Deworralic, atc
Bellefonte, Pa., Jan. 13, 1893.
aman
‘TOO LATE.
She lies so still the livelong day,
She doth not move or speak ;
The roses long have died away
{Upon her.dainty cheek.
I spoke her harshly yestermorn—
Yor agonized surprise.
It haunts .me now—and for my scorn
The lovelignt in her eyes !
And now each bitter word I said
Accentuates my pain—
Each taunt I leveled at the dead
Has burnt into my brain.
Who is the wiser ? I, whose feet
Must tread an earthly hell ?
Or she who hears that welcome sweet,
“Fair spirit, all is well ?”
Though God forgive me in His grace
When I have “crossed the bar,”
When 1 shall meet her face to face
Beyond the morning star.
I dare not think that even there,
Within the gates ot gold,
My soul will show to her as fair
As in the days of old.
The dear dead days of long ago,
Whose tale was told above.
When in our Nearly we felt the glow,
; ve !
The rosy dap oil — Public Opinion.
PAMELA AND PRUE,
“Really, Miss Jardice, you ain’t got
any kind of tact with the poor child.
He's as good as gold when Pamela is
by. But you've no notion of managin’
him, and you're that inconsiderate of
his little ways that—John Jeremiah!”
The shrill Yankee voice was raised
into a scream of dismay and anger to
reach the other erd of the long dining-
room of the “Hotel de Bretagne,” in
which the speaker stood scolding ber
governess.
“John Jeramiah, git off that table
this instant, I say! You've eaten
enough food already to be ill for a
week, and you so bad yesterday with
all those sweets. Get down, you naugh-
ty boy,” and Mrs. John J. Spragge, of
Chicago, made a dart down the room
to the farther end of the long dining ta-
ble, set for dejeuner, which was being
pillaged by her son and heir, aged 10,
who had taken advantage of Miss Jar-
dine “catching it’ to stufl his pockets
with the fruit in the dishes.
“What is the matter, ma?’ asked
Pamela, entering with languid grace.
She spoke with a decided Yankee
draw], but she might have been Diana
herself, as she appeared in the days
when the earth was young to the eyes
of men.
“I guess he has been up to some
mischief”, she went on calmly.
“What's he been up to now, ma?’
Her mother looked at her with min-
gled respect and half-reproachful ad-
miration.
“The poor child only wanted some
plums, and—You just go right away
and see that he’s all right,” turning
sharply to Miss Jardine; “and I do
think you might try and manage him
a litule better.”
“Nonsense, ma,’ said Miss Pamela
Spragge, calmly ; “ he's the tiresomest
little imp I’ve ever seen, and its about
time he was made to mind somebody.
He wants to be euffed now and then,
and I wonder Miss Jardine don’t do it
when your back is turned. I would—
if I didn’t like te do it before your
face.”
Mrs. J. J. Spragge’s face was a study
as she stood struggling between anger
at the very thought of the hapless gov-
erness perpetrating such an enormity,
and the half admiring, balf awed obe-
dience she yielded in all matters to her
calm-willed beautiful daughter who
had ruled her ever since she could
walk.
She was further vaguely discomfited
by a soft laugh from the governess in
question, as if the idea ot cuffing the
sacred person of John Jeremiah bad
awakened intense amusement rather
than humble borror in her mind.
“I'm just eure I don’t know what I
keep you for, Miss Jardine,” she said,
“you ain’t no manner of use to me, as I
see, and I,m sure that dear John Jere-
miah hasn’t learned—" Joa
“Ma, don’t talk so loudly, and there's
Lord Acres outside,” interposed the
calm and beautifnl Pamela, turning in
the direction of the doorway, on the
threshold of which at that moment ap-
peared a slight, trim-looking young
man, of rather effeminate appearance.
“There he is,” all in the same tone, as
if this exhibition of loud vulgarity and
petty insolence on her mother’s part
before ner fastidious patrician lover in
no way disconcerted her. “Cyril I" as
he seemed to hesitate for a second on
the threshold, with something blank
on his face, which she took for shocked
disapproval, ‘come in. It is about
time you made the acquaintance of my
mother, I think,” with a slight laugh.
