HEE
Bellefonte, Pa., August Il, 1893
A STORY OF BILL MORRISON.
ncn
With the cut rate came from Kansas,
When the Conclave was in town,
Came a passin’ peart old Populist,
His name was Andy Brown.
And he said he knowed Bill Morrison,
Could mind when they wus boys,
How they rose hay an’ hades
Down 1n Egyp’. 1llinois.
Where the winters stood wide open
And appeared to wait furspring,
With its long pertracted meetin’,
’Hoopin’ cough, and everything;
And in summer in the season
That was made for farmer boys,
How they swore and swum together,
Down in Egyy’, Illinois.
How they use to hitch four borses,
, In the winter, to the wain,
Headed where the twilight shadows
An’ the mud lay down the lane
Leadin’ out to whar the schoolhouse,
At the foot of Pleasant Hill,
Held the hardy circuit rider.
He could mind how him and Bill.
Had put cocklebursan’ burdock,
In fact, anything that struck,
In the preacher's saddle blankets,
Jist to see the bronco buck,
And ag’in he heerd ’em holler;
Heerd that band uv boistrous boys,
Who rizless hay than hades,
Down in Egyp’, Illinois.
“Law? he ’lowed, “they warn’t no summer,
Warn't a single sign uf spring,
Warn’t a warbler in the woodland
That had sand enough to sing ;
Not a bluebird nor a woodchuck
Would begin to be about,
Till the mumps an’ the revivals
An’ the vacinates run out.
“Why, they warn’t no use a hedgin’
When the mumps wus on our tracks,
We wus allus shore to git it
Whar the chicken got the axe,
Even natur ’peared {o know, an’
Waited patiently about,
Till the mumps an’ the revivals
An’ the vacinates run out.
“Then the poor an, the baptisin’
We nad with us every spring,
bout the time the crick was risin
An’ the birds begun to sing.
I can hear the horses gnawin’
Uv the quakin’ aspen trees,
An’ the mush ice that. a-thawin’,
Drifted round the preacher’s knees.
“] kin see him sorter shiver,
An’ agin I hear him say :
‘In the worter of this river
Ye shall wash your sins away 3’
Hear the song that they wus singin’,
‘See the wimmin folks in tears,
An’ that music still a ringin,’
Still a ringin’ in mv ears.
“The next course wus the lung fever,
As the seed time's shore to bring,
In the harvest time, the harvest,
1 would have it every spring.
As I lay thar, pale and patient,
You could find barefooted Bill
Layin’ fur the bloomin’ bluebell,
On the south side uv the hill.
“An you kin bet they want no flower
That could bloom in that broad land.
An’ live more than half an hour
Till he’d place it in my hand.
Oh, the roses and revivals
That we had when we wus boys,
More than made up fur the fever,
Down in Egyp’, Illinois,”
—Cy. Warman,
A VAGRANT ROSE.
BY MARTHA MCCULLOCH WILLIAMS.
Marcelle espied it with a great leap
of the heart. The French girl, folk
called her there in that small aristo-
cratic South country town. Her fath-
er, Jean Mathieu, the confectioner,
wag French—French from his deft fin-
ger-tips to the curl of his mustache.
But this his one child was purely
American, despite the velvet-dark eyes,
the pale creamv skin, the tiny feet, the
cloud of dead-black hair, that were her
sole inheritance from a creole mother.
Wedded and widowed in the far South,
griet had made Jean Mathieu a wan-
derer. The fate which we call chance
had flung him a year ago into this up-
river town, nodding in drowsy pride
upon twice seven grassy hills,
On every hand turnpikes ran into it
—broad straight highways hard and
white. The best people lived along
them in big square houses, set about
with trees and vinesand standing proud-
ly apart from the gaze of passers by.
Each had its own sufficient demesne of
garden, orchard, lawn, and paddock.
Walking was not the fashion save for
the folk who were content to live in
the town proper. Among them, even,
the feminine part rarely went more
than five squares upon its own tightly-
shod feet.
Neither did young women to the
manor born venture out alone, eyen to
church or Sunday-school or prayer-
meeting, where all the way was paved
street. But nobody took account of
Marcelle’s wanderings. ~~ Mathieus
lived over the shop, in a tashion before
unheard of ; no doubt that was the for-
eign way. As they went to no church,
there was not the remotest possibility
of bringing them socially in touch with
the town. Along with the one-eyed
German shoemaker, they represented
its whole alien element. Naturally its
good people, though among the kind-
liest, the most humaoe, gave themselves
small concern over the scant flotsam
from the Old World shores.
