Deocalic Aatdpuan.
Bellefonte, Pa., June 2, 1893
IF MOTHER WOULD LISTEN.
If mother would listen to me dears
eke would freshen the 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 hor babies three,
And she stepped about the farm and the
house
As busy as ever a bee.
When she rocked you all tosleep, dears,
Ana 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 in the 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, lonesome, then,
» Pray, what will you do for him ?
If you want to keep your mother,
You must make her rest to-day 3:
Must give her a share in the frolic,
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 ruffles as white as milk,
And she’d let you do the trotting,
While she sat still in her chair;
That mother should have it
through
It strikes me isn’t fair.
—Margaret E. Sangster in the “Interior.”
CTR TL
hard all
A KENTUCKY WILD FLOWER.
BY EVA WILDER MCGLASSON,
No one knew her just at first. They
were all hanging about, waiting for the
train. It was nearly due, and interest
in it had taken on a spirited character.
Men were rolling the red freight truck
from behind the small peaked station,
and the usual loungers had sauntered
to the edge of the platform with an ex-
pectant air. Most of the men had on
faded blue or brown garments; their
broad straw hats, bound with narrow
black tape, gave the wearers’ heads a
strangely small appearance.
A drummer or two mingled in the
crowd, and the owner of the principal
store in the town stood in speech with
one of them.
“Going up the road, Selden ?”’ asked
the traveling man, with a cordial into-
nation. Selden shook his head. He
was coming on toward middle age, a
quiet man with whimsical gray eyes.
“No,” he said ; “I just came up from
the store with Hanna, His sister's ex-
pected on this train. ‘Lives fifty miles
up theroad. A fourth or fifth cousin
of mine; anda pretty nice girl—eh,
Hanna ?”
Hanna smiled a diffident acquies-
cence, He was slim and young. As
clerk in Selden’s store his opportuni-
ties for social triumphs had been many.
He was conceded to be “mighty much
of a gentleman,” and his paleness was
regarded as an indisputable proof of
fine mental qualities.
“rene takes pretty well,” he said,
gently, in a voice which was a trifle
thin and meagre, like his bodily pro-
portions.
It was just as he said this that the
little throng first caught sight of the
small figure stumbling up the hill road
—a figure so queer that every one di-
rected toward it a distinct stare of
curiosity.
The railway ran along the edge of a
cliff, below which the town lay, slant-
ing a long arm towards the shining
tracks, Early summer greencd the
sides of the hollow from which the
house tops and mill stacks rose. The
smell of freshly sprouting things came
sweet. Everything was bowered in the
intense greeness of May ; but nothing
anywhere was quite so green as the
gown which the stumbling figure wore.
Some one on the platform gave an
exclamation.
“Why it’s Lyde!” he said, with a
note of surprise, “Fellers, it's Lyde
Helders !”’
It was not strange that they had not
recognized her. They were used to
geeing her in a short gown of dull blue
homespun, her checked sun bonnet
hanging from her shoulders, a bushy
head of light hair blowing about her
face. The mass of locks, commonly
as fluffy 28 ripe wheat, was now tightly
knobbed at the back. On the temples
it shone with a soapy sleekness. In-
stead of the blue gown, scarcely of
ankle length, the toiling figure wore an
emerald dress of an antique fashion,
the low neck and long shoulders cord-
ed with black satin. It was pinned
over in front to make it small enough
for Lyde’e slightness, but the skirts
length apparently could not be so
adapted. She was holding it up awk-
wardly on each side, yet it trailed in
the dust, impeding the little roughly
shod feet.
Nothing suggested Lyde but. the
beautiful tawny pink of her cheeks,
and the wild shyness of her brown eyes
as she lifted them upon the crowd.
“I'm clean give out,” she cried. “I
wouldn’t of run so, only I lowed I
heard the train blow for the crossin’.”
An old woman with a carpet bag on
her arm held forth a turkey wing fan.
“Law, Lyde, cool yourse'f off.
You're all het up. And look how
ye’ve whipped the dust inter thet er
gownd.”” She fixed a retrospective eye
on the obsolete fullness of the skirt, a
dawning remembrance in her face.
“Pears to me— Why, say, Lyde! I
mind thet gownd now. Your maw
wore it the day she married Helders.
I baked her weddin’ cake, so I did.
Law! to think she’s ben dead ten
years, and me hearty as a bear! Say,
Lyde, didn’t your step-mam quarrel
with you'ns for w’arin’ thet gownd?”
