Democratic, Wald,
Beilefonts, Pa., August 4, 1393
p——
THE OLD SCHOOL EXHIBITIONS.
0, the old school exhibitions! will they ever
come again,
With the good, old fashicned speaking from
the boys and girls so plain ? 1
Will we ever hear old “Iser,” with its rapid
roll and sweep,
And “Pilot, 'tis a fearful night ; there’s danger
on the deep ?”
Sweet Mary doesn't raise her lambs like Mary
did of old ; :
Their fleece is not as “white as snow ;”’ they're
wandering from the fold. 5
The boy upon the “burning deck” is not one-
half as fine—
He was not “born at Bingen, at Bingen on the
Rhine !”
The girls don’t speak in calico, the boys don't
speak in jeans; :
They've changed the old-time dresses ‘long
with the old-time scenes;
They smile and speak in ancient Greek; in
broadcloth and in lace ;
And you can’t half see the speaker for the col-
lar round the face.
0, the old school exhibition! Itis gone for-
ever more !
The old school house is deserted and the grass
has choked the door; $
And the wind sweeps ‘round the gables, with
a low and mournful whine :
For the old boys “born at Bingen—at Bingen
on the Rhine!” d
— Atlanta Constitution.
MOLLY'S BLUNDER'S.
“Sure, Molly’s the most unfortunate
crayther that iver you see,” said Don-
al, “for misunderstandin’ gintale con-
versayshun intirely. Sure, no matther
what you're pleased to say, she'll take
it in its literary sivse. Like as whin,
in spakin of the great shower of rain
we had, the praste said ‘the windys of
heaven were opened.” ‘It's right your
riverence is,® says Molly, ‘for faith, I
heard the smashin of one of the panes.’
And if the stupid gurrl wasn’t afther
gazin up into the skoi to see if the
windys had been shut!
“Molly’s me cousin, sorr, as we
make it out in Ireland, and very aisy
reckonin itis, for in straight descint
backward me greatgrandfeyther and
TimO’'Gorman’s greatgrandmother were
brothers, Tim’s wife's grandmother and
Molly’s stepmothers feyther’s uncle
were sisters.
“So you see that whin Molly’s fey-
ther was transported and her mother
died me feyther couldn't let his own
flesh and blood perish with hunger,
and he took her in, and we were
brought up like two twinses, in the
same cradle. Well, there was niver
enough of anythin in the shanty for
two babies, and when Molly had the
sup of milk I hollered with an empty
stomach, and whin I was covered up
with the bed quilt she ran around to
keep herself warm, which is my un-
derstandin of how it happened that I
got all the brains and she got all the
good looks. There wasn’t enough of
ayther for the two of us.
“And sure it's a beauty Molly is in-
tirely, with the purtiest red cheeks and
black hair that reaches down to the
knees of her. And black rollin eyes,
soft and gentle and set wide apart in
the honest tace of her, like those of a
little Kerry cow—eyes that always
looked you straight in the face an niv-
er seemed to see nothin. She was niv-
er sinsible that you were pokin fun at
her, and she hadn't a mimory long
enough to remimber an onkoindness.
“She nursed me feyther when he
died of the favor, and she cared for m2
poor bedrid mother and kept me at
school and dug the pertaties and did
all the work there was to be done, till
I was grown a man in size. Sorra a
bit of thanks did she get for that same.
For, by the same token, the more you
give a bye the iddication of a gintle-
man, the more he'll look down on thim
that slaved thimsilves to death to raise
him ; leastwise it was the way with
me, sorr, and me pet name for Molly
in thim days was, ‘you blunderin igny-
ramus of a grane cabbage head!
And sure it would have angered a
saint to have seen the stupid things
that Molly did, all the time tryin her
very best to moind what I said—all
through the thick headedness of her
understandin.
“Well, one day I brought home a
piece of mate, and it’s notoften we had
the luxury of a beefsteak in thim days,
and by the same token Molly had no
more idea how to cook it than if it was
the dinner of an emperor. ‘Put it on
with a cabbagehead,’ says I, ‘and sure
an illigant biled dinner we'll be afther
makin’. With thatI .. .. » > hoe
and went to work at the + lot.
