\
Bellefonte, Pa., Jan. 8, 1882.
rsd ie
For the WarcHyMAN.
THE OLD FARMHOUSE.
Embowered in trees the farm house stands,
Quaint and rambling, and weather gray ;
The moss grows green on its sloping roof,
And over the walks the sunbeams play,
Flickering down through the apple boughs,
By the gate the sweet red roses grow,
The lilacs bloom inthe early spring,
And the great red hearts of the peonies glaw,
The great hail door stands open wide,
And on the doorstone, worn deep
By many passing restless feet,
The masters hounds lie fast asleep.
The master was a hunter famed,
But now his hunting.days are o'er;
His rifle hangs upon the wall,
His hounds lie dreaming at the door.
In the cool hall the master sits,
tive all the warmest sympathies of her
heart. Most of her relatives,all very near
ones, excepting one nephew, were dead ;
but, while feeling the loneliness this
implies, she had .made friends with
the poor, the sick, the helpless till 1t
only needed an expression of sorrow or
or want to arouse her interest.
The first sight of Alice Ward's sweet
pale face hed wakened this interest,
and before the first hour of the knitting
lesson was ower, Mrs. Emerson had re-
solved not to dose sight of her young
teacher. Her story wae a very simple
one. The only child of a country
clergy man, she had been carefully ed-
ucated, especially in music, to fit her |
for teaching. Her meiber had died
while she was & mere child, and she
| had been her father’s housekeeper,
,} companion aad pupil ugtil his sudden
ii death threw her friendless and penni-
| less upon the werld. Finding it im-
|ipossible to obtain scholars «in the lit-
file country town, she had sold the fur-
His little grandson on his knee ; | mitare of her cottage and come to the
Up from the orchard comes the sound, ©ity, to struggle, as so many struggle,
Of singing bird and humming bee.
Across he broad, white dusty road
That leads away, up hill and.down,
Past village, farm and cottage home,
To end at last in the far off town.
The great barn stands with its stores of grain,
Near it the cribs, and beyond these
Are fields of waving corn and wheat,
And rows of stately cherry trees.
And here the lane leads winding down
Past kitchen, garden and cider mill,
To the creek where the cattle stand at noon,
And the strong farm horses drink their fill.
The rad squirrels run on the zigzag fence;
The west wind flutters the walnut leaves,
And down in the thicket, green and dark,
OA turtle dove for its last mate grieves.
The sun sinks down to the mountain ridge,
The master watches the gold and red
Of the clouds, that drift far, far away ;
And his thoughts drift back to the years long
fled.
May the blessing of heaven ever fall
On the dear oid farmhouse nestling there
And love and picsperity ever keep,
The masters kindly heart from care.
Shield him from all life’s many storms,
As he journeys calmly on his way,
And make the evening of his life
As peaceful as this summer day.
WiLL TRUCKENMILLER.
ath da——— A —————
—-—“You mustr’t ask me for a kiss,
You really m :tn’t, dear;
Just give me ti: +” she murmured, “for,
You know it's ow leap year.”
—
“TRIBUTION.
BY ANNA SHEILLS.
Twenty years ago and a Vermont
county seat, It was a dreary Decem-
ber day, cold and cloudy, though no:
actually stormirg, and the Jarge fancy-
goods store of Hopkins & Co. was al
most deserted by customers, when an
old lady, wrapped in rich furs, entered.
A moment Jater a young girl, poorly
clad, but with a sweet. sad face, and
carrying a large bundle, followed her,
and passing to the rear ot the store left
her parcel, returning to the front coun-
ter to wait patiently to speak to the
saleswoman who was attending to the
old lady.
The customer, after selecting some
knitting goods, said :
tween them the strongest love.
the old lady was not yet quite satisfied.
Uniformly cheerful, gentle and loving,
for bread.
