it.
Finally near the end of her visit, a
letter came that seemed to take the
heart right out of him. He felt as
weak as if he had had the fever, after
reading it. In it she told him, very
sweetly and prettily, of her engagement
to Alice Redfern’s brother.
“No one knows 1t yet dear Jack,”
she wrote; “not even his family, for,
of course, he must see father and moth-
er first. He is coming on as soon as I
get home, and then it will be settled.
I have not writtea to them about it yet
for he wanted to tell them himself, but
I could not keep it so long from you.
I doubt if it is an engagement yet—I
have no ring—but it will be as soon as
I come home. I hope you will like
him. Somebow the thought of leaving
home makes Inwood and everybody in
it seem dearer than they ever did be-
fore ; even those Hodges seem en-
trancing, when I think I may go away
and never see them again,”
It was not a satisfactory letter, and
while Jack Littlefield was puzzling
over it, trying to find out if the fault
lay in the letter itself or the miserable
feeling it had given him, he was star-
tled by a telegram from his mother.
“Can you you go to Chicaga with
Mrs. Armstrong 2” it said Edith has
been hurt.”
Edith hurt, and her letter still in his
hand, as fresh and full of life as ifit
were her voice just speaking to him!
It seemed impossible. He hastened
home, and went at once to Chicago
with Mrs. Armstrong.
She told him the little she knew
about the accident. It seemed that
the last evening before Edith was to
leave for home there had been a tobog-
ga party. One of the toboggans be-
came disabled, and stuck at the foot of
the ranway. Before they could get it
away, another one was upon it. There
was a crash, a fearful shock, and when
Edith was picked up they thought at
first she was dead. She was living
still but insensible.
They found the Redfern family very
sympathetic and sorrowful, and yet
Jack Littlefield hated them all. It
seemed to him as if they had stolen
his darling just to kill her. He was
unreasonable and blind. He could see
only one thing—that they would go on
in their light, gay, dancing way, while
Edith lay maimed and crippled for lite.
He was particularly furious with young
Mr. Redfern, who was anxious and so
licitous enough to satisfy most people,-
but it seemed to Jack as if the least he
could do now was to shoot himself in
despair over what had happened.
“He acts,” muttered Jack,” as if one
of his houses had burnt down or as if
had lost a diamond, It's something
outside of him that doesn’t touch him
at all. IT don’t believe he's got a single
feeling in his stylish old heart.
The first words that Edith said were.
“Take me home ;” and as soon as it
could be done, they brough her back to
Inwood. There she got better, but it
soon became apparent that she would
never walk again. The old doctor,
who had known her from her child-
hood, still had hope.
“The spine is very delicate and pec-
uliar,”he said ;” no one has aright to be
positive in a case like this.”
But to Edith there was no hope, and
her soul was black with despair.
“Why don’t you kill me ?’ she cried to
the doctor one day. “I don’t waat to
live. I want to die. Why don’t you
let me die 2”
“Edith, he said, gravely, taking her
hand “my poor child; life and death
are not in my hands. We can only
wait, and see what nature will do.”
She sobbed passionately. “Oh, it is
too cruel !”” she cried—*too cruel | To
think one cannot even die!”
He waited a minute, and then said
slowly, “I have seen a great deal of
suffering in the world, Edith a great
deal of suffering in the world, Edith, a
great deal of trouble and sorrow, and I
have never seen but one care for it.”
“What is that?” she asked through
her sobs.
“Work—for others if possible, if not,
for one’s self. It is the on'y cure for
despair that I have ever seen.”
She stopped amazed. **You say that
to me—to me who am helpless as a
baby ! You are cruel too !”
“No, Edith,” he answered, compas-
sionately ; “I want to help you. Work
isn’t necessarily digging or breaking
stones. There is finer work than that
in the world—work that I think, after
a little you can do. Just now—""
“Well,” she asked, impatiently,
“just now what can 1 do.”
“Oh,” she said, with a shudder, “I
hateit! I would rater suffer martyr-
dom, and die, and have it over, I hate
to he patient, and it doesn't make it
any easier, either.”
