Aue
in
Bellefonte, Pa., July 2I, 1893
~~
UNLEARNED.
He is lovely just to look at,
With his thoughtful, dark brown eyes,
His gentle face and shining ecurls—
But he isn’t very wise.
Two birthdays he has counted,
Two dimples he can show.
Yet he's ignorant of many things
That many babies know.
Though he talks in childish fashion
He knows but pretty words,
And he says them in a voice as sweet
As the cooing of the birds.
He smiles at everybcdy,
But he hasn’t learned to fret,
And angry looks and angry pouts—
He doesn’t know them yet.
Oh, everything contents him,
He has never learned to tease,
And kicks and screams-—he’s unaware
There are such things as these.
But he’s lovely just to look at
And to cuddle and to pet,
For to wringlee out of loving arms—
He hssn’t learned it yet.
Oh, as at fir t I told you,
He isn’t very wise,
Yet were We a 12 ignorant
th m e paradise.
Ew es ce’ Down in Toronto Truth.
A TRAGEDY ON THE RANCH.
Sitting at the open window of her
room in the upper story of the farm-
house on the Rancho San Gregorio,
Senora Violante Ovando de McPher-
son watched, with the deepest interest,
a cloud of dust which rose in the still
May air far down the valley, for it was
evident that the color in her cheeks
and the sparkle in her violet black eves
spoke a language of devotion and hap-
piness. Her husband was coming
home, and with him his vaqueros, at-
ter a tedious drive of cattle to San
Francisco. He had been gone but a
month ; but what an interminable ab-
sence that isto a wife of one year!
She had watched the fading of the wild
golden poppies ; she had seen the busy
workers of the beehive laying up their
stores of honey culled from the myr-
iads of flowers which carpeted the val-
ley; and she had ridden over the Ga-
bilian hills to see the thousands of her
husband’s cattle which dotted them.
She had been respectful of her house-
keeping duties, and had directed Alice,
the sewing girl, in the making of gar-
ments for the approaching hot season.
Yet, busy as she thought she was, and
important as she imagined herself to
be in the management of the great
ranch, time had dragged itself by in
manacles. But now was coming the
cloud of dust to Iift the cloud of loneli-
ness, and it ever a young wife's heart
quickened with gladness it was hers.
Presently the fine young Scotchman
leaped from his horse, clasped his wife
in his arms, acked a few hurried ques-
tions concerning her welfare during his
absence, untied a small buckskin bag
which depended from the pommel of
his saddle, and remarking : “I thought
you might need some spending money,
Violante,” held up the bag containing
gold, containing a hundred times more
gold than her simple tastes ard restric-
ted opporturities would permit her to
employ. But was not her Robert the
most generous of meh? Other eyes
than hers saw it—those of Basilio Vel-
osco, one of the vaqueros—a small,
swarthy man, with the blackest and
sharpest of eyes, in which just then
there was a peculiar glitter.
What a handsome couple were the
young husband and wife as,arm in arm
they entered the house—he so large
and red and masculine, she so dark
and reliant and feminine! Beautiful
Spanish girls were plentiful in those
youthful days of California, but Vio-
lante had been known as the most
beautiful of all the maidens from the
Santa Barbara Channel to the Bay of
Monterey. Hard-headed and fiery
tempered Scotch Presbyterian, gentle,
patient and faithful Catholic, they
were the happiest and most devoted of
couples, :
“Well, little Violante,” he said,
“take the bag up to your room and
give us dinner, for before we rest we
must ride over to the ranch and look
after the cattle, and after that you and
I shall have a good, long visit.”
