Democratic watchman. (Bellefonte, Pa.) 1855-1940, August 05, 1892, Image 2

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    Bellefonte, Pa., Aug. 5, 1892
If mother would listen to me, dears,
She would freshen that faded gown ;
She would sometimes take an hour's rest,
And sometimes a trip to town.
And it'shouldn’t be all for the children,
The fun, and the cheer, and the play :
With the patient droop on the tired mouth,
And the “Mother has had her day !”
True, mother has had her day, dears,
When you were her babies three,
And shé stepped about the farm and the
As busy as a'bee,
When she rocked you all to sieep dears.
And sent you all to school,
And wore herself out and did without.
And lived by the Golden Rule.
And so your turn has come, dears,
+ Her hair is growing white,
And her eyes are gaining the far-away look
That peers beyond the night,
One of these days inthe morning,
Mother will not be here,
She will fade away into silence—
- The mother so true and dear.
Then, what will you do in the daylight,
And what in the gloaming dim ?
And father, tired and lonesome then,
Pray, what will you do for him ?
If you want to Yoep your mother.
You must make her rest to-day ;
Must give her a share in the frclic,
And draw her into the play.
And, if mother would listen to me, dears,
She'd buy her a gown of silk,
With buttons of royal velvet,
+ And rufles as white as milk,
And she’d let you do the trotting,
While she sat still in her chair,
That mother should have it hard all through,
It strikes me isn’t fair,
* ? o — Margaret E. Sangster.
“on Harper's Bazar.
The room was full of the sweet smell
of fresh linen ; and at the ironing table,
"in her pink gingham, stood as fair and
fine a piece of flesh and blood as eyes
ever rested on—her forehead the lily’s
leaf, her cheek therose, the curling lips
pulpy with color, the teeth even as the
kernels ona milky ear of corn, the nose
a chiseled outline, the thick bright hair
great ‘cords of braided gold; and all
this without mention of smiles and
dimples, wide opening of eyes like two
blue jewels, quick dropping of white
lids and lifting of slender even brows,
and all the swift sweet changes that
gave the April face ite added life and
charm, and made it seem to Del Grif:
fiths thatthe world was made simply
- that such a perfect thing as Sally Syl-
vester might come to light. I am not
..gure that Sally did not think so herself.
At any rate, ehe evidently thought that
Sally Sylvester was very much put to
waste while standing at the ironing-ta-
ble and ironing the napkins for the sum-
mer boarders. ;
“If ever I do marry any one,” she
..8aid, in reply to Miss Nancy, who sat
in a flag-bottomed chair atthelow rose-
_ hung window, hulling strawberries, be-
canse now. and then she liked to come
into the low-browed old kitchen and
have a taste of domesticity in the midst
of her summer boarding, “it will be
some one who can afford tolet me keep
a laundress, so that I can have just as
many white skirts as I want to every
“Why, what hinders you having
“them now?’
“I don’t possess them, in the first
place; when you've ironed all the other
‘ ‘things, you don’t feel like doing up more
"tucks and flutings and inserting and
flouncings than you need, you know.”
i “You don’t like your life,” said Miss
“Nancy, presently.
“Not this part of it," said Sally, test-
ing a hot flat-iron against her velvet
cheek that bloomed with a redder rose
just then,
“Strange! And I like the kitchen so
much !”’
“That's because you sit in the par-
“T never sit inthe parlor. I haven't
a parlor in my honge.”
. “Why, what kind of a house is it,
“A very nice house. A house my
great-grandfather built when they knew
how to build houses. My father tarned
the drawing-roomsinto a library; there's
a reception and a music room, and
some great ball-rooms, and a banquet-
ing hall.” And Miss Nancy stopped to
pop a particularly big strawberry in-
to her prim little mouth. “You shall
see it some day.”
“Dear! dear !—there! you've made
me scorch the corner—and ycu’re will-
ing to come up here to this underground
“Buried alive!”