It was difficult to say in what it lay,
but as she spoke there was something
in her tone or manner which gave her
a little touch of quiet pride, and added
inestimably to her charm and grace.
The heiress of the celf-made million-
aire was lost in the dignity of the wom-
an and daughter who was neither
ashamed for herself nor for her parents,
though her lover could trace his noble
ancestry back to the Conquest.
Perhaps he felt it, and it reassured
him, for he came forward more quickly
and took the outstretched hand of his
future wother-in-law, whose ruffled
feelings subsided under this new excite-
ment,
This was the firet timeshe had seen
her daughter's affianced husband.
They had become engaged a week ago
atan English country house where Pa-
mela and he were staying.
Pamela had come over to her moth.
er at Dinan two days after the engage-
ment, and Lord Acres was to join them
aday or two later. He had arrived a
day earlier than he was expected, and
Pamela, coming down into the hall of
the hotel a few moments before, just
when the storm in the dining-room was
at its height, had found him there. She
had only time to shake hands, and
then had gone to the rescue ot ber
mother, and bad caught John Jeremi-
ah in his flight.
Miss Jardine had of course heard of
the engagement. Mrs. J. J. Spragge
had been far too proud and elated over
it to keep it to herself; every one in the
botel had heard that “my daughter”
was betrothed toan English nobleman.
Miss Jardine was apparently very
weary of the subject, for she turned
aside, with the faintest suspicion of
disdain on her still pale face, as Lord
Acres was introduced to Mrs. J. J.
Spragge, and moved toward the door.
Pamela stopped her.
“I want to introduce Lord Acres to
you, Miss Jardine,” she said; “I guess
you two would like each other ; she’s
real nice,” with a bright laugh turning
to her lover, “and— well,” in the same
light tone to Miss Jardine, but with
something tender, like the passing of
an angel’s wing, shadowing her eyes,
“he is rather nice, too.”
Miss Jadine and Lord Acres bowed
to each other, Miss Jardine's gray eyes
resting quietly for a second on the sun-
burned face of the young man, who
turned back, the instant he had ac-
knowledged the introduction, to Mrs.
J. J. Spragge, while Miss Jardine,
with a smile at Pamela, left the rocm.
“What ever possessed you to intro
duce those two like that, Pamela?”
asked her mother, disturbed and vexed,
2s later on she talked over her future
son-in-law with her daughter.
“He didn't like it I think. He
thought likely enough that you were
mocking him; they are so easily ruf-
fled up, men are. Isaw him bite his
lips under that dandy little mustache
of his, and the back of his neck went
quite red under the sun-brown. Be-
sides, Pamela, she is only your broth.
CT Breen?’
“She is much better born than we
are, ma,’ said the beautiful Pamela,
carelessly. “Her people were once his
equals, only they got poor and emigra-
ted ; and Cyril isn’t that sort. He
thinks a lot of himself, but isn’t mean
like that. I shouldn’t have taken him
if he were.”
“Well, I don't like that Prue Jar-
dine myself, and what all the men
seem to see in her I can’t make out.
She hasn’t a quarter of your beau-
ty’
“But a man would go on caring for
her long after he had tired of me,’ said
Pamela, languidly. “A man who bad
ounce loved her would love her to the
end.”
“Nonsense, Pam,” said her mother,
in indignation dropping into the old fa-
miliar appellation of the days before
they had risen into fashionable society.
“J guess it isn’t nonsense, ma,” said
Pamela, walking to the windows and
looking across the great place upon
which the Hotel de Bretagne faced.
The sunshine of a perfect autumn af-
ternoon flooded it, and through the
golden light stirred the pulses of hu-
man life. There a squad of soldiers
marching at ease back to barracks,
their roving eyes glancing roguishly
at the girls as they tripped across the
square with their white ‘*bonnets’” and
big market baskets on their arms.