These pleasant duties were quickly
dispatched, and the dusty men, led by
her husband galloped away. From
the open window of her room she saw
the receding cloud of dust, wondering
at that urgent sense of duty which
could make so fond a husband leave
her, even for a short time, after so
long a separation. Thus she sat,
dreamily thinking of her great happi-
ness in having him once again at
home, and drinking in the rich per-
fame of the racines of wistaria blos-
soms which covered the massive vine
against the house. This old vine,
springing from the ground beneath the
window at which she sat, spread its
long arms almost completely over that
part of the wall, divided on either side
of the window, and hung gracefully be-
neath the eaves, embowering their
lovely owner in a tangled mass of pur-
ple blossoms. It was an exquisite
picture—the pretty wife sitting chere
in the whitest of lawne, looking out
over the hills in this frame of gorgeous
flowers—all the more charming from
her unconsciousness of its beauty, Ba:
hind her, at the apposite side of the
room, sat Alice, sewing in silence.
Asthe senora looked dreamily over
the hills she became aware of the pe-
culiar actions of a man on horseback,
who was approaching the house from
the direction in which her husband
and the vaqueros had disappeared.
That which summoned her attention
was the fact that the man was ap-
proaching by an irregular route, which
no ordinary circumstance would have
required. He had such a way of keep-
ing behind the trees that she could not
determine his identity. It looked
strange and mysterious, and something
impelled her to drop the lace curtain
over the window, for behind it she
could watch without being seen.
The horsemen disappeared, and this
made her uneasiness all the greater,
but she said nothing to Alice. Scon
she noticed a man on foot approaching
the house in a watchful, skulking fash-
ion, slipping from one tree or one bit
of shrubbery to another. Then, with
a swift run he approached the house,
and stealthily and noiselessly as a cat
began to ascend to her window by
clambering up the wistaria vine. Her
spirit quailed and her cheeks blanched
when she saw the naked blade of a
dagger held between his teeth. She
understood his mission—it was her life
and the gold; and the glittering eyes
of the robber she recognized as those
of Bagilio. Velasco. After a moment
of nerveless terror the ancient, resisting
blood of the Ovandos sprang into alert
activity, and this gentlest and sweetest
of young women armed her soul to
meet death on his own ground and his
own terms, and try the issue with him.
She gave no alarm for there was
none in the house except herself and
Alice. To have given way to fear
would have destroyed her only hope of
life. Quietly, in 8 low tone, she said :
“Alice, listen, but do not say a
word.” There wasan impressiveness
in her manner that startled the nerv-
ous, timid, girl ; but there was also in
it a strength and eelf reliance that re-
assured her. She dropped her work
and regarded her mistress with wonder.
“Look in the second drawer of the bu-
reau. You will find a pisiol there.
Bring it to me quickly, without a word
for a man is clambering up the vine
under my window to rob me, and if we
make an outcry or lose our heads we
are dead. Place full confidence in me
and all will be right.”
Alice, numb and nervous with fear,
found the pistol and brought it to her
mistress.
“Go and sit down and keep quiet,”
she was told; and this she did.
Violante, seeing that the weapon was
loaded, cocked it, and glanced out the
window. Basilio was climbing very
slowly and carefully, fearing that the
least disturbance of the vine would
alarm the senora. When he had
come sufficiently near to make her aim
sure, Violante suddenly thrust aside
the curtain, leaned out of the window,
and brought the barrel of the weapon
in line with Velasco's head.
“What do you want, Basilio?’ she
asked.
Upon hearing the musical voice, the
Spaniard quickly looked up. Had the
bullet then imprisoned in the weapon
been sent crashing through his vitals
he would have received hardly a great-
er shock than that which quivered
through his nerves when he saw the
black barrel of the pistol, the small
but steady hand which held it aimed
at his brain, and the pale and beauti-
ful face above it. Thus holding the
robber at her mercy, she said firmly to
the girl :
“Alice, there is nothing to fear now.
Run as fast as you can to the west end
of the house, about a hundred yards
away, and you will find this man’s
horse tied there somewhere in the
shrubbery. Mount it and ride as fast
as God will let you. Find my hus.
band and tell him I have a robber as
prisoner.”