‘But, howly saints! when © + back
hungry for me dinner what did I see
but the pig munchin the beefsteak for-
ninst the cottage and Molly going
about her wurruk singin’ as merrily as
a lark in the morning.
%¢Why, Donal, dear,’ says Molly.
‘you said put it on a cabbage head, and
first I thought it was my own head
yees was manin, for that is what you're
always callin me, and thin I thought
it couldn’t be that sure, and so I laid
it.on the biggest cabbage in the yard.
It’s thinkin about things that muddles
me up, and afther this, Donal, dear,
I'l} niver think about anythin, and the
tears riz in her eyes as she spoke.
‘And, oh ! Donal, do yees think it will
do the pig any harm?”
“Well, I was that mad I could have
bate her, but a Malloy is always a
gintleman and niver bates a lady—
savin and exceptin his lawful and wed-
ded wife. ‘Molly, Molly’ says I, ‘this
is. past all bearin! Sure, it's ’avin
you I am, for his holiness the pope
couldn’t live with you afther this,’
says I,
4 ¢Just as you plaze, Donal, dear,’
says Molly, ‘but if you're goin’ away
I'll go wid ye, for sure I couldn’t live
widout you.’
“I made no atswer, but just struck
out across the fields, not rightly know-
in or carin which way I wint, but hap-
penenin to look round I saw her fol-
lowin afther.
“If you will: be comin,’ says I,
‘draw the doore to behind you,’ for I
misthrusted that while she went:back
to shut the doore I could get weil out
of sight of her. To do this the better,
I made straight for a bit of boggy
woods and lapin into the midst of it,
1 went crashin me way through till be-
fore I knew it was in the open bog and
a sinkin deeper with every plunge in
the bad ground. This brought me to
me sinses, and I tried to turn round
and come hack, but I was in a sort of
quicksand, and the more I struggled
the more I sank, till I was up to me
waistband in the cowld clammy mud.
I hollered and I bellered, without any
likelihood of making mesilf heard in
that lone place, and with the illegant
prospect of having me mouth soon
stopped with themud, and I had about
given mesilf up to me fate when I
heard Molly callin, ‘Donal, where are
you, Donal ?
“Here, Mollie darlint,’ says I, ‘but
look careful where you're steppin and
forgive me for all the evil things I've
said of you, for it's dyin I am.’
“‘Whist! Donal, be aisy. I'll get
you out,’ says she.
you should lay down a log for me to
catch on to, I misthrust it wouldn't
bear me up. What I need isa flat
boat, and there's no time for the get-
tin of that, for I'm sinkin’ deeper ivery
minute,’
“ ‘By the same token, it’s this that
I’ve brought the doore for,’ says she.
With that she laid the doore of our
cottage flatwise on the bog, and I man-
aged to crawl upon it and get safe to
sound land.
“ ‘And how, in the name of all the
saints, did you happen to have the
doore wid ye ?”’ says I, as she scraped
the mud off me trousers. ‘Why, Don-
al dear,’ saysshe, ‘don’t you mind how
you towld me to draw the doore to be-
hind me? Sure, I'd have been here
the sooner but for the thrubble I had
gettin’ it off its hinges and tyin’ the
halter well around it and draggin’ it
afther me.’
“I was sinsible enough that it was
Molly’s blunderin that had saved my
life. and she looked so purty with her
cheeks all aflamin and her eyes a-shin-
in that I kissed her thin and there,
and as I did so I minded how she had
said that she couldn't live without me,
and a new idea come into my head and
nearly knocked me sinseless. I
thought that Molly might be even
more satisfactory as a wife thanas a
cousin, and what a fool I had been not
to have thought of it all these years.
I was afraid to ask her right out would
she marry me, knowin how much it
would surprise her and misthrusting
that no one had iver axed her before,
so I waited till we had eaten our perta-
ties that evenin, and as I was sittin on
the dooresill smokin my pipe, I says
carelesslike :
4% ‘Molly did you iver think of bein
married ?’
“ ¢fhat same I have, Donal,’ says
she.
“ ‘Well, what have yees thought
about it? say I.
