Demorwaic Wald
Bellefonte, Pa., Jan. 15, 1892.
“DAT SINNEGAD.”
A CHRISTMAS POEM.
For the WATCHMAN.
She stood by the basement railing,
In the chill December air,
The wind blew her tattered shawl abecut,
And played with her whitened hair,
“So you've sold your eabin, Aunty,
And where do you travel now 2”
A thrill of pity touched one,
At the wrinkles across her brow,
Fingers bony and shriveled,
Bent and numb with cold,
Clutched at the iron gateway
With a weak and tremulsus held:
A shrill volce quavered the answer
“Dunno, honey, dunno,
De Lawd knows, ony de Lawd knows,
Where now ole Debrah go.
“Mighty hard times acomin’,
Specks de fust grat snow
Will fine me in de poah house
Whare all ole nigga’s go.
Specks you haven’ got non
Terbac’ er suthin hot—
Or any throw way coffee
Stanin in de pot.”
In the cheery kitchen,
O’er the crackling fire,
Deborah’s tongue is loosened,
Her voice goes one key higher—
“Derum’ilz fix me joints so,
An’ linments berry deah,
Sinnegad done been losted
Come nex’ week eight yeah.
“Sinnegad was my childrens,
All de ones I had,
Sometimes berry good chile,
Sometimes berry bad.
I was gethren chu’ch greens
Jes’ on sich a day,
Sinnegad was watchin’
An’ he done run away.
“Eight yeahs day 'fore Christmas,
Eight yeah a gret while,
Like nuff he be growed now,
Quite a likely chile—
Once he burn hisse’f Miss,
Playin’ wid hot coal,
Singe his har close to de skin,
An lef’ a big white hole.
“One night I was dreamin’—
(Dream a heap 'bout him)
De winder riz’ itself right up,
An’ Sinegad clumb in*
Sneakin’ like he stood thar,
Lookin’ roun’ fer me,
His wool was standin stret up,
Stret ez I ever see.
“I coulden’ tech that chile now,
I coulden den an thar,
Wid de moonlight shinin’ in he’s face
An’ whiskin’roun’ his har.
‘Mammy !” up I jump den,
An’ foun’ me all alone,
De moon a-lookin’ in de pane,
An’ I coulden’ stop de groan.
“I coulden’ help de cryin’,
I felt so awful bad,
Thinkin’ how I'd loss 'im,
Jes’ when I foun’ dat Sinnegad.”
The tears that trembled In her eyes,
Left each a shining trace,
Mother-love and grief shone
On her withered old black face.
“I mus’ be a-goin’
Dat dinna wan't so bad
Don’ you fret now, honey
Bout dat bad Sinnegad.
ERE EN AR RRR Ew
Christmas chimes were sounding
With the first gleam of light,
From the chapel’s belfry
And the tower's height.
Choristers were marching
To carol the bright morn,
“Peace to the sons of David
To you a King isborn !”
Holly at the windows,
Festoons winding high,
Children’s faces smiling
At every passer-by.
Jingling, pranciag, dancing,
A spirited young pair
Of horses, necks arched proudly,
Manes tossed to the air.
On the driver's seat a coachman
Black as ebony,
As stiff, and straight, and pompous
As a coachman ought to be.
A shriek, a halt, a clatter
Of hoofs, and then below
The sleigh and robes goes something
Rolling in the snow.
A crowd, a brisk policeman,
A coachman terrified
Leans o’er the huddled bundle
“4n ole black mam” he cried.
At that her eyes flew open—
The coachman’s hat is gone—
A bald spot near his forehead
Gleams and glistens ir the sun.
A moment,—then old Deborah's arms
That stalwart coachman grab—
“Be I dead.and gone to Heaben ?
Dat san my Sinnegad !”
Old Deborah sits in her kitchen
The coals from her own hearth glow,
She swings.on a creaking rocking chair
Contented!y to and fro.