The girl almost fainting, passed out
of the room, found the horse and gal-
loped away, leaving these two mortal
enemies facing each other,
Velasco had heard all this, and he
heard the horse clattering up the road
to the range beyond the bills of Gabil-
ans. The picture of a fierce and an-
gry young Scotchman dashing up to
the house and slaying him without a
parley needed no elaboration in his
dazed imagination, He gazed steadily
at the senora and sheat bim ; and,
while he saw a strange pity ana a sor-
row in her glance, he saw also an un-
yielding determination. He could not
speak, for the knife between his teeth
held his tongue a prisoner. If only he
could plead with her and beg for his
life
“Basilio,” eke quietly said, seeing
that he was preparing to release one
band by finding a firmer hold for the
other, “if you take either of your
hands away from the vine I will shoot
you. Keep perfectly still. If you
make the least movement, I will shoot.
You have seen me throw apples in the
air and send a bullet through every
one with this pistol.”
There was no boastfulness in this,
and Velasco knew it to be true.
“I would have given you money,
Basilio, if you had asked me for it;
but to come thus with a knife! You
would have killed me, Basilio, and I
have never been unkind to you.”
If he could only remove the dagger
from his mouth! Surely one so kind
and gentle as she would let him go in
peace if he could orly plead with her.
But to let the dagger fall from his
teeth would be to disarm himself, and
he was not quite ready for that; and
there was much thinking and planning
to be done within a very few minutes.
Velasco, still with his gaze on the
black hole in the pistol barrel, soon
made a discouraging discovery ; the po-
sition in which he had been arrested
was an insecure and uncomfortable
one, and the unusual strain that it
brought upon his muscles became pain-
ful and exhausting. To shift his posi-
tion even in the smallest way would be
to invite the excursion of a bullet
through his head. As the moments
flew the strain upon particular sets of
muscles increased his pain with alarm.
ing rapidity, and unconsciously he be-
gan to speculate upon the leagth of
time that remained before his suffering
would lead him into recklessness and
death. While he was thus approach-
ing & very agony of pain, with the end
of all human endurance not far away,
another was suffering in a different
manner, but hardly less severely.
The beautiful senora held the choice
of two lives in the barrel of her pistol ;
but that she should hold any life at all
was a matter that astounded, perplexed
and agonized her; that she had the
courage to be in so extraordinary a po-
sition amazed her beyond estimation.
Now, when one reflects that he is cour-
ageous, his courage is questionable.
And then, she was really so tender-
hearted that she wondered if she could
make good her threat to shoot if the
murderer should move. That he be-
lieved she wonld was sufficient.
Bat after the arrival of her husband
—what then? With his passionate
nature could he resist the temptation
to cut the fellow’s throat before her
very eyes? That was too horrible to
think of. But—God I—the fellow him-
self had a knife! By thus summoning
he husband was she not inviting him
to a mortal struggle with a desperate
man better armed than he? It would
have been easy to liberate Basilio and
let him go his way ; but she knew that
her husband would follow and find him.
Now that the mischiet of notifying
him had been done, it was best to keep
the prisoner with her, that she might
plead for his life. Therein lay her
hope that she could avert shedding of
blood by either of the men. Her sus-
pense, her self-questionings, her dread
of a terrible termination to an incident
which had already assumed the shape
of a tragedy, her fearful responsibility,
the menacing possibility that she her-
self, in simple defense of her life, might
have to kill Basilio, her trepidation on
the score of her aim and the reliability
of the pistol-—all these things and oth-
ers were wearing her out; and at last
she, too, began to wonder how long she
could bear the strain, and whether or
not her husband weuld arrive in time
to save her.
Meanwhile Velasco, racked to the
soul by the pains which tortured him,
and driven to the wall by a desire to
drop the dagger and plead for his life,
and by fear of parting from his weap-
on, was urged to despair, and finally
to desperation. All the supplication
that face and eyes could show pleaded
eloquently for him, and with this si-
lent pleading came evidence of his
physical agony. The muscles of his
legs and arms twitched and trembled,
and his labored breathing hissed as it
split upon the edge of the knife. He
was unable longer to control the mus-
cles of his lips: the keen edge of his
weapon found a way into the flesh at
either side of his mouth, and two small
streams of blood trickled down his
chin and fell upon his breast. Not for
a moment did he take his gaze from
her eyes; and thus these two regarded
each other with a silence and stillness
that were terrible. A crisis had to
come. llere was a test of nerve that
would inevitably make a victim of one
or the other. The spectacle of the
man’s agony, the pititul sight of his
imploring look, were more than the
feminine flesh of which Violante was
composed could bear.
