Demon atc
Bellefonte, Pa., May 6, 1892.
HOW SHALL I PRAY.
Father, how ean I thus be bold to pray
That Thou shalt grant me that, or spare me
this?
How should my ignorance not go astray,
How should my foolish lips not speak amiss,
And = for woe when fain they would ask
liss ?
How shall I dare to prompt Thee, the All
e
‘
To show kindness? Thou art ever kind.
What is my feeble craving in Thine eyes
Which view the centuries v:st before, behind,
And sweep unnumbered worlds like viewless
wind ? ’
Thy goodness ordereth what thing shall be,
Thy wisdom knoweth even my inmost want;
Why should I raise a needless prayer to Thee,
Or importune Omnipotence to grant
My wishes, dim, short-sighted, ignorant?
And yet I come—for Thou hast bidden and
sai
But not to weary Thee, or specify
A wish, but rather with this prayer instead,
“Q Lord, Thou knowest—give it or deny ;
Fill up the cup of joy or pass me by.
“Jast as Thou wilt is just What I would will;
Give me but this, the heart to be content,
And if my wish is thwarted, to lie still,
Waiting till puzzle and till pain are spent,
And the sweet thing made plain which the
Lord meant.” :
—Susan Coolidge.
THE “SHIELD'S’ GIRL REPORTER.
BY FRANK BAILEY MILLARD.
There were five of us, and the world
was ours, It isa rare sight to see,
and one that does the heart good—
that of a party of slaving newspaper
men off duty for a week, and turned
loose where there is air to breathe and
something green to rest the eye upon.
Pranks of yearling calves in the lane,
capers of colts on the grass, are but the
meaningless antics of animal life, Bat
our antics meant something. They
meant a sweeping away of ball and
chain, a throwing down of dull grim
walls, and no night police, fires, or
suicides for seven great glorious days.
We were at Sisson, which, as every-
body ought to know, is in northern
California, near the end of the great
Sierra chain. Bunzie, who always
used the word ‘excavate’ instead of
“dig” in his copy, and had to be re-
strained from poesy by the city editor
whan there was a lannery conflagra-
tion to be written up, was on hisstom-
ach before snow-capped Shasta, which,
he insisted, was the proper attitude to
assume before so “wonderful a mani-
festation of the powers of the Deity.”
But Gordon, the Late Mr. Johnson,
and myself merely lounged around.
The Late Mr. Johnson was not in his
coffin. The title had been given him
by the city editor for persistent procras-
tination in showing up when he had
an important assignment. There, I
had forgotten “Ott ;”" but “Ott,” whose
full name was Ottinghouse, hardly
counted. He was merely an echo of
the Late Mr. Johnson, for whose easy
bohemian ways he had a profound ad-
miration, copying them as closely as he
could. Then, too, “Ott” was not a
newspaper man. But he was fresh
from the university, ;and he meant to
be one.
The Late Mr. Johnson was telling
the story. He was always telling
stories, and “Ott” was absorbing a vast
stock of them for future recital. This
time the story was on a theme that
Johnson seldom touched, for he hated
shop, and this was shop. I don’t be-
lieve that any of us except “Ott” heard
the first part of that tale. The pine
scents came to us so freshly, the smoke
drift moved so lazily before our eyes
over on the side of the wood-clad
buttes, near whose base we had come,
and the little creek was telling a tale so
much more charming than dry old
Johnson's, that we let “Ott” have the
preface all to himself. But, according
to Bunzie’s notions—he had caught a
word now and then—the story did not
fit into the pictare. He wanted it
closed up. The neatest way to do
this, as he believed, was to blurt out!
“Oh, hang your long introductions,
Jobnson! Your yarns a.e just like
your copy. A man can always find a
good line for a starter on the middle
page of it. That's what Feoslow
says.
Now Fenslow was Johnsons city
editor, but no allusion to him would
cut short the story. Johnson kept on,
and finally came to the place where
the story really began. It was about
“that singular anomaly,” as Gilbert
calls her, “the lady journalist.”