Beside her rest two crutches,
But her face is far from sad,
Smiling and proudly she mutters,
“I hab found dat Sinnegad.”
—SARA MAY BArrErT.
HER MEDIATIONS.
How Mrs. Paulding was Reconciled to Tons
Sweetheart.
I wonder why sons will never marry
the girls their mothers pick out for
them. The perversity ot human na-
ture, I suppose. But it seems to me
thatif any one pointed out the proper
line of conduct to me I would follow.
it.
I had never much of a fancy for Ge-
rarda Abbey. Her lips and cheeks
always seemed to be too bright colored,
and her dark hair curled aod flew
about so. And then her eyes danced
and shown in a totally undignified
manner.
“Tom,” I used to say at least once a
week, “I wonder you don’t admire
Margie Hoffheimer. She has such
dignity, such repose of manner.”
“So has an iceburg—and an oyster,”
Tom would retort.
| Margie.
|
{ing a dancing school.
{thinks a woman ought to support her-
1 self by teaching music or embroidery
“Well! the young men of the pres-
ent day have strange tastes. She is
just my ideal of a woman. She never
covers her forehead with foolish bangs
and frizzes.”
“Pityshe doesn’t!” said Tom. “It
has such a lumpy look.”
Tom is my only child. I love him
dearly, but he has always been a great
weight on my mind. For instance, in
spite of all my entreaties he would go
to Fairview to settle, though every one
said there was a fine opening at home,
in Paschal, when old Dr. John died.
what a dear, good old man he was—
but somehow he never came to see me
professionally that he did not make me
sicker than ever.
I told him so once, and he did not
take it in good part at all.
Strange how few people can bear to
hear the truth.
Well, as I was saying, Tom would
admire Gerarda and wouldn't admire
Now, I am not mercenary,
but I do thiuk it is better for a young
professional man to marry a girl with a
nice little fortune of her own than one
with a widowed mother and five young-
er sisters and brothers and just enough
to get along on.
“You'll never succeed, Tom,” I
cried, ina pet, “if you marry a girl
with a pack of mothers and sisters cling-
ing to ber skirts.”
“Strictly speaking,” eaid Tom, in
iis provoking way, “Mrs. Abbey can’t
be called a pack of mothers.”
“Qh, you know perfectly well what I
mean ; but have your own way as us-
ual.”
Of course I had to call en the girl,
since she and Tom were engaged. The
little house where they lived was al-
ways as neat as a pin, I must say, and
Gerarda was the main stay of the fam-
ily.
I was polite, but not at all cordial. I
am too truthful to assume anything I
don’t feel. I told her I thought she
would look better with her hair brush-
ed back from her forehead. She col-
ored, but answered very. pleasantly that
“Tom.liked it best 80.”
This happened during one of Tom's!
visits home. He never staid long, and |
| Tusedito tell him it looked as if I did
not make him comfortable. Well, I
{ did not see much of Gerarda that fall,
though we used to pay each other duty
{ calls now and then; and when winter
1 set in I heard a queer freak of hers.
She had opened a dancing school.
Now there seems to be something
very bold and unfeminine about teach-
One always
or painting plaques. To be sure Ge-
1 rarda did know how to play or paint,
1 never having had much time for ac-
complishments, I fancy.
I couldn't understand it all, for the
| Abbeys had always got along so far,
and it was particularly odd when Mor-
ton, the eldest boy, had been given a
place 1a a commission house in Cin-
cinnati by an uncle or cousin or some-
thing of the sort. I began to think she
must have done it out of sheer light
headeduness and frivolity.
I wrote to Tom hoping he might re-
monstrate with her. I am always mod-
erate in the expression of my opinion.
so I simply said:
“Grerarda is looking very badly. All
i this dancing and racketing around is
not good for her. Eat the young peo-
| ple of the present day have no discre-
tion. Modesty seems to have gone out
! of date along with veneration for their
elders.”
That was all T said.