“No, she never,” said the girl, with
unexpected severity “I'd never of
hed the heart to git it outn’ the chist
‘cept for Maisie. She—she wanted
me to look rale fixy to-day, ’cause—'""
She broke off as if the ending of her
sentence had ceased to be of interest to
her in comparison with the idea it
suggested.
There was a furtive smiling in the
faces of the others. No one presumed
to laugh outright. ZY 3
She was a ridiculous figure indeed;
but she was Lyde, the girl who had
run among them as a mot rerless child, |
riding perilously ap and down on the}
Jog cars, walking the broom-sticks like
a cat, and rowing her own dugout on
the breast of a tide with. the skill of
any river-dog among the men.
Some one nudged his neighbor.
“She’s come up to see Hanna's sis:
ter. Didn’t ye know? Ya-as. Hau-
na's ben goin’ up-to Helder's house
right smart lately. He knowsa pretty
girl when he sees one, ef he does look
like a skinned poplar saplin’! Lyde’s
step-mam told my women thet things
was 'bout settled. I reckon Lyde's
piecin’ her quilts!” He chuckled.
“Lord a’mighty! It's like a painter
lappin’ milk. Lyde never keered fer
nare thing but climbin’ and wadin’—
wild ez crab grass.”
The drummer had also been looking.
“Queer outfit,” he remarked to Selden.
“But pretty. A native, I suppose 2”
Selden looked him coolly in the eye.
“Yes,” he said, ‘a native, as you say.
There are any number of us about
here, I'm rather proud of being one
myself.” ; |
He glanced toward Hanna. That
young man wore a perturbed look. A
little purplish color mottled his small
cheek-bones. He was staring away
from the girl in green, his. eyes set on
the tiny church steeple below.
“She’s on the block?” called some
one, as the tunnel target swung fast
around.
In a moment the train, with a shrill
scream, rounded the curve.
Lyde stood out of the press, a for-
lorniy expectant look in her face. She
had not been asked to come. She had
even, in a dim way, doubted the wis-
dom of coming. But her young step-
mother had said: “You go on.
don't keer how fine and fixy Hanna's
sister is, she ain’t no better-lookin’
than you. Like as not she'll feel
slighted if you ain’t thar to meet her.”
But in the air and walk of the wom-
an coming down the platform between
Selden and hisclerk there was no hint
of the delicate sensibility which young,
Mrs. Helders had conjectured.
She was walking fast and loud. Her
smart blue serge skirt was lifted to
show a russet shoe. She was not very
young; her face had a jaded look, its
thir cheeks flaccid and colorless. But
the Maid Marian mince of her tan
boots, the airy nods of her head, en-
shrouded in a white veil, even the pat-
ronizing coquetry of her manner to
Selden, impressed Lyde with an awful
sense of worldly completeness.
“The scenery is perfect,” Hanna's
sister was saying. “And the people
are such queer loves of things. Oh,
John! do look at this funny creature
in green. This girl here— Why,
where are you looking ?—right here.”
Lyde had stepped forward, her eyes
beaming with cordiality and admira-
tion.
“She’s going to speak to us,” said
Hanna's sister. Hanna himself had
dropped a step bebind.
“Of course she’s going to speak to
us,” said Selden. “How .do you do,
Lyde? Irene, you must know Mies
Helders. She aud John and I are old
friends. Aud,” be added, “Lyde knows
all the pretty places round here. Per
haps she will show thew to you.”
Miss Hanna smiled rather stiffly.
“But I’m so afraid of snakes and
things,” she cried, childishly, “I shall
not dare to go about much unless you
are along to take care of me!” Her
bluish eyes rested confidingly on
Soldes as the three began to go down
ill.
“Ain’t you coming, Lyde?’ called
Selden.
No,” said Lyde; “l'm goin’ the
other way.”
In the sitting room of the ramshackle
house at which Hanna boarded, his
sister turned upon him.
“John Hanna,” she began, n a tone
at which he winced, “who 1s that
girl?’ She jerked her head toward
the brow of the rise as if Lyde’s pa-
thetie form still stood where they had’
left it, with a sheer of limestone at its
feet and a leafy bank behind it.
Hanna essayed a small resentment.
He had always been in awe of this sis-
ter of his, whose social ambitions seem-
ed to him to shadow forth a high in-
telligence.
“She's a daughter of Helders the
sawyer.”