There a group of little brown faced
French children in their blouses, with
their close-cropped heads; pretty En-
glish girls ; tourists gazing about them
with their Baedeker, passing and re-
passing; a smiling, busy, chattering
human crowd, with its setting of old-
world houses.
And as Pamela gazed out upon it her
unimaginative mind was kindled by
the strangqnew fire that had given life
to her heart and soul, and she thought,
thought men. came and went, and
laughed and loved and died, that love
like the sunshine, lived on always,
kindling into golden light tbe lives of
those passing to and fro in the old place
to-day, as it had done those of that day
of long ago, when French and English
had met and fought together in the
quaint, old town.
CHAPTER. II.
“It is enough to make a man mad to
see it. How can you put up with it—
Miss Jardine ?"”
There wasa faint hesitation before
the name, as if some other name had
nearly slipped out.. Lord Acres and
Prue Jardine were walking side by side
on the old walls under the shadow of
the trees.
Prue walked on with a faintly set
look on her face. This interview would
have to take place some time or anoth-
er, and it was best to have it over. The
strain of avoiding it was too great. She
braced herself up now to face it as she
would have faced the surgeon’s knife.
The last time Cyril Grant, as he was
called then, and she had talked alone
together had been under the starlight
among the recwoods at the back of a
Californian store. Then he had told
her how he, who had lived for the last
year under her father’s roof, sharing
their toils, their anxieties, and the
pleasures that had come even into their
hard-pressed lives, had that day heard
that he had come into an English earl
dom. The news had been so unexpec-
ted that he had, before it came, made
up his mind to settle down for good in
that part of the world, But all the
vague, sweet understanding that had
sprung up between them suddenly end-
ed ‘hat night under the starlight, when
he nad told her of the change that had
come into his life.
At the break of the next day ke had
gone away, and from that day to this
they had neither seen nor heard any-
thing of each other, That parting took
place three years ago.
Some months after Acres’ departure
Prue's father had died. Prue, left quite
alone in the world, had taken the post
of governess to the son of the million-
aire, and had lived with them ever
since—why, or how, few people could
understand. It passed the comprehen-
sion ot Acres, He remembered her as
a starry-eyed, high-spirited, laughing
girl, and her submission to her presen
conditions of life was inexplicable.
“How can you put up with the tem-
pers and cranks of that old—-" Then
he suddenly remembered that the old
woman in question was to be his moth-
er-in-law.
Prue, knowing perfectly what he
bad been on the point of saying, and |
understanding far better than even Pa-
mela did how his fastidious refinement,
patural and inherited, must be jarred
upon by his future relation’s_ vulgarity
and ostentation, went on quietly :
“I do not mind it. I stay because of
Pamela. She is as sweethearted as
she is lovely.” :
“Yes,” he said, his eyes still dark
with the perplexity of finding her here.
“I say he said, with a sudden laugh,
“do you ever remember the old days
and want to ‘go a visitin’ back to Grig-
by’s station?’ I do sometimes. By
George! how queer and odd it all
seemed I" with another laugh, which
bad a note of bitterness in it. *‘It was
quite a time before I got used to hay-
ing my boots cleaned for me, and when
I see the girls riding in the park or
taking the fences across country I re-
member how you and I used to ride
through the redwoods, and how sweet-
ly the pioes used to smell. And do
you remember the azalea bush just at
the back of the store, and the sleighing
in winter, and—"’
He stopped short, drawing himself
up stiffly, and biting his lips under his
fair mustache.
“Yes; I remember it all,’ she said
steadily.
The short autumn afternoon was
closing in; the golden lights had faded,
and white, fairy-like mists were begin-
ning to rise from the gardens that had
once been deep moats, and crept like
pale ghosts of those old dead days
about the trees and bushes, as if they
had stolen back to look once more on
the grim and frowning walls which had
once shut in the quaint, beautiful town,
but which to-day were so covered by
creepers and ivy, eo garlanded with
flowers, so picturesquely broken by the
houses that had been built into their
frowning gray strength that a writer
who loved it has said that Dinan was
like a young girl trying on a suit of old
armor over her ball dress.