In point of costume the town—DBells-
boro, let us call it—was morbidly fash.
ionable; that is to eay, the leaders
dressed rigidly by the order of the mo-
distes and the magazines. Other folk.
came as close to them as was possible.
Up street or down you saw an approx-
imation to the same cut, color, shape.
The picturesque, the individual, bad
neither part nor lot in the community's
costuming. So it is no wonder it
looked askance at Marcelle, whose
clinging garments took on the grace of
herself, and held always some hint of
vivid color to repeat the accent of scar-
let lips in a creamy face.
Then, too, she wore always a flower
at her throat—that is, when flowers
were in season. Bellsboro had no
commercial florist. One must have
starved there in competition with the
pots and greenhouses that never sold
their treasures, but gave of them with-
out stint to neighbor and friend in time
of either joy or sorrow. So through
the three winter months Marcelle pined
for the scent, the touch of roses. The
rose was to her the flower of flowers.
If only their tiny windows had not been
utterly sunlees, she would have crowd-
ed them with rose-trees and spent hours
in their company.
Now, though May, the month of
roses, lay soft along the hills, Marcelle
had not yet rejoiced her heart with a
single perfect blossom.
Indeed, flow:
ers of any sort Had been hardly come
at. There had been weddings, funerals,
a christening feast, to nip and drain
the gardens. So far she had made
shift with peach and plum and cherry
blossoms, with a hyacinth or two, and
a scant handful of jonquils that a kind-
ly woman oue day handed to her over
the fence outside which she had
stopped to look piteously at the treas-
ure it guarded.
This day she had hurried through
her tasks, and while the sun was faint-
ly westering, found herself facing
countryward, Some way she chose
the river road, which ran straight to
south, and gave you all the way the
fresh lapping of waters below the bank.
The wind came full in her face; here
and there a big branchy maple, 1ts soft
new leaves drooping in the heat, flung
wefts of shadow down on the turnpike's
dusty ribbon, whereon country houses
were strung as sparse beads upon a
thread. The trees grew all upon the
river side. The line of palings upon
the other hand ran flush with the gras-
sy bank that lifted some two feet above
the roadway.
Now the boundary was low and open
now high and thin, with jagged spikes
at top. Inside, Marcelle’s eyes drank
thirstily of May bloom, May beauty—
of the jasmines’ green mist, thick-sown
with white stars; of whiter tall lilies,
stately in powderings of gold ; of cloudy
honeysuckles waving in each sweet
wind ; of roses running riotously the
whole chromatic scale.
How she yearned to kneel among
them, steep her soul in their sweets,
lay them against her cheek, her heart!
Slow and loitering she went past their
seat, hot dimness clouding her eyes,
her breath coming hard, her head
drooping. Suddenly something shut
away from her this paradise of blos-
som, She was passing the Canmore
place, the finest upon the road. The
lawn of it had the usual open fence,
but where the garden ran down, close-
set cedar pickets stood higher than
your head, with an vgly line of spikes
at top them.
Evidently all the inner roughness
was massed in green beauty. Wherev-
er the pickets came even a little apart
a thorny rose branch came through.
Other branches made emerald foam
over the spiky top, showing here and
there a lusty bud as green.
Marcelle looked at them with a lit-
tle envious sigh. If only she might
see the other side! There, fair to the
sun rays, she knew there were roses
without number—cream, yellow, gold-
en, scarlet, pink as the flush of dawn.
Little as she knew of Bellsboro she
had heard of the Canmore roses—how
they were nursed and tended till their
lavish largeness made the May world
doubly sweet. Almost she was past
the wreathen fence when something
caught her eye—a long pale golden bud
half blown, and drooping well over the
fence-t
With a little glad cry Marcelle went
under it, lifted her face as though to
catch its dropping sweets, The
barest breath of it came to her, yet
enough to make the wetness of her eyes
gather in a big drop and plash upon
the sward. The flower hung well out
of reach from where she stood. If,
though she dared, it might be hers,
Justa long step above theearth a knot-
hole would give her footing ; a conven-
ient upper crevice supplied holding
ground. And how she longed for the
flower, that semed to sigh inyitation—
to say, almost aloud, “Take me; I
bloom to be loved”! Surely it could
not be wrong. Madam Canmore
would never miss the blossom, of whose
unfolding she bad not known.
