Bellefonte, Pa., April 28, 1893
THE FACE AT THE WINDOW,
The face at the-window once bright and fair.
Was anxious and pale, and furrowed with care;
The wife of the drunkard looks out through
tears.
As the footsteps unsteady and slow she hears.
But on past her.door goes the home seeking
CIow:
“Oh why does he tarry ?” she murmers aloud ;
- She listens again, ‘tis the throb of her heart
That soundsin: the darkness, and bids her
start,
“Oh, would he but come ! ‘tis dark and late.
I'd welcome with joy e’en his unsteady gait I—
How long the hours linger, the night's dark
olds.
Shut out from.ny-sight what it most woula be-
hold
‘The moon rose out of the darkened sky,
And seemed to say, ‘“‘let ns go, you an 1,
And bring him back from the evils haunts,
From the jibes of men and the scoffers taunts!”
And the poor wife said, “I can bear the pain,”
For the thought of having him home again,
And long she sought through lane and street,
With heavy heart and wesry feet
w
She fond him at-dast where the “wine flows
red,"— j
Ob, the wages of sin”—there she found him
dead !
—Richimeond Enterprise.
rn ——————
ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS.
BY MARY KYLE DALLAS.
When Saturday wag over and Mr.
and Mrs. Vranklin were alone by
themselves in the clean kitchen, sitting
beside the stove, Mrs. Vranklin arose,
went into her bedroom and brought
out a bundle of clothes.
“I want you: to look at these things,
Jeremiah 2" she said, mildly.
“What are they ?” said he.
She spread them out on the floor.
“That is my best dress,” she said.
“Those are amy best shoes. That
is the only bonnet I’ve got in the world
but my calico-sun-bonunet, and : iat is
my Sunday shawl.”
She uttered the words quietly "and
~waited.
“Well,” said Mr. Vranklio, still
smoking.
“Well 2” she answered.
‘He said nothing. She gathered up
the garments.with a look of disdain
tographs of several members of the
family hung by red cords from the
‘wall, dotted muslin curtains with neat-
lv.fluted ruffles covered the green pa-
per blinds. A dish of wax fruit, cov-
ered by a glass shade, ornamented the
centre table, and the horsehair furni-
ture had been so littlejused in two gen-
erations that it looked almost new.
The vases on the mantel were old-‘ash-
ioned blue ware, for which a china
‘worshiper would have paid a great
price. They had been brought from
Canton by a sailor grand uncle, long
since dead, though he lived to see nine-
ty-oine years. Between the windows
was a “column” looking glass in which
Mr. Vranklin’s grandmother had seen
her girlish face in an immense white
silk poke-bonnet, still preserved in a
“bandbox" up garret.
A little moonlight stole through the
lower panes of the room and made all
things quite plain to the owner's ac-
customed eyes. He tried to think in a
hurry, and, being a slow man, grew
very much confused.
‘Eva Maria should have fifty dollars,
but she had said she had a right to a
hundred. It he gave her the bill in
his pocket, she would spend it. It was
Saturday evening, he conld not get it
changed that night—no, not until Mon-
day. If he locked it up, she would
‘know and take it out, perhaps, and do
as she pleased with it. She had de-
clared ber “right” to it. Eva Maria,
bumblest of the humble, meekest of
the meek, had spoken so. Could it be ?
“This comes of these here strong
minded meetin’s,” said Mr. Vranklin.
‘T'his was not logical, for Mrs, Vrank-
lin bad not attended one.
“Women used to be bidable. They
are kicking over the traces now. No-
body—" soliloquized Mr. Vranklin,
growing more and more ungrammatic-
al.with his wrath—"‘nobody ain’t goin’
to ride over me, ‘specially a wife of
mine. I must hide the money until I
can.change it. She might look into
my pockets. She said she had a right
toiit, and she looked determined,”
At this moment he heard a move-
ment in the kitchen. He believed it to
be his wile about to come in search of
him, and tried to think taster.
and piled them on a chair.
“You're a:rich man,” she said.