For two weeks Mrs. Emerson devot-
ed two hours a day to studying new
kuitting stitches, and then she madé a
proposal that seemed to Alice like a
foretaste of heaven. In learning knit-
ting these two—oue nearly seventy
vears eld, the other not yet stwenty—
had learned to love each other, one
with the tender pity of prosperous old
age for helpless youth, the other with
a passionate gra‘itude for words and
l1,0ks of kindness far outweighing the
more substantial benefits conferred.
So, when Mrs. Emerson proposed to
Alice to come to live with her as a
companion, with a literal ealary, the
girl could scarcely believe in her good
fortune. And the life that followed
fully realized her fondest hopes.
It was not anidle life. She read to
Mrs. Emerson, played for her all the
choicest music, and taught much that
was new for her pleasure. She wrote
her business letters, was her agent in
her charitable duties, and found every
hour filled with active usefulaess,
And her own heart, full of noble as-
pirations and sweet womanly sympa-
thies, expanded in this genial, loving
atmosphere, until Mrs. Emerson’s love
for her was warm and tender as a
mother’s.
She dreamed dreams, too, this young-
hearted old womau, in which her neph-
ew, travelling in Europe, returned to
love this gentle girl and bind her still
more closely to her.—For, having but
one avenue for motherly love, Mrs.
Emerson had lavished it upon her sis-
ter’s son, who owed to her hie educa-
tion and a handsome income, already
settled upon him.
“I cannot bear to feel that you are
waiting for me to die, that you may be
independent,” the old lady said when
she settled a large sum upon her
nephew.
A year had passed, a year of happi-
ness for both, since Mrs. Emerson had
met Alice Ward, and there was pile
ut
Alice could not entirely conceal from
her employer and friend that there was
“I should like to see the person who | a shadow upon her life that even the
knits these hoods and give her an or
der.”
“I am sorry, Mrs. Emerson, but it is
against the rules of the store. All or
ders must be left with us; but I can
assure you the most minute directions
will be carefully delivered."
“That will not do,” was the decided
answer. “I want to see the woman.”
“Very sorry,” the girl replied, “but
I do not dare to break the rules.”
Mrs. Emerson paid for her goods,
not noticing that the girl who had
been close beside her had left the store.
She was stepping into her carriage
‘when the same girl spoke to her.
“I beg pardon,” she said, a faint
blush coloring her pale cheeks, “but I
overheard what you said in the store,
I have not promised to keep any of the
rules made for the saleswoman, and I
need the order you mentioned so much
I ventured to follow you.”
“Oh! You knitted the hood 7’
“Yes. Iknita great many articles
for Hopkins & Co.”
“Just step into the carriage for a
few moments. Drive slowly, James,”
said Mrs. Emerson, adding, when she
had drawn the fur robes over her new
companion: “The reason I cculd not
leave my order is easily explained—I
am, as you see, an old lady nearly
seventy, and I cannot use my eyes
much for sewing or reading, but I' am
very fond of knitting. Most of my
work goes to fairs or charity, so while
itis an amusement to me, it is not
wasted. I have bought goods several
times from Hopkins & Co. because
there were new stitches in then but [
find raveling them out does not help
.me to learn them. So what I wanted
to ask you was whether you could
teach them to me. I will pay for your
tiie, say a dollar an hour, and you
could come each morning until I learn
all the new ones you can show me.”
“And I know se many,” the girl re-
plied, her color deepening with pleas:
ure, “and most of them I invented my-
self, so they are really new.—Some I
leaned from my cld nurse, a Scotch wo-
man, who knew a great many.”
“Then yon can spare the time to
teach me?”
“Oh, yes; and,” she said; frankly,
“the money will be a great help to me.
I cannot make a dollar in a day, much
less an hour, knitting for stores,”
I¢ am quite anxious to begin,” said
Mrs. Emerson, with a pleasant little
laugh. “Can you give me a lesson
now?” -
“With pleasure,” was the reply.
The coachman, having received his
orders, the carriage was driven to a
handsome residence, where, a few
mowents later, Mrs. Emerson and * her
teachér were seated ina cosy sitting
room, busy over needles and wool.