“I've about made up me moind,”
that married I'll be.’
“What!” eays I; yees don't say
that yees already promised? Who is
the gossoon ?’ says I; ‘tell me, an I'll
break his head for him. How long
has this ‘been goin on, ye desateful
crayther?
“Don’t be angry Donal, dear,” says
Molly, ‘but I’ve been thinking about it
iver since yer mother died. Sure, it
isn’t dacent for me to be kapin house
for yees in this lone way.”
“Whin are yees afther bein mar-
ried 7"? says I.
“What do yees think of Christmas
day, Donal ?” says she.
“Make it Michaelmas,” says I, ‘and
maybe by that time I can scare up a
wife meself, for it will be lonesome
widount yees.”
“Just as ye plaze, Donal, darlint,’
says Molly, and we settled back again
into the ould ways.
“But though I kept watch for him,
niver a peep could I catch of Molly's
young man, they were that sly, the
craythers! And though I considered
in me moind all the gurrls in Tippera-
ry, there was not one of them that I
wanted for a wife. And I had no mon-
ey to go courtin with, and whin I con-
sidered how hard it was to make me
"livin with Molly, I wondered what
should I do when she wae gone.
“Those were sad days for Ireland,
for by the same token what with the
landlords livin in London away from
the estates and the agents carin only
how they could squeeze the rint out ot
the tenants and turnin them as were
behind out of their cottages and farms
to starve on the roads, no wonder the
byes, with the discouragemint, got wild-
like and did crazy things intirely.
They made a society amongst thim-
selves, ‘Ribbon Men’ they called thim-
selves, and they helped the poor peo-
ple that were thown out of their shan-
ties and they bothered the bad land-
lords.
“But I aiver had any doin’s with
thim, for by one way or another I had
always had the rint ready, though the
pig wint for it one quarter, and sorra
a bit of mate did we have that winter
afther the steak that Molly put on the
cabbage. No more had Molly a new
dress or a bonnet, and she had ‘denied
herself the amusement of ivery wake
that had been held in the parish till
her spirits were grown as heayy as her
understandin.
“There was a fair at Cashel, and one
fine day, “Molly” says I, “I'll take
what eggs we have in me handkercher
and I'll sell thim at the fair an bring
you home a ribbon,’ says I, and with
the eggs in one hand and me shillaly
in the other, off thrudges I to the fair.
“Now, while I was gone, who should
come to the cottage but one of the byes
to get me to meet with thim the night
at the crannack to help thim wich
some of their diviltry.
“Now, they were not that sure of me
that they could out with their business
to once so Murtah began in a rounda-
bout'way, and ‘Whist Molly !"” says he
‘is Donal a ‘Ribbon Man ?”’ says he.
“Not yit,”” says Molly, thinkin of
“ Ye can't do it,’ says I, ‘for even if
“That's good,” says Murtagh, *‘and
if it’s sure you are that he’s with the
‘Ribbon’ tell him to meet us at mid-
night in the skirts of Ballymoran for-
est.
“I will that same,” says Molly, and
to be sure that she shonldn’t forgit,
koowin her talent for twistifyin a mes.
sage, they made her repeat it three
times—‘Midnight in the skirts of Bal-
lymoran forest.”
“Now, its right you are in thinkin
that Molly made a mess of it entirely,
but before I tell you the how and why-
fore of that, you must know the luck
that came to me on the way to the
fair,
“I was thradgin along whistlin to
mesilf, when I heard a jgreat rackit be-
hind me, and whin I looked around
there was a gintleman’s dogeart a-run-
nin away with his horse, and the gin-
tleman himself a-runnin afther, and by
great exartion losin a rod or two the
minute. I planted mesilf in the mid-
dle of the road, and droppin me eggs I
grabbed hould of the bridle and hild on
to the baste till he tired of draggin me,
and the gintleman came up pantin and
blowin.
The horse it quieted down after a
bit, prisently the gintleman’s footman
came up a-rubbin of his showlder,
which had been hurt with bein tum-
bled in a ditch. ’Ye'd better go back
to the hall, Terry’, says the gintleman,
an have the dochter look at your
showlder,” says he. ‘I'll drive on to
the fair, if this honest lad will get up
beside me and hould the horse when I
get down,’ says he.