‘Rich for a farmer. You are sixty
and I fifty years old. Our boys are
married. I haven't had any money to
spend for five years. I'm a sight to
behold. If.I-were a servant I should
get wages and not have to beg. No, I
on’t beg, Jeremiah. Since you don't
offer it yourself, 1'm going to tell you
that.I want money. I wanta hundred
dollars to buy some new clothes to feel
decent and comfortable in. I'm desti-
tute, I'm ‘really destitute. Why, I'm
out of flannel! My calico gowns are
‘patched at the elbow. My shoe heels
are twisted. I can’t go to church any-
‘more, for 1’ve ‘turned my black ‘silk
twice and the back breadths upside
down. I've washed ‘my bonnet rib.
bone. Well, I’ve done all I could
rather than ask forwhat vou didnt
offer, and there’s no need. You're
well-to-do. I want to be decent and
take a little comfort while I can. I
muet. There, now! IVs my right 1"!
She had spoken her mind, and Mr.
Wranoklin had felt thata climax had
arrived. He had “laid by” a large
sum. He was growingold and had no
need to pinch, but the awful demand
for a hundred dollars all in a lump was
#00 much for him.
He bad become used to&va Maria's
quiet way of mending lier old clothes
and asking for no money, and it had
never occurred to him that .she would
geome "own on him like this at some
time.
He stared silently and pufed across
the stove the smoke of the cheap to-
bacco he burnt in a common corn.cob
pipe. The old rag carpet was clean,
The old .chairs were mended with car.
pet bottoms. Itwas all tidy, but noth-
ing was new. Nothing pretty ‘but the
scarlet geraniums ¢n their big pots oa
the window sill. He bad given his
wife very little in their thirty years of
married life; for all the furditare was
hie mother’s and.she hail helped him
make his fortune, selling buiter and
eggs and pot-eheese and flower roots,
feeding the hens cheaply and well,
weeding vegetables. and even ridingithe
mowing machine, now and then—
though not very lately. Conscience
told him that he.ougit to pull from
his vest pocket the crisp hundred dol.
lar-note he bad received that morning
for some hay, at the landing, and say:
“Here, Eva Maria, why didn’t you
speak before?” But when greed takes
possession of the heart of man, it holds
on like a leech. All he said, after the
silence had remszined unbroken for
some minutes, was :
“Well, Eva Maria, I'll think it over.”
To some women there is no agony
like asking a husbaud for money,
While some are always erying :
“Give! Give!” never content, never
reasonable, others will go with ragged
shoes uatil the masculine eyes discov-
er the fact,
They want a love-gift, not alms.
Generally they have to ask at last,
The happy wide teels ne such tribu-
ations. “All that is mine 18 thine,”
has been said to her by word and deed
too often, but where doubt of love lies
the heart grows proud.
Eva Maria had nerved herself at
last in the micery of her shabbiness to
make the speech above recorded, but it
seemed a fearful thing to do. She lit.
tle guessed that she had frightened
Jeremiah almost out of his senses.
“A hundred dollars,” he said to him.
self. “She must know what I've got
about me. She must mean to have it.
Fifty now, I'd give. Buta hundred
I'll get the money changed and give
her fifty.
He opened the door of the passage,
crossed it and went into the parlor. It
was a cold, neat place, kept sacred for
great occasions. It had a grate in it,
but it was doubtful if a fire would be.
lighted there that winter. It had been
inconvenient to take it down that sam-
mer, 80 fringed pink paper had been
arranged between the polished bars and
the rug drawn acroes the hearth. Pho-
The vases! Should he hide the note
there? No; there were still some as-
ters in the garden, and Eva Maria
might.fill the vases with bouquets. as
she sometimes did on Sunday alter-
noons, setting them for. the nonce on
the kitchen mantel, No, the vases
would not do. The ingrain carpet was
tacked down tight, the=—Surely there
was a step in the passage! The grate !
There, under the (ringed paper, it
might lie safely all night.
He drew his pocket-book from his
bosom and stuffed it between two loose
bricks at the back of the grate. The
pink fringes of the paper concealed it.