“I can see,” said Mise Nancy, “why,
living’ here summer and winter, ycu
“feel the monotony of “it.” Scat!” as: a
-great mouser leaped tothe window sill.
“I never could abide a cat.”
“Why, Ithought—"" |
“You thought: oid’ maids liked
cats. Well, they don’t—all of them,
you see. But then I am not an eccen-
tric old maid.” Yes, but this is not a
cabin jis averygood houseand home.”
“Y es; it’s pretty, after a sort—quaint
and all that. My grandfather built it,
and he was the minister. And my fa-
ther was a minister too ; and here am I,
at the irening-table 7” (
“I think it’s very likely my grandfa-
ther’s-wife sat at the ironing-table too, |
and did up all her nice caps and linen
cuffs.” oro]
“] wouldn't if ny husband had built
a palace like hers,” said Sally, opening
wide her blue eyes.
“You would do what every one did.
I shouldn’t wonder if Madame Han-
cock herself did up her own laces ?”
“Why, what was the use of her mon-
“Money is to do good with.”
. “Well, I'd begin by doing good to
me—Sally Sylvester,”
“Your name wouldn't be Sylvester.’
“Ob, my name !”’ cried Sally, slam:
ming down the iron on the rest. “What
made you remind me? I don’t know
what my name will be.”
“I do,” said Miss Nancy.
There was more carnation than rose
there was no reply.
“I do,” repeated Miss Nancy. “Un-
less I am mightily mistaken in you. It
you have any heart. If you're not a
young savage dazzled by bits of look-
“Much obliged,” said Sally.
“If yelvet carpets and antique rugs
and hot-house flowers and diamond
rings and horses and carriages and
steam-launches weigh more with you
than an honest fellow’s love: Why,
you can have a chaise to drive in if
you marry Del Griffiths"
“That old thing!”
“You are speaking of the chaise, I
suppose. Sally Sylvester, if I didn’t
see fine possibilities in Del Griffiths, if
1 didn’t know that some day he'll be a
judge upon the bench, if I didn’t know
that he was simply sterling, I wouldn't
| take another atom of interest in you!”
“Yes, you would. You couldn’t help
it”? said Sally, putting down her flat-
iron, and throwing her arms round
Miss Nancy’s neck.
“I suppose I couldn’t, you poor little
rose, you little blush-rose. Now I'll
tell you what I'm going todo. I am
not doing it altogether for you, though.
I mean thai Del Griffiths shall not take
a wife who hankers after the world
and hasn't had a trial of it. I'm fond
of the lad. He's noble into the core of
the heart—a heart that sha’n’t be bro-
ken by you. And since you want a
taste of the wicked world out there—’
“I don’t believe it’s a bii more wick-
ed than this world here.”
“Perhaps not. But that's neither
here nor there. You shall have a
taste of it for yourself, and shall see if
the fresh sweetness of your own life
isn’t worth it all.”
“Ironing in a hot kitchen, instead of
sailing on the open sea; walking in the
dust, instead of driving on satin cush-
ions ; wearing cotton, instead of silk;
withering your life away, with nobody
to see.”
“That is just it, Sally. You want a
crowd of admirers ; you want to be in
the mouth of a heartless, meaningless
set, all of them together not worth the
dust Del Grifliths walks on. Well, you
shall have them. I may as well do
some good while I can. 1t’s a disease,
this hankering. If it isn’t cured it will
undermine your whole moral constitu:
tion, Cousin Helena's hay fever is so
much better now that she thinks she
can go to the Adirondacks. So I shall
go down to Scaithness Sands next
week—TI haven't been there this dozen
years; it’s a giddy abomination—and I
shall take you along.”
“Qh 1" cried Sally, “it would be hea-
veuly, if it could be at all. [I atScaith-
ness Sands—except as a house-maid in
a calico gown and white apron !”
“Yon have some pretty prints, that
pink Chambery gingham, some white
cambrics. There are miles of ribbons
in my boxes to knot and loop on them.