“No, I presume not for you; but I
wasn’t thinking of you alone. Edith,
this trouble comes upon your whole
family. It is a burden upon them all,
and yet you can make itso light that
| they will hardly feel it at all.”
“How ?" she asked, sceptically.
“They can take of you, and do ev-
erything for your body ; but itis when
this rebellious despair fills your mind,
that they sit down subduced and help-
less before it. They take their cue
from you. I know of no anguish keen-
er thanthat a mother suffers for her
child. You can lighten this, Edith, so
that your poor mother will be almost
glad again.”
The girl lay there silent.
my work ?"" she said in a low voice.
“Is this what I can do now ?”
“Yes,” he answered, gently’ “this is
your work.”
* She was alone for a long time after
the doctor left. Then her mother came
softly in. She went up to Edith, sud-
“Is this!
“mind and accept,
OT NL RE SO TI BEX
denly, “I’ve been thinking of so many
things. I shall be your stay-at-home
daughter always now, and there are
such lots of things we must plan to do
together. I'm going to sit up before
long, the doctor says, and my head and
my bands will be in good working or-
der. Why, mother, the more I
think of it, the more it seems
as if legs were mere ornamen-
tal appendages anyway.”
She spoke in her old bright way, and
yet the tears began to gather and chase
each other down her mother’s face.
Don’t! cried Edith ; oh, mother,
dont and she put her arms around her
mother’s neck and drew her face down
to hers. Shekissed her and held her
there a moment, heart to heart. There
were tears on both faces when they
parted, and yet mother and daughter
were happier than they had been in
many a day.
Mr. Redfern came on twice to see
Edith. She was too ill the first time
to talk to him at all, but she was much
better during his second visit, and able
to sit up in the invalids chair whizh
had been bought for her.
She told him then that of course she
considered their engagement ended.
He was very courteous and gentleman-
1y; and assured her that she was as
dear to him as ever, and that he should
always have most tender memories of
her—but he accepted her decision, and
his own freedom.
He sent me a great bunch of La
France roses, Jack the next day, said
Edith, telling Jack Littlefield all about
it: I should have liked them better if
they hadn’t all seemed to be nodding
their heads at me, and saying ; ‘Thank
ou! Thank you!
Oh, Edith !
She laughed a little. Well, they
did, she asserted. Jack, it was rather
funpy, she asserted. Jack, it was rath-
er funny, afterall. I felt a little like
the girl asked out to tea. I wouldn't
have accepted on any account, but I
did want to be urged a little more.
And he was evidently afraid that if he
urged too much, I might change my
It makes you feel
queer, Jack, to know you’ve been loved
for the sake of your spine alone. Of
course I know spine are necessary, but
now that mine's gone, there seems to
be a good deal left of me. Im as much
Edith Armstrong as ever.
Of course you are, said Jack, vehe-
mently ; only your a thousand times
dearer. Why, Edith that brute never
loved you! If he had—
Dout call him a brute, Jack ; it isnt
complimentary to me. :
I dont believe you ever loved him,
he said under his breath.
I dont believe I ever did either, she
said softly. :
Then they both laughed.
This is dreadful, Jack, she said; it
makes me feel so guilty aad traitorish.
Besides, theres a little sour-grape ap-
pearance to it that isnt pretty. I want
to tell yom about mother.” She was
sublime. She told him she might have
given me to him once, but now I was
too precious to be trusted to any one
but my own mother. Just think of
that—too precious | Not too helpless
or too crippled, but something so very
valuable that he couldnt possibly have
me at any price.
(continued newt week.)
Discipline at Annapolis.
The discipline of the United States
Naval Academy at Annapolis, Md., is
the strickest kind. The regulations are
the result of years of experience, and
are adhered to and enforced to the let-
ter.
Some of the punishments for academ-
ic misdemeanors are not only unique,
but strikingly appropriate and effective.
Wten a cadet is guilty of tardiness at
any formation, he is required, for a giv-
ed period subsequent, to report to the
officer in charge half an hour before the
time of formation, standing by until it
takes place. Those who oversleep them-
selves in the morning are compelled for
a month to turn out one hour before re-
veille, and, at the first note of the bugle,
to report themselves and the room ready
for inspection.