All was safe. He creaked across the
passage into the kitchen with a con-
sciousness of great meanness in bis
heart. Mrs. Vranklin, having execu
ted her terrible intention, bad taken
flight to her bedroom, where she sat in
the cold with a little shawl over her
shoulders, trembling. He said some-
thing aioud about seeing Jones about
those pige, and fled the house, and the
two held no more conversation until
breakfast time. THen Mr. Vraoklin,
with unusual piety, ‘went to church,
while his wife staid at home to cook
dinver, no oue else being at hand to do
it.
Just as the beef was so far done that
she could open the oven doors, there
came a knock upon the door, and open-
ing it she saw upon the porch her cons
in Brown and ‘the minister. Church
was out, and Cousin Brown had brought
the reverend gentleman to his friends
to dine. Mrs. Vranklin received both
hospitably, and hastened to usher
them into the parlor. The yellow art.
emisias shone bravely in the big blue
vases. Mr. Vranklin had been wise
not to hide his money there, but it was
cold—very cold. j
“IIL light a fire,” said the good wom:
an, “It won’t take a minute. It’s the
first fire of the season, or I'd have the
grate fixed.”
She tucked the paper down into the
grate, the easiest way to be rid of it,
piled on wood and placed the scuttle
ready. As she struck the match, she
gave a little cry, and repressed it in-
stantly. The flames blazed up merri-
ly and roared behind the blower.
When Mr. Vranklin returned, the
blower was- down, and the two men
were warming their feet at a compact
mass of red coal.
He looked at his Eva Maria. Her
cold. composed, New England face with
ite high nose and close shut mouth, be-
trayed no emotion.
“She don’t know what she has done,”
&e said to himself ; but he did.
The ghost.of that hundred dollars
stared at him from the embers. He
could not talk, he could not compose
himself, Cousin Brown opinioned he
was not well. The minister remarked
“that in the midst of life we are in
death,” and seemed to prophesy his
funeral. It was not a gay dinner, but
then it was Sunday. That night, Mrs.
Vrauklin missed her spouse from his
bed. She went to look for him and
found him poking in the ashes of the
dead fire with the tongs. He looked
up with a very red face.
“I don’t think these here coals kin
be good,” he said, confusedly.
“Did you get up in the night to look
a! them 7’ ghe asked.
He made no answer, and returned to
| bed.
| Next morning his wife again at
tacked him.
“Have you thought that matter over,”
| she asked.
Indeed he had, and it had occurred
j to him that Providence had prepared a
| special Judgment for him, in destroy-
ing that money, He felt that his wife
| had spoken the truth. She jad a right
| to decent clothes, She who had served
him so well for so many yeare.
“lve thought it over, Eva Maria,”
he said, and arose and went to his desk,
a queer, old-fashioned one built in the
| house-wall. When he returned, he
; brought with him a blank check.
© “Get what you like, my dear,” he
a ——
‘up justas you please.”
BORE
said, “and get it nice. Fill the check
He bad not called her “my dear,”
for years. She smiled up at him very
gently, tears were near her eyes.
However, she used the check to
dress herself comfortably. It was the
first time for many years that she had
indulged in the luxury of shopping
freely.
At night he met her at the depot,
loaded with parcels, tired but smiling.
He had not seen her so bright for many
a day.
After tea that night they sat together
beside the stove as before, and she
looked at him in a peculiar way.
“You didn’t seem to feel cheerful
Sunday afterncon, Jeremiah,” she re-
marked. “What ailed you ?”’
“I don’t want to tell you,” he
answered,
“But I'll tell you,” she said. “You
thought I burned the pocket book you
hid in the grate. I didn’t.”
She put her band into her work-bas-
ket and drew it out intact with the
money in it.
“I was just in time,” she said. “But
I understood at once when I saw ig
sticking between the bricks. If you
hadn't given me the checks, I should
have spent the money. There's a con-
fession for you, Jeremiah 1’
He looked at her, half angry, half
astonished, She arose and came to
him and put her hands on his should-
ers.
