Bemorraiic adja Bellefonte, Pa., Dec. Ii, 189I. HIS OVERNEAT WIFE. The neatest woman in tcwn Folks say I've got for a wife ; And what folks say is gospel truth This time, you bet your life, Keturah Brown, she beats the wo: 1d On bankin’ bread an’ pies ; But her best holt is fightindirt And circumventin’ flies. Her temper’s like her pie crust which They're both uncommon short ; An’ though I'm free and easy like Sometimes she makes me snort, There ain’t no sense in havin’ things So dum’d all fired neat, Nor sayin’ every time I ste “Now, Zek’el, wipe your feet ! I can’t sit down in our best room, It is so slick an spruce, Faet is, most everythihg we've got’s Too good for common use. Though next to Godliness the book Puts cleanliness, I'm bound To say Keturah’s mighty apt To run it in the ground. There ain’t no use kickin’; I'm Prepared to hear my cross, Some day, perhaps, I'll wear my crown ; Keturah she can’t boss Things fonnd in heaven. And since we're tol That there no moth or rust Comes to corrupt, I guess it's safe To say their ain’t no dust. But oh, what will Keturah do - Within those pearly gates if she no no longer find 1he dirt That she so dearly hates ? Q’ershadowed heaven itself will be, Enguifed in awful gloom, When my Keturah enters in And cannot use a broom. TWO THANKSGIVINGS. BY BESSIE CHANDLER. From Harper's Bazar. (concluded from last week.) ‘Your mother is an angel |” “Yes, she is,” said Edith, seriously; “and I've been such a fool I hawen't known it all these years.” There was silence for a few mom- ents, and then she exclaimed : : “Oh, Jack, I've learned so much! I used to think old Mrs. Spancer was common because she said ‘you hev’ and ‘you was,’ and here, day after day, she's brought me the nicest broths and, ost delicious jellies. They wmeally tasted quite ashy, like the apples of Sodom, you know, when I thought how I'd made fun of her. And then Mrs. Pitkin, I've loathed her because she did dress so like a fiend. It seem- ed as if she went out of her way to make herself ridiculous. But now— well, I don’t care what she wears now. She may drape herself in a piano cov- er,or wear a pickle dish on her head, but she'll always look beautiful to me. 1 think of her face as I saw it, night after night, when I was at my worst, and she sat up with me. And Mrs. Henderson, you know what a killing woman she is! She told me of some- thing the other day that happened at her tea party ‘just as the guests were beginning to dissemble.’ That struck me as rather good, Jack; for, you know, guests have to ‘dissemble pretty often, Well, I don’t care what antics she plays with her parts of speech, she’s just a ministering angel I”* There were tears in Edith’s eyee. Jack Littlefield took her hand. “Who woulda’t be good to you Edith 2”! he said, tenderly. “Ah! I've misunderstood them so,” she went on, earnestly. “You can’t get the best out of people unless you give them a little of your best. I've called them narrow, and gibed and Jjeered at them, and shut myself out trom them, and all the time it was I that was narrow, because I wouldn't see anything but just from my own point of view. It’s too late now, bat.I wish I could live it all over.” £he sighed a little, and laid her head back on the pillows. Jack Littlefield still held ber hand. “Edith,” he said, huskily, “I want to ask you something. You have ended this.affair with Mr. Redfern, and I'm very glad you have, for I don’t think he loved you, but I avant to know would you accept another man’s love now—a different kind of love, that would care for you and tend you, and be perfectly happy with you just as you are? Will you take mine, Enith ?” Thesfaint color erept into her pale cheeks. “Oh, Jack, don’t!” she cried —‘“don’t dear Jaek. You mustn't. You hurt me.” “I mean it, Edith,” he said solemn- ly. “Give me the right to take care of you. It is the dearest wish of my heart.” She shook her head sadly. “It ean never be.” “Could nothing persuade you 2” “No,” she said, steadily; “nothing, Jack. Afier a minute she added: “I can’t tell you how noble and generous I think you are ; but I don’t want you to think of it any more. You have had a hard life. I want you to have a happy love. too. I want you to havea happy, rest- ful home, and let me share in it. Don’t you see ? You live and love for both of us