Visiting during study hours is pun-
ished by solitary confinement on the
prison ship Santee, as a corrective for
too great sociability. Inattention at
drill carries with it the penalty of one or
more extra drills during recreation hours.
Habitual untidiness is cured by requir-
ing the careless cadet to report for inspec-
tion to the officer in charge every hour
for a number of days, usually a month.
Should non-regulation clothing be
found in a cadet’s possession, it is seized
by the authorities as contraband, and
not returned until the offender leaves
the academy. Iuis thas difficult to ap-
pear out of uniform.
But the worst punishment of all is
that visited upon a whole class or the
entire battalion, and is inflicted only in
cases of insubordination on the part of
such large bodies. In such cases, the
guilty class, or all the cadets, are de-
prived of the privilege of giving hops
and entertainments, and, worse yet they
are forbidden to walk with orto call
upon the fair sex. This deprivation gen-
erally weakens them, and discipline
triumphs.— Boston Herald.
Why Lang Writes So Much.
There is talk among literary people to
the effect that Andrew Lang is publish-
ing too much His work commands
large pay and he does an enormous
amount of it. But he is practically com-
pelled to publish, for in the position he
holds among men of letters in England
his expenses are enormous. He is a
great lion socially, and a large income is
required to entertain as he is expected
to entertain. For the same reason Mr.
Gladstone has recourse to his pen. For
every article he writes Gladstone re-
ceives $1,000. His receipts from his
literary ventures enable him to gratify
certain tastes which otherwise could not
be indulged. He is comparatively a
poor man.-- Edward C. Pigmore in Chi-
cago News.
——-Col. J. Henry Sellman, Collector
of Internal Revenue, Baltimore, Md.,
believes in it for rheumatism. He writes
I have tried Salvation Oil, and believe
! the earth.”
What is Your Son to Be.
A Field Offered by the Growing Elec-
tric Business.
Two men were sitting face to face be-
tween the car tracks on Park row the
other day. It seemed tw be a dangerous
position, for they could not follow their
work and at the same time keep their
eyes on the rattling teams on either
hand. They had to keep their elbows”
in, too, or the cars would bump them.
They were seated at a manhole, testing
cables of wire which were 1n the subway
beneath. Each had theend of a cable
in hand and a portable galvanometer—a
square box about the size of a cigar box
—in front of him.
But a few years ago the man engaged
in connecting wires in this way touched
the tip of each wire in turn to the tip of
his tongue. If there was a current run-
ning through the wire he felt a little
pricking and a sour taste. He did this
the whole day through, and was none
the worse for receiving so many slight
electric shocks and tasting so much cop-
er,
p It was a very primitive test, but a
very good one, and uld wire testers still
use it when in a hurry. Butsoon a gal-
vanometer was made, which not only
finds the current but gives some idea of
its strength. The rapid way in which
invention has been piled upon invention
in the electrical world is marvelous, and
it seems surprising that a sufficient
number of workmen of sufficient 1ntelli-
gence should be found in a hurry to
practically put these inventions into use.
A question upon this very point was
put to a well known electrician who
happened to saunter by the two men at
work.
BAD WORK.
“It is only surprising in a measure,”
he said. “As a matter of fact, the busi-
ness has grown much faster than the in-
telligence necessary to handle it, and
many accidents are due to that fact.
The electric light people at first had to
rely very largely on the workmen en-
gaged by the telegraph companies, and
both had to draft in a large number of
new men and train them to the work.
Any man with a little knowledge of
mechanics and the handling of tools
soon makes a good lineman. There is
no great skill required, except in care
that the wire does not become abraided
in handling, while the good wages paid
for the work--seventy-five dollars a
month -— are 2 great inducement.
But the Business has undoubtedly
suffered in its rapid progress for the
want of skilled men, and the market is
by no means over stocked yet. Only
the other day one of the New York com-
panies had to send to the New England
Cable company to borrow men to make
joints in city lines.