But it seemed to have no effect,ifor
{ Gerard still went on teaching. She be-
gan (o0.leok worse and worse. All the
color left ner face; -even her lips were
pale, and her movth gota pinched
look. Then she got a backing cough,
and I used to hear her going coughing
along ithe street from her dancing
school. She had not been to see me
for the longest time—treating me with
marked disrespect. But at last I conld |
not bearto hear her, so I ranto the:
gate and gave her a box of lozenges. |
She thanked me; then she gave me a
wistful sort of look and hesitated, asif
she wantea to say something, but she!
eyidendly changed her mind, for she
passed on.
One day I was walking along the!
beach. Winter was beginning to break
up, and there was bright patches of
green to be seen here and there. The
sky was blue and white, with flying
clouds, and the water around the piers
was shining in the sun. Everything
looked so peaeeful and happy that IL
couldn’t hélp wondering why people
can’t be peaceful and happy too, and
follow the gdlden rule.
I had had a very trying morning.
In the first place I had been to see
Mrs. Jones. When I went into the sit-
ting room there was a fire cracking on
the hearth, aud I eould see through the
door that there was one burning in her
room also. Now, as Mrs. Jones is
poor and as I had eupplied her with
food for the greater part of the winter,
I thought I had the right to say :
“Dear me, Mre. Jones, I shouldn't
think you could afford to have two fires
burning at once—and such a mild day
too.”
She turned as red as a beet and press-
ed her lips together, but she didn’t say
anything. [I think Mrs. Jones is far
trom being sweet tempered.
Then 1 went to sister Harriet’s. Her
daughter Ella had just met with quite a
severe accident, having been thrown
from a buggy, while out driving, and
her arm broken. To be sure it was
painful, and the shock had made her
ill, but then she should not have been
so foolish as to have gone out behind
Ned Pennywick’s young horse. I re-
minded her of this,
“You ought to be thankful,” I be-
gan.
“Thankful for having been nearly
killed?’ she cried. “Really, Aunt:
Maria, my gratitude is sot so easily:
aroused.” ;
I sat down on the bed beside her.
Perhaps I might have drawn the cover
rather tightly over her feet, but she
need not have given such a flounce.
your back or your n.ck,” I said.
“Well iv wasn’t.” ed
“But it might have been.”
“Maria,” said my sister at this point,
“too much conversation is not good for
Ella. The doctor says it makes her
feverish.”
So I left there and went to Mrs. Crit-
tenden’s. She was in a great trouble.
She and her husband had not been
married long, but they had had very
heavy money losses, and he had been
obliged to leave her with her mother
while he went out west to seek employ-
ment.
I had brought her some wine jelley,
ard after I had given it to her I said :
“Cheer up, my dear. It might be so
much worse. Suppose he was dead ?”
“Oh, don’t!” she cried.
“Well, but it might have happened.
In the midst of life we are in death,
and think how dreadful it would have
been to see him lying in his coffin in-
stead of his being just out west, where
you can hear from him twice a week.
Does he write twice a week ?”
“Only once,” she said.
“Only once—dear dear!” said I. “I
should think he'd write oftener.”
“He is too busy,” she replied.
Then to divert her mind trom her
own grievances, I began to tell her
about my new household, Clarissa, and
how many things she had broken in
the last week.
“Three saucers and a teacup—no !
three teacups and asaucer,” I was say-
ing, when I happened to glance at her,
and saw she was not listening to a word
I was saying.
She seems to be a poor spiritiess
credture, and I made up my mind that
I would not go to see her again ‘in a
harry. :
Indeed, I came to the conclusion that
there is very little gratitude in the
world. You can go around wearing
yourself out trying to do good to others,
and never get a word of thanks,
Ithought I would go on to Mrs.
ftone’s, as she had asked the ladies of
‘the church to meet at her house and
talk over the new alter cloth. When I
stepped upon the gallery the front door
was ajar, and a sound of voices came
from ihe parlor; butuno oneseemed to
hear my knock, I paused a moment,
when my attention was attracted by
the following remark :
“Mrs. Paulding is ome of those peo-
ple who are moral fly blisters to all
their friends and acquaintances.”