now, and give we part of it, just as you havegivea me part of every good thing vou ever had.” He bent over her hand and kissed it. He could not trast himself to speak then. After a little, he said, cheerfully : “I've suother scheme, Edie. It's no use talking to me abeut another girl, There's only one girl in the world for me, and she’s right here; and if she’s got to spend her life in this chair, here I'm going to stay beside her. If 1 can’t be her husband or her lover, why I'll keep on being what I've always been, her friend. We needn't be afraid of gossip now, and I'm going so spend all the time I ean with you, There isn’t much I can do, but I esn move your chair around, and lift you, and read to you. By-and-by perhaps yon can driver I'm eoming home every Saturday now, and, Edith, I'm going to take care of you, just as it I were your brother.” She was crying sofily. she said, “I musta’t let you! selfish and wicked,” “Oh, Jack,” 1t is I want you to have some | sweet, lovely girl, and let me love her i “No, it isn’t,” he said, stoutly. “Why, Edith, I always have a better time with you than any one else in the world, and now we'll just go in 0 part- nership. Our stock in trade is mutual entertainment. Saturday night we'll do a land-office business. Sunday we'll have a quiet, steady market, with a grand closing-out sale on Sunday night. Then Monday we'll begin again to lay in a fresh supply of goods. We can do a little trading by letter, if you choose, or we can hold everything in reserve until we meet. It's a com- pact” She smiled through her tears. “I want to say ‘Heaven reward you! as Mrs. Hodge does. By-the-way—"" She ‘| stopped. “What is it?" he asked. “Nothing has happened to those dear Hodges again, has there?” She laughed a little. “Nothing, only there's another one, and the youngest three have got the chicken- pox; they gaye it to the baby, It seems go unkind to be born into the midst of the chicken pox, so to speak.” “I ghould say so! Now here comes your mother, and she's going te send away.” Herose, and taking both of her hands in his, he added; “Now, Hdith, remember, I'm like the wash. I go every Monday morning, and come home purified and mended Satur- day night. Good-by dear, for another week.” He looked at her lovingly and earnestly for a minute, and then left. The clasp of his strong fingers still lingered on her hands. She closed her eyes and lay there thinking. So, sometimes better and sometimes worse, Edith Armstong lived through the spring, at times suffering intensely, and then, again, quite free from pain. Sometimes she was heart sick and des- pairing, and then she weuld make one wore effort to be cheerful and brave. She found a little verse one day that seemed almost like a personal message: “For the sake of thosewho love us, For the sake of God above us, Each and all should do his best To make musie for the rest.” She said this over and over to her- self, and tried with all her might to let the sweet, merry music ring out for those around her, and when the dis- cords came, to listen to them alone. Jack Littlefield was untiring in his devotion. Every Saturday night he came, and never with: empty hands. Sometimes fruit, or a new book or magazine. He treasured everything worth telling that he heard or saw to tell to her. They read together, and had long talks, and learned to know each other in a deeper sense than they had ever done. Jack groaned some- 80 helpless day after day, and he rebell- ed fiercely against a Providence that could be so cruel to one so lovely. Then, when he thought of the patience and gentleness that were slowly creep- ing into her character, the tears came to his eyes, “My Ged!” he cried. “If she can bear it so, what right have I to feel so angry 2’ And go, for her sake, he was patient too, It was in June that the old doctor, who had been Kdith’s steadfast friend, startled her by suggesting that she should go with him te a certain hospi- tal in New York for treatment there. The matter was discussed in the little family circle, and finally it was decid- ed that the experiment should be tried. Edith would not let her mother go. “I shall be in the hands of trained nurses all the time,” she said, “and they bave no use for tearful relatives. Besides, I am uot a young lady any more. I'm only a rare specimen’ of traumatic wyelitis. 