I have a white China silk—you are so
handy with your needle you can take
it in and make it do nicely —very fine,
with yards and yards of rose-colored
chiffon round the low open shoulders
and down the front. And your moth-
er is bleaching cut her wedding gown,
that embroidered 1ndia muslin; and
there’s. your blue serge for travelling
and yachting.”
“You have arranged it all.”
“Yee, AndI think my riding-habit
will do. I've outgrown it; we may
have to change the sleeves a little. And
I'll seeto the gloves and boots and
shoes. I left Fifine at home, but she
will come to the Sands, and I think I'd
likgato haye Fifine arrange another
dress from a white organdy of mine—
perfectly cover it with tiny butterfly
bows in pink and mignonette green and
canary-color, till it will look as if it
were made of little yellow butterflies
hovering everywhere over sweetbrier-
roses. I ought to have been a design-
er for Worth. Yes, I see it now.”
“You are just dressing a doll in me.”
“Well, I want the doll; the doll
wants the dressing. You are going to
object because if I give yon pleasure [
take my pleasure too?”
“I am going tosay you are an an-
gel I” said Sally. “4% am going to
press out every gowi®'t have, like a
French laundress. I know you are just
trying an experiment ; doing missionary
work or something ; showing me that
the men of the world are all stuffed
with sawdust, and--and—and—"
“And that Adelbert Griffiths is the
only real man among them—it a man
is romething made in the image of God ?
Yes, I am.”
And Sally went back to her ironing.
the flush deepening on her face, and as
she threw back her head impatiertly,
Miss Naney came behind her holding
‘a giant strawberry over the mouth open
like a bird's, the head tipped back, the
white throat lifted, and Del Griffiths,
who bad just crossed the grass, stood
with his arms on the window sill, look-
ing as if he wished he were the straw-
berry. = of an 3 11 x
“I am going away,” said Sally, as
she leaned later that evening, over
the old stone wall once cemented with
earth, and now #s completely grass:
‘grown as a bank.” '" i
“I am going 'to'see what the world is
like. Atleast,” she added, wistfully,
“ag much of it as comes to Scaithness
“Going away!” said Del, his bright
face darkening even in the dusk.
Lo "ou don’t seem very much delight-
ed. oo .
“Delighted I”’ ii 0s
“I should be delighted if you were to
have such a chance,” she pouted.
“Such a chance for what, Sally 2’
“For enjoyment; ‘for seeing the
“A good deal of the world comes to
you up here.”
“Just enough tc give me a hint of
what it may be.” j
“Why should it be different from our
world? Aren't we all human beings 2’
“Oh, to be sure!" Only it is a hand-
ful of narrow, contracted things up here.
And it’s yourself I've heard say that
out there you're in tonch with the
whole great race.” y
“I was a fool, then.”
“Well-——Oh, look there, Del I”
on the lovely face for one moment, but
And a great green meteor streamed
over the sky, and left the night a deep-
er dusk behind it.
“It is like happiness. It blazes and
goes out, and all is blacker than before
it came,’’
“I should think something was go-
ing to happen, to hear you talk.”
“Something is.”
“How absurd you are, Del! Posi-
tively you make me creep. What is it
can happen? When I come back—"
“You never will come back.”
“Never wili ? What nonsense! Why
not, I should like to know ?”’
“You are going out fresh and single
as a sweetbrier-rose. I don’t know
what artificial thing will be coming
“What an opinion you have of me!
I'm too flattered. I thought you'd be
pleased that I was to have pleasure,
and would write to me, and like to hear
from me. But—good-night, sir!”