“But I should never have enjoyed
wearing them,” she said. “I should
have hated them, I think. These that I
bought to-day with your tree gift, I
shall love while there's a rag of them
lett,”
The man looked at her with a feel
ing that a strange revelation ot femin-
ine human nature had been made to
him, but all he said was :
“Why, Eva Maria, I want to know!
and he drew her down upon his knee
and kissed her.
‘Cause ef Corns.
Why the American Men Are so Generally Afflict-
ed With Them.
“Corns are bad,’ said the philosophic
bootblack. “Yours seem to hurt you
some. Strange what lots of people
have corns. ‘Over 90 per cent. of the
men who come to get a shine have
corns. How do I know it ? How do I
know you have a corn ? By finding it
of course. Gently ? Allright, I won't
hurt you, guv’nor. As I was saying,
90 out of every hundred have corns.
People say ii’s tight boots, but I don’t
believe it. Those who have the worst
corns wear boots that are too large for
them. What gives them corns, then ?
Well, I'll tell you. It's wearing boots
all day long.
“Seldom do you see Europeans both-
ered with corns, especially Englishmen.
Nearly every American has them.
The former never wear their boots all
day. They have walking boots to the
office. Once there they put on a thin
house boot. When they go home about
five o'clock in the evianing the first
thing they do is to put on their slippers.
The result is that the feet are always
cool, the pressure never constant, and
no muscle tried beyond its power. Far
otherwise the American. He goes down
to work at eight o’clock in the morning
and is hurrying and scurry in the same
boots untill six o’clock. Then he hur-
ries home to dinner, hurries through
dinner, and, still wearing the same
boots, goes to bis lodge or elsewhere and
returns at midnight, his feet having
been cramped up for fourteen hours out
of the twenty-four in the one pair of
boots. Theresult is corns and bun-
ions. ”’— Chicago Mail.
Be —
Perpetual Motion.
The Great Problem Solved at Last bg a Punzsu-
tawney Man,
J, F. Carroll, a turner in the employ
of Houck & Marl, claims to have discoy -
ered the principal of perpetual motion
and has constructed a machine which
illustrates it to perfection. Several gen-
tlemen who have seen it work declare
that ic is an unqualified, suceess, and
that machinery of all kinds can be run
with it at a nominal cost. Alex Grove,
another employe of Houck & Harl, is a
partner in the invention, and is now in
Washington, where he has filed a cave-
at, and tbe invention is now protected
and secured to 1ts owner. Mr. Grove
went there first to secure a patent on an
improved chisel, but failing in that was
instructed to remain there until Mr,
Carroll had constracted a perpatual mo-
tion machine. Ordinarily this would
seem to involve a long residence in
Washington, but Mr. Carroll has his
machine perfect, and intends giving
public exhibitions of it. The little
model which he has constructed will
litt a pound weight, which proves con-
clusively that a large machine would
have tremendous power.
The question of perpetual motion, a
machine so constructed as to run per-
petually and furnish power sufficient to
be useful in the manufacturing arts,
has perplexed and ruined many a brain,
and many are they who have claimed
to solve the problem. Now, should an
obscure citizen of Punxutawney discov-
er the great mechanical principle in-
volved in this question it would en-
shrine him and the euphonious name
“Punxatawney’ in a halo of everylast- |
ing glory. — Punzutawney Spirit,
The Lead Pencil.
Few people are “aware of the diffi-
cuities that were surmounted in the
manufacture of the common lead pen-
cil. Ta the first place the graphite of |
which it is made is rarely found suffi-
ciently homogeneous to allow pencil
lead to be cut from it, so 1t is al ways
ground to powder and then pressed in-
to blocks. The great difficulty was to
press the blocks until the graphite was
bard enough to use, and for many years
every effort in this was defeated “by the
crumbly nature of the material. Final. :
ly a device was employed that exhaust.
ed the air, after which the blocks were
again pressed and when ‘this was done |
the material was found to be as hard as |
when taken from the quarry. But,
thousands upon thousands of dollars J
were spent in experiments before the |
result was reached.
Noal’s Flood.