Prue stopped as she spoke and
looked about her.
There was not a soul in sight for the
moment. There was no sound save
the distant voices of some children in
the dusky valley below, and the stir of
the wind as it rustled the yellowing
leaves of the trees overhead and sent
them drifting earthward.
“How chilly it is growing,” she said
with a little shiver, ‘It is time I took
John Jeremiah in. He hasa bad cold
already.”
“But John Jeremiah’s cold did not
rouse any Interest or anxiety in the
heart of Acres. He stood, pulling rest-
lessly at the leaves of one of the shrubs
that fringed the old fosse, looking down
into her pale face with contracted
brows, and as he looked the gpell of her
presence fell on him again, and he for-
got everything except that she was to
him the sweetest woman his heart bad
ever known. He had striven hard to
forget her; but, as Pamela had said,
she was one of those women whom no
man, having loved, could ever forget.
Though the old bright prettiness had
faded, the gray black fringed eyes were
the same, and if thelips had paled a
little, the sweet loveableness was still
there, and their gravity suddenly stirred
him as even their mocking, mischiev-
ous laughter had never done.
“Prue,” he said sharply, “why did
you never answer my letter? Ab,
heavens! How I waited, day after day,
month after mouth! And—I had
been such a fool. I had actually dared
to hope when I left America that I
might win you for my wife. But I
think you might have sent me a line,
just one line to say you were sorry. It
would not have madeit any easier to
bear, perhaps but it would have been a
little less rough on me. And I loved
you so!” under his breath.
“What letter, Cyril? She did not
know that she was using the old famil-
iar name. “I never had any letter,”
going on in a still, dull tone, as she
suddenly knew perfectly well what had
been, “I thought you had gone away
and forgotten, that was all.”
There was a dead pause. Only the
wind rustled a little louder and more
fretfully in the trees overhead, and one
of the yellowing leaves fluttered down
on to Prue’s shoulder.
‘You never got my letter asking youn
to be my wife? And it did not come
back, so I thought you had received it.
And then I met John Grey in London
one day, and he told me you were en-
gaged to that Hill fellow, whom I al-
ways used to hate.”
oF never had a letter, and it was all
a—
“Lie! Curse him | Grey Lad sworn
to be even with me, because of that
row we had about the tenderfoot he
was swindling. Prue! Prue! Oh!
And I still love you, Prue!” as he read
something in her face that made it as
pale as the ghostly mist stealing about
them. ‘And you did care for me after
all my darling I”
Her hands went out to his, then fell
to her side as she remembered.
“Pamelal’” she cried. *Ob, how
could we forget Pamela 2’
cHAPTER III.
“An’so I dido’t jump out on them
an’ frighten them. I thought most
likely she'd feel mad. An’ she did cry
80. An’ she told him to go right away,
an’ she hoped you and he would be
very happy. An’ I was glad when
they'd finished, for I was gettin’ the
cramp scrunched up there, an’ wanted
toeneeze. An’ I guess, way they talked,
they thought a mighty lot of you, and
his voice was dredul sad, an’ I guess
they felt sick enough, so I let them go
away without knowin’ I was there.”
John Jeremiah that evening was tell-
ing Pamela what he had overheard
that afternoon on the boulevards, where
be had hidden among the shrubs, in-
tending to pounce out upon Prue and
frighten her.
“I guess she felt real sick,” went on
John Jeremiah again, while Pamela,
leaning in her usual pose against the
window, gazed out on the place below.
There was no golden light now. It was
dark with the early autumn night,
through which gleamed here and there
the scatterad lights of houses and
streets. But people were still passing
to and fro, and the sound of voices
came up from the veranda below. A
girl’s laugh rang out suddenly, and Pa-
mela wondered if shehad a lover.