And she turned away swiftly, came
back, and held her hand across the
bank, and Del Griffiths caught it and
held it with a kiss before she could
snatch it back and run as if she were
running away from herself, leaving
him out there alone with his young
and bitter passion in the dew and the
dark. And when, in the middle of the
night, she heard the falling of the
-mountain brook and heard the trill of
the waking bird, and going to the win-
dow, looked out and saw on the deep,
dim violet of the rent between the hills
a red waning moon leading in the great
morning star, and smelled the breath
of the eweetbriar-rose and the honey-
suckle heavy with dew beneath the
window, she wondered if, after all, the
outer world she longed to see were halt
80 sweet as this ; and she bent her head
steathily in the dark, as it some spirit
might see, and laid her own lips upon
the fingers where Del Griffith's lips
had been,
®o 0m wil Lig ulm
The sea was swelling veiled and dark
along the Scaithness Sands, and against
the glow that came before the moon
rose from her deep sea-caves to walk
the water. Standing in the rich gloom,
the young creature in her white and
gold seemed the apparition of some-
thing beautiful and remote as the moon
herself to Duncan McMurray. He
had just come off his yacht, strolling
up from the shore with his cigarette,
and wondering why one day was so
much like another, and why he lingered
on in this wilderness instead of making
for the other side of the world, when,
just outside the ballroom window, the
light streamed over this radiant creat-
ure ; and he was like a nfan on whom
the sun has risen in the dead waste and
middle of the night.
That is to say, Mr. Duncan McMar-
ray was somewhat dazzled by the beau-
tiful apparition, and, **Who is this?”
he said to the first man he met.
“The Sylvester ? Oh, quite the last
“Worship follows goddesses,
whims,” said Mr. McMurray.
“Why, you're hard hit, old wan,”
was the retort. “You're not the first,
however. Ycung Manners, and John-
ny—oh, the whole string of them have
gone down like pins before her! She
isn’t twenty, and she winds old Sage
round her little finger. She is some-
thing fresh, yon see—dew on her, and
all that. Came from the country. Pet
of Miss Featherstonhaugh’s—old Miss
Nancy, don’t you know! Father was
a clergyman—sweetheart in the hills—
no money—dances like a sylph—rides
like Die Vernon.”
“Quite incomparable. I never knew
you to go down before bread-and-butter,
“Glad you look at it in that way,
Mack. Keep on: Ishouldn’t want to
have the little Sylvester follow Rhody.”
“I hope she is greatful for your so-
licitude,” said Mr. McMurray. If
there were any disdain on the lip, the
triste mustache hid it, and he passed
on with the air of one who wished there
were uot a girl in the world.
“Just a big brute, a big handsome
brute,” said Miss Nancy, when, some-
time later, he lounged by as Sally
came up radiant from her dance. “No,
Mr. Balcomb; it's quite unnecessary.
I had rather not have him acquainted
with Miss Sylvester.”
“Bat, Miss Featherstonhaugh—"
“Duncan McMurray 1s perfectly well
aware of my disapproval of his career.
And you may just tell him I am aston-
ished at his presumption in asking to
be presented to any girl under my care.”
“But in a ballroom, my dear Miss
“A ballroom is the same to me ag
any other room. People don’t cease to
be accountable for their actions because
they're dancing, Do you suppose I
could see my sweet innocent Sally Syl-
vester whirling round the room in that
fellow’s arms?’
“[ dare say she has whirled in those
that are no better.”
“But not with my knowledge. And
while I— My goodness! Sally! Mr.
Balecomb—"" :
Some one else has presented Mr. Mec-
Murray while Miss Nancy was denoun-
cing him; and Sally, ignorant of the
whole affair, had smiled up gladly—for
Miss Nancy, acting as duenna, had un-
mercifully kept at a distance
that night every man whose
record was not to her mind,
and Sally's card had some woful gaps
in it. And all at once, those that
would have filled the gaps stared open-
eyed to see this young being, whom
they were not good enough to approach,
clasped by McMurray’s arm, his dark
head bent above her fair one, and swing-
ing down the dance in the long step
that made his dance as carelessly per
fect as everything else he did, confound
him !
As for Sally, she knew nothing of the
imprecatory thoughts of these others.