The shore lines of all the oceans give
unmistakable evidence that the waters
of the ocean have in recent geologic
times, been greatly augmented. The
coast surveys of the United States
proves this to be true beyond a question.
By this survey it is found that from
Nova Scotia to Florida, and thence en-
tirely around the Gulf of Mexico, the
old shore lines of the continent are far
out to sea. Along this shore-line,
thousands of mile in extent, the ancient
beach is now covered by the ocean wa-
ters from 180 to 250 feet deep. Then
further out is found the shore line or
what was then the shallow waters,
whick are now from 500 to 600 feet un-
der water and beyond this the lead sud-
denly drops to a depth of 1,200 to 10,000
feet.
For the first hundred miles out from
New Jersey the ocean deepens only
three feet to the mile or only 300 feet in
100 miles, 18 miles farther out the wa-
ter is 6,000 feet, and 250 miles out it is
13,2000 feet deep.
The same is true of the British Isles.
The waters gradually deepen till the old
coast line is reached and then a sudden
plunge to abysmai depths. Similar con-
ditions are found in the German oceans,
the Norwegian waters, along the whole
coast of Northern Europe, Northern
Asia and Eastern Asia from Java to the
Gulf of Aden.
On our western coast from the Col-
um hia river to the Bering straits we find
u widesea beach covered by shallow
waters and the steep banks of the old sea
shore far out in the ocean. These sea
beaches averages 100 miles in width,
and on them are found, in every part of
the world, vast forests of timber now ly-
ing 200 or 300 feet below the surface of
the waters.
The Atlantic continent has been sur-
veyed, and although now entirely cover-
ed by the Atlantic ocean, except the
Azore islands, it is known that this At.
lantic continent was once above the
waters of the ocean because its deep ra-
vines, mountains, gulches and water
courses, as now known to exist, could
not have otherwise formed.
Geologists have tried to account for
this universal rising of the waters by
claiming that the lands have sunk into
them, but this is an impossibility. All
evidences point to the fact that these
waters bave been suddenly deepened, all
at about the same time, and it cannot be
that al! lands have thus gone down into
the waters. The conclusion must be
inevitable that waters have risen over
the lands.
The rising of waters in all the oceans
from 800 to 600 feet could not have come
from cloud formations such as we now
have, but must have come from the fall
of walers from the upper deep, from
great belts outside of the atmosphere
such as we now see surrounding Jupi-
ter, Saturn, Uranus, Mercury and Ve-
nus, belts that hide from view the great
lights but let in the diffused twilight.
Prof. Vail, whose life was given to the
study of geology, says; “One-third of
North America, a great part of northern
Europe, very nearly all of Siberia, much
of China and other parts of Asia were
apparently, at the same time, submerg-
ed beneath fresh waters ’’ Such could
only occur from a great flood, the fail-
ing of ine great deep from above, the
breaking up of the belts which sur-
rounded the earth.
Dana, the great geologist, speaking of
recent geologic time, says that animal
life was subject to a great plunge-bath
and the most complete extermination of
species of which there is record.
Many evidences of a similar nature
are found in the North polar regions,
While a sudden great fall of waters ex-
terminated ocean animal life by a sud-
den change of salt to fresh waters, as
evidenced by the great pits filled with
the remains of such sea animals, the
same catisirophe was working havoc
among the inhabitants of more north-
ern climates.
To-day are found the skeletons of the
hairy mammoth imbedded in pure clear
ice more than 200 feet beneath the
glacier and 50 feet above the surface of
the earth, the whole carcass preserved
bair, skin ard eyes, the flesh being de-
The Uncertainties of Memo: y.
Everybody knows the man who can’t
remember names. The number of peo-
ple who can’t remember dates is legion.
Pbrenologists say certain lobes of the
brain are devoted by nature to certain
purposes. In other words, and crudely,
the function of memory is exercised by
or through a particular section of the
brain ent.rely disunct from and in-
dependently of other sections. Thera
are a good many practical examples and
well established cases which seem to
bear out this theory. But when we get
down to the miner subdivisions of these |
. . . |
particular brain funciions the idea be- |
Take this |
comes somewhat complex.
single thing of memory —is there a
subdivision for dates, for names, for
mislaid spectacles or umbrellas, for
places, for faces, and so on?
know those who can remember certain
things and not other things. Some-
times the lapse is about the names of in-
animate objects. The late Ralph
Waldo Emerson couldn’t remember the
names of the simplest and commonest
articles of daily use without an effort.