“She is! And what did Amos Sel
den mean by saying you and her are
good friends ? That's what I want to
know. Look here. Are you paying
attentions to her?”
Her brother's faint brows wrinkled.
“I go up to eee her sometimes, She's
a right sweet zirl. And—she don’t al-
ways look likeshe did to-day. I reck-
on she was kind of fixed up on your
account.”
Irene, leaned back in the splint chair,
tapped the rag carpet with her heel,
There was haughty amusement in her
air. The very meanness of the poor
furniture reassured her. In her own
town she was sometimes aware that
she did not impress people with her
own idea of herself. Their manner
seemed to imply that she took herself
too importantly. But in this hamlet
of the knobs she had a pleasing convic-
tion that no one would withstand her
pretensione.
“I'm glad I came down,” she re-
marked. “The idea of you making up
to a hill girl! 1'd like you to remem-
ber who you are. We had two uncles
that was preachers. I'm going to give
Selden a piece of my mind for not tell-
ing me what was going on. I’m mor-
tified to death. If he don’t pay me the
attention he ought to, it'll be on account
of your doings.”
“1 had to havesome one to talk to,” |
said Hanna. with a sulky brow. :
“Well, you got me now,” his sister
reminded him. “Are you going back
to the store? Tell Selden to come and
see me this evening, I got a message
for him.”
ant as possible. A ride over
| £0.
Selden received this invitation in si- | that girl to go tothe dance with him?”
lence. He was looking over a bill of
lading, and as he filed it away he said :
“We must make Irene’s visit as pleas.
) to Wayne-
ville would be something. + We'll get
up a party—half a dozen or so. You'll
‘agk Lyde, of course?”
Hanna took a basket of eggs from a
woman who had just come in. “I
‘don’t know as she'd care for it,” he
remarked. ‘She's gone over the road
so often.” ’ “wan
Selden lifted his brows. The mat-
ter was indeed trifling enough to be
easily dismissed from & busy mind, In
a week or two, however, it befell that
he was reminded of it. ;
He had gone down to the boat-land-
to inquire about some freight which
had not come. The weekly steamer
from the South was just making the
bend of the river, and as he watched it
shear the water into a flying cloud of
woolly white, he noticed a skiff pushing
into the bank below him. A girl was
rowing. When she sprang on shore
he saw that it was Lyde, clad as of
common, in a dull blue gown. She
had a dinner bucket on her arm, and
her bonnet hung by a string from her
neck.
Selden gave a little start as she came
near enough for him to see how a few
days had changed her. Her eyes no
longer had a wild, free glance like that
of a mountain creature, They survey-
ed Selden incuriously, and he, having
known her always, felt a pang at the
hard set of the soft mouth.
“Lyde,” he said, greeting her, “why
haven’t you been to the dances lately ?
We've missed you. Has it been too
warm ?77 bo
“No,” said Lyde, “but I hedn’t no
one to go with. He ’ain’t been up our
way sence hissister come.” Shespoke
without dramatic. bitterness, stating
the fact simply, and making no secret
of her lover's neglect. “You like her,
don't you ?” she queried, in a moment.
“I hear tell as you're settin’ up to
her ?”’
She looked very much of a child as
she stared ‘up ‘at him with musing
brown eyes, which seemed to be trying
to figure him in a loverlike attitude.
Selden colored. He could scarcely
explain to what extent his position as
Miss Hanna's admirer was forced on
him by that young lady’s arrange
meut. “It’s all nonsense,” he growl:
ed, “your staying away from every:
thing. Look here, Lyde. I don't care
a rap for these things. I quit caring
for ’em long ago; but let’s fix up a
scheme. You—a—like Hanna pretty
weil, don’t you ?”
Lyde nodded wishfully.
“He isn’t worth it,” langhed Selden.
“But see here, Lyde, I'll help you bring
him to what the parson calls a realiz-
ing sense of himself. I know he thinks
a heap of you. But that sister of his
—Now listen. You go home and get
ready for the dance to-nightat Wayne's
I'll take you. I'll be your bean for a
while. We'll make him jealous—
eh?”
Lyde's glance brightened. A ripple
of laughter skimmed over her face like
a little breeze on seeding grass. “Of
you ?”’ she said, without a trace of sar-
casm—"‘‘jealous of you ?”