But while Mrs. Emerson was appar-
ently absorbed in the lesson, she was
really drawing trom her young com-
panion the simple story of her life. A
widow, living alone and in weak health
Mrs. Emerson had kept alive and ac-
alone.
Mrs. Emerson.
ago.”
loved me!
—not before.
present happiness had not lifted. The
confidence so long withheld came quite
unexpectedly at last.
Alice was iz her own room, adjoining
Mrs. Emerson’s, busied with some let-
ters, and did not know she was not
Mrs. Emerson, who had come
in to ask some trifling question, saw
her take from her desk a photograph,
and as she looked at it tears rolled
down her cheeks, until, with an impa-
tient look of scorn at her own weak-
ness, she suddenly tore it in two and
threw it upon the floor. One piece,
the face portrayed upon it, fluttered to
Mre. Emerson's feet.—Her own face
wag very white as she lifted it, saying:
“Who is this, Alice? Why have
you torn it?”
‘He was a coward, a traitor!” the
girl said quickly.
“To you?”
“Yes! Oh, I am sorry you saw me,
It is all over, long
But there was a choking sob in her
voice as she spoke.
“Tell me about it, dear. Perhaps it
will take away some of the heartache
to speak of it.”
“It was before my father died.—He
came to Hopeville, and—and, oh, Mrs,
Emerson, he did make me believe he
I cannot see that I was
unmaidenly in any way; but I loved
him with my whole heart, when he
had tried to win it, in a thousand ways
His name was Walter
Hutchinson.” : ;
“I ki ow you well enough to be sure
of that,” was the gentle reply.
“I thought he would speak to papa ;
but one day, when we were walking
together, he told me he dared not ask
me to be his wife, because he would of:
tend his aunt, who was anxious to have
hum marry a rich, fashionable girl.”
“Oh! He was found then of his
aunt?”
“I do not think so. He always
spoke of her money as tar more iw por-
tant than herself.
1 think she could
not have been a very lovable person
because once she had a very sudden
dangerous attack of illness that called
him away for a week, and when he
came back he seemed quite disappoint-
ed that she had notdied.—I remember,
when I asked him how she was, he
said :
her money-bags io herself forever, I be-
lieve,
this time,”
‘Ohy.confound her, she'll keep
I thonght I was sure of them
“Was ic this ogress of an aunt who
prevented his ‘making you his’ wife?”
“So he said. And I don’t think I
wanted to marry him after I knew that
he was not manly enough to make his
own ' fortune:
him!” and the tears dropped ‘again
over the Jost dream.
But—but I did love
“You were fortunate to lose him.
He was, as you say; ‘a coward and a
traitor!”
Never had Alice heard Mis. Emer-
son’s: voice 80 stern, seen her eyes flash
so angrily. It bad been part of the
old lady’s ,castle-building te conceal
from her young protegee the very exis-
tence of her dearly loved nephew. She
had put away his picture, had sent her
letters to mail by her maid, had never
mentioned his name. She had believ-
ed if these two met, unprepared, they
must love each other, and had omitted
all mention of Alice in her letters, for
the same reason that she kept her in
ignorance of his existence.
And now, where no shadow ot doubt
could fall upon the story, she learned
at what value this idolized nephew
held her love, what gratitude her life-
long indulgence had won.
It hart her pride too sorely for her to
take Alice into her confidence; but in
many subsequent conversatians, she
drew from her more fully the story of
the summer Waiter Hutchinson had
spent at Hopeville, the persistent woo-
ing by which he had won a pure, inno-
cent heart, only to throw it aside.
It might be that when Alice was old-
er and her present secluded life was
changed for one where she saw more
of society, her heart would find a rest-
ing-place in a more worthy love. But
there had~been but that one hero in
her past, and the wound his want of
faith and honor had left was deep and
lasting.
Six months later, Walter Hutchin-
son was speeding across the Atlantic to
take possession of the inheritance for
which his sordid soul had most impa-
tiently waited. A spendthrift, a gam-
bler and utterly reckless, he had never
made his handsome income meet his |
expenditures, and his debts, incurred
upon the expectation of his aunt’s for-
tune being his own, were enormous.