She only knew ifthis were dancing she
had never danced before. She oculy
knew that the eyes bent on her, the
dark glittering eyes, were admiring her
with something sad and far away in
the midst cf the admiring pleasure ; she
knew that this was a man out of the J
best accounts of daily occurrences.
great world, a man of experiences, who
had seen life. And he had found her
charming enough to ask for the next
dance, and to sit out the following one,
that is, to step through a window and ,
walk up anddown the long piazza, with |
the sea singing soft undertones to the
band music, and land and rock dim be.
neath a mist of stars; and she wished
Del could see her at that moment, and
wondered what Sue Waterson would '
think of it all, and directly forgot about
them both, as Mr. McMurray went on
telling of the night at sea when the |
yacht was chased for a slaver while
the real elaver got away, and she looked
at him with a charmed wonder, as at
the hero of a hundred fights. And he
had not brought the story in by the
shoulders-either, but it had come about
from ber interest in the yacht, the Roc,
which she had seen lying at anchor in
the offing, and in the sea itself, which
she had uever seen till now three weeks
She was in quite another world, at
any rate entirely forgetful of this, when
he himself led her back to the ball-
“I fear you may hear some bitter
music of which I shall be the theme.
Don’t believe all you hear. Perhaps
there are worse men than 1,” he mur-
mured in her ear; and with a low bow
to Miss Featherstonhaugh—a bow hali
merriment, half mockery —he left Sally
at Miss Nancy’s side. After all, the
place was not quite the wilderness it |
bad seemed; he hardly thought he
should say good-by in the morning.
“Well,” said Miss Nancy, marching
straight out of the room with her
charge, ‘there never was anything to
equal Duncan McMurray's imp-
udence!” And she shut her mouth
with a snap till she was in the seclu-
sion of Sally’s room, and there, throw-
ing herselton the lounge, surveyed Sal-
ly from head to foot—the girl standing
shamefaced and wondering and beau-
tiful before her—and exclaimed: “I
never, never, never would have brought
you here if I had thought for one in-
stant that that man, and such as he,
could be along! To see you dancing
with him, it made my blood run cold!”
“Why—why—what has he done?”
Sally mustered courage to say.
“What hasn’t he done, you had bet-
ter ask. I can’t tell you the things he
has done. They are not to be talked
about. He has had a career that can’t
even be discussed. He is not received
in a drawing-room in town. He is a
thoronghly bad man, and that is
enough. You must not dance with
him, walk with him, speak with him
“But, Miss Nancy, urged Sally, “he
told me not to believe all I heard—"
“Oh, of course he did, the wretch!
the—the—oh, there aren't words
enough in the language to say what I
think of him.”
“But, Miss Nancy, dear Miss Nancy,
how can you know,’ urged Sally once
more—*‘“how can you kno wv these things
if they are not to be named? How
can you be certain they're not false-
hoods? They must be gossip. They
may not be true. I'm sure he doesn’t
look that way. He seemed so kind,
And he's very entertaining.”
“Entertaicing ?"’ said Miss Nancy,
with a laugh. *‘Of course he's enter-
taining. He's the most brilliant man
I know. But he’s evil-hearted,”
“ ‘Beautiful Paris, evil-hearted Par-
is,” quoted Sally ;* ‘came up from
greedy Simois all alone.) He's all
alone, evidently, Why, Miss Nancy,
I should think you'd pity him and try
to help him be better.
“Oh, don’t be stung by that bee!
Lots of girls have pitied him and helped
him to be better to their everlasting sor-
row! Now don’t let me see you walk-
ing or dancing with him again!” And
Miss Nancy weat into her own room
and shut the door between.
Foolish Miss Nancy! Had she for-
gotten the days when she was young?
—the eins of the world was a terra in-
cognita, a dark unfamilier region, that
the wings of fancy must nerds hover
over, as they hover over all that is
strange with portents, unexplained, un-
known? Why, why had she not said
that Mr. McMurray was a scholar, a
Dryasdust, using kis spare hours in de-
ciphering the Kabala, a scholar who
had a lolty disdain for girls and folly
and youth? Why bad she not said
that he was good, so very good, 80 dull
and good, that he read no light litera.
ture, did not know the names of the
cards, did not know what flirting
meant, did not know the meaning of
mixed drinks, was prosaic, stupid, and,
above all things, good? I do not know.