“She came to Fenslow inthe begin-
ning of that awful rainy winter three
years ago,” said the Late Mr, Johnson.
“Her name was Savage—Gertrude
Savage.”
“I remember her,” said Bunzie, “I
was working on the Tribune then, and
the Shield wasn’tin it that year.
“Too much economy then. That
was the trouble,” said Gordon, between
puffs ; “but Fenslow did well with the
- city news, though he did hash up the
evening “papers for all
worth.”
We were now deep in the shop
again, as you see, and the pine scents
and the smoke drift were lost upon us.
Not even the grandeur of Shasta could
avail against shop.
“For a girl she was a rattling good
reporter,” Johhson went on. “I never
saw a better, She was not of those who
ran around with a fore-and-aft cap on
and try to be mannish while they gath-
er in the stuff for the paper. Fact is,
she was modesty itself. She walked
up to Fenslow’s desk very timidly when
she made her first appearance. I was
his assistant then, and so, of course, I
heard all that was said.
“ ‘There isn’t enough work for the
regular reporters; let alone extras.’ said
Fenslow, after she had made applica-
tion for a job in tones that would have
won over a grizzly, Not a whine, not
a whimper, and yet nothing brassy in
her whole talk. ‘But I'll see what 1
can do for you. Miss Savage. If you
are from Boston and have worked on
the Precipitator, you ought to be able
to suit us.”
“Thanks” she said, and smiled. I i
know encugh not to bring a scrap book
they were
or I could show you some of my arti-
cles written for the Precipitator. May
I go to work to-morrow ?”’
“Let's see. Yes; you can take that
women’s temperance meeting in Briggs
Hall at 11 a. m. Itis on in the after-
noon too. Keep it all in five hundred
words, please.’ Ela
“She pulled out a small note book,
and with a dainty pencil put down the
memorandum, in rather a shy way, as
I thought. But that is what I liked
about her—nothing mannish, not the
least. Though it’s deuced rare among
girl reporters.”
“Why don’t you say women report-
ers ?’ put in Bunzie, on whose fine
ear ‘girl’ grated.
“Because this one was nothing but
a girl, and a slip of a girl at that. And
then you never heard of a woman re-
porter, did you? They're all girls.
Don’t try to ring in your poeiry on the
profesh, Bunzie. Devote tha: to
Shasta.
‘As you all know,” went on the Late
Mr: Johuson, “California journalism
has many quips and quirks that are
not known to our brothers of the East.
Sometimes it's very hard for a news-
p: per man from there to make it go
with us, and it's surely a deuced sight
harder for a girl. There was one thing
that favored Gertrude, however. She
was not in the office a week before
every man there fell in love with her.
That's a big thing for a girl reporter,
because it means no end of pointers on
what to do and where to get the news
in the easiest way. So she got along
swimmingly.
“A morning newspaper office is the
place where you see the scales fall off
the shams of life. This is instanced
by the pursuit of the newspaper man by
the conceit-stuffed fellow who wants
his virtues made known by your types
and paper, and who thinks those types
and paper were made for the express
purpose of lifting him upon a pedestal.
But there was no sham about the de-
votion of the Shield staff to Gertrude
Savage. You couldn’t blame them.
Her black eyes were so darkly lashed,
and her cheeks were so peachily flesh-
ed—so round—and her brown hair fell
so carelessly and so lightly upon her
brow, that—"’
“Who's getting poetical now ?"’ came
Bunzie's centre shot:
“As I was saying,” went on the Late
Mr. Johnson, as if Bunzie's interrup-
tion was no more than the dropping of
a pine cone from the branches above
us—*‘‘as I was saying, they couldn’t
help adoring her. In a way, she be-
came one of the boys, laughing and
talking with them as if they were all
her old chums, and yet demure enough
all the time, and the very soul of a
lady. Nothing that ever struck the
local room, not even Fenslow’s savage
lecture after the outbreak against the
coin-borrowing rule, ever did the men
so much good as the coming of the
girl reporter, We had only had one or
two of them before, and they were no
earthly good—cheeky things from
Hill's Seminary, who drove the copy-
reader to the ragged edge of despair by
their essay style of writing up. Ger-
trude knew the ropes too well to put
anything but pure newspaper English
into her stuff, and when she handed
in her wad of copy there was precious
little work in it for the desk man.