The crash came—Basilio was the
first to break down. Whether volun-
tarily or not, he released his hold up-
on the knife, which went clattering
through the vine to the ground. In
another instant, his tongue, now free
began pouring forth a supplication in
the Spanish language with an elo-
quence which Violante had never
heard equalled.
“On, senora I" he said, “who but an
angel could show a mercy tenderer
than human ? And yet, as [ hope for
the mercy of the Holy Virgin, there is
a sweetness aud kindness in your face
that belongs to an angel of mercy.
Oh, Mother of God ! surely thy unwor-
thy son has been brought into this
strait for the trying of his soul and for
its chastisement and purification at the
hands of thy sweetest and gentlest of
earthly daughters ; for thou hast put it
into her heart-—which is as pure as
her face is beautiful—to spare me from
a most horrible end. ~ Thou hast whis-
pered into her mother soul that one o!
thy sons, however base and undeserv-
ing, should not be sent unshriven to
the judgment seat of the most Holy
Christ, thy Son. Through the holy
church thou hast enlightened her soul
to the duties of a Christian, for in her
beautiful face shines the radiance of
heaven—ah, senora | gee me plead for
mercy ! Behold the agonies which be-
set me, and let my sufferings unlock
the door of your heart. Let me go in
peace, senora; and you shall find in
me a slave all the days of my life—the
humblest and most devoted of slaves,
happy if you beat me, glorying in my
slavery if you starve me, and giving
praise to Almighty God if you trample
me under your feet. Senora, senora,
release me, for time is pressing——I can
barely escape if you let me go this in-
stant. Would you have my blood on
your hands? Can you face the Virgin
with that? Oh, senora—senora ”
Her head swam, and all her senses
were afloat in a sea of agonies. Still
she looked down into his eyes as he
continued his pleadings, but the out-
lines of his body were wavering and
uncertain, and inexpressible suffering
numbed her faculties. Still she lis-
tened vaguely to his outpouring of
speech, and it was not until her hus-
band, with two of his vaqueros, dashed
up on horseback that either of the two
strangely situated sufferers was aware
of hisapproach. Seeing him, Violante
threw her arms abroad, and the pistol
went flying to the ground, and then
she sank down tothe floor, and the
brilliant sunshine became night and
the shining glories of the day all noth-
ingness.
®
* * * * *
She awoke and found herselt lying
on her bed, with her husband sitting
beside her, caressing her hands and
watching her anxiously. It was a lit.
tle time before she could summon her
faculties to exercise and to an under-
standing of her busband’s endearing
words, but, seeing him safe with her,
her next thought was of Velasco.
“Where is Basilio?’ she asked,
starting up and looking fearfully about.
“He is safe, my dear one. Think
no more of Basilio, who would have
harmed my Violante. Be calm, for
my sake, sweet wife,”
“Oh, I can't, I can’t! You must
tell me about Basilio.” And, in a
frightened whisper, she asked : “Did
you kill him 2”
“No, loved one ; Basilio is alive.”
She eank back upon her pillow.
, “God be praised I" she whispered.
Suddenly she started up again and
looked keenly into her husband's eyes.
“You have never deceived me,” she
hurriedly said; ‘but, Robert, I must
know the truth. Have no fear—I can
bear it. For God’s sake, my husband
tell me the truth !”
Alarmed, he took her in his arms,
and said: “Be calm, my Violante;
for as the Almighty is my witness, Bas-
ilio is alive.”