“Yes.” said another voice—it was
that deceitful Margie Hoffheimer—*I
always think it was fortunate for Job's
reputation tor patience that he did not
know her.”
“And the worst of it is that she has
Aen heart, and one can’t quite hate
or,’
“You are right,” replied Gerarda
Abbey's voice, “Mrs. Paulding has one
of the best hearts in the world. I know
of ever €0 many sacrifices she has
made in order to help others.”
“Well, I should think you would be
the last—"
But I did not wait to hear more. I
was so angry that I did not know ex-
actly where I was going when I walked
away. To think that Gerarda’s voice
was the only one raised in my defence,
afterthe way I had always snubbed het.
I felt heartily ashamed of mpself. As
I was hurrying along who should over-
take me but Gerarda. She bowed and
was going to pass on, but I said:
“Your cold doesn’t seem to get any bet-
ter, my dear.”
She looked surprised and her lip
trembled; then she answered bravely:
“Oh, now spring is coming it will soon
be well.”
“Not unless you take careof your-
self; you ought to get Tom to prescribe:
for you.” :
She hung her head and murmured
something that sounded like “Tom
doesn’t care.”
I asked what she meaat and she an-
swered. “Tom and I are not engaged
any longer. I did not write to him that
I had undertaken dancing school for
fear he would say the work was too
hard for me. But some one else must
have told him for he wrote me such a
strange ietter—that I coald not care for
him much if I was able to dance and |
enjoy myself in his absence. I could
«of my doing such a thing, and I have
always felt that I ought to be doubly
proud because we are poor. So matters
went on from bad to worse until our
engagement was broken off.”
“Bat, my dear, why did you teach 7"
“Why, you see, we had so much ex-
pense in fitting Morton out for Cincinn-
ati, and then Sas long spell of ty-
phoid got us into debt. I don’t know
how to do anything but dance, and it
was my only chance to earn money.
But I never thought Tom would be!
ashamed of anything I did.”
A sudden idea struck me and took
awayany breath.
“Well, Gerarda, if you have never
hated ie before I am atraid you will
hate me now,” I said and remembered
the allusion I made to her dancing
which Tom's jealously had clearly mis-
understood. I told her the whole story,
aad said I would write to him immed-
iately.
“But suppose he’s tallen into love
with some other girl in the meantime,”
said Gerarda with a sob.
“Bless you!" said I. ““he hasn't done
that—cf course not! He is too much
the son of his mother to change his
mind in a hurry. You'll see him in
Paschal before the end of the week.”
So I walked to the gate with her and
left her comforted.
When I reached home I dispatched
a hasty note to Tom saying that a pa-
tient in Paschal needed his immediate
attention; and this brought him on the
wings of the wind.
When I had made the necessary ex-
planation he gave me a bear like hug
and then rushed off to see Gerarda.
Of course they kissed and made
friends.
In fact they have been married since
last June, and I am as fond of Gerarda
as if she were my own daughter—the
only drawback being that they are so
far away.
“My dear child, it might have been
I wanted Tom to come back to Pas-*
pied ied Sarr ER
chal, and then we coullall have lived
together in the same house and been
go happy. I can’t think why he
wouldn’t do it. -
British Soldier Eife.
It Has Plenty of Light and Comparatively Lit-
tle Shadow.
The routine life of the British soldier
is about the same as that of the soldiers
of other nations, except that there is not
so much hard work as in the German
army. He rises to reveille at 5 o’clock
in the morning, packs up his cot, sweeps
his portion of the dormitory and turns
out at 5:45 o’clock to morning roll call.
From 6 o’clock td 7:45 he brushes up
his uniform, arms and equipments and
peels the pound of potatoes which a gen-
erous Governmeat allots to him.