“An’ Miss Jardine's going away to-
morrow. She said she should. She's
going to tell ma she is obliged to go to
England. I guess I'd like to tell her
that that’s a big cram.” :
“No, you wont,” said his sister, turn-
ing slowly round to face him. “If you
promise not to say a word to a soul
about what you heard this afternoon,
and never say a word, whatever hap-
pens, I'll give you the biggest toy ship
that was ever made. I'll get it built
for you by a real shipbuilder on the
Clyde when we get round there.”
John Jeremiah’s eyes kindled. The
one region where he might be said to
approach that state ot virtue in which
good little boys ought to live, and
which, therefore, was wide enough to
contain his restless, ambitious soul,
was an ocean. He was bent on becom
ing a sailor.
Then the eager light faded.
“1 guess I'll want to talk about it to
some one,” he said, in a depressed
tone, “I'll be lettin’ it out; because
there are a lot of things I should want
to know—why she cried so and why
the letter he mailed never went, an’
who John Grey was, an’ why they both
seemed so sorry for you ; as if he
couldn’t love you both——?’
“I'll tell yoa what it is,” John Jere-
mian,” she interrupted hima suddenly,
“you can just come and talk to me
about it, and we'll try and invent
answers ourselves to the questions you
agk ; only you musn’t ask me too
many questions, nor want to talk too
much about it at all,” with a queer lit-
tle smile that was rather a quiver of
thelips than a laugh. The bargain
was made, and John Jeremiah gave his
promise. He had a way of keeping a
promise when, by dint of coaxing or
bribing, he was persuaded to make
one.
Early next morning, much to Mrs.
J. J. Spragge’s indignation. Prue left
Dinan, urgent necessity recalling her to
England, she said. It was Pamela
who, in her calm way, smoothed down
her mother's ruffled feelings and nip-
ped in the bud an inclination of that
good lady to refuse to let her go so as-
touished she was at her inconsiderate
conduct toward the “poor darling John
Jeremiah.”
That young man, before whom his
mother discussed most of the affairs of
their daily life, sat listening with tight-
ly shut mouth and eyes bright with
such a keen desire to relieve himself of
the secret weighingon him that Pam-
ela took him out of the room to save
bim from the strain.
“I say, Pam,” he said, when out of
bearing, what makes you want her to
go so ? an’ I didn’t say a word, though
I wanted to badly. Do you want her
to go away eo that Cyril shan’t have
you both to love ? You're real greedy.
I don’t mind you loving him as well as
me.”
“You silly little goose!” exclaimed
his sister rather sharpely. But she put
her arm round his shonlders as if her
heart felt suddenly a comfort in the un-
divided aftection of even this reprobate
young brother of hers. Don't talk
about things you don’t understand.
When you grow up I guess you'll find
your life only big enough to hold one
girl. They take an awful lot of room—
they don't like to be cramped ;it is
like living in a house with some of the
rooms shut up and locked; they al-
ways want to go into those, you see.”
“Girls are mighty curious,” said
John Jeremiah ; “always wantin’ to
know things, and poke into every
place, and always askin’ questions,
Say, Pam, do you think Cyril will be
sorry Prude Jardine is going ?”
“Don’t worry so, John Jeremiah,”
with an unusual energy and anger in
her languid tones, and she put him out
of her room.
She saw Prue before she went. She
read something in Prue’s eyes as she
said goodby. And the gray pitying
eyes, dark with the pathos of the two
girls’ lives made the breath catch in
her own throat. Then she bent for-
ward and kissed her,
“It’s a pity you've got to go,” she
said in her matter-of-fact tones, “and I
expect once you'd get away from John
Jeremiah you won't feel called upon to
come back to us,”
About half an hour before dejeuner
Acres was strolling up the Rue de
Jerzual, that wonderful old French
street, with its picturesque houses, a
street which stands out like some
painted page from the book of the past
with all its anomaly of modern noises
and dirt and evil smells. Acres glanced
listlessly about him as he climbed its
steepnees. But he stood looking at a
slender and stately figure which had
just turned into the street a little way
above him, and was now moving down
toward him with graceful, leisurely
steps, daintily gloved and shod, the
prettiest and most becoming of Paris
hats, and betraying at every point of
her perfect morning toilet the “smart”
and fashionable millionaire’s daughter.