If he wanted somebody to pass the salt
he couldn’t remember at once what to
call it, but would indicate it by signs.
He wasembarrassed when suddenly call-
ed upon to designate an umbrella, cane,
or any other object of like simple na-
ture. Yet Emerson was a man of vast
resources of memory.
1 heard of a man the other day who |
when asking for his hat was unable to
name it, conveying his meaning by the
roundabout method of “that thing I
wear on my head when I go out.” I
unhappily understand too well the trick
the memory can play when it comes to
names of persons. It is frequently im-
possible for me at once to recall the
name of any particular individual, es-
pecially if suddenly confronted with
him on the street or elsewhere. It
makes no difference how well I may
know him. Yet I might not have seen
him for a quarter of a century and be
able to call his name at once, It isa
case of uncertainty--the name may be
on my tongue—then go from me in an
instant. It falls like a needle in the
straw—flashing as iv goes, to be recover-
ed later by minute examination. You
have not forgotten, in other words, it is
the uncertainty of producing your
thought at any particular moment.
——
Tickets for the Big Fair.
New York is supplying Chicago with
the admission tickets for the World's
Fair. One million of ther are already
on band in Chicago for sale, and the
contract with the American Bank Note
Company, which is doing the work,
calls for the striking off of 5,000,000
more.
The tickets, which are in four differ-
ent designs, are about four inches long
by two and one half inches wide, the
paper used being of remarkably fine
taxturcof a light grayish color. The
tickets of the various series differ from
each other in the color of their backs,
the colors used being brown, red, green
aud blue, the lathe-work designs on
the right side of the face, and the heads
in the left hand corner.
On one series is the ideal head of an
Indian warrior, a Columbus’s head is on
another, Washington's on the third,
and the head of Lincoln on the fourth
Opposite these handsome vignettes in
the richt-hand corner of the ticket, is
engrived : “World's Columbian Kx-
post jen, Chicago. Admit bearer Ist
May to 80ub October, 1893."
At the bottom of the ticket are the
signatures, “A. F. Seeberger, Treas-
urer,”’ and ““H, N. Higinbotham, Pres-
ident,” while on the fuce of the ticket,
in the centre, is a seal varying in the
colors of brown, red, blue and] green,
according to the series.
The back of each design is the same.
Across the tace for three foarths of an
inch is the legend, “World’s Columbian
Ex position, Chicago,” filling in seven-
teen lines. On the reverse of the tick-
et is a semi-circular scroll-work, very
handsome in design, within the rings
of which is engraved in microscopical
lettering: “18.-World’s Columbian
Exposition, Chicago—93
voured by wolves and bears as the
glacier ice thaws and exposes the car-
cass. The contents of the stomach are
almost as natural as they wera one hour
after being eaten, showing that they
luxuriated in forests of cone-bearing
trees, pines, ete., up to the very hour of
their sudden death. Their history was
written then and reveals to us that they
were overwhelmed by a sudden down-
fall of snow. Cuvier declared that these
great animals were frozen solid imme-
diately after death.
Covered hy 200 feet of ice these skel-
etons would be preserved for a million
years and all this is incontestible evi-
nence that while the great flood was
falling on the egatorinl portions of the
globe the polar regions were being en-
gulfed by mountains of snow.