1 shall be case No. chaperon. If this dees no good, I shall come home and try faith care. Mrs. Henderson told me the other day it began by ‘eliminating the mind,’ and mine is already eliminated ; so I ought to be suitable case.” The old doctor came home after he had seen her safely settled, but the physician who had charge of her wrote every week. They could not quite un- derstand his letters, but it was evident that she was gaining. The little fami- ly at Inwood beeame very hopeful. “If I can only see her walk again, €aid her poor mother,“I shall depart in peace.” The old doctor went again to New York to bring ber home. It was an August evening when he arrived. They drove up in an open carriage, the doc- trismphal car. He gat out first, and tureed to help Edith out too, but she sprang past him, and rushed into the little parlor, and stood before them, “3h, mother, see I” she cried. “Look at me—look at me! I'm all right! I wanted to surprise you. Oh, mother, isn’t it splendid 27 Her mother hung around her neck. “My God, I thank Thee!’ she mur- mured, softly. Then, as goon as she could speak aloud, she said: “Oh, Edith, is it.really you? 1 ean’tzealize it, my precious, precious child |” “Yes,” said Edith, half laughing and half erying. “‘I can dance and I ean sing; I can turn a hand spring.’ Just see me, father Look, Nan. They mustn't cry, must doctor? Let's ehout for joy.” “You're crying yourself, Edith.” } Aunt they, ing shower! more We're going to be the happiest family in Inwood.” She kissed away a tear that glisteaed on her mother's cheek. “Edith, I can’t bear to have you pass oui of my sight. I want to touch you all the time.” “You shal, dear heart, I'll be your Siamese twin: Don’t: any one tell Jack. To-day is Friday, and he'll be home to-morrow. I want to surprise him.” She was go excited she hardly slept that night, and the next day she ap- ranged herself to mest Jack. “I'm go- ing to eit in the old chair,’ she said, “with pillows behind me,” “Your cheeks are too pink,” said times when he thought of her sitting 723, and case No. 723 doesn’t need a tor beaming and swuiiling as:if it were a “Oh, that isa were sprinkle—a pass- | I,ve come back clothed | and in my right mind—I mean spine. | We're never any of us going to cry any | her mother, smiling. “You don’t look like our invaiid any more.” “Never mind,” said Edith; “I'll draw down the corners of my mouth, and seem as discouraged as possible.” When Jack first saw her her eyes were closed, and he slipped in softly, thinking she was asleep. She opened them suddenly and looked at him. “Why, Jack!” “Why, Edith !” She rose from the chair and walked to meet him. He sprang forward to catch her. “Edith,” he cried, “what are you do- ing?” “Don’t touch me,” she exclaimed. “Just look, You see me ‘as trees walk- ing.’ Look, Jack; Just see!” He turned very pale, and was silent. She came close up to him, laughing and triumphant. “Oh, Jack, isn’t it splendid ? ‘The flag’s come back to Tennessee!’ My spine, my spine’s come back to me!” Then’ as he continued silent, she put out her hand and touched his arm. “Jack, what makes you act so? Aren’t you glad ?" “Glad 7’ he said, with a great sob— “glad? Why, Edith—" He put bis arm half around her, bat she drew herself away, the color rush- ing to her checks. “Iam not to be handled with care any more,” she said, laughing. “In fact I am not to be handled at all. Just watch me dance a little jig, and then we'll sit down, and I'll tell you all about it.” Jack Littlefield had never been as heartily glad of anything in all his life as he was of Edith’s recovery, and yet after her return a slight estrangement | seemed to come between them. It was | impossible to go on with just the old relations that had been se pleasant when she was an invalid. It was equally impossible te slip back into the old days of comradeship which had existed before she was hurt, and before he had told her he loved her. He dar- el not tell her that again now. He knew how grateful she was to him for his devotion, although it annoyed him to think of it, and he said repeatedly and earnestly that he had “done noth- in Lh Still, to ask her for her love now was a little like claiming a reward of merit. It was throwing himself upon her gen- erosity, and Jack Littlefield had no