“Alive! alive!” she cried; “what
does that mean? You are keeping
something back, my husband. Iknow
your passionate nature too well—you
could not let him off so easily. Tell
me the whole truth, Robert, or I shall
go mad!”
There was a frantic earnestness in
this that would have made evasion un-
wise.
“I will, Violante; I will. Listen----
for upon my soul this is the whole
trath : When [ saw you drop the pis-
tol and sink back upon the floor I
knew that you had fainted. I ordered
the vaqueros to secure the weapon and
make Basilio descend to the ground.
Then I ran up stairs, placed you on
the bed, loosened your clothing, and
did what I could to restore you. But
yoe-remained unconscions—-""
“Basilio! Basilio! tell me about
him.”
“I went to the window and sent one
of the men to the hacienda for a doctor
for you, and told the other to bring Ba-
silio to the room. He came in ver
weak and trembling, for he had fallen
from the vine and was slightly stunned,
but not much hurt. He expected me
to kill him here in this room, but I
could not do that—I was afraid on
your account, Violante. He was very
quiet and ill—""
“Hurry, Robert, hurry I’
“He said nothing. I spoke to him.
He bung his head and asked me if I
would let him pray. I told him I
would not kill him. A great light
broke over his face. He fell at my
feet and clasped my knees and kissed
my boots and wept like a child. [It
was pitiful, Violante.”
“Poor Basilio i”
“He begged me to punish him. He
removed his shirt and implored me to
beat him, T told him I would not
touch him. He said he would be your
glave and mine all his life ; but he in-
sisted that he must make some physi-
cal atonement—he must be punished.
“Very well,’ I said. Then I turned to
Nicolas and told him to give Basilio
some light punishment, as that would
relieve his mind. Nicolas took him
down and lashed him to the back ofa
horse, and turned the animal into the
horse corral. Then Nicolas came
back and told me what he had done.
I replied that it was all right, and that
so soon as I could leave you I would
go and release Basilio. And then I
told Nicolas to go to the range and
look up Alice and bring her home, for
she was too weak to come back with
me.’
“And Basilio is in the corral now ?”’
“Yes”
“How was he lashed to the horse?”
“I don’t know—Nicolas didn’t tell
me ; but you may be sure that he is all
right ”’
She threw her arms around her hus-
band’s neck and kissed him again and
again, saying: “My noble generous
husband. I love you a thousand times
more than ever. Now go, Robert, at
once, and release Basilio.”
“I can’t leave you, dear.”
“You must—you shall! I am fully
recovered. If you don’t go, I will.”
“Very well.”
No sooner had he left the room than
she sprang out of the bed, caught up a
penknife, and noiselessly followed him ;
he did not suspect her presence close
behind him as he went toward the cor-
ral. When they had gone thus a short
distance from the house her alert ear
caught a peculiar sound that sent ici-
cles shooting through her body. They
were feeble cries of human agony, and
they came from a direction other than
that of the corral. Heedlessly, and
therefore “unwisely, she ran toward
their source, without having sum-
moned her husband, and soon she came
upon a fearful spectacle.
McPherson pursued his way to the
corral ; but when he arrived there he
was surprised not to find Basilio in the
enclosure. The gate was closed—the
horse could not have escaped through
it. Looking about he read the signs
of commotion that must have occurred
among the horses, caused, undoubtedly
by the strange sight of a man lashed
in some peculiar way to the back of
one of their number. Tne ground was
torn.by flying hoofs in all directions;
there had been a wild stampede among
the animals. Even when he entered,
possibly more than a half-hour after
Basilio was introduced among them,
they were huddled in a corner near and
snorted in alarm when he approached
them. The horse to which Nicolas
had lashed Basilio was not to be seen.
Annoyed at the stupidity of Nicolas,
McPherson looked about until he
found the place in the fence through
which Basilio’s horse had broken ; on-
ly two of the rails had been thrown
down. Alarmed and distressed, Me:
Pherson leaped over the fence, took up
the trail of the horse and followed it,
running. Presently he discovered that
the horse in his mad flight had broken
through the fence inclosing the apiary,
and had played havoc among the twen-
ty or more beehives therein. Then
McPherson saw a spectacle that for a
little while took all the strength out of
his body.