“Thank you, your honor, says I,
‘and it’s just what I'd like, for I'm
goin to the fair mesilf to trade me eggs
for a ribbon for Molly,’ and then I
looked around, and there were me eggs
all scrambled ready for the atein, into
what the French cooks to the gentry
calls a epaulet, or an amulit, or the
likes of that.
“Well, the gintleman, when he see
the condition of the eggs, first he
laughed, and thin he said 1t was a pity
it was. But niver moind, Molly should
have her ribbon, and the best he could
find at the fair, With that we rode on
togither, and a right pleasant spoken
man 1 found him, barrin’ a great trick
of askin’ questions about the tinants,
and the agent, and how much the
pertaties sold tor, and how much I
could save when the rint was paid,
and this, that and the other ! And at
the fair he was here, there and ivery-
where, talkin’ with iveryone and askin’
and askin’ more questions than a
praste with the catechism.
“But he didn’t forget Molly’s ribbon,
don’t you be talkin’—an illegant one
it was with arid satin shiripeand
roses blossomin’ all over it. Thin he
said, Donal, come in ; let me see you
take a turn at the dancin’, but though
there was a harper and a fiddler on
the grounds there was no one dancin’.
’And why is this ?’ says his honor.
“If your honor pleases,’ says I, ‘it’s
because the poor people of this country
have little time, money or heart to
spend on the daccin.’
“It doesn’t please my honor at all,’
says the gintleman., ‘I've heard so
much of the blithe village games of
Ireland, I fancied a fair would be
much gayer.”
“You should have sten our fair in
the ould days,’ says I,’ ‘whin
“The byes were all in muslin dressed,
And the girls in corduroy.’
“Thin we set out for home, and on
the way we stopped at a schoolhouse,
and it’s empty we found it and no glass
in the windys, or floor barrin the
ground.
“Feyther McClosky, the parish
priest, saw us coin out of the school-
house, and he came over from the
church, and his honor bowed to
him and asked him amort o’
questions, as he had me, and
gave him some money for the church
poor. And within Feyther McClosky
tould him the rayson the children
didn’t go to school was because they
had no time from the work, and besides
it was no one’s business to send us a
tacher or rid up the schoolhouse.
“It’s my business,’ says his honor,
‘an what that agent of mine’s been
doin these years I can’t concave.’
“With that they shook hands friend-
ly, and in a short time we reached the
cottage, and there was Molly standin
in the doorway with the surprise
knocked into her to see me come drivin
up like a lord.
“Is this where you live?’ says his
honor. ‘Why, it's on me own land.
And thin, whin he come to a stand, so
tha: he could look into the cottage.
‘1s it possible that human craythers
live in sich a hovel,’ says he.
“Please your honor to look in;
you'll find it clane,’ eays I. It’s not
wuch that Molly has brains for, but
scrubbin is not above the measure of
her understandin.’
“I thought the Irish kept the pig in
the parlor,’ says he.
“Please your honor,’ says I, ‘the pig
wint to pay the last quarter’s rint, and
Molly has been lonesome enough
without the darlint.’
“With this he says, ‘Come up to the
hall, and I'll send you back with one
of me best Suffolks.” :
“As I was climbinginto the dogcart,
he noticed that there was no doore to
the cottage, and av cource he asked
me the why of that, and I tould him
how we lost it in the bog, and I
thought he would a’ died of laughin.
“She's a good girl, is Molly,’ says
he. ‘A faithful heart like hers is better
than the best intellect in the world.’
“Sure it's truth your honor is
spakin,’ says I. ‘If I could find out
who the spalpeen is that has the ownin
of her heart, sure it's a good drubbin
I'd give, for IT misthrust he’s not treat-
ing Molly right, for they were to have
been married last Michaelmas, and it’s
two months gone.’
“Find him out,’ sas his honor,’ and
give him a good batin, with mith me
compliments.’