He was too late for Mrs. Emerson’s
funeral, and the bouse was closed and
empty. Seeking the lawyer who had
for years managed his aunt’s business,
he cutely made inquiries about her es-
tate. :
**Ah, yes,” the lawyer said, “there
was a will—yes, the entire property
was left to Mrs. Emerson’s adopted
daughter.”
“What! She was crazy!”
40h, not at all. The will was most
carefully worded. Mrs. Emerson ex-
pressly stated that she had already set-
tled npon you a sufficient fortune.”
“*Bug--the woman—the adventuress
who wormed herself into the old tool's
good graces, who is she?’ cried Wal-
ter, beside himself with rage.
“the lady who inherited Mrs. Em-
erson’s fortune, and who is at present
on her way to Furope with my wife
and son,” said the lawyer, with dig-
nity, ‘is Miss Alice Ward, daughter of
the Reverend William Ward, of Hope-
ville.”
And as the name passed the lawyer's
lips, Walter Hutchinson recognized the
retribution that had fallen upon him.
THE PROPER THING FOR LEAP
YEAR.
She asked him if he would be hers;
He laughed a loud, ha! ha!
And then he blushed and softly cried,
“You'd better see papa.”
Personal Appearance of St, Paul.
¢
The following fragment of early
Christian literature is unquestionably
of greal antiquity, some of the foremost
writers on Christianity having gone so
fas as to attribute it to St. Paul him-
self. The copy from which it was tak-
en is in Greek and is now reposing in
the Bodteian Library, Oxford, Eog-
land :
“When Paul was going up to Icon-
ium, as he fled from Antioch, he was
accompained by Hermogenes and De.
mas, men full of great hypocrisy. But
Paul, intent only on the goodness of
God. suspected no evil of them, lov-
ing them exceedingly, making the Gos-
pel of Christ pleasant unto them and
discoursing to them of the knowledge
of Christ as it had been revealed to
him.
“Bat a certain man named Onesi-
phorous and his wife, Lectra, and their
children, Simmia and Zeno, hearing
that Paul was coming to Iconium,went
forth to meet him that they might re-
ceive him into their house, for T.tus
had informed them of the personal ap-
pearance of Paul, but as yet they had
not known him in the flesh. Walking
therefore, in the King’s highway,
which leads towards Lystra, they wait-
ed, expecting to receive him. Not
long after they saw Paul coming to-
wards them. He was small of statue,
bald, his legs distorted. his eyebrows
knit together, his nose aquiline, but
was in all a man manifestly full of the
grace of God, his countenance being
sometimes like that of an angel.”
HI ons UTC Tr,
A PROGRESSIVE NEWSPAPER.— @0-
ple wno want to get the most and best
reading for the least money should buy
the Pittsburg Times. It is the only
Pittsburg morning paper sold for One
Cent, yet ‘it gives all the news and in
more attractive shape than its contem-
pararies. It pags special attention to
political improvements, finance and
trade, the industrial progress of West-
ern Pennsylvania and the interests of
workingmen., It gets the news of the
world concisely by telegraph and covers
the local field carefully and accurately.
Its editorial columns are bright with
timely comments’ and conducied on a
fair, broad basis. If you want to keep
posted upon the developments of 1892,
subscribe for the Times.
SR ———— CA S————
——7You can rely upon Hood’s Sarsa-
parilla ‘as’ a’ positive remedy for every
form of serofula, salt rheum, boils, pim-
ples and all other deseases caused by im-
pure blood. It eradicates every impur-
ity and at the same time tones’ and vi-
talizes the whole system.
——Andy Carnegie is going to equip
a band of eighty members at Braddock.
Getting ready for next year’s fight for
“Protection to American Labor.
——1It is with infinite satisfaction
that I state the fact that Dr. Bulls
Cough Syrup has been long used in my
family and always with marked success.
R. J. Jarvis, Chief Eng. Fire Dep.
Petersburg, Va.
|
SHE WAS ALL RIGHT.