“Some of the underground work, too,
has been badly done, but much ot this
has been quite as much due to keen com-
petition and the proverbial economy of
the unscientific stockholders. When it
comes to buying wire, costing from $1,-
450 to $1,500 a mile, the stockholder
has a lot to say about it, and cheap wire
is 100 often a result. One of the electric
light companies runs an alternating cur-
rent, and it now begins to find, all over
the country, that its wires are already
becoming faulty. They cannot stand
the strain.
CHANCE FOR YOUNG MEN.
“One of the things absorbing the at-
tention of electric men to-day is to find
an insulator which will stand heavy
alternating currents. So the trouble
has been as much a matter of cheap ma-
terial as unskilied labor.”
“Have the workmen a union yet ?”
“No, not yet. There is an association
called the Society of Electrical En-
gineers.”’
“And where do the engineers and ex-
ecutive men come from ?”’
“A good many of the heads of the de-
partments had their training at various
schools of technology such as the Stevens
institute, Cornell university, the Massa-
chusetts School of Technology. Indeed,
nearly all the universities have classes
in electricity now, and they supply a
good deal of the talent for the business.
“These young fellows from the schools
of technology have started in the black-
smith shop and worked right up, and
the only thing about electrical matters
they have no knowledge of is the busi-
ness end of it. They easily find posi-
tions at from $60 to $100 a month at the
start, and readily get more according to
the ability they display. #
‘Lt 1s a great business for a man to
get into, whether he is well educated or
not. Chere is such an enormous field
for the application of electric power out-
side of the electric light. See how fast
the electric streei car has grown through-
out the country! Then there are the
other almost innumerable appiications
of the force which will soon be in de-
mand. No, sir, the skilled workman
who goes into the electric business, of
whatever grade he may be, need feel no
fears of his labor market being over-
crowded.””— New York Advertiser.
If the W. C. T. U. Had Its Way.
Miss Frances E. Willard in her an-
nual address to thy W. CG. T. U.jat
Boston, said that God had helped them
to build better than they knew, If
these women had their way, and they
intended to have it, the taint of alcohol
and nicotine would not be on any lip
orin any atmosphere on this globe ; no
gambler could with impunity pursue
his vile vocation ; the haunts ot shame
that are the zero mark of degradation
would Ue crushed out of existence before
sundown, and the industrial status of
woman would be so independent that
these recruiting officers of perdition
would seek in vain for victims; the sa-
loon keeper would become ‘in every
State and nation—as, thank God, he is
already in so many—an outcast, an Ish-
maelita, asocial pariah on the face of
The party that unmistaka-
bly declares forthe prohibition of strong
drink in the political platform of 1892
was the only one that could bope for
the good will, good word and prayers
ofthe W. C. T. U.
——#+A God-send is Ely’s Cream
Balm. I bad catarrh for three years.
Two or three times a week my nose
would bleed. T thought the sores would
never heal. Your Balm has cured me.”
—Mrs. M. A. Jackson, Portsmouth,
it to be a good remedy for rheumatism. N. H.
The World of Women.
Citron pink is
stately gowns.
Stock ties are still a part of the stift
linen collar.
Square corners are the distinguishing:
feature of the Henri IT collar,
Double frills of ribbon in belero fash-
ion trim many of the prettiest waists.
Bertha rufiles are pinked, sealloped or
underlaid with ribbons of contrasting
color.
Nearly all the new cloths are soft and
shaggy, and show to the best advantage
with velvet.
Bisque blue bengaline and crepon in a
tone known as English rose form a de-
lightful combine.
A combination purse and card case in
lizard skin can be found to matzh your
costume of gray, tan. green and brown.
Very fascinating in finish are the mil-
itary overcoats, with their light hued
linings of satin. These are decorated
upon the outside with lapels of feathers
or fur and a high standing collar.
As Mrs. Poultney Bigelow is a lead-
ing society lady of New York and the
owner of a cool million of dollars it
makes it difficult to understand why she
a popular shade for
i should have rushed into literature and
become a book mark.
No matter what the material or color
of your house gown, you can, if you
wish, add an oddity in the form of a
pair of white sleeves. These may be
cut from any soft white fabric which
your fancy may select.