Selden felt taken aback. It was as
if he had lifted a small storm-beaten
bird, and the thing had suddenly bit
ten his finger. “Don’t laugh at the
bridge which carries you over,” he
said, gravely. “I'll come for you at
early candle-lighting.”
She went on toward the mill with
her father's dinner, and Selden had a
curiously stinging remembrance of the
mirthfulness in her eyes and the joy-
ous scorn in her lips.
He wondered if it were possible that
many besides Lyde set his merits so in
the eye of scora as to compare him un-
favorably = with Hanna. “A poor
stick,” he said to himself—“a poor
stick of a fellow!”
Lyde’s step-mother, a fat young wom-
an with an unctuous, roseate glow in
her placid cheek, listened with ap-
proval as the girl told of Selden’s pro-
position.
“You go on,” she advised, patting
the back of the baby on her knee. “Ef
twas me, though, I'd snap my fingers
at John Hanna.”
Lyde gave a quick sob. “Tain't
him,” she said ; “it’s her; it’s Irene.”
The dance was well forward when
Lyde and her escort arrived. A long
way off they caught the thin resonance
of a fiddle and the heavy thud of feet.
It was 2 beautiful night. Against the
dusk yellow of the west the highlands
ranged black and soft. In a thicket of
trees shead the light of the house to
which they were going burned dim, a
mere fluff of gold-duat against the dark
leatage.
Hanna was standing against the
door post, a blue neck cloth bunched
below his chin. Irene was also look-
ing on. A quadrille was in progress,
and her'smile held an intimation of
condescending interest. She regarded
Selden with a look of surprise.
“And Miss Helders !” she said.
“Yes,” said Selden, standing black
and square sgainst the dipping red of
the candles on the mantle—‘beanty
and the-— Oh, here’s a place in this
set, Liyde ! This is ours.”
Lyde’s laugh rang out gayly. She
had caught the infection of the hour.
The light, music, and movement excit-
ed her, and Hanna's face, pale and re
sentful against the white door-post,
dashed her cup with sweetness. She
danced with joyous abandon, her yel-
low hair flying. The stiff flounce of
hes muslin gkirte rattled as she mov-
ed.
“Lyde’s a picter, ain't she ?” re-
marked a big bearded fellow to Hanna.
“Selden’s gotigood taste, et it is sortuh
slow-actin’!”’
Irene touched her brother's arm.
| ¥This is a little dull,” she said. “Let's
”
Havna’'s lips looked sulky. “I aint
in any hurry,” he deliberated. But
his sister, gathering her pink lawn
skirts up, gave him a glance to which
he vielded.
“Do you suppese he could of asked
questioned Irene.
“How ‘dc! I know 7?" replied her
brother, testily, as he kicked a stone
from the path. :
It was by no means pleasant to gee
Lyde apparently unaffected by ‘bis
neglect. He divined that Selden’s
kindness to the girl was in way of a
reproof to himself. The reproof oper-
ated as Selden had forseen ; but he
had not forseen that Hanna's small
dogged pride would stezsl the young
man against even the pangs of jeal-
ousy.
Ireve herself found the situation
rather discomforting. The thorn was
in her own shoe ; for Selden no longer
stopped at the boarding house of an
evening to smoke his cigar on the
door-step, and as thedays passed, Irene
seldom saw him at all except in com-
pany with Lyde.
Sometimes Irene saw them go by on
horseback, Lyde’s bright hair blowing,
her thin long skirt swelling across the
sturdy hill horse’s rough flank.
During a week of revival meetings
Irene freqently noticed the two at
church. As she studied Lyde's face
Hanna's sister was aware that in some
strange sort it was not the face of the
girl who had worn the green gown on’
that fatal May morning. Lyde had an
anxious look. She started when some
one slammed the door. She sat a little
away from Selden’s side, and now and
again gave his grave facea little fur-
tive glance.
But whether the rich paleness of
Lyde’s cheek were the result of Han-
pa’s continued coldness, or merely the
workings of a conscience aroused by
certain lurid pictures which the parson
was graphically painting, Irene could
not determine.
A distinct resolve, however, printed
itself in her small fading face as she
observed Selden and noted the dignity
of his figure.