He did not think she cared for him,
But when the leap year came
He noticed, to his great surprise,
She gct there just the same.
—————————————— —
John Greenleaf Whittier Eighty-four
Years Old.
Tender Birthday Letter Dwelling Upon the Story
of the Past by Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes,
The following is the letter which Oli-
ver Wendell Holmes has sent to John
Greenleaf Whittier, congratulating him
on the 84th anniversary of his birth,
which was on December 17th :
“My Dear WHITTIER .I congratu-
late you on having climbed another
glacier and crossed another crevasse in
your assent of the white summit which |
already is begining to see the morning
twilight of the coming century. A life
sowell filled as yours has been cannot be
teo long for your fellow men and wo-
men. In their affections you are secure
whether you are with them here or near
them in some higher life than theirs. I
hope your years have not become a bur-
den, so that you are tired of living. At
our age we must live chiefly in the past.
Happy is he who has a past like yours
to look back upon. It is one of the
felicitous incidents —I will not say acci-
dents—o! my life that the lapse of time
has brought us very near together, so
that I frequently find myself honored by
seeing my name mentioned in near con-
nection with you now. We are lonely,
in these last years. Theimage which I
have used betore this in writing to you
recurs once more to my thoughts :
“We are on deck together as we be-
gan the voyage of life two generations
ago. The life of a whole generation
passed and found us in the cabin with a
goodly company of coevals. Then the
craft which held us began going to
pieces, until a few of us were left on the
raft pieced together of its fragments.
And now the raft has at last parted, and
you and I are left clinging to the soli-
tary spar which is all that remains afloat
of the sunken vessel.
“I have just been looking over the |
headstones of Mr. Griswold’s cemetery, |
entitled ‘The Poets and Poetry of |
America.” In that venerable recepta-'
cle juft completing its half century of |
existence, for the date of the edition be- |
fore n.e is 1842, TI find the name of John
Greenleaf Whittier and Oliver Wendell
Holmes next each other, in their due or-
der, as they should be. All around are
the names of the dead—too often of for-
gotten dead. Three names I see there
are still among those of the living.
John Osborn Sargent, who makes Hor-
ace his own by faithful study and ours
by scholarly translation: Isaac McLel-
lan, who was writing in 1830, and whose
last work is dated 1886 and Christopher
P. Oranch, whose poetical gift has too
rarely found expression. Ofthese many
dead you are the most venerated, rever-
ed and beloved survivor, of these few
living the most honored representative.
Long may it be before you leave a
world where your influence has been so
beneficent, where you example has been
such 1nspiration, where you are so truly
loved, and where your presence is a per-
petual benefaction. Always affection-
ately yours.
“OLIvER WENDELL HoLMES.
THE QUAKER POET'S CAREER.
Mr. Whittier was eighty-four years
old on December 17, The event of his
birthday was celebrated by his many
friends, eminent and obscure. The poet
lives in the utmost retirement in his
home at Amesbury, Mass. He and
Oliver Wendell Holmes are the last
survivors of the group ofeminent Amer-
ican poets that flourished in the first
half of the nineteenth century, and in-
cluded Lengfellow, Bryant, Emerson,
Poe, Lowell. Halleck and several others.
Whittier was a writer as early as 1859,
and ten years afterwards he was editor of
an anti-slavery paper in Philadelphia,
the office of which was burned and sack-
ed by a mob. In 1881 he appeared as a
poet, and during the sixty years that
have elapsed since then he has written
“Snow Kound,” Maud Muller,” many
poems against slavery, “My Creed,”
“The Eternal Goodness,” &c., “As a
Poet,” says one of his eulogists, * Whit-
tier is more peculiarly American than
any other of equal fame,”
GOT THERE TOO LATE.
On New Year’s morn he quickly rose,
And to her house he ran,
To find that when he reached her door
At half past twelye the night before
She’d asked some other man.
Old New England Death Superstitions.