wish to be accepted through gratitude, He resolved to wait until she was a little more accustomed to the freedom which her health gave her, and until her long sickness had lost its acuteness in her memory. As for Edith, it seemed to her as if there were a “new heaven and a new earth.” All through the autumn her gladness and sense of relief found ex- pression in continual ebullitions of de- light. She beamed on everybody. and even when the old werries began to fret in the same old places,she had but to think of the one great trouble that had for the time blotted out everything else, and it ‘seemed to make all bur- dens light by comparison. “Why, Jack,” she said oneday, “when Ithink that thereis a whole world uncoascious of the value of their spines, I feel as if I must go out and preach till I enlighten them. I want to mount the nostrum—or is it the rostrum; I never can tell which is which—and tell them that any human being with a spine in good and regular standing has no right to complain of anything, not of anything under the sun.” *“d suppose that’s so,” said Jack, musingly. “It’s queer how a person never cares much for a thing until he loses it. I presume it would be the same with everything—eyes, ears, or even your tongue- You wouldn't like to be dumb, would you, Edith 2” “No, Jack, and you woulda’t like to have me. It is possible, though not probable, that I prattle too mach, but I intend to keep right on,” “No,” he said, earnestly; “there is nothing I dread more than a flash of your silence. It seems to forebode so much,” . When Thankegiving came, Edith was 9gain amorg the workers at the chureh. Her (ace was the brightest, her heart the lightest there. “I del as it it were my own .especial Thanksgiving,” she said, lightly. “I'm going to compose a new Jubilate. Bring forth the largest pumpkin, and let me decorate it with exclamation points ef joy I” She lingered in the gray twilight, and was the Jast te leave tne church. She held her own little Thanksgiving service alone in the dim building, and thea hurried home, todind Jack wait- ing for her. He had brought her a great basket of tropical fruit. “Oh!” she exclaimed when she saw it, “you mustn’t do such things Jack. You musta’ ‘pomper’ me. I shani let you.” He laughed a little and said: “I know what you're thinking of. You're thinking [ can’t afford it; but I ean. and to-morrow is Thankegiving Day.” “Yes,” she said, catehing his eye, and repeating his words with grave emphasis. There was a minute's silence, then he said : “I’m getting aetually rich, Edith. I don’t know that ['ve men- tioned it lately, but Tam. I am real ly making invesunents. I think | shall open a loan office soon. It's real | ly embarrassing to have s0 much money." “It must be,” she said, smiling. “Do you know, Jack, I don’t think! that people with lots of money have half the fun that we have. In the first place, when they want a thing they get it, and that's the end ot it; but when we want it we work for it, and haope for it, and fear about it, and if we ever do get it, why its an actual achievement, 1t represents something, and stands for just so much in our lives, And then there's the fun. Why, when T make an over-s«irt out of an old black lace shawl, [ feel [ have not only trinmphied over fate, but bave perpetrated a joke besides!” “You dido’t think so last year Edith,” “No, I know I didn’, she said, frankly. “I was a pessimist, a howl- ing pessimist. 1 took a cross eyed view oflife. I remember how we walked after church on Thanksgiving Day, and how I howled. I think I was ready to ‘flood the land with ar- nicky,’ as the old darky said.” “] remember you made me feel awfully that day. Edith, you said you would never marry a poor man. It seemed to sort of shut the door in my face. “Yes,” she said, “I was a sordid wretch.” Then with an evident desire to change the subject, she went on. “Did I tell you.what I heard Mr. Spalding say to Thaodore Murray on the train coming from New York? You know Theodore Murray isthe one who cut such a splurge in New York last winter, with his Delmonico balls and performznces. I sat next to them and he was telling Mr. Spalding all about it. ‘Money will do anything, Spalding, won't it?’ he said. ‘I don’t know Theodore,” said Mr. Spalding; ‘it won’t buy youth, it won't buy you health, and it won't buy you brains!’ I thought that was a delightful remark for one millionaire to make to another. “Indeed it was,” said Jack Littlefield heartily. “You've got the health now Edith, and the youth and the brains; and there's one other thing that money won’t buy that’s yours too.” “what is it, Jack?” ¢ Don’t you know, Edith? It’s love, dear. Will you take that too?” She did not answer, but he felt that she was his. His man’s heart leaped within him. He put his arms around her and drew her to him. “Oh. Jack,” she said, her sweet face quivering with the deep feeling in her heart, “we have no right to be so happy !”’ Pine Cones, The New Potato. A few years ago a scientist in Japan discovered a plant, the tuberous roots of which closely resemble the common po- tato. Samples of this new-found tuber were sent to Paris and Berlin's experi- mental botanists to report upon. These reports have all been favorable to the new tuber, which has been extensively introduced into nearly all European countries. This year a number of farm- ers in Wisconsin and Minnesota plant- ed large crops of the new potato under the direction and advisement of Albert Meyer, the chemist of Stillwater in the last named State. The scientific name of the plant is Stachys tuberifera, the common name, ‘pine cones,” having been bestowed on account of their form. Some authorities call it Stachys affinis, and still others have it Stachys Sieboldii Siebold having been the discoverer. They are cultivated in the same man- ner as the common potato, and are much more prolific, as high as 200 of the tubers forming in one hill. They are hardly as large as the common potato, but 200 them: would fill a much larger measure than 100 potatoes would, a comparison of which will give some, idea of their enormous yield. The analysis of the plant is: There 1s neither starch or sugar in the composition, but galactan, a substance between both. They are clear and white, and 1rost does not hurt them in the least. Their taste is something like that of the potato, and they are not peeled before cooking.—S?¢. Louis Re- Republic. The Great Agricultural Yield. From the St. Louis Globe Bemocrat. . The estimate of crop percentages fur- nished by the Departirent” of Agricul- ture, when translated into quantities and put in the concrete form, provides decidedly plessing reading. So far as regards wheat, the expectations of the most sanguine persons appear to have teen fully realized. The yield has reached almost, if not guite, 600,008,000 bushels. When we beer in mind that this exceeds the largest.output hitherto, that of 1884, to the extent of about 87,- 000,000 bushels, and thet it is 200,800,- 000 ahead of the yield of 1890,we can form something like an adequate ) ee ee photographie purposes. The World of Women. Sleep is the greatest fut inducer. Nearly all dress gods now come in the ‘extra’ widths. Jewelery in the hair only je permissi- ble during the daytime. Jewels mounted on an invi-ible wire. chain are worn around the neck. The chatelaine is driving the pocket, into a state of innocuous desuetude. At a well set dinner table thirty inches. of room should be allowed tor each. Mrs. Charles Stewart Parnell sends a new wreath to her husband’s grave every week. . The marriage of Miss Rachel Sher- man, youngest daughter of the late Gen- eral of the army, to Dr. Thorndike, of Boston, is set for the latter part of Dec ember. : One of the silver-wedding presents re- ceived by the Empress of Russia is an ermine mantle which cost $6,000. This is a gift of the nobility of the Province of Kherson. : What is kuown as the sharp-pointed Spanish bang is very mueh in vogue ‘but it must be remembered that the hair must grow in this way for it cannot be- cutin this shape or trained to. it. The busy woman finds a useful orna- ment for her chatelaine in a pencil that resembles a match, and which may sug- gest to the looker-on either that she is matchless or her match has been found. Although the style of the new hats rather demands that they should be set forward, still it is well to remember that a hat brought too far over the face is at once trying , and gives rather a hard bold look. The gold girdles, that is, those of wide galloon and having on them a deep. gold buckle, will be worn all winter. They are not expensive and will