Breakfast begins at 7:45. The order-
ly of each squad goes to the kitchen and
fetches the allowance for his mess. The
coffee is brought in large tin pails, and
the meat, when boiled, is suspended in a
pot by a twime net.
An hour later the men turn out for
sergeant-major’s drill, which lasts until
9:45 o’clock. After chat the men have
an hour anda quarter of rest. .
At 11 o’clock the regiment turns out
for the commanding officer’s parade,
which is mare properly a drill. This
so called parade, at which full dressis
worn and during, which the band plays
lasts an hour. Forty-five minutes later
the buglers sound the welcome dinner-
call.
The fare of the men is simple and
varies little. "When, however, the
amount to the credit of the paymaster-
sergeant in the grocery book shows an
expenditure of less than the regular al-
lowance, the men may buy extra arti-
cles of food, such as soup, pudding and
greens, which are considered to be great
luxuries. .
The men are not allowed to drink beer
in the dining room, but they may buy
it at the wet canteen between 12 and 2
o’clock and between the hours of 6 and
9:80 in the evening. At all other times
the wet canteen is closed. There a pint
of beer may be purchased for the low
price of 3 cents. Thedrycanteen,which
is another name for the post grocery
store, is always open. There the men
may lay the foundation of chronic dys-
pepsia at their own sweet will and ex-
pense. Pickles, jams and sauces are
among the staple goods of the dry can-
teen. Yet buttered-toast philanthroph-
ists wonder why the British soldier is so
ferocious in battle. ?
A commissioned officer calls at each
dining room during the dinner hour
and asks all the men if they have any
complaints to make--a custom which
reminds the observant onlooker of the
routine of daily life on board H. M. S.
Mantelpiece. It is whispered, however,
that although complaints are invited, it
would be unsafe for any common, ordin-
ary private to make any.
From 2 to 3 o'clock the sergeant-ma-
jor again enjoys the proud distinction of
drilling the regiment. Then come two
hours of leizure—that is, for those who
have passed through the dreadful -ses-
ting-up drill. But the unfortunates
who are not well acquainted with the
manual and battalion drill must spend
two weary hour in the gymnasium, and
those who have not reached a certain
standard of mental equipment must at-
tend school.
The regimental school gives to many
of the well-educated soldiers a chance
to earn extra pay. Teachers who volun-
teer to assist the schoolmaster receive 8
cents extra per day. Therefore the to-
tal pay of the combination human sol-
dier-pedagogue-tailor-chamber-maid-va-
let-policeman aggregates 32 cents a day
—about half what the average New
York bootblack earns for less and much
inferior work,
Guard duty, or sentry go as it is called
by the ungrammatical Briton, consists
of two hours on post and four in the
guardhouse. Each man is on guard for
twenty-four hours. During the sixteen
hours which the soldier spends in the
gnardhouse he may sleep, provided his
comrades will let him, and provided the
officers of the guard and day and the
post commander and the general officers
don’t come prowling around the guard
house so as to have the guard turned
out in their honor.
Tea, a meal consisting of the innocu-
ous beverage of the sane name, and of
bread and butter,is served at 3:450’clock.
| mot help fancying that he was ashamed | Fifteen minutes later the sergeant-major
again trots the men out to the parade
ground, where he reigns supreme for an
hour, From 6 to 9:30 the men. are free
again. At 9:30 “first post” is sounded.
“Second post’ follows at 10 o’clock’ and
a quarter of an hour later “lights out”
ends the day’s routine.
On Saturday comes kit inspection.
Every article of Government property
in the soldier’s possession must be ar-
ranged in specified order upon his cot
and the soldier must stand alongside of
the cot to answer any questions which
may be asked by the inspecting officer.