Since the days when the Mathers gov-
erned New England opinions, have peo-
pled the sky with witches and the
graveyards with avenging specters, and
attributed most nervous diseases to ob-
session, many curious customs in regard
to death and burial have prevailed in
the superstitious towns. In the old
colonial houses on tha capes; the wood
tick was held to be a death watch; and
cn the decease of a inember of the family
in rural neighborhoods, the nearest relax
tive went and told the bees, and some-
times trimmed the straw hives under the
quince, peach or apple trees with crepe.
It was a touching sight to se and aged
woman go out into the green yard and
knock on the hives, and give the final
word to the golden inhabitants of the
air and flowers.
The bees in those domestic times,
like the cat and dog, were apart of the
family, and were suj posed to possess oc-
cult knowledge, and so tu these myster-
ious botanists were taken. the family be-
reavements. The dog howled when
death was approaching; the cat saw
spirits; and started up and ran, and any
unusual occurrence fell under the sus-
picions of being a death felch: — Hele
kiah Butterworth in Harper's
—- Wanted to be Consistent. —Mr.
Weather.y was” sittifig in his office,
when a yourg men came in presented a
bill for ten dollars. “Look here, young
fellow, it seems that you people are in
considerable hurry for money.” “I
don’t think so, sir, You have owed it
for a year.” ‘Yes, for a year, but let
me tell you that I am fifty-one year old.
So you see there were fifty years of my
life during ‘which I didn’t oweit. Just
think of it—didn’t owe youwa cent for
fifty years. Now Ldon’t see what bet-
"to medical treatment.
| his inauguration.
ter record you want than that. Let
time even this thing a little—let us be
corstant.”’ —Arkansaw Traveler.
TA, TA!
The spinster met, one leap year morn,
A man she held most dear,
And asked him if he'd call. Said he,
“I cannot come this year.”
ee ———
How the Presidents Died,
Amerlcan Notes and Queries.
George Washington—His death was
the result of a severe cold contracted
while riding around his farm in a rain
and sleet storm on Dec.10,1799.The cold
increased and was followed by a chill,
which brought on acute laryngitis. His
death occurred on Dec. 14,1799. He
was 68 years of age.
John Adams.—He died of old age,
having reached his 91st milestone.
Though active mentally he was nearly
blind and unable to hold the pen steadi-
ly enough to write. He passed awa
without pain on July 4, 1826. .
Thomas Jefferson.—He died at the
age of 83, a few hours before Adams, on
July 4, 1826. His disease was chronic
diarrhea, superinduced by old age, and
his physician said, the too free use of
the waters of the White Sulphur
Springs.
James Madison—He, too, died of old
age, on June 28, 1836. His faculties
were undimed to the last. He was 85.
James Monroe.—At the time of his
death, which occurred in the 73d year
of his age, on July 4, 1831, it was as-
signed to no other cause than enfeebled
health.
John Quency Adams. —-- He was
stricken with paralysis on Feb. 21, 1848,
while addressing the Speaker of the
House of Representatives, being at the
time a member of Congress. He died
in the rotunda of the capitol. He was
was 81 years of age.
Andrew Jackson.—He died on June
8, 1845, 78 years old. He suffered from
consumption, and finally dropsy, which
made its appearance about six months
before his death.
Martin Van Buren.—He died on July
24, 1872, from a violent attack of asth-
ma, followed by catarrhal affections of
the throat and lungs. He was 80 years
of age,
William Henry Harrison.—The cause
| of his death was pleurisy, the result of a
cold which he caught on the day of his
inauguration. This, accompanied by
severe diarrheea, which would not yield
His death oc-
curred on April 4, 1841, a month after
He was 68 years of
age.
John Tyler. —He died on Jan. 17,
1862, at the age of 72. I have been
unable to ascertain the cause of his
death.
James K.Polk.--In the spring of 1749
he was stricken with a slight attack of
cholera while on a boat going up the
Mississippi river. Though temporarily
relieved he had a relapse on his return
home and died on June 15, 1849, aged
54 vears.