Full five minutes Marcelle fought
the battle with her conscience, her
eyes the while upraised to the beckon:
ing flower. Then, with a little laugh.
she swung herself up, clung desperate-
ly with one hand, while with the other
she essayed to part thefough flexible
rose stalk from its parent stem. Hith-
er and yon she beut 1t vain, until at
last a quick impatient twitch gave it
into her hand. Victory, though, cost
her dear. The swaying impulse of her
figure tore loose the picket to which
she clung: from the foot of it came the
low crushing of rotten wood. Next
minute, with Marcelle still clinging to
it, it lay full in the turnpike, at the
feet of a horseman who had just come
out of a lane that ran into the road at
the rose garden’s hither side.
“Take care, my lad ; you may break
your head,” the rider called betwixt
the curvetings of his frightened horse.
Evidently Marcelle’'s straw hat, along
with her present plight, led him to
think her a marauding small boy.
Seeing her lie inert and breathless, he
sprang quickly down, knelt at her side,
and felt for a pulse below the flaccid
fingers that still Leld loosely clasped
the yellow rose.
“Why, it's a girl—the French girl !”’
be eaid, amazedly. ‘Poor little thing!
To think she wished so much for a
flower I” Then as he saw a faint flut-
ter of eyelids : ‘Lie still a minute, miss.
You have had an ugly fall. I hope
you are not hurt. Only scared and
shaken.”
Marcelle sat upright, but sank quick-
ly to her elbow, covering her eyes and
saying: “I am not hurt, sir—only
shamed. I knew the good God saw
me—but—but—I did not think He
would punish me so quickly—and it
seemed such a little thing—only a rose
nobody would miss.”
The man looked away—to the tree-
tops, the sky-line; then said, lightly
touching her hand :
“You have done no wrong. That
lies with—people who let you lack
what you must love eo much.”
“Ah, how I love the roses!” Mar-
celle said, getting slowly to her feet.
“But,” shaking her head, “it was not
right. See the gap in the fence. I
must go back to the people here—the
grand rich lady—and tell her I am a
thief who has made worse thievery
possible.”
“No, you will not,” the man said,
with a tinge of authority. “Leave
that to me. My mother— never mind.
Sit here and rest till I come back.”
“Why, do you live there?” Mar-
celle cried, 8 quick wavering scarlet in
either cheek. Vaguely as she had
heard of the Canmore roses, she had
heard too of the son and heir, now
come from foreign travels, and about
to be wedded to his cousin, a girl with
hair like spun sunshine, who sat al
ways beside madam in the Canmore
carriage. If this were he—Marcelle
turned her eyes away, and tried to say,
steacily, ‘‘Please, sir, tell the lady how
eorry, how shamed I have made my-
self, and pray her to tell me how I—
may—make amends.”
“I will show you at once,” young
Canmore said, with a smile. “Come
along—so. Here is a gate you did not
see. Now shut your eyes, and open
them only when I tell you. There:
that will do. Look, but sit still until I
come back.”
As he vanished, Marcelle drew a
long breath that was half a sob. He
had set her at ease upern a bank of
warm green grass, strewn thick with
drifted rose leaves, and facing a wall of
bloom—rarer, richer, more wreathen
than her wildest fancy had painted it.
A great Gloire de Dijon overhung her
her seat ; she was throned, as it were,
beneath a canopy of bursting buds.
One hand, a bold white climber flung
pearly trails at her feet; the other, a
drift of low blossom glowed blood-red
in the dipping sun,
The breath of them lay in benedic-
tion in the softepring air. Through it
Marcelle saw two figures come toward
her, young Canmore and his betrothed.
Asin a dream she felt them fill her
hands with long-stemmed roses, heard
their kiadly speech, knew that she was
bidden to come hither for flowers when-
ever she would. Somehow it took
away her breath ; set her to trembling
so that she could barely say, *“I thank
you.” In spite of it, though, she took
full note of the other girl's exquisite
fairness. On the way home Marcelle
said to herself over and over, holding
up to her lips the talismanic first flow-
er: “My rose! my rose! sheis like
what you would be if you were made a
woman. I wonder, though, if ever she
would dare to bloom outside the gar-
den !”