In some of the regiments trades are
taught those who may wish to learn,
and others have tailor, boot and carpen-
ter shops, in which the men may earn
extra pay,
Altogether, saving that he gets fora
man’s work the pay which one would
expect to give to an infant in arms in
this country, the British soldier does
not havea very time. Ir theafternoons
he may play cricket or skittles, or, if he
stands in well with the first sergeant of
hiseompany, he may go to town and
drink to his neart’s content at the Biue
Bull, or the Green Grasshopper, or the
Red and-Yellow Striped Cameleopard,
or the Housemaid’s Arms, or the Queen’s
Taste, or the Ostler’s Own, or some oth-
er of the dirty little taverns with grand-
iloquent names witk which England is
polka-dotted. .
Then, after he has drunk his fill, or
the fili of his purse, he may swagger
about the streets in all the glory of Glen-
garry cap and red tunic, and get up,
free fights between his comrades and
the townspeople, which little affairs
sometimes result in the placing of some
dozen soldiers upon the hospital list and
oftener still in the incarceration of a
large number of redcoats in the solitude
of guardhouse cells.
The incentives to good behavior and
are good conduct badges and promotion,
When the soldier earns a good conduct
badge his pay is increased by 2 cents a
day. When he becomes a lance corpor-
al he gets an increase of 6 cents per
day. Corporals earn 32 cents a day,
| me for $2. There it is now!
zo
sergeants 50 cents, color-sergeants 72
cents, and staff sergeants from 84 cents
to $1.20 a day.
‘When the regiment is ordered off for
service every man is required to make
his will and to declare bis proper name,
Many of the recruits give false names
when enlisting. Then, when every-
thing has been cleared up and straighten-
ed out pipeclayed and blacked and pol-
ished} and brushed and mended, the
band plays “The Girl I Left Behind
Me.”
apd A
Identifying a Trunk.
The Woman Knew it well and Catalogued its
Contents.
It was at the baggage rooms in the |
Erie railroad depot. The woman had
lost the check for her trunk, and as is
usual in such cases where no suspicion
is entertained she was asked to identify
her baggage.
“Oh, I can pick that trunk out of a
thousand. It was a zinc covered trunk
with a strap around it, and 1t had a big
W for White on each end. It was
a trunk my sister bought in Cincinnati
and paid $6 for it, and after she got
crippled up with rheumatism and
couldn’t get out’any more she sold it to
I'd swear
to that trunk in Africa.”
“But about the contents,
You have the key ?"’
“Of course I have. I had this key
made in Buffalo last week. I lost the
other key about a year ago, and always
believed that Mrs. BRobinson’s baby
swallowed it while I was there visiting.
The poor thing had cramps for three
months after I left, and she wrote me
the other day that she never expected it
would be a healthy child again.”
“Describe the contents,” said the of-
ficer as he pulled the trunk down.
“Well, let me see. We'll begin with
the till first. There’s my bonnet in the
bonnet box. I paid $7 for it in Buffalo
last year, and had over $2 worth of trim-
mings put on last week. I don’t know
as Ishall want to wear it once while
here, but I thought I'd better bring it
along. I was never quite satisfied with
that bonnet, but I suppose—"’
“What else?’ interrupted the man.
“There’s a black fan which cost me
99 cents. I gotitat a sale, and every-
body says it was a bargain. My sister
Emily was with me the day I bought it
and she could swear to it if necessary.
She advised me to get a white tan, but
I prefer—”’
“I don’t care about the fine particu-
lars, ma’am.”’
“Oh, you don’t. Well there’s a black
shawl in there which used to belong to
my aunt Eunice. She had it for ten
years before she died, and then it fell to
my mother. Let's see. That shawl
must have been in our family for-—
for—”
“Go on, ma’am.’’
ma’am.
er—old corsets. They don’t amount to
much, but I always hate to throw such
things away. My sister here keeps hired
help, and I brought ’em along thinking
her girl would be glad of 'em.”’
“Well 77 ;
“Then there's my black silk dress. I
paid $1.50 a yard for it in Buffalo, but I
got cheated. I hadn’t worn it but
twice when the silk cracked and creased
all up. I went back and told the clerk
of it, but he wouldn’t do anything about
it. Next time I buy a silk dress I pro-
pose—"’
“Never mind about the dress.”