“The way she sized up the fellows
that tried to ring in ads on her when
she was out getting news, and the way
she tumbled the hopes of self import-
ant ones who were itching to be inter-
viewed, won Fenslow over almost as
readily as did her clean copy. He gave
her all the work she wanted, and I
think she hit the business office pretty
hard on pay-days, for, besides her regu-
lar assignments, she got in yards and
vards of space. Fenslow said it used
to make his arm tired measuring it all.
This went along for several months,
and then campaign rot crowded out so
much of the other local that she had to
hang her hopes of a good sack on Sun-
day supplement specials. For, as you
know, there are a good many kinds of
work you can’t give to a girl reporter,
and hustling about among ward poli-
ticians and round among the clubs be-
fore the fall elections is one of them.
“I didn’t kuow for a long time after
she came to us that there was a mys-
tery about the girl ; but there was. Not
that she could be put down with the
people for whom the glorious climate
of California works a change of name,
as they say it does in habits, Noth-
ing of the sort. But that she had, for
some reason or other, run away from
New York, I managed to learn in the
course of time. I found out through
—No, I'll not tell how I found out.”
As we knew the Late Mr. Johnson
had a way about him that would have
drawn confidences from the furniture
in the office, we did not doubt that he
had obtained his information from the
girl herself. So we merely asked what
the mystery was.
“Why she had been engaged to a
newspaper man back there, and he had
thrown off on her. Ieven learned his
name. It was Byron Palethorpe.
D— him!”
It is queer how those mountain
echoes take up words—even the slight-
est sounds. I am sure I heard come
back in triplicate a bunch of “damn
hims!” Now that I think of it, I be-
lieve I saw the lips of the other listen-
ers move at the same time, and there
may have been—but T am not positive
on that point—a fourth echo.
“It seems that he had found her an
orphan, with a light purse and no one
to look out for her. So he had helped
her to get work on a morning paper,
and she had got to thinking so much
of him that it broke her all up when
she found that he was getting very
reckless as to whiskey. She tried to
reform him, but he did not reform so
easily. Then they had a quarrel, and
ghe broke the engagement, and left
New York.”
“Then he diduo’t exactly throw oft
on her,” ventured Bunzie. But he
went no further when he saw our dark
frowns.
“Well, to tell the truth, I don’t
know exactly how it was,” continued
Johnson; “but, at any rate, she was
on the Shield staff, and there was a
great big anchor back in New York.
For I saw readily enough that the man
who had won her heart still had it in
‘his keeping.”
“All of which is very much mixed,
as Johnson’s stories generally are.”
That shot from Gordon.
“Not so much mixed as your ac-
count of the De Puey-Simpson runaway
match,” fired back Johnson, “when
you married the girl to the wrong
man.”
“Let him go on,” I cried, shying a
a clod at Gordon.
“She repented and wrote to him.
Two or three letters came to her in re-
turn, vowing that the cause of their
trouble had been removed—he had
sworn never to look upon the fiery
fluid again, and was coming out before
long to marry her, and totake her back
to New York.
“That fall, before the election, the
girl reporter didn’t make aay great
headway with her bank account. As
I have said, there wasn’t much for a
girl to do on the staff just then, and, as
you know, you can’t depend on Sunday
sup stuff for a living. But she got
along. Her friends of the local room
would bave helped her through any-
thing if she’d have let them, but she
was mightily independent.