The senora, guided by a quicker
sense than that of her husband, had
gone straight to the aviary. There
she saw the horse with Basilio naked
to the waist strapped upon his back,
and the animal was plunging madly
among the bee hives, kicking them to
fragments as the yicious insects plied
him with their stings. Basilio was
tied with his face to the sun, which
poured its fierce rays into his eyes ; for
Nicolas was devoted to the senora, and
he was as determined to make matters
ag uncomfortable for the ingrate as
possible. Upon Basilio’s unprotectdd
body the bees swarmed by hundreds,
giving him a score of etings to one for
the horse, ann he was utterly helpless
to protect himself, Already the poi- |
son of a thousand stings had been
poured into his face and body ; his feat
urgs were hideously swollen and distor-
ted, and his chest was puffed ont of re-
| semblance to a human shape and was
! vid and ghastly.
Without a moment’s hesitation the
senora flew through the gate and went
to the deliverance of Bagilio, praying
to God with every breath. His cries
were feeble, for his strength was nearly
gone, and his incredible agony, aided
by the poison of the bees, had sent his
wits astray. For Violante to approach
the maddered horse and the swarming
what cared she for that, when anoth-
er’s life was at stake ? With the cool-
ness of a trained horse-woman, she
finally twisted the fingers of one hand
into the frantic horse's nostrils, bring.
ing it instantly under control. "In an-
other moment, unmindful of the stings
which the bees inflicted upon her face
and hands, she had cut Basilio’s lash-
ings and caught his shapeless body in
her arms as it slipped to the ground.
Then, taking him under the arms, she
dragged him, with uncommon strength
from the enclosure and away trom the
murderous assaults of the bees,
He moaned ; his head rolled from
one side to the other. His eyes were
closed by the swelling of the lids, and
he could not see her ; but even had this
not been so, he was past knowing her.
She laid him down in the shade of a
great oak, and she saw from his faint
and interrupted gasps that in another
moment all would be over with him.
Unconscious of the presence of her
husband, who now stood reverently,
with uncovered head, behind her, she
raised to heaven her blanched face and
beautiful eyes, and softly prayed : “Ho-
ly mother of Jesus, hear the prayer of
thy wretched daughter, and intercede
for this unshriven spirit.” She
glanced down at Basilio, and saw that
he was dead. Feebly she staggered to
her feet, and seeing her husband, cried
out his name, stretched out her arms
toward bim, and sank unconscious in-
to his strong grasp ; and thus he bore
her to the house, kissing her face,
while tears streamed down his cheeks.
—W. C. Morrow in the San Francisco
Argonaut,
\
The Christian Fndeavor.
From the Doylestown Democrat.
The Twelfth annual convention of
the Christian Endeavor Society, which
met at Montreal last Thursday, had
some features about it of more than us-
ual interest. The speech of welcome
was made by the Mayor, and, in the
course of his remarks, he showed that a
broader spirit of Christian charity pre-
vails on the other side of the Canada
line than is to be found in some other
parts. His speech was an admirable
one, and must have impressed the
American delegates. He said among
other things ;
Every one of you know that am a Roman
Catholic, yet I am here to tell you that, while
the population of Montreal is largely iloman
Catholie, still there is not one who will not ex-
tend to you the most cordial and sincere wel-
come. [Cheers.]