“Look here,’ she said, sharply, to
Ler brother. “I was a good deal pre-
judiced againgst Miss Helders just at
first. ‘Such a dress. But since I've seen
more of her—I'm a pretty good judge
of character, and I never want to stand
in any one's way if I can help it. The
fact is, John, I see you're pretty bad
off about her. And I must say Ithink
she’s as beautiful a girl as T aver laid
eyes on. I’ve made up my mind that
if you want to marry her I won’t say a
word.” ;
Hanna made a sound decidedly like
a short disdainfal laugh. He had a
worn look, which gave his face a
strong resemblance to Irene’s.
“I don’t care what you or any one
else says or thinks,” he said, shortly.
“I'm going to do as I please, I've
made her suffer just all I'm going to.
Did you notice how pale she looked
to-night ? But she hasn’t felt any
worse than I have. It's just killed me
to see her with Selden. She's going to
the boat party with him to-morrow
night. It'll be thelast time she'll go
any place with him !"”
Irene patted hisarm. There was a
vigor in his tone which she respected.
“You make it all up with her to-mor-
row night,” she said, sympathetically.
It was just on the edge of dark when
the young folk who were asked to the
boat party gathered at the foot of the
mill shoot.
“Quit a tippin’ this skift I’ some one
cried, shrilly.
A man’s voice rang out in gay re
monstrance : “I'll quit quick enough,
if T ean git to see whar them oars is!
Hold the lantern up, you fellers! I
can’t find whar I’m settin’ this oar at.”
Selden was paddling his skiff round
the edge of the log-car, an end of which
emerged from the black water like the
muzzle of some great creature breath-
ing itself, The lantern in the stern
painted the river in pulsing carmine.
fn its rays hesaw Lyde on the long
float, her face turned to catch the
words of a women hard by.
“Oh—why Miss Helders!” Selden
heard the woman say. ‘My brother
wants to speak to you to-night. He's
got something important—Oh, there's
your boat! Well, we're going to stop
down below. John will see you there.
He hasn't got here yet.”
As Selden pulled into the stream in
train of the other red flecked skifls,
Lyde made ar exclamation of surprise.
“What a stroke you're pullin’! she
laughed. “I'm eplashed all over.
They won't be a speck of starch in this
calico agin we git down yender.”
Selden laughed a little nervously as
he steadied himself.
“What's that Irene was saying to
you?’ he asked. “Something about
Hanna, wasn’t it 2 He's something to
gay, has he?"
A skiff shot between them and the
fringy black bank. In the lantern rays
they saw Hanna and his sister.
“We're beating you!” cried Irene
gayly. :
“You are indeed,” said Selden, rest-
ing his oar. “You're beating me.”
He looked at Lyde, her pretty profile
cut deep and white into the dark ground
of the night.
“1 reckon this is the last time,” he
said. “After to-night I've got to give
‘way. I've rather liked taking Han-
na's place, Lyde. But you — you
haven't found it altogether pleasant,
have yon?”
“No,” said Lyde, “I hevn’t.”
“You are honest commented Selden,
with a tinge of bitterness, “But I've
seen of late that the matter was—was
getting unbearable to you. Yet for
myself I've been more than once on
the point of torgetting that I filled an-
other man’s place-—that it was all a
joke.?
“I hevn't"”, said Lyde; “I've never
forgot.”
Their skiff was nosing the bank. The
others had landed, aud their moving
figures, grotesquely smote with ruddy
light, could be seen half way up the
slope.
Selden, as he helped Lyde over the |
marshy space which the river had left |
in its fall, held her hand in a clasp of |
farewell.
“I am going back,” he said, curtly.
“I’ve got a lot of accounts to post, and
—-here’s Hanna, looking this way! 1'll
go before he comes. You know,” and
he made out to laugh a little—*"it isn’t
pleasant for the usurper to be ‘around
when the king arrives.” He added,
lightly : “The peacemaker always gets
the worst lick. I can’tcomplain of my
tate. But, Lyde, you'd ought to think
of me kindly once in a while, for your
happiness has cost me dear!”
Lyde snatched her haud away, Her
head was rigidly poised, and iu the
gloom he saw her eyes flash.
“Don’t youn,” she breathed, in a chok-
ing voice—-“don’t you dare pass sech
words to me! I uneyer ast you to do
what you done. ‘1 wisht you bedn’t.
But now it's over, you might be man
enough not to make fun o’me——not to
strike me down with your light talk ?”
“Lyde—-"
Oh, why didn’t you let me be?
I'd a forgot him in a month without
ro help! I'd never ’a’ known what
it is—what it is—to live on the kind
looks of them thet despise you! You
aimed to be good to me! But it’s like
you'd cut my arm off ‘cause they was a
little sliver in my finger!”