And even as Marcelle questioned
fate, Elinor Darell, at the side of
her appointed lover, questioned her
own heart. From the cradle her life
had been exactly ordered. Indeed, in
some moments of bitterness she had
told herself that she must have been
born solely to reunite the Darell fort
une by marrying Darell Canmore. Her
youth, her childhood even, had been
oppressed with the weight of what was
expected of one born to such a fate.
She had been trained, guided, guarded,
sheltered, until something within her
cried aloud for breath. Darell’s story
of the French girl, what she had dared,
her bitter humiliation, touched and
stirred the other strangely. All the
more that her eyes were so velvet dark,
strangely reminiscent of other eyes un-
forgotten, though for two years unseen.
Darell’s eyes were as blue as the sky,
They darkened thoughtfully as he said,
“So that is the odd French girl! Do
you know, Elinor, if she were really
French and in Paris, half the artists
would be raving over her beauty, and
on their knees for the privilege of im-
mortalizing it ?”’
Elinor’s sole answer was a long ex-
pressive glance. Under it be reddened
faintly, but went on with a judicial air :
“Hers is a rare type. Did you note
the fineness of it—the hair, the skin,
the poise, the curves of head and hand ?
Poor child! What a pity she is so ill
placed in life I”
Again Elinor shot at him that keen
sidelong glance. After a minute she
dropped her eyes, saying : so you pity
ber? TI am not certain but that I en-
vy her.”
Thereafter Marcelle’s summer was a
long dream of scent and color, albeit
she herself was far tco abashed to go
again for roses. Ellen Darell felt intui-
tively what held her away, and came
loaded down with bloom to the dingy
little shop. She drove into town every
day. Madam Canmore loved too pas-
sionately her own vine and fig-tree to
think of summer touring. Besides,
there were Elinor's wedding clothes to
see to. All the town’s fine needle
women were stitching, stitching at lace
and linen. By-and-by, when the fall
styles were really determined, she
should have also a dozen new gowns,
each of the very best. Darell hinted
vaguely at “ordering things.” His
mother. though frowned down such
slack new ways. She revelled in the
excitement of buying at piecemeal :
decision betwixt warring shades of blue
and plam-color gave a needed fillip to
many an otherwise lagging hour,
Though Elinor made show of dutiful
interest in all of it. Marcelle felt dim-
ly that it was only a show. Aftershe
had coaxed Mathieu's daughter out of
ber shyness, Miss Dareli came but
rarely to the shop. Yet almost every
day Marcelle had sight and speech of
her. She knew the roses and their
garden so well it was hard to stay away.
Once or twice Darell Canmore saun-
tered through it at her elbow. Most
times, though, she saw only Elinor,
who delighted to lie prone on the turf
bench and be pelted with blown petals
flung by Marcelle’s hand.
Midsummer was well past, when
something came to pass that for a win-
ute took away Marcelle’s breath, She
had come to the garden a little earlier
than her wont, and sat waiting for Eli-
nor, who was usually first at the tryst.
Instead of her, Darell Canmore came
along the rose walk, his brows bent,
his eyes fixed hard on the earth at his
feet. As Marcelle softly spoke a greet-
ing he gave a great start, went white
to the lips, made a forward step, then
stopped short, and with the briefest
salutation wheeled away. Marcelle
stood wild-eyed and panting, looking
after hia vanishing figure, when a soft
laugh in her ear sent the stain of wild
roses to her cheek.
Elinor bad sprung out of some near
ambush, and was looking not at her,
but after Darell. Presently she said
| erated intense heat, and the heat set
with a little sympathetic nod: *“Poor |
Darell! Marcelle, he was not
sciously rude. I—I think he is—suffer-
ing greatly—to-day.”
Marcelle’s lips narrowed to a scarlet
thread. “I—I hope not. Anything is
i
Thomas H. Benton.
CON: | From a Lecture by Thodore Roosevelt.
Benton is an especially interesting
figure of our political history, because
he is one of that group of men whose
rise to power and prominence symbol-
—better than that,” she said, with a | j,04 the advent of the west in our politi-
little tremor in spite of all her pride.
“Yes—anything is better,” Elinor
echoed, with a curious half smile ; then
thrusting her hand deep in her pocket,
“Marcelle, I know you will do faithful-
ly whatever I ask of you—but before I
“What?” asked Marcelle, as the oth-
er made a long pause.