A charming centre piece for the dining
room is achandslier of silver, with a
dome surrounded by clusters of candle-
burners set in rose colored candle dishes.
An important addition is the banquet
lamp shadowed by an exquisite little
skirt of silk.
Ultra fashionable women select for
top garments the roughest of Irish
freize. The monk hood as an accom-
paniment is losing in popularity for the
reason that, unless the figure is extreme-
ly straight and very slender, a round
shouldered effect is produced.
The young woman who wishes to
make beautiful the dressing case of the
young man upon whom she has set her
affections no longer makes it glorious
with silver brushes, but instead decor-
ates it with those of ebony, upon which
his cipher or monogram is wrought
out in silver.
Small women from six to twelve are
furmshed with gowns in which the yoke
waist is a feature. English smocking
still continues to giye relief to plain ma-
terial. Sleeves for tiny maids are cut
very fall, but fer girls of larger growth
the style of the figure should regulate
this part of the dress.
One of the oddest and most attractive
promenade gowns is made of a black and
cream Pekin stripe, the black being a
hairy, fluffy line on the cream founda-
tion. This is mad: up simply over an
underskirt of green velvet in a rich
mossy color which appears between
deep slashs on either side of the skirt.
Mrs. Charlotte Emerson Brown of
Orange, president of the Federation of
Women’s clubs is a daughter of Prof.
Ralgph Emerson, for many years con-
nected with the Andover Theological
seminary. She is a handsome woman of
fine physique, and an accomplished lin-
guist, speaking half a dozen languages
fluently.
A soft lined lamp shade is made of
four small palm leaf fans. Cut of off the
handles and tie then together in shape
slightly overlapping each other witn
narrow satin ribbon or gold tinsel ‘cord.
Hang a few bangles or small shells on
the lower edges. Gilding in very small
quantity looks pretty, but soon becomes
tarnished.
The very smart young woman given
to letter writing uses dark green paper,
upon which gold sealing wax holds the
envelope together. Johnstone-Bennett
uses the faintest shade of mauve satin
paper, and bas the wax, which is firmly
and evenly placed, of exactly the same
color. By using this Jane is ahead of
all the others in having the latest Pari-
sian faney. ’
Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett is de-
voted to the memory of her son, Lionel,
who was the original of Little Lord
Fauntleroy. She has founded an asy-
lum for newsboys in Drury Lane, Lon-
doa, and called it ‘“Lionel’s Home.’?
She is working on a small scale now,
but she intends to devote a considerable
portion of her income t> build up this
monument to her son.
A reference to the feminine students
at Sage College, Cornell University, is
made in the report of President Adams,
who says: “A vast majorty of the
of tne young women are not only earn-
"estly devoted to the “working out of
great and noble purposes, but are also
disposed on every occasion to. exert
their.influence in behalf of a cultivated
and refined social life.”
A handsome cheviot costume has a
short arranged in mounting to the belt
so that, without draping or lifting, it
hang from the right side at a distance
of ten inchesifrom the bottom of the
foundation'skirt, disclosing a plain un-
derskirt of dark moss green velvet.
This cheviot is an exquisitely fine heath-
er mixture, and the coat has a back with
long tabs, the front being a vest of
cheviot incased in a lew cut pointed
bodice of green velvet.
A small, close-fiting bonnet, modeled
after the shape worn by the Princess of
Wales, is cf green velvet und has about
it a soft twist of peach colored chiffon,
while at the side, quite near the front,
is a cluster of tiny hronze peaccck feath-
ers, brightened with green spangles.
For driving green velvet 1ibbon strings
could be worn, while for a reception full
soft loops of the peach chiffon may be
draped about the throat
A pretty young woman never looked
prettier than when wearing one the rak-
ish three-cornered hats that are known
as George the Third shape Each cor-
ner holds a cunning rosette or bow of
ribbon. Then, too, the Mother Goose
crowns, which early in the season were
declared to be too trying even for youth
and beauty, are appearing in becoming
fashion upon the heuds of half the fash-
ionable girls in the country. Even to
the demoiselle whose fuce is not her for-
tune they are most kind, so that ugly
lasses as well as their pretty sisters will
wear them sure and certain.