“The waist is beaded.”
“T don’t care about that.”
“Well, let's see! Oh, yes! On the
bottom of my trunk are four sheets I
was bringing to my sister. I made and
bleached ’em myself. She's got four
boys, and the way they do kick the
sheets out is something awful. I don’t
suppose I could have brought her any-
thing she would—"’ J
“What else ?”’
“There's a pair of gray pants on top
the sheets—an old pair belonging to my
husband. They are worn a little thin
on the knees, but ‘they will do to cut
over for one of the boys. I’ve brought
up three boys myself and I know how
awful they are on pants. Sometimes it
wouldr’t be four weeks befure--'
“You can have the trunk,” bluntiy
replied the baggage man.
“But there’s a lot more things to men-
tion yet. There's three pairs of new--"’
“Take it away!"
“And I forgot to tell
are—"’
“Well, I'll have the man take it
away. I lost my check, and I wanted
to satisfy you that it was my trunk. If
you’d give me time I'd tell you about
the black coat with the tur collar, and
the two pairs of suspenders for the boys,
and—"
The baggage master walked off, and
after waiting around two or three min-
utes with a disappointed and dejected
look she sorrowfully told the express-
man to carry the trunk to his wagon.—
M Quad in New York World.
you that there
The Famine in Russia.
Countess Tolstoi has written to a
friend in Munich, describing the fa-
mine in Russia and the methods she
adopts to relieve the starving people.
She says that the only real relieving so-
ciety is the Red Cross for which her
sons collect money to buy grain and
other necessaries, while her daughters
make visits from house to house and in-
vitethe destitute to the free soup kitch-
ens. ;
“The state of the people,” she says,
“is miserable indeed. It is almost im-
possible to render an account of how do-
nations are expended. Some of the peo-
ple require tood while others want cloth
ing. It is diffieult to record each trifl-
ing item.’
A dispatch from St. Petersburg says :
The English Quakers who have been
making a tour of the famine stricken
provinces have returned to this city.
They are convinced that the distress re-
su'ting from the famine is widespread,
but they hope that all nations will prove
their sympathy with the sufferers in a
practical way.
——“A Godsend is Ely’s Cream
Balm, I had catarrh for three years.
Two or three times a week my nose
“There's three corsets tied up togeth= | I
would bleed. I thought thesores would
never heal. Your Balin has cured
me.”—Mrs. M, A. Jackson, Ports-
mouth, N. H.
The World of Women.
Dress skirts longer than ever.
Oxydized silver is waning in favor.
The skates are rusting in the corner.
Crushed raspberry is a charming tint.
Much five white point de gene on
black hats.
Seal skin heavily trimmed with Per-
sian lamb. .
Heavily braided jackets in half and
three-quarter lengths. !
Lizard green velvet hats, with black
Prince of Wales feathers.
Long ends of velvet ribbon floating
from the back of their hats and no
ties.
Fur cravats, with the head and tail
and sometimes the feetof the animal
preserved.
Mrs. John Sherman has not had a
picture taken since her husband first en-
tered Congress.
The military coats worn by ladies
have to be padded on the shoulders ta
ook properly fierce.
Sashes on evening frocks, with long
ends, but no loops, falling either from.
the waist or from between the shoul-
ders.
Mrs. William Astor is eredited with
owning $2,000.000 worth of jewelry, but.
precisely whom she has permitted to in-
ventory and,appraise it is not stated.
Heliotrope in all its shades, and that
includes a color which is aimost peach,
will be in vogue, and is combined most
effectively with black, dark-green or
white.
Carmencita’s first effort as a dancer
was when she was commanded to show
what she could do in and wanted to.
have as much fun as possible out of his.
captive.