Zachary Taylor.—He was the second
President to die in office. Heis said to
have partaken immoderately of ice wa-
ter and iced milk, and later of a large
quantity of cherries. The result was an
attack of cholera morbus. Another au-
thority attributes his death to a severe
cold. The former seems the more like
ly. He was 66 years old.
Millard Fillmore.—He died from a
stroke of paralysis on March 8, 1947, in
his 74th year.
Franklin Pierce. —His death was due
to abdominal dropsy, and occurred on
Oct. 8, 1869, in the 65th year of his life.
James Buchanan. —His death occurred
on June 1, 1868, and was caused by
rheumatic gout. He was 77 years old.
Abraham Lincoln.—He was shot by
J. Wilkes Booth at Ford’s theatre,
Washington, D. C., on April 1865, and
died the the following day, aged 56.
Andrew Johnson.—He died from a
stroke of paralysis, July 31, 1875, aged
67.
The deaths of Grant, Garfield and
Arthur are recent enough to be remem-
bered by all.
HAPPY MAN.
’Tis leap year,and from morn till night
We hear him gladly sing ;
For when he said he’d marry her
She bought herself the ring.
The Cost of Intoxicants.
If some of the poor men, whose fami-
iies are skimped in clothing, whose ta-
bles at times are short of necessary or
desired food and whose houses lack many
comforts that might be added by a little
economy, will read the following, it
may possibly enlighten them as to why
matters are as they are with them.
The money paid for one glass of beer
would pay for one loaf of bread.
The money paid for two glasses of
beer would pay for a peck of potatoes.
The money paid for four glasses of
beer would pay for two dozens of eggs.
The money paid for three gia.ses of
whiskey Lid gn for a dressed fowl.
The money paid for three glasses of
beer would pay for a quarter of a pound
of tea.
The money paid for one glass of whis-
ky would pay for one pound of beef.
The money paid for two drinks of
whiskey would pay for one pound of
cofiee.
The money paid for four glasses of
whisky would pay for three pounds of
butter.
The money paid in one month for two
glasses of beer a dav would pay for a ton
of coal.
The money paid in one month for two
glasses of whisky a day would pay for a
suit of clothes.
The money paid in one year for four
glasses of beer uw day would pay for a
carringe.
The monay paid in one year for four
glasses of whisky a day would pay for a
horse and harness.
The money paid in one year for three
glasses of whisky n dav would pay for
an outfit of household furniture.
——While we are collecting food for
the starving Russians, it might be well
to send a few carloads of clothing to
Chicago. It is said that ten thousand
children in that city cannot attend
school because they are not properly
clad.— Minneapolis Tribune.
—— Only three men are referred to as
such in the New Testament, and two of
them were lusty if
= %i
The World of Women.
An oyster is the best bait for a rattrap.
Salt added to cooked fruit, especially
in pies, increase the flavor. :
Nothing takes the soreness from bruis-
es and sprains as quickly as alcohol
Mrs. Parnell will receive $200,000
under the will of her aunt, the late Lady
Wood.
Old loose kid gloves, worn when iron-
one’s hands.
Never iron black cotton stockings, as
the heat fades them rapidly. Dry them
in the shade. :
Mme. Patti has engaged passage for
New York on board the steamer City of
Paris, sailing on December 23.
In the picture business there is an.
enormous demand for studies in white,
framed in white wood with a silver
finish.
The Woman’s College of Baltimore is
to havetiwo new buildings, one for
general college instruction, the other for
dormitories. Their cost will be
$150,000.
Mrs. Langtry is very ill and has been
unable to fulfill her provincial ergage-
ments. She hasalso canceled all dates
for her American tour, which was to
have begun in January.
The Princess Victoria Mary of Teck is.
handsome enough to win any man by
the mere force of her personal charms,
and sensible enough to appear entirely
innocent of being the beauty of the royal
family.
John Strange Winter has been made
President ofthe Woman Writers of
London. When it is considered that
her real nameis Mrs. Stannard, the
election does not seem so strange an
affair after all.