“I will that same,’ says I, and that
the ribbon I bad promised to bring her, | was the first and only promise tha. I
‘but by. the same token he's thinkin of iver broke to his honor.
bein one when he comes back from the !
fair,
“He sint me home with a basket of
victuals and a beautiful little spotted,
black and white pig tied by the hind
leg of him, which gave me such a
chase that whin I reached home again
I was worn out intirely. But it was a
lucky day for us both, and Molly was
taken with admiration, what first with
the pig and thin with the victnals, and
thin with the ribbon, and lastly with
the thought that our own landlord had
came home to live among us like a
Christian, that she clean forgot to give
me Mnurtagh’s message until it was
nearly bedtime.
“Now, if she had given me the
errant as it was given to her, divil a
bit would I have stirred out of the
shanty that night, but says she:
‘What! Donal, and you haven’t caught
all the good luck that’s stirrin yit,’
says she, ‘for Murtagh was here the
mornin and he says for you to come to
the crannach in Ballymoran forest at
midnight, dressed in me petticoats, and
ou will see some fine fun the night.’
“Dressed in your petticoats!” says
I, ‘and what rayson did Murtagh give
that I should rig meselt out as a|
woman, as though it were a Candle-
mas procession ?”’
“Niver a bit of rayson, but belike,
it's some fun of the byes, for it's par-
ticular he was about it and made me
say over three times, “Be sure he
comes in skirts to the forestt”
“Well, I felt gayer that night than
I bad for many a day, and I thought I |
would like nothin better nor a frolic
with the byes, so I let Molly disguise
me by putting her Sanday dress on me
—one with big flowers onto it, a stolish
kind of caliky that they eovers sofys
with in the houses of the gintry—an I
tied a kercher over me head, an I
hardly knew whether I was Molly or
Molly was’ I, Then I took the remnints
of our supper along in the basket, for
I thought I'd treat the boys, an we'd
all drink to the health of our young
landlord.
“Well, I wiat on gayly enough till I
come to the hedge foreninst the forest,
and thin two of the byes jumped up
from the ditch, with guns in their
hands, and pinnted thim at me. ‘Give
the password,” says they, ‘or you're a
dead woman.” With that I threw one
of 'em a hunk of mutton pie and the
other a piece of plum puddin, and they
lowered their guns and let me pass.
‘It’s Molly Malloy,” says one. ‘Whin
is your cosin comin? says the other.
‘He's not far off, says I, imitating me
cousin’s vice. ‘Where arethe byes ?’
“They're in the crannach,’ says one
and I wint on, but I misthrusted now
what sort of a frolic I'd falien into’
and purty soon I found mesilf among
a dozen or twinty of them all talkin
aud conspirin among themselves.
‘What have you let that woman come
here for? says the leader to one of the
guards,
“Sure, she’s the bearer of important
dispatches,” says he; ‘an,’ he says in
a whisper, ‘it’s only halt witted Molly
Malloy, and she’s that thick headed
ghe’ll niver understhand nothing,’
says he.
“With that I dropped thim a
c’urt/sy and thanked the gintlemen for
their politness and said that me broth-
er, who had come home from the fair
with a broken head, had sint them
some pervisions to testify his kindly
teelin’s. They grumbled to themsilves,
and some one said, lowlike, that if
Donal had come he wouldn't have got
off that night, for there was work to
be done, and thim that were not moined
to help should have their eyes shut.
Thin they sint me away, but nou till I
had heard by bits that there was an
attack planned for that very night,
come two hours, when all ‘were asleep
at the hall, and that they meant to
give the new landlord a house warmin
that should not be of a welcome.
After this they hustled me out of the
wood, and I took to me legs with all
me moight for the hall and informed
on thim—the villains !
“But his honor didn’t have the
house put into a state of definse, at all.
Instid of that, he ordered it lighted
from garret to cellar, and tould the
servants to hurry and set out a big
supper, and me to run for Feyther Mec-
Closkey to come in and make a spache
of welcome to his company. And
Feyther McCloskey arrived in the nick
of time, and come out on the balcony
with his honor just as the byes march-
ed up forninst the house. ‘And,’ says
he, ‘his honor has heard of your kind
intintions to give him a surprise party.’
says he, ‘and has pervided a little sup-
per, to which he bide you all wel-
come.’