“If you love—anything better than
the roses ?”’ Elinor said, her eyes full
on Marcelle’s cheek, where a leaping
scarlet sufficiently answered her ques:
tion. The sight seemed to please her.
She thrust a sealed letter into Marcelle’s
hand, saying, “Mail that at once—-
please—there is barely time—then for-
states.
a northerner in his feelings, but he was
section.
cal life, By birth a North Carolinian,
who had been brought up in Tennes-
see, and finally lived 10 Missouri,
Beaton belonged, by ancestry, associa-
tion and habit oi thought, with those
: 4 men who became the leaders of opin-
ask it tell me— ion
in what were called the border
He was a southerner and not
more of a westerner than a scutherner,
and, to his high honor be it said, he
was for the union more than for any
Nextto Jackson himself, he
was the formost and typical representa-
tive of the Jacksonian democracy.
Daring the period that the democratic
party was guided by the Jacksonian
get what you have done—unless I give and influenced in nattianl mat
you leave to remember it. ers by the Jacksonian tra-
_ After that, time ambled withal until ditions, Benton was one of its first
it came but a fortnight to Miss Darell’s chiefs. He was bitterly hostile to the
wedding-day. I'hen a perverse fit
seized upon that young lady. She
must, she would, go for a farewell visit
to her mother's mother, who lived a
good hundred miles away. Madam
Canmore admitted that it was a proper
enough proceeding ; all the same it
would have pleased her much better
had Elinor agreed to wait until she
could go with her new husband as es-
cort. Still, no harm could come of it.
Barnes, the manservant, saw her safe-
ly in the grandmother’s charge. In
three days he was likewise to bring ber
home. Until then madam felt that
she could give her whole heart to her
son, who had latterly begun to show a
feverish eagerness to make an end of
wooing.
All summer long he had been rest-
lese, given to musing fits, to spasms of
extravagant mirth. In her own mind
madam had decided that to be merely
very rich did not fill the measure of his
capacity, and already was casting about
for a suitable career. Politics, the law,
finance-—-at any of them he was cer-
tain to win eminence. Certainly he
was one of fortune’s favorites—most of
ail in the wife she had allotted him.
The thought made madam glance af-
fectionately across the breakfast table to
Elinor’s place. While her eyes lingered
upon it the post came in. Darell
tossed his mother a letter addressed in
Elinor’s clear hand.
“I wonder what made her write so
soon? I do hope she is not ill,” mad-
ame said, irresolutely fingering the
missive.
Her son smiled broadly, saying,
“Suppose you look inside and settle
the question,”
“Read it to me ; I left my glasses up
stairs,” madame said, smiling back at
him. “If there are any tender mes-
sages you may keep them to yourself.”
“No danger of that. I dare say it is
only some weighty matter of clothes
about which she has changed her
mind, Darell said, breaking the geal
and running his eye down the page.
This is what he read :
“NETTLEBY, Oct. 15, 18 —.
“My DEAR AUNT.—I am wholly a
coward, partly through your fault. |;
Therefore I am writing what ought to
have been spoken before we parted. I
came to this my grandmother's house
to meet—and marry—the man I love.
“He is Captain Eustis ; you remem-
ber we met him three years ago, and I
suspect you know I then refused him,
You see, I dared not do otherwise ;
you had trained me too well to think
of following the promptings of my own
poor heart. Even now I should lack
courage, only I know something of
which you do not dream. Darell, my
cousin, loves another woman as he |¢
would never under any conditions have | i
loved me. For his sake and mine will
you not forgive me ?—love me a little,
if not quite in the old fond way ? Tell
him all I say, and add that I wish him
joy as deep and perfect as now fills my
own beart. Love is a king who will
not be bidden, otherwise I am sure
Darell would never have lost his heart
to the vagrant rose that I hope to see
whigs on the one hand, and even more
hostile to the nullifiers and secessionists
on the other.
its Jacksonian
clivities and became more and more
disunion in its tendencies, the breach
between
rapidly. Neverthless he remained a
democrat and a staunch opponent to
the republican party, voting against
his own son-in-law, Fremont, in the
last presidential campaign in which
As the party threw oft
or nationalist pro-
it and Benton grew very
he took part.