The earth surrounded by deep belts of
vapor would make of ita perpetual
greenhouse and the breaking up of these
belts and their downfall in a great flood
would bring sudden cold in the northern
latitudes accompanied by immense
SNOWS,
Previous to the Edenic age
teils ug the earth, or a great portion of
it, was covered by glacier ice. Then
came the moon-comet adding its nebula,
carbon, lime and water to the earth, its
close proximity to the earth, like the
great red spotot Jupiter, evaporating
the waters that were previously on the
earth, melting the glacier ice forming
the belts and causing that universal
greenbouse Edenic age, then the succes-
sive collapse of the belts, bringing the
oft repeated great downpours the last of
which was Noah’s flood, when the skiss
were cleared, the rainbow appeared and
the last possible destruction by water
had come. W. T. FosTER.
geology
Elizabeth Phelps Ward has out a
new book that is receiving a good deal
of favorable comment. The title is
“Donald Darcy” and the story is
sprightly and true to lite. Persons who
make a point of keeping posted on all
the new books should get this, for it
will prove very interesting reading.
——‘‘Kate' what's become of the por-
ous plaster I left in that desk ?”’
“Porous plaster | Why I thought it
was one of those new postage stamps,
es ee
April Weather Proverbs.
Thunder in April is the end of hoar
frost.
After a wet April follows a dry
June,
Whatever March
Avril brings along.
April and May are the keys of the
year.
A cold April the barns will fill.
A dry April not the farmer's will ;
rain in April is that he wills,
Snow in April is manure, Snow in
March devours.
April cold and wet fills barn and
barrel.
At St. George (24) the meadow turns
into hay.
April snow breeds grass,
Moist April, clear June.
When on St. George (24) rye has
grown eo high as to hile a crow there-
in, a good harvest may be expected,
Wien April makes much noise
We wili have pleaty of rye and hay ;
When April blows its horn,
Then it stands good with hay, ry
and corn.
A cold and moist April fills the cel-
lar and fattens the corn.
April showers bring May flowers,
April barrows three days Irom
March and they are ill.
does not want
e
——A man calls nis wife by the beau-
tiful title, “Virtue, ‘because she is her
ownreward. She does all the house
work and gets no wages, The title
might appropriately be applied to a
great many women.
Mr. Whittier's llterary executor
has collected a large quantity of inter-
esting correspondence of the poet, and
the two volumes of the biography will
probably be published in the autumn,
HE a SS ——
It is estimated that during the
last five years the turpentine gatherers
of Georgia have destroyed $200,000,000
worth of pine timber.
——A flea is provided with a genuine
lancet, the knife inclosed ina case in
the head of the insect, the case opening
and I put it on a letter to ma.”
sideways, like that of a razor,
We all |
The World of Wome
Te
Traveling wraps of gloria with hoods
are among the private orders for the seq.
Son,
Flat folds of material headed by mil.
linar’s pipings, are among the prettiest
of skirt trimmings.
Earrings are as absolutely “out” gs
| the nosering among the ultra elegant,
Tiny screws are the only sort worn at
all, and these only by ‘women who do
not pretend to keep up with the vogue.
The women of the Minnesota State
Board have raised the needed money
to purchase Tjeldie's fine statuary group
of Hiawatha vearing Minnehaha in his
| arms, and it will be placed in front of
| the State building at the World's Fair,
if Mrs. J. Crosby Brown, who hus a
| fine country homzon Orange Mountain,
| has for the past nine years given happy
| afternoons 1n her grounds to poor moth-
ers from New York. The mothers
come in groups of eight, each bringing
her own or some other child with her,
and are brought up from the station in
i carriages. There 1s a house on the
| grounds where they receive refreshments
three times during tha day. Some of the
women wio are reached by this gentle
beneficence have not seen the country
for twenty years.
Miss Mary Arderson, now Madame
de Navarro, lives in absolute privacy in
a smell house near Tunbridge Wells,
The erstwhile actress shows no desire to
return to the stage. She spends her
time studying Spanish under her hus.-
band’s tuition, and her evening to mu-
sic, to which both are devoted, Ma-
dame de Navarro in private life has no-
thing of the actress about her. She is
as simple and natural as a child. She
had a choice of public life and success.
and a private life of peace and privacy.
‘She has chosen the latter, and is ra.
diantly happy.