I am not sure but that, even if she had,
Sally Sylvester would not have wished
to see if she could not conquer the
scholar’s disdain of girls, teach the
good man how to flirt, bring St. An-
thony himself prostrate at her feet. At
all events, the most unlucky thing this
faithful chaperon could have said, she
did. The man was wicked. What
wild dream was this flitting through
the innocent little girl's brain—what
wild dream of showing him what good-
ness was, to help him resist temptation,
repress dark tendencies, to develop the
beautiful things, the power for good,
the strength, that there must be in his
nature? Of course she did not con- | P
sciously to herself resolve on any such
undertaking; only it seemed as if some
one ought to do so; it presented an al
luring picture ; it made her think of
the man, and blush when she met him.
[ To be continued.)
The American Won.
New York, July 25.—Krnest Raeb-
er won the American championship
Graeco-Roman wrestling this evening.
M. Appollo, the French champion, left
the stage in the third bunt, claiming he
bad hurt his side. Appollo won the
first bunt and Raeber the second.
News of the Great Strike.
Best Given in the Pittsburg Dispatch.
Absolutely fair, impartial, and with-
out any bias—but giving every detail of
interest promptly and correctly. The
The finest illustrations, giving real
views of the situation.
A Queer Taste.
The old Romans had an adage which
reads, “There is no accounting for
tastes,”” That this maxim is as true to
day as it was when uttered 2,000 years
ago we see proofs on every hand. The
most remarkable example that has
come to my notice for some time is that
of Mr. Highford Burr, a rich bache-
lor who lives in the midst of a fine
park near Reading, in England.
Mr. Burr's hobby is snakes. He
hatches them out on his grounds, and as
he wili permit none to be killed, and
particularly dotes on large and vicious
reptiles, his park is not a particularly at-
tractive place to his neighbors.
Mr. Burr keeps a frog pond, and it is
his greatest delight to watch the snakes
hunting for frogs.
Colonel Ewell, of Texas, chanced to
meet Mr. Burr two years ago and they
at once became friends and the Ameri-
can was invited to Aldermaston Hall, as
the snake lover’s home is called.
After dinner the colonel was taken
out to see the pond and the snakes, and
his opinion of the collection was
“Wa-al,”” drawled the American,
“I'll allow you havea right smart lot of
snakes, sich as they are, but if you’ll
come over to see me on the Sabine and
put up for a week or two I'll show you
snakes till you can’t rest and they'll be
snakes as are snakes.”
“less me!” exclaimed the English-
mau. “What do you call shose extra-
ordinary reptiles 7°’
“Oh, different names. There’s some
dandy fellows we call copperheads ; then
thar’s moccasins, puff adders; pizen
hoopsnakes and sich, but I reckon the
boss snake over on the Sabine is the rat-
tler, more pariicular when they git to
be ten feet long and ’boutas thick as
your thigh.” .
“Why, you excite my curiosity,” said
the Englishman, “and ifon your return
to Texas you could send me a consign-
ment of the snakes you mention I
should gladly pay you whatever thg ex:
pense may be. But let meas? d you
think your Texas snakes would get
along friendly with their English
cousins 7”
“Wa-al that depend on how their
English cousins treat em. Our Texas
snakes are high toned and rather like a
fight, but they never go out hunting
a fuss, that I'll say for ’em,” replied
the colonel, who though not fond of
snakes, felt that state pride compelled
him to stand up for the Texas reptile.
Six months after that three frightened
men left a number of crates marked
“‘Texas snakes” at Mr. Burr’s mansion.
A letter preceded the consignment
and in it Colonel Ewell, enjoined on the
Englishman to “treat the snakes kindly
till they got naturalized,” and as he
loved his life not to take them to his
bosom “nor fool with their business
The delighted naturalist took the
crates down to the frog pond and let the
hissing squirming creatures free. The
snakes were famished, and Mr. Burr
rubbed his hands as he pictured them
feasting on frogs, but he was doomed to
Instead of attacking the frogs the
American snakes started for their “En-
glish cousins,” incidentally swooping in
a frog on the raid.