Benton had many faults. Never-
theless, his career was not only very
useful, but his character also contained
a real element of the grand.
impossible to do, justice to it without
taking intoaccount the political history
of his time, and realizing this history
not merely as it is written in books,
‘but as it was actually acted by the
men themselves.
I have to say about him I am thus led
to say a word on the study of politics,
It is
In concluding what
past and present. Past politics is a
large part of history ; present politics
may be called civics.
possible to glean any benefit from the
study of a character like Benton or any
other statesman unless we mean to see
the facts as to their history as they
actually were, and then to apply them,
and to apply the lesson thus learned to
the present day. The problems change
and differ in gravity with each genera-
tion.
to problem of salvery and disunion,
It is quite im-
When our fathers had to solve
we have tosit down to those of the
spoils system and dishonest finance;
but there is the same necessity in the
one case as in the other for their solu-
tion. and to solve them there are two
necessary prerequisites.
there shall be an adequate learning of
the lesson of the past, such as can only
be yielded by a careful and intelligent
study under the best men and in ac-
cordance with the best methods; the
other is the necessity of having this
practically learned by actual experi
ence.
should be taught in the class room,
but it is even more important that
those who thus teach it or are taught
One is that
It is important that civics
t shall themselves act as pupils in the
primary and the caucus, and shall
show that they can put their knowl-
edge to practical account in the actual
strife of politics.”
Can Defend Himself.
A Paramour, When Detected in Crime, Can Save
Himself from Death by Shooting, the Injured
Husband.
ArtraNTA, Ga. July 30.—The su-
preme court has rendered a decision in
a man-slaughter case, to the effect that
t a husband, knowing or suspecting
his wife's infidelity, lays a trap for her
paramour for the purpose of killing
him, in case he should be caught in his
guilt, the paramour has a right to de-
fend himself against a deadly assault
made by the husband, even though
surprised at the moment of his crimi-
nality.
ot the husband under these conditions
The court declares the killing
him wear forever upon his breast. justifiable.
“He knows who [ mean—my dainty
Marcelle. Give her my dear love, and
tell her itis my wish she should take
my vacant place, She is delicately
proud ; but I think betwixt compassion
The facts in the case before the court
upon which the decision was made
were these : Frank C. Wilkerson was
a clerk in the employ of C. F. Stevens,
by whom he had been adopted at Liv-
and love he may win her if he sets | ingston, Floyd county. Stevens sus-
about it right.
“Captain Eustice, they tell me is
coming. Dear, dear auntie, good-by.
Darell, I wish you the courage to be
happy. With best love, believe me
always your ELINOR.
Darell folded the letter gravely and
handed it to his mother. For a long
minate both were silent, then madame
said, through colorless lips:
“My son, this is awkward for you.
You had better go abroad again, or in-
to public lite.”
Darell gotup, a fine red in either
cheek. Going behind his mother, he
kissed ber twice, and said, quite in her
ear, “We will let Marcelle decide.”
—Harper's Bazar.
Water Started these Two Fires.
No principle of natural philosophy
is more familiar than the power of
water to extinguish fire. And yet,
strange to say, water has been known
to cause destructive fires, not by an ac-
cident, but by direct chemical action.
One case of the kind was in a” large
factory. A flood caused the water to
rise toa pile of iron filings, which
oxidized so rapidly that they developed
great heat and set fire to the nearby
woodwork. The building was entirely
destroyed.
Another case is still more remark-
able. Several engines were throwing
water upon a burning building, and
the water found its way to another
building, which contained quicklime.
The slaking of the lime, caused of
course by the contact of the water, gen-
d
fire to the building. Tnat was a sar
casm of circumstances, wasn’t it ?—
Philadelphia Times.
n
journalistic world.
000 inhabitants it has only twenty-four
pected his clerk of undue imtimacy
with Mrs. Stevens and laid a trap to
catch him. He told Wilkerson and
Mrs. Stevens that he was going away,
hoy instead of doing so concealed him-
self.
came upon the pair when in a compro
mising situation, and drawing his pis-
tol tried to open fire upon the clerk.
Mrs. Stevens threw herself in front of
Wilkerson to protect him and he was
thus enabled to shoot her husband,
which he did, killing him.
was tried and convicted of voluntary
manslaughter, but by the decision of
the supreme court that judgment is re-
versed and Wilkerson set, free.
Biding bis time the husband
Wilkerson
World's Fair Open Yesterday.