Nearly 400 applications for patent-
were made last year by women. Fores
most among the inventions are those
appertaining to the adornment of the in-
ventors or their homes. But besides
these there are new sky designs, fire-es-
capes, cameras, balloons and not a few
conveniences for the opposite sex in the
line of improved braces, buttonhole
flower holders, trouser splash preventers,
ete. Not only do the women seem able
to originate the ideas, but also to ex-
ploit their patents and introduce them.
Several lar. e commercial enterprises in
England are carried on by women. and
in this country a lady very successfully
defended her patent dress protector in
open court, conducted the case herself
and came off with flying colors.
Speaking of tartan silk waists sug.
gests the grent diversity of designs
shown now in silk bodices which have.
become one of the necessary luxuries of
good dressing. Striped and figured
silks are used us well as the changeable.
taffettas and wash fabrics ot silk. There
is the Josephine waist, which is gathers
ed all about the neck, down the shoul-
ders and again at the bottom. Nur-
row velvet ribbon is sewn on in ‘the
form of a yoke before the waist is made
up, and narrow velvet edges the folded
belt and is looped in the rosette in the
back. Drooping shoulder ruffles and
bretelles, which are sloped to a point at
the belt, are made of the silk, doubled
and cut on the bias, or else the selvedge
of the material is used for the edge of
the bertha and frills.
The Garibaldi is perhaps the must
pleasing design, because it is more un-
usual than the others. A Garibaldi
waist of gray blue silk, with an old rose
figure, has a gathered front of plain old
rose silk. The waist is gathered to a
collar formed of narrow strips of satin
ribbon and folds of the material. The
ribbon edges the point of the waist,
which is not fastened anywhere, but
opens over the innsr waist of rose silk,
all the ladies with grown up daughters
know just how a Garibaldi waist is
made, for the fashion has lost nothing
in its Rip Van Winkle sleep of a quar-
ter of a century- It is gathered to the
collar, and again at the belt. The
sleeves are full and gathered to a band
not more than two inches wide and fin-
ished with a ruflle hike the old bishop
sleeve. All the pretty plaited shirts
and blouses will blossom out with the
June roses, and fanciful negligee, pic-
turesques comfort sounds the keynote of
the summer mode for mountain and
seashore. A few bound slaves of fash-
ion will appear always in boned and
furbelowed gowns, but the average wo-
man, and her name is legion, considers
thesik ehirt waist full dress for summer
days.
The unusual opportunities for the de-
velopement of trimming conceits seem
to give the modistes special delight. In
the latest importations lace flounces and
ruflles are almost epidemic; black lace,
ecru lace, white lace, in flounces of all
widths, and ruffles with searcely more
width than will suffice to gather them.
All the light silks show examples of
this trimming. The flounces are headed
in varivus ways also are they draped.
The deep festooning, which carries
the lace up from a width of two inches
to a point ten inches high, is supple.
mented by all sorts of festoon-like drap-
ing, in addition to the straight tlounces
and rufles. On one gown a wide
flounce of white lace is set on so that it
is straight at the bottom and waved in
wide, shallow waves at the top, headed
by a rufle of satin ribbon. Black lace
is striking as used on the light silks and
headed with folds of colored velvet.
‘Oh, isn’t that an exquisite dress I’
“A little fussy don’t you think 7” «No
indeed ; I think it's just perfect."
These snatches of an animated discus-
sion are repeated because they point to
a costuma admirably illustrating the
{ lace craze. A silk, buff 1n hue, with
{ narrow «moire, and yet narrower satin
| stripes of varicolor, say pink, blue, olive
| and gold, has three graduated flounces
| of dotted net with scalloped edge. The
double puff:sleeve has a deep flounce of
' the same, and the lace ruffle simulates a
jacket on the front of the corsage, and
passing under the arms, makes a basque
in the back. The flounces instead of
being headed by velvet folds, as is so
usual, are set on in pointed waves, with
a heading formed by three rows of baby
ribbon, yellow, pink and blue, the rib.
bons tying in tiny bows on each peiat.
Such outline sketching scarcely conveys
the effect, which is that ot a lace over-
dress caught here and there by bows
and shower knots of colored ribbons.
Truly it is a bit fussy, and as truly it is
exquisite in coloring and in daintiness.