It was Pamela. For one second he
hesitated, a stifled exclamation like a
faint groan, on his lips. Then he re-
covered herself and went forward to
meet her, with the simple chivalry of
his own heart to guide him, and the
memory of the tearful pleading in
Prue's eyes, as she begged him not to
forget Pamela, to strengthen him.
She smiled as he approached her.
He could not smile in response, but he
greeted her with a gentle tenderness
that made her look away for a second.
“I'm glad I met you,” she said as
they walked on together ; “I have
something to say to you, and as it has
to be said, I think the sooner it is done
the better. I hope you won't think I
am behaving badly to you, but I don’t
feel somehow as if I could carry this
engagement of ours through. Perhaps
I was ambitious. You know,” she
laughed, but if the sound was a little
bitter,
hear it, ‘they say we Americansal-
ways want titles to wear— perhaps—
anyway, it you don’t mind, I would
rather——"" She glanced up at him
calm and smiling. “Well, I guess I'd
rather marry some else than you—if
you don’t mind.”
“And you will not be ‘my lady “after
all!” exclaimed her mother in bitter
disappointment, when a few hours later
she heard the engagement between her
daughter aod Lord Acres was broken
off.
“No, ma; I think I would rather be
‘your serene highness.” T shall marry a
prince.”
And only John Jeremiah noticed
that her eyelids were a little red when
she came down stairs next morniog ;
and as his shrewd little precocious
brain put various odds and ends of facts
together, he thought, as he offered her,
in an attack of mutesympathy, a warm
squashed peach which he had been
carrying about in bis troucers pocket
since daybreak, that girls were the
queerest things in the world.
Three months later Mrs. J. J.
Spragge saw in an English paper the
announcement of the marriage of Prue
to Lord Acres,
“I wouldn’t have married him if he
would have made me a queen!’ said
Pamela, #ith a sudden, strange Zs:
sion.—A/l the Year Round.
Nearly Asphyxiated.
A Narrow Escape Made by Three Families in
Huntingdon.
HuntiNepoN, Pa., January 2,—By
the merest chance three families in
this place narrowly escaped asphyxia-
tion last night. The iron pipes laid
many years ago by the first gas com-
pany 1n this town have never been re-
placed with new ones, and last night
one of these old pipes broke, throwing
an immense volume of gas into the
streetand into the cellars ot nearby
houses through the drains and sewers.
The break in the main occurred near
the middle of the block on Wash-
ington street, between Second and
Third streets, nearly opposite the resi-
dence of Mr. H. E. Butz, editor of the
Globe. The break was not discovered
until this morning, when the tamily of
Mr. John Lower, a prominent contrac-
tor, on arising discovered that some-
thing serious had occurred. Mr Low-
er, who was barely able to get up was
seized with a violent attack of vomiting
but he succeeded in arousing Miss An-
nie Silknitter, his housekeeper, and his
little daughter, who were similarly
afflicted, and in a short time in the op-
en air all three had almost entirely re
covered,
The residences of Editor Butz, H. B.
Dunn, esq., and the family of the late
Harry Miller were all flooded with the
dangerous gas, but not so strongly as
that of Mr. Lower, which is accounted
for by the fact that Mr. Lowers resi-
dence was not protected by a suitable
trap atthe entrance to the cellar drain.
When the workmen came to repair
the leaking pipe they tested the out-
flow of gas in the street with lighted
matches, when instantlv a huge geyser
of flame shot up in the air which, on
a miniature scale, resembled a burning
natural gas well.
Wealth Does Not Bring Happiness.
Senator Stanford is the reputed pos-
sessor or $30,000,000. By his own es-
timate it will be trebled in three years.