“I didn’t think to tell you about
Johnny Maddern. He was the hard-
est smitten of the whole staff, and
would have gone through fire for
her. Often when she had a night as-
‘signment he wonld cut short his own
work to go to a hall or elsewhere, and
see her safely to the office, and some-
how he generally managed to see her
home, too, after she had handed in her
report. Well, Johnny was a good
boy, and so blindly in love that he
couldn’t see the lay of the land, or,
rather, of her heart, and I didn’t feel
like spoiling his dream by telling him
of the Palethorpe fellow back in New
York.
“One night when the wind was
howling like mad, and it was raining
copy files and blue pencils. I met the
girl on Market street. She was all
bundled up in her rubber gossamer,
and her white face showed through the
darkness like a wraith’s, and I am sure
that all the specks of water on her
cheeks were not raindrops. It took
me aback for a time—that white face
—and I don’t know whether or not I
nodded as I passed: I am sure she
did not see me, for she gave no sign of
recognition. When I had walked half
a block further, I turned about and ran
back to her.
“What's the trouble now ?”’ I asked,
as I walked by her side, putting as
little as possible of my usual bearish
tone into the query. She said noth-
ing for a while. Something seemed to
be choking her. I thought she grew
whiter as she said at last, in her low
sweet voice, but with none of its old
cheeriness or confidence of tone :
“You have been kind to me, Mr.
Johnson, but Ido not know why I
should further burden you with my
troubles, Still, if you feel enough in-
terest in’ me to know, I will tell you.
He's here.”
I think she must have felt me start,
for she was lightly clinging to my arm
as we walked along the street. That
was the trouble with the whole crew
of us—we all thought too much of that
girl. Not too much, either, for, devil
take me, if she wasn’t worthy of all
our adoration and a good deal more !
“You mean Palethorpe?” I put in.
“He has been to see you?’
“No; but I have seen him, and—he
was very much intoxicated. I did not
dare to make myself known to him
while he was in such a state, And
yet I would like to know where he is
now. Perhaps I could help him.
“Then indignation, strong and deep,
laid hold upon me. Why, inthe name
of all her worshippers, couldn't she
leave that fool Palethorpe to work his
own ruin ? I felt very much like blurt-
ing out the question. But then she
was 80 deadly in earnest. I know she
would have asked me to go and hunt
him up if she dared, but I was not equal
to that. Silence lay between us all the
way to her door, but I thought she
seemed more at ease when she said her
‘good-night,’ and I knew 1n my heart
thatin my rough, blundering way I
had helped her. Sympathy goes a
long way in such cases, you know,
though my sympathy wouldn’t carry
me so far as to place her in Pale-
thorpe’s arms, even 1f he had been as
sober asa mule in a tread mill.
“Next day the girl reporter was
among us as usual, but she was no
longer one of the boys. As I viewed
her, she looked to be more of a woman
than before, and—yes, the gang of us
woyshipped her more than ever.
Johnny Maddern added flame to the
fire by proposing to her. Though she
let him down as easily as she could, I
know that this was another pain for
her sensitive heart. From that time
she seemed to hold aloof from us.
Perhaps she realized the fact that such
a one as she might work mischief
among a lot of men in the way that
Johnny was suffering; but there may
have been another thought in her mind
—that she should keep in the dark-
ness with her trouble, and struggle
there with herself alone. In those
deys I am.sure she passed very closely
to the fires that try the souls of wom-
en, and of which a great brute of a
man can know nothing. Still he did not
come to her, and sent no word, though
she knew that he was still in the city.
It was mighty rough on her to sit at
ber desk, grind out her copy, and keep
herself within herself; and yet, so tar
as her real trouble went, she gave no
sigh, The boys thoughs she was wait.
ing for the Maddern affair to cool down,
and then she would come back, and be
the merry girl she had been before.
But I, who knew that it was deeper
than that, was only praying that Pale-
thorpe would hark back to where he
belonged, for then she might feel some
peace of mind.