“I think after all we can find ground wide
enough upon which we all ean walk. You
come here and teach us what Christian char-
ity and what union can be. We believe in
that ourselves. A fact which I think must
have struck you all very forcibly, since you
have come amongst ug, is, that we do not allow
the chimneys of our industries, to extend
above the spires of our churches. We believe
in progress and industry. but we do not be
lieve that the goal of life 1s industry, commerce
the physical welfare of humanity.” When you
look at the top ol the chimneys,” you will see
always a cloud, which prevents you from see-
ins above, but when you look at the spire of
wards Heaven, it is felt that we have some
thing more; tuat we have another destiny
which Providence has prepared for us, ard
80 among Christians there is now a general
feeling that the old strife must discontinue,
that the battle is not between creed and creed
but between believers and unbelievers;”
These are rather unusual words from
such a source, buy they are words of
cheer for Christian progress, and ere
evidenced of the broadening of Christian
thought. Of course “we can find ground
wide enough upon which we all can
walk,” and fiem ground it is; and how
much better it would have been for the
world bad this discovery been made
| sooner. Although the Democrat may
be charged with heresy, it cannot help
saying that it can see no reason why
Protestants and Catholics should not
unite in all practical Christian work.
There are a thousand and one things
they can find to do that will advance
the cause ot Christianity without trench-
ing on each others faith. The shell,
that has enclosed and separated Chris-
tian denomination for so long a time,
seems less hard than it was even a quar-
ter of a century ago. We can already
discover cracks in it, and we believe the
day will come when all sects will unite
in all practical Christian work, when,
as the Mayor of Montreal puts it, “the
old strife must discontinue, and that
the battle will not be between creed and
creed, but between believers and unbe-
lievers.” Hail the day when religious
strife shall cease!
Comet Easily Visible,
Observations Made at the Allegheny Observatory.
The new comet that is making some
stir in scientific circles is quite bright
and easily vizible to the naked eye, even
in thestrong twilight of the evening
sky about 8 :45 o'clock, and can be ob
served in a field glass until after 10
o'clock, It has a very bright nucleus
and a tail which can be traced for a
distance of fully three degrees from the
nead of the comet. If the telegraphed
position of its discovery 1s correct it has
moved about two degrees toward the
west since the 8th of July. 1t will be
readily found by tracing a line through
the star forming the corner of the bowl
of the great dipper nearest the handle
down through the star at the opposite
corner. Continue this line nearly dou-
the Urso Major will be met. Just be-
low this about 8 degrees and a little to
the west the comet was seen, but it will
be found somewhat nearer the two
third magnitude stars noted this even-
ing. The tail “points almost directly
upward, though it does lean toward the
east. This comet will be watched with
interest by astronomers, and though it
is rather low it is hoped good spectro-
scopic results will be obtained by Prof.
Kuhn.”
bees was to offer herself to death, but
the church, that gentle figure looking to-.
A — SE me, A 5 Se at cia pS
For and About Wosaen.
The Empress of Austria has a collec-
tion of jewels worth $1,500,000.
| White ribbons are taking the place of
| black as a stock-collar, girdle and
{ shoulder-knots on summer frocks of ba-
| tiste and organdy.
That if grease or oil is spilled on a
| carpet, flour or fine meal should be
! sprinkled over it as soon as possible, and
| let remain for several hours and it will
{ absorb the greass.
| A new waist trimming is made of a
| straight piece of material about 14 in.,
| long. This is gathered in very full at
the collar and droops of its own free will
over shoulders and bust.
A new hop-sacking of lihgt weight
with surface like alpaca is imported
from Paris for midsummer dresses for
out-of-town wear. It comesin clear red
and in navy-blue, and is prettily mark-
ed with dots and dashes of white or of
cream-color.
A pretty accessory to a gown, and
one which makes an old waist look new
consists of a flounce of lace falling from
| the neckband in straight folds nearly to
| the waist in front, forming epaulets on
the shoulders, a collar in the back and
all in one piece.
Mrs. Taylor of Little Washington,
Pa., is called among her neighbors “an
artist in oils.” She began by making
a few careful investments in the Penn-
sylvania oil fields. She has sold these
at an advance, bought others and 1s
now worth $3,000,000.
My Lady’s Locks.—For thestreet the
hair should be done so that all the dress-
ing shows beneath the hat or bonnet.
For customers who are going to the
theatre professional hair-dressers put the
bonnet on while the bairis down and
then arrange the coiffure.