Mrs. Zach. Chandler’s new home in
Washington has cost $150,000, exclu-
sive of the interior fittings and furnish-
ings. Itis one of the finest houses in
the capital.
Queen Olga of Greece, who has just.
celebrated her fortieth birthday, became
a grandmother at thirty-nine. The
Empress Frederick became a grand-
mother at the same time, while the em-
press of Austria attained that dignity at
thirty-six.
There is a great difference in chins.
Some do not seem to mind the stiff
points that a collar inserts just below
them. To others these are intolerable.
The ideal collar to most women is slop-
ed away in front, leaving freedom for
the chin to move abcut as it likes.
Bonnet strings and linen collars, espe-
cially when brooches and lace pins are
in question, are deadly enemies. They
are forever quarreling with each other,
and the contest frequently ends in the
collar untying the strings, or the strings
loosening the brooch and causing its
08.
Long sleeves will continue in fashion
during the winter. And the women
who like. delicate lace ruffles falling
down over their hands and making them
look small, and indulge in this fancy,
not only have the knowledge that they
are in good taste, but also that itis a
fashion approved by the queen of En-
gland.
The velvet rosettes that have obtained
so much lately, are still fancied, and, to
carry out an artistic idea, are to be pre-
ferred to bows, as a bow should not be
placed where something does not seem
to require joining together, whereas a
rosette, being purely an ornament, can
be placed where it fulfills its duty in life,
and is simply decorative.
The prettiest of aprons is one made of
flne lawn, and which has lace about.
three inches wide put across the lower:
edge in flounce fashion, caught up here
end there by a stiff rosette of white rib-
bon. The bib isa small pointed one.
made of lace, and fastened just at the
point to the bodice under another rosette ;
the strings are of white ribbon, and are.
tied a little at one side.
Miss Scidmore, authoress of ¢Jin-.
rikisha Days,’ commenced her literary
career as Washington correspondent for -
the St. Louis Globe-Democrat and other
western papers, under the penname of
“Rubamah,” that being the portion of
her given name received from her-
grandmother. Miss Scidmore was a na-
tive of Wisconsin. from which place she-
went to Washington some years ago,
She is a contributor to various leading
periodicals, and has written two books.
She has been an extensive traveler, and
went to Alaska on the first steamer that .
carried passengers to that latest addition
to the United States.
Isthere anything more becoming to -
man or woman than the plain linen col-
lar ? Tt is no exaggeration to say that
more than any other article of dress ; it .
affects the appearance of civilized males.
As to women’s collars there is something -
peculiarly becoming in the line of pure,
shiny white encircling the neck. But
how few wear collars exactly right.
Either they stick owt at the back in a.
pin-prodded point, or they hide them-
selves altogether behind the collar of the .
gown. Somebimes it is in front that their
faults are visible, the ends cverlapping
too much, or looking otherwise awkard.
At the present moment the actual
make issimple, but the materials are
extremely rich and costly, also the trim-
mings and accessories. The close-cling-
ing skirts still hold their own, especially
for'young women with good figures ; ‘a
few add some ribbon steamers, some -
flowers or beaded waistbands with fall-
ing fringe of the same on the hips. They
are still made with crossway seam at the
back, and thus form the few pleats
gathered close together at, the top. The
skirt widens in descending into the fan-
like form, If basques are worn, they
are attached to the courage; but round
waists are also much in vogue, and in
this case the skirt issewn on to a slightly
pointed satin ribbon, or rich galon, and
this is worn over the bodice. The skirts
are generally lined ,and rarely made over -
a foundation. Trimmings are placed
round the lower part of the skirts, and
consist of deep embroidery or rows of
galons, of bands feathersor good fur.
But quilles and tabliers are also to be
seen made of rich broche,or satin covered
with beads, either metal or glass, and of
all colors. Plain, close-fitting bodices
are out of date for the present ; they all
are either with guimpes, or pleats, or
folds, doublebreasted, fastening at the
side or in faont, or gogdness knows
where.