“Well, winter came on in earnest,
and the weather reports, which are
very wet affairs at that time of the
year, showed more inches of rain than
we had had for many a season. There
was an ail-fired lot of work to do, and
it kept us flying about like so many
ants around an overturned stone. One
night, when the office was bare of men,
there came in a telephone message that
there had been a suicide out at North
Beach. Then the night editor want.
ed some oane rushed out to hunt up
something about a St. Louis scandal
with a local side to it. And, to cap it
all, in came a report of a shooting af-
fair on Stockton street.
“It made Fenslow tear his hair when
he saw there was no one to send out.
He rang up the Press Club, but there
wasn’t a Shicld reporter there, Then
he sent out to a meeting that Maddern
was covering, with an order to hustle
into the office at once, for it was eleven
o'clock, and there was no time to lose.
But Maddern had heard of another
meeting, nobody knew where, and had
gone off to get that. Fifteen minutes
past, and nobody come. Fenslow was
getting badly rattled. His assistant
would not be back until midnight, and
there was no telling where tosend for
him. He telegraphed tor the man on
night police, and found that he had
gone after the suicide, But who was
there to cover the shooting? That was
the awful question of the moment, and
it made Fenslow dance up and down
while he struggled with it. Then in
came the girl reporter.
“Fenslow swore. Ifshe were only a
man, he growled. That's the deuce of
keeping women about the place like
this; you can’t do anything with them
when vou want help the worst.
“The girl noticed Fenslow’s agita-
tion, and asked what the matter was.
“Why, there’s been a shooting up on
the hill, and perhaps there's a big story
in it. I suppose the 77ib has had four
reporters digging on it for half an hour,
and here I haven't a man within call.”
“Where is the place ?”
“He told her, and cursed a little un-
der his breath about a woman's curi-
osity.
The girl sprang up from her chair.
“I'll go,” she said, buttoning up her
gossamer, for it was raining again.
“You, Miss Savage ?"’
“His eyes were full of admiration
for her pluck ; but then she was a wom-
an, and women had no business in such
places,
“Yes, I'll go.”
“And she pinned her badge on her
breast—a badge that was always re-
spected wherever it wasshown, though
she had had occasion to use it butrare-
ly. Gathering up some sheets of paper,
she was off before Fenslow could make
any remoustrance,
“She went to the house. on Stockton
Street, and it so chanced that she was
the first reporter on the spot. A man
had been badly shot by a young woin-
an in a quarrel: He was all but dead.
He gaye the name of James Dorman.
I don’t remember the story, but the girl
got it all down some way or other,
though they say she kept her eyes off
the dying man much as she could, and
seemed to be terribly broken up. She
sent word to Fenslow of her success,
and said she would be back at the of-
fice in an hour.
“I was standing by Fenslow’s desk
when she came in, He asked her, as
city editors always do, some points
about the story, thinking she had not
yet written it up.
“She told himin a dozen words near-
ly all he wanted to know—all except
one point.
“What's the man’s name?’ he
asked. .
“It was—he's dead, you know. It
was—you'll find it in the copy.” And
she laid on his desk what she had
written.
“Fenslow looked up in surprise, but
he saw that her face was white as
snow, and he guessed thatthe name
meant something to her. She started
away quickly, and as she turned, I
heard a half choked sob. Then I saw
her reel, and grasp at the handle of the
door. She managed to open it, though
it was with an effort, and as soon as
she let go, she fell all in a heap in the
hailway outside. Maddern, who had
just come in, was at her side ina min-
ute, gasping, choking and wringing his
hands—behaving, in fact, like the
young fool he was.
“Well, we soon brought her to, and
Maddern took her home in a cab.
“Looks like a good story,” remark-
ed Fenslow, as he ran his eye over the
girl's firmly written copy. Byron Pale-
thorpe—Byron Palethorpe. It strikes
me I'ye seen that name somewhere be-
fore.
“Then I knew what had hanpened,
and I cursed long and deep wi in my-
gelf. TI cursed Fenslow for ever letting
her go out on such an assignment, and
I cursed myself for not hurrying back
from the hotel where I had been inter-
viewing a tat old duffer about the con-
dition of the Riverside orange crop. I
felt vaguely that we would never see
our girl reporter again.