look: well with a cashmere or black stuff dress. of any sort. Queen Marguerite, of Italy, isa pret- ty brunette who, though the mother of a son now of age, looks as attractive as when she was a bride, twenty-three years ago. She takes great pains to re- tain her good looks, One of the most curious rings seen. lately is of aluminium, with a very dark raby set in it. The ring looks almost black, and it is only at night that the stone is at its best, and impresses one with its great beauty. A very pretty Christmas gift for one’s sweetheart or one’s brotheris a handsome brush having a back of tortoise shell, with a mouogram or cipher cut into tho- shell itself. This with the comb 1s strap- ped in a pretty leather case, and posses- ses the two desirable qualities of being ornamental and useful. No evening dress is too elaborate or too light a texture not to. have fastened quite near the edge and betwcen the back and front a huge bow of broad vel- vet ribbon appliqued flatly in place and made too look as if it were holding two parts of the gown together, Bows made in this fashion of very broad braid are liked on cloth gowns. Bonnet strings are managed entirely according to the whim of the wearer. No two are alike. They are tied under the chin, under the ear, harnessed in two. rows across the back ot the head, crossed and recrossed about the throat, speared: with jeweled pins in every direction, and, in fact, have become subject to the most erratic treatment, Mrs. Mary H. Hunt, who is promin- ently connected with the Department of Scientific Instruction of the W. C. T. U., is the authoress of the sentiment, “The star of hope for temperance reform hangs over the school house.” Al} of the States but nine have virtually adopt- ed this motto. Sweden, too, has just. enacted a temperance education law, and the other lands are preparing tu do likewise. Down in Arkansas lives Mrs. Stella Christian, the wife of a well to do farm- er and the mother of nine soms. Dur- ing the war she assumed male attire and won a reputation for biavery as a soldier in the Confederate army. She served under General McIntosh, and it. was not until after she had been wound-- ed at the battle of Elk Horn Tavern that her sex was discovered, and she was obliged to quit the service. Sowa extracts from Isabel A. Mal- lon’s fashion department in the Ladies’ Home Journal follow: If during the season you intend to wear white gloves very much take the advice that I have gained from experience, and though they cost a little more, get a glace glove in preference to the undressed glove, as they will clean much better and do not. so easily show that they have been un- dergoing the scouring process. Among the many new styles in boots are the Oxfords, a hich dressy shoe for walking, made in patent leather, Russia leather, varnish and ooze calf, soft finish- ed kid and morocco; the court shoes are ankle high, made of ovze leather, satin lined and ornamented with gilt buckles, elaborately chased: rough and ready boots made in oiled leathers are blocked liké « man’s English walking shoe and the traveling boots are corked soled and tur lined. The chief novelty in sloves lies in the new shades made for evening wear, which neludes ficelle and heliotrope, and the new tones of drab and beaver intended for day wear: Foremost among them are imitation buckskin gloves, which sell for a couple of shill- lings, and have an admirable appearance. | The antelope is a newer kind, and sever- al new forms of gauntlet are drawn in at the wrist with elastic, and have prick- ed seams, which means that the needle is passed through the two edges, und the leather is not overlaid. as in pique sewn. You nay take doctors’ advice and rub vaseline fully over the scalp au night, and comb it out with a fine comb in the morning. Nothing will make the hair thicker and glossier than such treatment while 1t keeps the sealp clean, As the trcuble disappears, the application may he mabe once a week. Wash the scalp with soap bark and water, enough to make a good lather, rinse the hair and at night wet it thoroughly with strong sage ten, 0 handful of sage to three pints of water, boiled, down to a quart. This is excellent to darken the hair. South erawood boiled in olive oil; strained and perfumed slightly will keep the bair from falling.