“Well, whativer Feyther McCloskey
told theys to do, that they did, and
whin he told them to eat first, one
slipped his blunderbuss into his coat
tail pocket, and another threw away
his shillaly, and another hid his shot-
gun behind the hedge, and so they all
came into the hall and ate their fllls.
“Thin his honor talked to thim, and
| tould thim his intentions of doin his
best by thim, and tuey inded by givin
him three cheers.
“The school house has been rid’ up,
and Molly bas took to the larnin. By
the same token she makes a fewer
mistakes formerly, and a better be-
haved or more peaceable parish than
ours you'll not find in Tiperary, or a
kinder landlord, and all through the
twistifications of Molly,
“And the weddin? Sure, a finer
was niver seen in the parish, for his
honor sint the band from Cashel, and
we had dancin on the green and a
barbecue, at which thespotted pig had
the pleasure of bein roasted, and other
good victuals galore. For it's mesilf
that would give Molly a good send off,
more especially as I had no fault to
find with her swateheart barrin his
slowness in the courtin. It was the
day after the house warmin at the hall
that I bad the pleasure of makin his
acquaintance.
“Mollv,’ says I (we were workin in
the field together), ‘Molly, that swate-
heart of yours is a bit backward in
comin forward.’
He is,’ says she,
“ Spake the word, and I'll larrup
him,’ says I. messin
“Oh, give him up, Molly, bad luck |
to him | Sure, it's not much you care
tor him, 1m thinkin, avd there's
others a-waitin to take his place. Sure,
I'll marry you mesilt if ye'll tell me
who he is and let me give him his
walkin ticket, the villain ?”
“Sure, I'll niver give him up,’ says
Molly, ‘not if his honor himself axed
me to be lady of the hall, for I love
him more than the wurrld besides.
And yees needn’t look so black, Donal,
for it’s you, darlint, that I'll mary, and
no other at all, at all 1”
“ ‘Molly, Molly,” says I when I
could spake for kissin her, ‘this is the,
worst twistification of all, for who
could have thought that I was your
sweetheart 2°’ :
“ “Thin 1t’s you that has twistified
the matter,’ says Molly, ‘for it’s mesilf
that knew it all the time,’ says she.”
— Elizabeth W. Champney, in The
Home Maler.
Railroads and Civilization.
| From the Philadelphia Press.
Railroads have played a large part in
the work of civilization in this century,
and they will do still more in the same
direction in the future. It was the rail-
roads that opened up the great west,
practically put an end to Indian wars,
and added enormously to the areas em-
ployed in the production of wheat, corn
and other agricultural products.
Missouri, Iowa, Minnesota, Nebraska,
Kansas and the Dakotas now have over
14,000,000 acres under wheat alone,
whereas before the advent of rail-roads
they had less than 400,000 acres under
wheat. The iron horseis now pushing
his way through the arid regions of
Wyoming, Montana and other state.
where irrigation will add many millions
of acres more to the cultivated lands
There is a total acreage of 17,177,843
under ditch irrigation now in the west,
of which nearly 8,000,000 acres is cul-
tivated. The possibilities of increasing
this acreage are vast, but without rail-
roads to take the product to market
nothing would be done. The railroads,
however, are in advance of the people
in that country, and much may be ex-
pected of it in the future.
In other parts of the world great chan-
ges are being brought about in a similar
way. The great Trans-Siberian railroad
which Russia is constructing will open
an immense new field for settlement.
This road will be 4, 750 miles long, and
track laying is in progress at both ends.
The year 1897 has been proclaimed as
the one when the road will be comp-
leted. It will for hundreds of miles go
through what is now regarded as a bar-
ren waste, but which the Russian gov-
ernment expects to reclaim by irrigation.
Perhaps the country is no worse than
what was known as ‘the Great American
Desert” before our western roads began
their pioneer work, but which ¢desert”
is now valuable agricultural lands. But
once through the wastes, this new Rus-
sian road will reach a country in area as
large as France and said to be capable
of supporting as large a population.