He has made it all, and his life is ap-
proaching the end of activity. He was
askedthis question, ‘Does wealth give
happiness 7”
“No,’’ he answered with promptness,
shaking his head slowly.
“Happiness, after the ordinary com-
forts of life are possessed, does not be-
long to any post, rank or condition.
Great wealth involves immense care,
It is care that kills. It is care that put
me in my condition. If wealth is in-
telligently used, there may come a cer-
tain happiness from its bestowal.”
“Then why this incessant rush after
wealth ?’
“Bread and butter is the first essential
of life ; that is, the first necessary stimu-
lus to labor. Then men work hard that
they may enjoy the surplus fruits of la-
bor. With our standard of living and
the products of civilization a little does
not satisfy as a sufficient surplus.
native of Panama, who can count but
ten, will labor hard to reach that goal
of acquirements, but that accomplish-
ment satisfies.”
“Why are successful Americans sel-
dom satisfied unless with increased
wealth already great ?”
“Activity has become habit. They
are accustomed to living faster than any
where else in the world. Many men,
too, are not educated to enjoy anything
but the struggle itself. That education
though will come in time.”
Cyclone in Mauritius.
A 8 p. m. on April 29, 1892, the Is-
land of Mauritius had lost its beauty,
the cane its promise, the planter his
hopes and the gardens their charms. A
short twenty-four hours had sufliced to
perpetrate this end, and fortunate had
| 1t been could the mischief have stopped
there, for the soil’s fertility cannot be
affected by a storm, and the soil of
Mauritius is pre-eminently fertile and
recuperative; but 1,1000 people had
bezn killed, 2,000 had “een wounded ;
one-third of the capitol had been leveled
to the ground; thirty out of fitty
churches and chapels bad been demol-
ished or rendered useless ; sugar mills
had been wrecked, crushing mercilessly
men, women and children who had
sought refuge under their solid walls;
every Indian hut had been ¢ wept away,
whole villages had been swept from the
place where they stood, and some 50,-
000 homeless people were left to seek for
shelter and food, which a few hours be-
fore they were quietly enjoying, through
their own exertions and labor.—Black-
wood's Magazine.
——Everybody reads the Pittsburg
Dispatch for the reason that it contain
more news, general, special, and tele
he was too overwhelmed to:
graphic; has more contributors and
more special correspondence than any
other newspaper between New York
and Chicago. 38 1 6t.
The
The World of Women.
Some house keepers serve lemon with
mutton, but most people prefer a com-
bination of tart and sweet, as in mint
sauce or fruit jellies.
According to the Medical Recorder
castor oil has not failed in any case to
remove warts t» which it was applied
once a day for two to six weeks.
Mrs. George Hearst, wife of the late
Senator Hearst, of California, is thre
most heavily insured woman in the
world. Her policy is for $500,000.
A piece of chamois skin bound on the
edges, shaped to fit the heel and kept in
place by a piece of elastic rubber worn
over the stockings, will save much
mending.
A use for salt recently given is to rub
it into the roots of the hair, to remove
dandruff, Rub itin lightly at night
not using a grzat quantity : in the morn-
ing it is all gone, only leaving a slight
dampness. I
A nice way to keep wax for tha work-
basket is to fill half shells of English
walnuts with melted wax, fastening the
two half shells closely together at one
end. There will then be a small space
at the other end, through which the
thread will slip when the wax is being
used.
Both for day and evening wear
the skirts seem short, witk flounces and
rouleaux reaching almost to the knees,
the bodices we are now faithfully copy-
ing ending at the waist, with a belt, full
and simple, occasionally crossing in
front. The large puffed sleeves are over
shadowed by capes; while: the gigot
sleeve and pelerine cape are the dis-
tinguishing features of day dresses
Mis. Martha Joanne Read Nash
Lamb, who died of pneumonia in New
York on Monday, was born at Plainfield,
Mass., on Aug. 13, 1828. She was
married to Charles A. Lamb, of Ohio,
in 1862. She founded the Chicago
Home for the Friendlass and the Half-
orphan Aslyum in the same city. She
removed to New York in 1866. She
was the author of many books, includ-
ing a History of the City of New York,
and from 1883 until her death was the
editor of the ‘‘Miagazine of American
History.”