“And we never did.”"—Harper’s
Weekly.
——In almost every neighborhood
throughout the west there is some one
or more persons whose lives have been
saved by Chamberlain’s Colie, Cholera
and Diarrhea Remedy, or who have
been cured of chronic diarrhea by it.
Such persons take especial pleasure in
recommending the remedy to others.
The praise that follows its introduction
and use makes it very popular. 25 and
50 cent bottles for sale by Frank P.
Green.
——Three Pennsylvania cities will
get public buildings this year. Altoona
with 80,000 inhabitants, will get a
$150,000 building ; McKeesport, with a
population of 20,000, will get a building
costing $100,000, and Washington, with
about 15,000 population, will have a
$50,000 building.
—— I suffered for more than ten years
with that dreadful disease, catarrh, and
used every available medicine which
was recommended to me. I cannot
thank you enough fur the relief which
Ely’s Cream Balm has afforded me,—
' Emanue) Meyers, Winfield, L. I., N.
Y,
“LAUGH A LITTLE BIT.”
Here’s a motto, just your fit :
“Laugh a httle bit.’
When you think you're trouble hit,
“Laugh a little bit.”* il
Look Misfortune in the face,
Brave the beldam’s rude grimace;
Ten to one "twill yield its place
If you have the grit and wit
Just to laugh little bit.
Keep your face with sunshine lit ;—
“Laugh a little bit.”
Gloomy shadows off will flit
If you have the wit and grit
Just to laugh a little bit.
Cherish this as sacred writ;
“Laugh a little bit.”
Keep it with you, sample it;
‘ Laugh a little bit.”
Little ills will sure betide you,
Fortune may not sit beside you,
Men may mock and Fame deride you,
But you'll mind them not a whit
If you laugh a little bit.
~-J. Edmund V. Cooke, in May St. Nicholas.
A Sem,
Why Should I Belong tothe W. C. T. U?
BY ESTHER T. HOUSH.
It is a question busy women ask each
other and ask themselves.
“We have all the duties there is time
and strength to perform. Shall we
neglect our homes : nd children for the
W.C. T.U. ?” saysome ofour best
women when they are asked to become
members of the Union. There are two
distinct reasons why every intelligent
Christain woman should, because of her
relation to the home, belong to the W.
G.P.U.
Ist. Home is the centre and source of
life, and woman is the home keeper.
Whatever concerns the home, therefore,
is of vital importance to her.
2nd. The enemies of home are her
enemies and she is called upon to defend
both it and herself against them. In-
temperance iz acknowledged to be the
geatest enemy of the home, the leader of
vicesin whose wake many deadly foes
follow.
“But why is woman called to combat
the evil? Why cannot men regulate
the affairs of the world und leave us to
the management of the homes ?”’
Partly because they cannot; partly
because they will not. The world is
simply a collection of homes. Possibly
for every ten happy and well-or-
dered households, where man is indus-
trious and temperate, there are
five where man is improvident
and intemperate. The women of these
homes are helpless, the children grow
up in tainted atmosphere, and so go out
to curse the world by their own sinful
lives, and by their influence counteract
much of the good otherwise existing. It
is very plain. The mother-love that
shields her own child must also shield
her neighbor's child. She is prompted
to do this by her own self-preservation
and that of her home, and by that love
—Christ-like—which, for the sake of
the lost, seeks to save them.
“But, intemperance has always been
combated by good men and women.
Why is theW. C. T. U. a better organi-
zation than any other ?”