Millions of acres of the ‘black earth”
that gave surpassing fertility to great
regions in Southern Russia until crop-
ped to death and ruined by deforestation
are waiting settlement 1n that part of
Siberia. It Russia can present advanta-
ges in the way of cheap freight rates
this new country may add materially
to the wheat supply of the world.
Still another important railroad,
which it is announced will be built by
the aid of the British government, 1s
one from the Indian ocean to Victoria
Nyanza, in Africa. The road has al-
ready been surveyed and its cost estima-
ted to be only $11,000,000. Its term-
inus on Lake Victoria will afford
steamship connection with some of the
richest land in the world. There are
great possibilities in the development of
that part of Africa.
The construction of railroads in In-
dia has made great changes in that coun-
try, and the work is being pushed for-
ward all the time. In South America
new fields are being brought under set-
tlement and cultivation in the same
manner. The railroad promises to add
enormously in the future, as it has in
the past, to the cultivated land, the
product of which will come into the
world’s markets. It is not safe for our
people to count on less competition in
agricultural products abroad. As an
instrument of civilization the steam
road is deing a work that all wankind
should rejoice over.
The State of Wyoming,
Young America builds bigger than
his forefathers. Wyoming is not an ex-
ceptionally large state, yet it is as big as
the six states of New England and In-
diana combined. Indiana itself is the
size of Portugal and ie larger than Ire.
land. It is with more than ordinary
curiosity that one approaches Wyom-
ing during a course of study of the new
western states. From the palace cars of
the railroad that carries a tide of trans-
continental travel across its full length
there is little to see but brown bunch
grass, and yet we know that on its sur-
face of 3656 miles of length and 275 miles
of width are many mountain ranges and
noble river threaded valleys of such
beauty that a great block of the land is
to be forever preserved in its present
condition as the Yellowstone National
park. We know that for years this has
been a stockman’s paradise, the greatest
seat of the cattle industry north of Tex-
as—the stamping ground of the pictur-
esque cowboys who had taken the place
of the hunters who came from the most
distant points in Europe to kill big
game there.
We know that in the . mysterious
depths of this huge state the decline of
its first great activity was marked by &
peculiar disorder that necessitated the
calling out of troops. But that was'a
flash in a pan, much exaggerated at a
distance and easily quieted at the time.
For the rest, most well informed citizens
outside the state know nothing more
than the misnaming of the state implies,
for the pretty Indian word Wyoming,
copying the name of a historic locality
in the east, is said to mean “plains land.”
—Julian Ralph in Harper's
I" _Tittle Dot—"I don’t see how
cows can eat grass.,”’ ‘Little Dick—*
For and About Women.
Love laughs at locksmiths, but it.
gives a very respectful attention to the
goldsmith. :
Lettuce is the best salad to serve with
fish ; but all cooked and cold vegetables
go well with fish.
Mrs. U. S. Grant bas returned to.
West Point, where her daughter (Mrs,
Sartoris) will join her in a few days.
Miss Fessenden, a progressive young
person in Massachusetts, is advising
young women not to marry ‘‘moderate
drinkers.”
The late edition of the sailor is a coarse
mottled straw pale green and white.
The brim is unusually wide and the
crown is encircled with a white ribbon.
Black trimming for white hats is a
rage for this season. It must be care-
fully done, but, when too striking, is
most stylish and an easy way to be
dashing without overconspicuousness.
In 4 certain wholesale establishment
in New York pillow cases are made by
women for three cents a dozen. Think
of it three cents for making a dezen pil-
low cases. How is that for cheap labor?
Large leghorn hats
with white silk mull and small white
birds or wings. The hats are intended
for wear in the country. A black note
is sometimes given to them by the use
of black wings or aigrettes.
are decorated
A pretty fancy forsummer suits are
those of linen duck, in white, butter.col-
or and ecru, either plain or figured in
tiny dots. They are made up with a
full, round skirt and with an Eton or
reefer jacket, which 13 worn with a silk
blouse waist,
The reaction from the trains of a year
ago has been sharp and decided. Some
elegant frocks are to be see which do not
touch the ground by an inch or so.
This is desirable to understand, for light
summer dresses cut out shamefully if
worn in a demi-train, and, as long as it
is permissable, it is certainly advisable
for all economical souls to follow this
sensible style.