Three days after this Mr. Burr's man
entered the library in great alarm and
reported that the American snakes had
killed and eaten everything in the pond
including the ducks and young swans,
and that some of the larger ones had
started after the lambs in the park.
«We must keep the American reptiles
in a separate inclosure till they get ac-
climated,” said Mr. Burr.
At once every man on the place and
every man who could hte bribed by
double pay to do the work started out
with nets and pitehforks to corral the
Texas snakes, but the snakes were not of
the same way of thinking. They in-
vaded the neighboring farms and one
entered the city of Reading and fright-
ened the people out of their wits.
The magistrates had Mr. Burr arrest-
ed for encouraging a dangerous nuisance
and all the country was up in arms.
I am aware that this reads as if it were
fiction, but it is true in every detail and
it was not till a year passed and the cli-
mate of the county killed the snakes
that the people near Reading breathed
easier or dared to venture out at night.
Mr. Burr still cultivates snakes, I
learn, but they are of the harmless En-
lish variety.
Abandoned Their Efforts.
The Braddock Workers Will not go ona Strike
Hoxmesteap, Pa., July 26.-— The
Homestead men have apparently
abandoned endeavors to bring the
Braddock workers out on a strike. Af
ter four days of proselyting the leaders
are greatly discouraged and say that
Braddock seems determined to con-
tinue at work notwithstanding the
combined pressure of the other Car-
negie operatives. A member of the
advisory committee to-day said that he
had been informed by several Amal:
gamated men who had gone among
the Braddock men that they had not
forgotten the fruitless appeals for assis-
tauce they made to Homestead 10 1887,
and were disinclined to strike for sym-
Several of the locked out men, al-
though aware that the leaders have
given up the hope ofa strike at the
Edgar Thomson plant, are still hope-
ful of bringing them out. The intense
heat has prostrated many ot General
Superintendent Potter’s non-union men,
according to the Amalgamated scouts.
At all events there is not the activity
that was manifested around the mill
yesterday and no plate was rolled this
J efferson’s Precepts.
Never put off uatil to-morrow what
you can do to-day.
Never trouble another for what you
can do yourself.
Never bay what you don’t want be-
cause it is cheap; it will be dear to you.
‘We never repent for having eaten too
How much pain the evils that never
happened have cost us.
Take things always by the smooth
handle. When angry count 10 before
you speak ; if very angry, 100,
The World of Women.
Italian straws in flapping shapes are
deftly surmounted -with slender, swal-
low-tailed bow ends, and occasionally a
twist of gold rope.
“Stonewall Jackson's widow devotes
all her energies now to the education of
her motherless grandchildren, Julia and
Juckson Christian.
Still prettier was a frock ot Leliotrope
taffeta with a clint in it of every color
under the canopy. Black lace garni-
ture kept the many hues in harmony.
Mrs. Hattie Brooks, of Maine, is con-
ducting an extensive foundry and loco-
motive building establishment near
Dunkirk, which turns out a locomotive
a day.
Miss Frances E. Willard, who has
been active in platform work for 20
years, is prevented from engaging there-
in at present by her devotion to a help-
less mother.
Toilets of immaculate whiteness, from
the top of the chiffon parasol to the kid
tips of the linen shoes, are in great fa-
vor “in ihe country” this summer.
They are worn at all hours.
Rainbow flounces of ribbon gave a
wonderluily gay and festive look to the
costuming. I remember a gown of
white silk muslin with pale, delicate
green and pink and leaf brown and am-
ber ribbon ruches at the bottom of the
skirt and at waist and throat and upon
the puffed sleeves. A dress of white
serge was ruflled and girdled with three
shades of blue in much the same way.