Mrs. Lamb was a member of fifteen
learned societies in this country and
Europe.
If you wish to know what isreally
the mode the place to take observations
is on some fashionable thoroughfare.
There one can see at a glance the pre-
vailing styles, though it might take
much longer to select the ultra effects
among so many novelties as are display-
ed in the shops. Certain it is one would
never suppose that the hideous purple
veils that are on sale in the stores would
ever become popular, but judging from
tne number se2n they are certainly much
worn despite their ugliness. A florid wom-
anlooks apoplectic in one and a pale
woman becomes actually ghastly. Every
one knows the dire influences of purple
calcium lights on stage finery and rouge,
well exactly the same effect is produced
by these novel but hideous veils.
The return of the crinoline some time
in the near future seems to be one of the
accepted facts. Already, fashionable
dressmakers are stiffening their dresses
as far as the knees. They are also in-
troducing in street dress the long aban-
doned facing of horse hair, in order to
give the edge of theskirt the little flare
neccessary to make the ample skirt of
to-day hang gracefully. One of the
newest skirts for walking dresses while
it follows the general outlines of the
bell skirt is the exact opposite of it in
the way it is made. Instead of ' dispen-
sing with seams, asin the case cf the
bell skirt, the modiste used as many as
six in the new skirt and these are trim-
med up half way or nearly their entire
length with the narrow fur borders that
edge the skirt. In order to give this
skirt the proper effect, the gores must
be of about equal size all round, and the
fulness at the back is laid in a large,
hollow box plait.
It appears that the long shoulder
seams are to be insisted upon by the
dressmakers, and that woman will con-
sent to be made at once stylish and ug-
ly. The beautifal lines of the fig-
ure areagain to be distorted and the
hid eous sloping shoulder effect restored
to view. For the past fifteen years the
dress of woman has tended more in the
direction of truly artistic forms and com-
positions, and it says little for the taste
and brains of the sex that its members
should be willing, at the dressmakers’
mandate, to. return to the ridiculous
styles of 1830—styles which made a
beautiful woman ugly and added to the
ugliness of one already neglected by
Dame Nature. In spite of the resist-
ance the dressmaker is rapidly pushing
the 1830 effects, getting them in bodices
by means of the broad revers which
completely cover the full tops of the
sleeves aud thus hide the fact that the
shoulders are not long. Undoubtedly
madame’s next bodice will have the
long shoulder seams without disguise.
Outre effects are certainly the rage,
for ox blood and hunter’s green gloves
are worn by women who never deviated
from quiet tans and grays. Speaking
of gloves, it is no longer fashionable to
squeeze the hand so that it actually
aches in order to give the impression of
daintiness. Loosely fitting gloves are
now de rigueur and certainly any hand
whether it be large or small looks much
better for this sensible custom.
Muffs and millinery increase in size as
the days grow longer. The former are
sometimes actually absurd in their im-
mense proportions. It dosn’t look so
badly on a large woman, but to see a
slim little creature staggering along with
a furry burden as large as a sheep may
mark her as stylish, but appears ridicu-
lous. The hats are incling mere and
more and to the old time poke, and with
wide revers, granny muffs and full skirts
it only needs tne hoop to make an 1830
fashion plate out of our fin de siecle
girls. Crinoline is certain to b2 revived
but let us enjoy the sweeping lines as we
may. Empire cloaks, full, straight and
Mother Hubbardish, are graceful and
elegant, but they will have to go when
wires and spring spread out the skirts
underneath. Therefore let us revel in
the joy of the present fashion and pray
that the evil of hoops may be averted
through the mandate of somo mun dress-
maker whose word is law in the femi-.
nine world.
4