The enormous neck ruffles of black,
white and ecru lace, or stiffened India
muslin with a lace edge, that ultra-fash-
ionuble women now affect, are very un-
becoming. The rufile stands out be-
yond the chin and is of uniform width
all around, and they sare as full as it is
possible to make them. In Paris they
are called the “Queen Bess frills.”” The
great amount of material used is a sub-
stitute for the starch which in other
days supplied the required unapproach-
able rigidity of the cambric ruff.
It is a good idea for those who are in-~
fected with the Eton jacket fever to pin
the short back to the belt to prevent it
from creeping up the back in the pro-
voking fashion so noticeable. There is
scarcely one girl out of ten who has a
carriage straight and correct enough to
hold the jacket in the position intended
and the jaunty air is entirely lost when
they slip out of their place and leave
the waist in view. Itisa very easy
matter to fasten them to the belt which
is always worn, and then they are
firmly held in position.
A last season’s debutante looked very
well in a narrow black and white strip-
ed silk made with a plain skirt and
French waist. The waist had a fall of
yellow lace from a stock of Magenta
velvet, and a belt of the velvet was fin-
ished by a prim little bow in the back.
The hat worn with this gown was un-
usually stylish. It bad a high crown of
black straw and a narrow rim of black
net, A single twist of Magenta velvet
ended in a rosette of black net and two
standing wings of yellow lace. Narrow
black velvet strings tied around the
the knot of hair in the back. This isa
very popular way of tying the ends that
are sometimes very awkward articles to
dispose of.
There is no end to the possibilities of
a gray silk as a charmimg hot weather
dress, whether for a young woman or an
old. For the former it is trimmed with
four rows of white and gold braid, has
full puffed sleeves of silvery chiffon and
a cute little Bolero jacket of gray velvet
trimmed with wide pointed revers of
rich white lace, which fall in points
over the shoulders. For the latter it
has a flounce of black lace with plenty
of the same on the bodice and sleeves.
Even thin black crepon has the condi-
tions for a lovely hot weather gown
especially those wrought with tiny
specks of color. Itis made up with a
pretty blouse waist of accordion plaited
black silk muslin‘ with trimmings of
velvet and jet.
New cream white cloth jackets are
called the ¢‘Eulalie’”’ coat, and the
various ways of adorning and shaping
them render them appropriate for near-
ly every occasion. One attractive mod-
el has a wide rolling collar and flaring
revers faced with golden brown velvet.
Another has a black velvet edging over-
laid with rich, cream-white silk gimp.
Other more expensive jackets are trim
med with fine gold guipure lace. laid
over soft velvet-like Venetian cloth lap-
els, collar and cuffs. = Models of palest
doe-colored cloth are decorated with
rows of gold gimp. Pure white jackets
are open over China silk blouse fronts.
These are particularly stylish and be-
coming. White Bedford cord capes.
trimmed with shoulder capes of Boum
bon lace are designed as a pretty addi-
tion to’ an evening toilet of muslin,
crepon, or China silk when a light wrap.
is needed.
For washing the hair, particalarly
such as is inclined to be oily, nothing 18
better than the common hard soap of
the kitchen. A women who has used it
frequently herself and seen its benefits
tested in other cases prescribes it with
faith. “Make a strong suds,” she says,
“rub it quickly on the hair and wash it
off again at once, After that any scent.
ed soap or wash may be used in the way
of an ordinary shampoo.” An English
maid, who is famed for the care of her
mistress’ hair, may be taken in further
testimony of the same article, as the on<
ly wash ghe uses is soapsuds thickened
with a teaspoonful of glycerine and the
white of an egg. Undoubtedly women
waste money in expensive hair beaut
fiers and preservers. = Simple means
I’spose when they is young the moth-
+ er cows keeping sayin’ to their child-
right to one’s hand are just as effective.
The pulp of a lemon. for instance, rub~
“Don’t trouble yourself, Donal ; he ren, ‘If you don’t eat grass, you shan’t | bed on the hair will stop ordinary cases
can take his time.’
have any pie.’ 7
of falling out.