Woman the life of man with light
doth fill ;
Without her smile he is in darkness shroud-
ed ;
oGd doiibtless made her that man might have
sti
The cheerful sunshine when the sky was
clouded.”
For pretty, inexpensive evening gowns
nothing surpasses the striped surahs or
the dainty shot silks. They do duty
twice as long as most others inexpensive
textiles of similar character. The colors
are beautiful in the evening dyes, and
the quality, considering the price of
these silks, is remarkably fine. :
When Mrs. Jefferson Davis began to.
assist her husband soon after they were
married by acting as his amanuensis, her
hand writting was too girlish to please
him, and she determined to imitate his
handwriting. With tracing paper she
copied and recopied his manuscript un-
til by practice she could produce his
writing in fac smile.
The bonnet gets dail smaller, and the
strings longer and wider. For a long
time past the favorite trimming for hats
and bonnets has been the little cluster of
three feathers. known asa “Prince de
Galles.” Well, the “Prince” has been
superseded by ‘Rosa-Josephs,” an
adornment composed of two feathers
placed back to back and drooping in
opposite directions.
Mrs. Benjamin Harrison and the
Princess Louise must feel flattered at
being the only two women who have
ever been pe:mitted to enter the clois-
ters ot the Monastery of Santa Barbara,
in California ; though it knocks the
gilt off the gingerbread to know that,
after departure, their fooprints on the
holy soil were deemed such desecrations
that it had to be reconsecrated in the most
solemn and penitential fashion, and re-
gardless of trouble or expense.
Back combs are in again and rise
like fortifications from the tangled tres-
ses of athe the lightly twisted coiffure.
They are ‘two or three inches in height
now, and promise to attain the stupen-
dous proportions of colonial times be-
fore the season is over. Indeed in the
reserve stock of inany dealers are now
hidden away towering structures in shell
which they dare not produce until peo-.
ple become accustomed to their less ab-
surd forerunners. Fashion is a wily
sovereign. She is never aggressive or
abrupt, but insidiously evolutes her
changes of mode through nice grada-
tions.
No little interst has been excited by
the announcement that Miss Winne”
Davis, or asshe was christened by the
Governor of Alabam years ago, ‘‘the
Daughter of the Confederacy,” isto
write a series of articles for a prominent
women’s journal. She. is ‘to present
some interesting results of her obsepva-
tions and studies abroad, Jefferson
Davis’ affection for his youngest daugh-
ter is well known, and desirous that she
should possess all the advantages which
a good education holds for a girl, he
caused her to study. for five year in the
best institutions of Europe.” Miss Davis
had, therefore, every facility tor study-
ing the advantages, if “any, of a
toreign education for American girls,
Leaf designs seem to be the fancy
whim in embroidery this season. The
leaves of various kinds are stamped on
the edge of the piece of silk of linen for
the bureau cover, centre piece, or buffet
cloth. The pattern is button-holed
around the eges, the leaves veined with
a darker shade of the same color, and
the cloth is cut out round the patterns.
Sometimes two rows ofleaves are stamp-
ed about the piece, when the under
leaves are darned all over and the outer
ones are buttonholed and veined. The
effect is of one cloth laid over the other,
The favorite ta cloth designs are the
Marie Antoinette, whereon are bunches
of fl \wers tied up with ribbons, and the
Louis XV., with ts combination of
gerolls in gold
flowers, :
A curious prejudice that come people
have is against soap as an application
for the face; this is a great fallacy.
Good soapis agreat beautifier, and a
' great preventive of the uncomely look-
ing “blackheads’’ which are such a
disticurement and are so hard to get rid
of. The real cause ot these unpleasant
little specks is not, as a rule, anything
more serious than this: Some people
| have much larger skin pores than others,
| and the dust collec:s, settles and finally
forms a hard, b'ack little substance
| which probably would never have had a
chance of ‘developing if theskin was
| thoroughly washed with soap twice a
! day and rubbed vigorously with a coarse
towel. Do not be afraid of a red nose ;
the redness will soon f.de quickly away
and leave no trace. Of
ing, will save many callous places on ~
with bright-colored