Hanna was coming toward them,
picking his way over a heap of drift
which marked the staying of the flood.
He caught the broken fall of Lyde’s
voice, and as he paused, bewildered, he
caught also an exclamation in another
tone, which seemed to hold elements of
surprise, and relief, and tenderness.
“Why—is that vou down there,
Lyde ?”” he called out. ‘Let me help
you over these snags.” The shadows
perplexed him. “Lyde!”’ he said
again.
But it was not she who answered.
“Thank you, Hanna,” said Selden,
after an indefinite pause, his voice ring-
ing through the gleam-tiitted darkness ;
“I will take care of Lyde !"’
— Harper's Weekly.
Tribute to Farragut.
Russian Neval Officials at the Grave of the Dead
Hero in New York.
New York, May 21.—Vice-Admiral
Kaznakoff, commanding the Russian
fleet in North River, together with sev-
eral officers, gave to the annual Farra-
gut memorial exercises to day an im-
pressiveness and significance which will
linger long in the minds of the naval
veterans and their friends who gathered
about the American hero's grave at
Woodlawn Cemetery, The Russian Ad-
oie had known Farragut and admired
im. ;
Walking to the grave, which was
covered with a mass of beautiful flowers,
Vice. Admiral Kaznakoff looked upon
it and then turned to the assemblage
and said in a deep earnesi voice: “I
speak for mysell and my countrymen to
assure you of their gratitude and happi-
ness in joining with you in this cere-
mony and to say that during the war
we watched you and your doings con-
stantly. ‘We were as proud of the deeds
of the man lying here asif he were of our
own country. Therefcre we are
glad to lay this wreath on the tomb of
your her.”
Four Russian seamen stepped forward |
and placed the handsome floral tribute
on the green mound. Then Admiral
Kaznakoff, bending over the grave and
with hand extended, continued,
“Sleep on in glory in your resting place,
Admiral Farragut. You have shown
us how to fight and what to do. You
have add:d many glorious pages to the
annals of your country’s history.”
Great heat causes melancholia.
——Japanese children are taught to
write with both hands.
—— Ambassador Bayard will sail for
Europe on June 3.
Grape froit is almost ns good as qui-
nine for malarial troubles.
Men on an average weigh 20
pounds more than women.
—— Philadelphia had the first fire in-
girance company in ‘America.
Wolves annually devour Russian
domestic animals worth $6,000,000.
Since 1840, 37 vessels of which
a part of the name was “City of” have
been wrecked or lost.
ETE AT
—— Barbers usually gamble with the
money earned by shaving dead men. Tt
brings luck, they say.
——The light of the fire ly or “light-
ning bug” is produced by a genuine
animal phosphorescence,
One of the benefits to be derived from
fencing is said to be that it is a sure re-
medy for turning in of the toes.
-
The condor, when rising from
the earth, always describes circles in the
air and can rise in no other way.
—— Two hundred dogs are annually
doomed to death in an English universi-
ty for physiological experiments.
~The fourth verse of the twentieth
chapter of Revelations contains more
words than any other verse in the New
Testament.
——Josephine—*“Why does Miss
Swagger talk so loudly ?”
think it must be to match hercostume.’’
—New York Herald.
TE.
—— Harriet Beecher Stoweis living
her child-hocd over again cutting out
paper dolls, singing the old time songs
and hymns and nursery ballads. Her
health seems to grow better as her mind
loses itself.
CT ———————————
— The distance to the moon can be
quite accurately measured, but it would
be folly to project a railroad over the
route. It would be
speech—Ilacking in terminal facilities.
Amy—-T!
SOE SIN
For and About Women.
Lilacs ure the Parisian rage for the.
spring in natural and artificial flow-
ers.
Alice M. Cheney'began business as an
express messenger in Boston four years
ago. She now how three offices and
five ‘eams in daily use. y
Ornamental pockets are on the out-.
side of a dressy street suit are creeping.
in and should be of the contrasting ma-.
terial rather than the dress goods.
White will be. very generally worn
during the coming summer. Pretty
sitnple dresses of white linen lawn, with
hemstitched tucks and hems, will se
quite the thing for young ladies.
For polishing furniture, waxed or
stained floors or picture frames, the fol-
lowing preparation is good : Melt bees-
wax, turpentine and sweet oil. Rub
[this on with a soft cloth or piece of
chamois.