Because it is organized mother-love,
and “in union there is strength. Nearly
two hundred thousand Christian women
in the United States have banded to-
gether and say: “We are the home-
keepers ; the children are ours; the sa-
loon is our enemy, and ¢he saloon must
go i
“How has all this
about 7"
The Crusade was the first personal
work of womea for temperance. True,
societies existed, and much work was
been brought
done in reclaiming drinking men. The
Crusade women virtually said : “The
drunkard must not be made. We will
pray the saloon-keeper not to sell in-
toxicating drinks. We will save our
husbands and sons and brothers. The
spirit of the Lord was upon them and
great good was.accomplished. Into the
temperance work a strong spiritual ele-
ment was introduced and the women
were shown the power of organized ef-
fort. The W.C. T. U. was the out-
growth of the Crusade. So ready were
women for this work that twelve states
responded to the call for the first Na-
tional Convention held at Cleveland in
1874. The blessing of the. Lord has
been constant, and the earnestness and
devotion of the women without a par-
allel.
The National W. C. T, U. is now or-
ganized in every state and territory,
with nearly 10,000 local Unions. Much
of this success is due the untiring labors
of the National President, Miss Frences
E Willard, but much also to the faith-
ful women who make up the rank and
file of the army.
By means of these Unions, the homes
of the women themselves are directly
influenced, children are better taught
public opinion is educated a large
amount of temperance literature is cir-
culated, and the power of the liquor
trafic is being undermined.
What the home-keepers of the coun-
try decide rust be done, will be done.
They have said temperance is a part of
religion, and its blessed truths are being
taught in Sunday-schools, and children
are early learning to take and keep the
pledge ; they said temperance is a part
of education, and numerous states have
made its teaching compulsory; they
have said temperance is the foundation
of the true home, and health and the
training of children are emphasized as
primal duties.
All true work for humanity is for
Christ. The mothers of Judea brought
their children for his blessing, and it fell
upon them also. When the mothers of
to-day bring thc home to Christ, his
blessing shall abide within it, and the
“heel of the serpent’’—the serpent of
the saloon—so long bruising the heart
of woman, shall itself be bruised and
banished from our beloved lend.
Pledge we then our faith and love, pledge it
still anew,
To our coantry,do our homes, to our God, be
Not iors comes lay our armor down,
Bear the burden till the cross shall be a
crown !
——When you buy your spring med-
icine you should get the best, and that
is Hood’s Sarsaparilla. It thoroughly
purifies the blood. *
——More butter per head is used in
England thar any other country. here
they use thirteen pounds per head per
annum ; in Germany eight pounds, Hol-
land six pounds, France four pounds,
Italy one pound.
——The largest library in the world
is that at Paris, France.
The World of Women.
Jet trimming of tiny beads.
Grenadines replacing black lace.
Spangles sprinkled on everything.
Figured alpacas witk spots and lines.
Bewitching chrysanthemum pom-
pons. !
“Storm blue” and ‘London smoke
poplins.”
A bewildering variety of bell-staped
skirts.
Black tulle brocaded into pompadour
bouquets.
Glimpses of dainty black and gray
silk stockings. =
Mrs. Hearst, the widow of Senator
Hearst, of California, carries a life in-
surance of $400,000.
_ If the hair is very greasy, try washingr
it in warm water in which a pinch of
borax has been dissolved.
Fashionable caterers are serving ice
cream in tiny pineapple molds, facsim-
iles in miniature of the luscious fruit,
Cuffs of al! kinds and shapes are. be-
ing used upon the tailor made gown,
The mousquetaire is the most popular,
Late model in tleeves all display the
loose cape like effect, under is which
placed a coat sleeve. This is generally of
a different fabric.
Dr. Mary P. Jacobi, in New York,
and Dr. Mary Hoxen, in Washington,
are each reputed to earn $40,000 a year
at their profession. j
Mrs. Julia A. Carney, of Galesburg,
Ill, is not widely known in the world
of letters, and yet she is the author of’
that interesting little poetical moceau
beginning “Little drops of water, Little.
grains of sand,’ ete.
Stiff-looking wooden benches are be-
ing offered in the art stores that are-
very much like the old-fashioned wash
bench of the farm house. They are of
plain wood and are to be decorated and
cushioned for appartment use.