Modjeska has gone to her ranch in
California for the summer with her hus-
band, Count Bozenta. Her wealth is
considerable and most of iv is shrewdly
invested. She does not look her age,
which is dangerously near 50, and the
marvel of her youthful demeanor and
ripe beauty 1s that she has been a hard
working actress for more than thirty
To prevent the hair from falling out
3 Bho gray, take a teacupful of
ried sage, and boil it in a quart of soft
water iPM enty minutes, Strain it off
and add a piece of borax the size of an
English walnut; pulverize the borax.
Put tbe sage tea, when cool, into a
quart bottle; add the borax, shake
well together, and keep in a cool place.
Brush the» “oroughly and rub the
wash well on the head with the hand.
Then, after a good hard rubbing, brush
the hair well before the fire so it will
become dry.
One pretty white suit flecked with
iittle dashes of scarlet was worth par-
ticular attention. It had a short bell
skirt and one of this season's funny lit-
tle abbreviated waiter’s jackets opening
over a scarletsilk blouse of just the
shade of color the marseilles was srlash-
ed with. It had a broad-brimmed hat
of marseilles also, with no trimmings
whatever but a few upright loops of
scarlet ribbon.
Almost as pretty was a white pique
skirt with a blue and white striped silk
blouse, a white ‘‘garcon’ jacket and a
little chip hat with blue eyed grasses
for its ornaments
The outing dresses for girls are
brighter and prettier this year than ever
before. The designs are more elaborate
and the coloring more striking, yet they
are made of inexpensive materials, One
of the prettiest outing dresses seen was
made of white yachting linen: The
skirt was made plain and short. The
waist was cut to represent a blouse. and
over it was worn a jacket of dark blue
vicuna cloth. The jacket had wide
revers of white silk, and a dark blue
necktie was knotted at the neck. An-
other outing costume having the Rus-
sian blouse effect was made of dark blue
duck. The skirt was plain but the
blouse was trimmed with an exquisite
gilt passementerie. The corselet belt
was of solid bands of the passementerie.
An odd little suit for a boy is made of
sage green vicuna cloth. The trousers
are short and the coat is cut like a
zouave jacket. It is worn over a full
shirt waist of fine white cambric, with
deep collar and cuffs edged with lace.
A white surah sash is worn about the
waist and hangs down with long ends.
The dresses for little girls grow more
and more simple in design. A dainty
dress is made all in one of white China
silk. The yoke is entirely of smocking
dene in yellow silk. The sleeves are
full and puffed. Atout the edge of the
dress are three rows of narrow yellow
ribbon sewed on the silk with an em-
broidery stitch in white. With this
dress is worn a large hat having a soft
crown of yellow silk, with a white chip
brim edged with white ostrich feather
trir mings.
There is no reason girls, why you
cannot go to college if you really want
to. No matter if you have to wear
old clothes and are 30 before you
graduate ; there will be plenty who are
making the same sacrifices, and people
whose opinion is worth caring for will
only respect you the more. As a rule
it is best to avoid running in debt;
rather, go to Coilege for a year at a
time, teaching or doing some other work
the alternate years. The experience
will be of great value and heavy debts
are things to be always avoided by one
just starting out in life. In a large
college there is always office work, such
as copying, cataloguing, etc., that stu-
dents can get to do in their leisure
hours, also during vacation, and a
bright girl can devise other ways to
bring in a few dollars, which will be a
help in meeting the various incidental
he women’s colleges of the grade of
Wellesley, Smith and Vassar are quite
expensive, Tuition costs $100 to $150
and board from $200 to $400 more.
The University of Michigan at Ann
Arbor offers as good advantages as any
to a girl who has only a little money.
On entering the University a matricu-
lation fee is paid of $10 for residents of
Michigan, or $25 for those of other
States ; in addition a yearly fee 1s due,
which varies in the different depart-
ments, but never exceeds $25, and the
fee for a diploma is $10 apart from these
expenses, tuition is free. Board can be
obtained at from $3 to $5 a week, but
students often club together and reduce
the cost from $1.50 to $2.50 a week.
Books can always be obtained second
hand, and $25 ought to cover the ex-
penses of books, stationery, ete.; $200
should enable a girl to meet a year’s
college expenses quite comfortably.