Short corsets are absolutely necessary
with the prevailing style of dress. They
are also more comfortable and more
graceful than the long ones. Stiff cor
sets high in the back and long over tha
hips make the waist thick.
A simple and stylish traveling cos-
tume is of Harris tweed, made with a
Russian blouse, a flaring Empire skirt,
very full sleeves and a belt embroidered
in mohair braid. The same braid orna-
ments the foot of the skirt. :
Very wide collars, made of flat bands.
of passementerie with deep Van-Dyke
points, are worn around the necks of low
cut dresses, the ends coming straight
down over the shoulders, and finished
with bead tassels over the bust.
The newest cuffs are prone: joo¢
pretty. . They are worn outsilc, tia
sleeves, and areshown in lace, liner «nid
kid. ‘With outing gowns the kid «uf
are chosen to match a lace corse! i: ni
deep collar at the neck of the san
terial.
Yili
Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett is soon
to leave. Washington. for a year’s so-
journ abroad. Much of her time will
be spert in London, where she is al<
most as well known in society as’ in
New York, but ia the autumn she wil}
make a tour of Egypt and the Holy
Land. 2
Quaint and pretty are the Marie An.
toinette bags which little maids at wed-
dings carry filled with flowers. The
bag hangs from the arm by white velvet
ribbons, through which runs a trail of
flowers, and are filled with lilies of the
valley. Older maids are usually ready
to sacrifice picturesqueness for the sake
ot something to carry in their hands.
The fluctuations of fashion have not
affected the popularity of the zouave in
the very least. It will be more worn
than ever this summer. The zouave
coats are chiefly cut square, made of
cloth and very little trimmed. Zouave
jackets for afternoon wear are of silk and
velvet, close-fitting at the back, rounded
off in front to show the waist and adorn-
ed with jet. The most dressy zouave
jacket is that made entirely of passe-
menterie with imitation jawels or black
jets inserted between the tiny silken
cords tracing out the pattern.
The sailor hat promises to be as popu-
lar as ever. Already these bats are
worn in dark blue and golden brown
and other shades of amour braids,
Sometimes the crown of a dark blue
sailor hat is bright red, or a band of blue
is inserted in the brim of a dark brown
straw. In addition to the plain band
of ribbon, which is always the most pop=
ular trimming, the new sailor hats ara
quite often trimmed, with rosettes ox
quills, or with wings placed on each side
and projecting toward the front. Whita
wings are used on dark blue sailors and
crimson wings on brown straws.
Nothing could be prettier and cooler
and simpler than the licen gowns which
promise to be so popular this summer
Fashion-mongers have evidently relied
on & hot and dry season in ordaining
that this too long neglected material
should be used for washing costumes,
and we can only hope that they have
not wrongly prophesied, so to say. The
eolorsin which these linens are being
produced are most fascinating, espec-
inlly if they are used for children’s
frocks, but it is said that none will be
more popular than the plain brown hol-
iand which we have so long despised.
In umbrellas, the latest novelties are.
covered with shot silk to match any
gowns, and these are finished with
handles either jeweled or in Dresden
china of the color of the covering. A
dark ruby silk umbrella has a knob on
the end of the natural cherry stick of
dark ruby-colored enamel, with rhine-
stones sunk in the surface. A blue shot
umbrella has a lapis lazull handle set in
gold bands. Dark gray umbrellas
have handles of clouded gray and white
onyx. Thereis no end to the various
combinations ; in fact, the umbrella of
to-day is really a telling addition to tha
out of-door costume.
Remember in making coffee—-
That the same flavor will not suit
every taste.
That everyone can be suited to a nice
ty by properly blending two or more
kinds.
That equal parts of Mocha, Java and
Rio will be relished by a good many
people.
Tht the enjoyment of a beverage and
slavish devotion thereto sre quite differs
ent things.
That the flavor is improved if the
liquid is turned from the dregs as soon
as the proper strength has been ob.
tained.
That where the percolation method is
used the coffee should be ground very
fine or the strength will not be ex-
tracted. :
That if the ground coffee is. put into
the water and boiled it should be rather
coarse, otherwise it will invariably be
muddy.
That a good coffee will always com-
mand a fair price, but that all high
priced coffees are not necessarily of high
quality.
That a level teaspoonful of the ground
coffee to each cup is the standing als
| lowance, from which deviation can be
like a woman's: made in either direction according to
the strength desired.