The latest collar out is one deep cape
of accordion- plaited silk muslin, upon
which motifs in cream application form
a light and pretty floral patterned bor-
der. This collar is finished around the
neck with a Pierreite full frill of black
chiffon edged with cream lace, tied with
long black satin ribbons.
Reefer jackets of brown holland ac-
companied by a walking skirt of the
same are cool summer costumes; sold
for $16,50 to $20, The jacket is well
lapped in front, and fastened by large
pearl buttons. The skirt is cut off
above the knee, and completed by a
gored flounce of six breadths.
The serpentine waist is another name
for the surplice blouse that crosses over
in the front and is tied in the back of
the waist. To this is now added ‘the
serpentine flounce, beginning on the
lett of the hips and winding in spiral -
fashion three or five times around the
skirt, to cease under a chou at the foot
on the left side.
Black satin, satin duchess and satin
brocades are all very fashionable for en-
tire dresses. The first is also one of the
most popular of trimmings for all mate-
rials of dress goods. It is employed for
the large leg-of mutton sleeves now so
much favored, and for millinery folds,
flatbands, crossway puffings and narrow
French hemmed flounces.
The Psyche knot is experiencing its
perennial revival. A modest, unassum-
ing thing it is now, nestling rather low
in the softly waved hair. Itis not the
aggressive door-knob atrocity of several
years ago. Some women wear the fam-
ous three short curls from the centre jof
the knot. They lie close to the head at
the lower edge of the twist.
The “figure eight” style is perhaps
more often seen than any other. Tt is
not new, but can be made so individus}
by each wearer that its longevity is cor.
tain,
The thick twilled cotton fabrics in
stripes and in plain colors called Galatea
twills have long been in favor for child-
ren’s sailor euits for girls and boys alike,
and are now adopted by ladies for coun-
try wear, for boating, seaside, moun-
tain and outing dresses generally. They
are especially liked in quarter-inch
stripes of red, pink or blue with white
for young women, and in brown or
black with white stripes by those who
are older. They are made up in the
way popular for cotton cheviot dresses,
with a shirt waist and a skirt of four
breadths, the front and the sides gored
narrowly toward the top, with a straight
back breadth. Boating and yachting
gowns of striped Galatea have a belted
waist opening in a V shape on a plas.
tron or sailor shirt of white or plain
twill the color of the stripe. Rows of"
braid, either white or colored in con-
trast with the shirt, trim i$ prettily.
These rows may be across or lengthwise,
or else one or two rows coming from the
sides merely crossin the middle in X
shape. Coutsleeves with widened top
have cuffs bands of the plain Galatea,
with rows of braid as trimming, and
the skire is finished with a four inch.
border of the plain goods headed by
rows of braid. .
There are many gowns made with
double skirts, that is to say, formed of
two flounces cut all around and both
trimmed with cross bands or galoon.
this sort may be copied with three floun-
ces of equal width, and mounted on a
foundation without gathers. To give
them a modern air add about 89 inches
at the bottom of the skirt, the slight
train being cut off and the edge round.
ed. If thereis no material left of the
gown, then new must be bought to
match it It is impossible to give an
old skirt the requisite width, but noth
is easier than to give it an appearance,
To do this all that is wanted is to
trim it as far as the knees, or even a lit-
tle higher, with flounces three and a
half, four and a half and five inches in
depth, the widest being placed at the
bottom of the skirt and separated from
ble the distance between them down-'
ustin th
ward and two stars justin the corner of inches below the smaller upper one.
the middle flounces some three and a
half inches, whilst the centre one need
only be placed two and three-quarter
Of course, these can be arranged lower
or higher, and at closer distances than
are given above. If the skirt is very
narrow and the wearer tall, the more
flounces the better ; but care must be
taken that the flounces, bands, straight
rows of velvet, galoon. ribbon, etc., are
very evenly placed, the distances be-
tween them are always the same.
RT ——....
——Read the WATCHMAN.