‘While for stout women#z bertha is.
a mistake, nothing lovelier was ever de-
signed for a willowy figure. Frequent-
ly a yoke of lace is finished with a ber-
tha. These yokes are always very nar-
row, in order to edge with as deep a.
ruffle as possible.
Miss Lalla Harrison, of Leesburg,
Va., has been selected, as the most
beautiful woman in that state, to repre--
sent it as one of the ideals of the thirteen
original States at the World's Fair. It.
is feared that the honor which has been.
conferred upon her will not meet the
approval of her unsuccessful competi-
tors for the choice.
WOMEN’S RIGHTS.
The “rights of women,’ what are they ?
The right to labor and to pray ;
The right to watch while others sleep;
The right o’er others’ woes to weep ;
The right to succor or reverse;
The right to weep while others curse ;
The right to love whom others scorn ;
The right to comfort all that mourn ;
The right to shed a joy on earth ;
The right to feel the soul’s high worth ;
The right to lead the soul to God
Along the path the saints have trod—
The path of meekness and of love,
The path of patience under wrong,
The path in which the weak grow
strong. :
Although some conservatives still
cling to the white muslin skirt, they
every day become fewer, and for prom-
enade, visiting and shopping, the silk
skirt holds first place. This may seem
an economy, as it saves washing, but
this is not so. In fact itis one of the
most costly itews of the present outfit.
At least two of these skirts are a neces-
sity, and the simplest home made one
cannot be completed for a smaller sum
than $5, and one can indulge their fancy
in material and trimming until a neat
little income is disposed of. For sum-
mer wear a Twenty third street house
has introduced inexpensive and dainty
skirts made of pretty ginghams, which
are very desirable for the summer tour-
ist.
An ideal street gown for such weath-
eras we are now enjoying is a navy
blue serge, made as “plain as a pipe
stem.” The bodice, to be entirely cor-
rect, will have long narrow coat-tail,
and the skirt need not of necessity sweep
the ground, though a little dip is more
graceful with the long coat-tails. Mod-
erately high shoulders and a tiny edge
of black silk passementerie for skirt and
bodice, with a row of small silk buttons
up the front of the waist and back of
the sleeves. With this wear collars and
cuffsin linen, a snug turban triramed
with black ribbon and quils, the jaunty
veil and heavy tun kid gloves with
black stitching and you can be sure if"
you are certain of your dressmaker that
the quiet style of your get up far ex-
cends the rustle and jangle of the frou
frou girl with her heavily ladened chat-
elain and bobbing jets.
The newest cut for the popular Rus-
sion gowns, says Harper's Bazar, copies.
literally the waist worn by peasant wo-
men in Russia. The waist and sleeves
are cut in one piece, without seams on
the shoulders. This design is liked for
crepons of bright blue and gray shades
trimmed with tan leather and . white
lace, and is also used for rough striped
woolers tied around the waist by a rope:
like cord with tassles. The crepon is
doubled from the top, and a large oval
piece is cut out across the top to form
the neck opening, and is gathered as a
half low neck. The material dropping
to the selvage forms half-long Russian
sleaves, and a curved seam taken below
on each side shapes the waist, the whole
being done very much in the way old-
fashioned saques chemises were cut.
The waist opens. in the back. The
trimming is a band of leather galloon
around the low neck, ana two rows of
this galloon are set lengthwise half way
down the front on each side, and are
laced together with silk lacing-strings
tipped with gilt. The full open sleeves
fall only to the elbow, and are simply
hemmed. This blouse is then worn
over a fittzd white silk lining, covered
at the top with guipure to represent a
yoke, or a guimpe, with close sleeves of
the lace reaching to the wrists. Loops
of gold cord pass over the tiny leather
buttons down the back. The skirt in
umbrella shape, has six narrow gored
breadths, and is trimmed down each
side with rows of the leather laced to-
gether. A row of the galloon above a
band of dark brown or blue velvet trims
the foot of the skirt. The belt is of
the leather.