Caicaco, July 30.—The exposition
was open to-day under the order of the
court, but the attendance was extreme:
ly light.
deserted and the visitors in the build-
ings might easily have been counted.
During the morning hours about the
only persons entering the gates were
exhibitors, and their helpers and others
emp'oyed in the grounds, but between
noon and 3 o'clock the cars landed a
few visitors at the gates.
no attraction in the evening to draw a
crowd.
tainment of any character in the main
grounds and the people betook them-
selves to the plaisance, where the
attractions, with two exceptions, were
running as usual,
The grounds were almost
There was
There was no music nor enter-
The weather was
elightful.
mn —,
China makes a poorshow in the
For all its 400,
ewspapers, ten of which are daily and
fourteen appear at longer intervals.
For and About Women.
Mrs, Challoner, the widow and the
sister of well-known horse jockeys, is
said to be the only woman who trains
face horses.
The two daughters of the late Banker
E. P. Bergamini, of New York, have
surrendered their private fortunes in or-
der to pay the debts of their father,
they will be left penniless, and will sup-
port themselves by music teaching and
stenographic work.
Mrs. Potter Palmer has just given
another proof ef her kindness of heart
and exquisite tact by donating the
whole of the salary paid her by Congress
for her duties as president of the Board
of Lady Managers for the purpose of
bringing as many as possible of the poor
children of the city to see the Fair. The.
amount is nearly $7000.
The King of Azzam has 200 wives,
who are divided into nine classes. When
one of these women dies her body is let
down over the palace walls and then
buriad ; it is against the law for a dead
body to be carried through the palace
doors. At the king’s death his consorts
receive permission to remarry themsel«
ves to any of his subjects.
A spoonful of chloride of lime in &
quart of water will probably remove
mildew from your tables linen. Strain
the solution after it has stood long
enough to thoroughly dissolve and dip
the cloth into it. Repeat if a first ap-
plication is not sufficient, but wash the
mixture well out of the goods when
your object is accomplished.
Velvet collarettes separate from the
gown, says “La Mode de Paris,” are
among the autumn novelties for com-
pleting street costumes. They consist of
a standing ruffle of doubled bias velvet
joined by a jetted gimp band to a circu-
lar cape collar that is plain or edged
with narrow curled ostrich feathers.
These will be worn in black velvet,
with any gown or they may be formed
of colored velvet like that which forms a.
portion of the gown.
It would seem sometimes that the art
of graceful walking might be numbered
among the lost sciences, so few women
master the accomplishment or even ac-
quire any approach to perfection in this
exercise, which is the foundation of all
others. Everyone succeeds in propell-
ing themselves along by nieans of their
feet, but that is not true walking. An
English authority says; “The body
should be held erect, the shoulders down
chest extended and the leg moved from
oe hip, the whole figure being immova-
a.”
Mull ties seem to be quite the rage
with large hats. and in some instances
they are very becoming. A very girl-
ish-looding bride in black ahd pale blue
wore an immense Leghorn hat trimmed
with pale blue mull and black tips.
The bat, which was unbent, was tied
ander the chin by strings of the dia-
phanous material, and in this instance
the effect was excellent. As a rule,
however, women look better without
than with any ornamentation in the
way of a bow too near their face. White
is a prime favorite, as the number of
that nondescript bue testified, and after
all even though I have described only
colored ones, I think I like pure white
ones the best.
Blondes have long known how be-
coming black evening gowns are to
ther particular style of beauty, and now
even brunettes are forced to acknowl-
edge that either in black or white they
look their best. A black net costume
made for a young matron had an under-
lining petticoat of lustrous black satin
trimmed with seven narrow flounces of
net. The plain skirt falling over this
fluffy trimming gave a charming effect
with plain draperies, and in order to
emphasize this even more, a long, slen-
der gold buckle caught up the skirt in
front. The bodice was a French one,
having a bertha of deep net into which
were set narrow bands of gold run
through the openings of the material.
One of the most delightful dresses
seen this summer was made entirely of
a wide white embroidery, mounted in
flounces on a white muslin lining, had
bretelles made of the embroidery, let out
its full width in the shoulder, and nar-
rowed at the belt by plaits. Inside the
bretelles a width of the embroidery was
folded in each front in surplice folds,
opening wide over a white linen chem-
isette, worn with a white collar and flat
tie of white lawn. The belt was a
width of embroidery. Between three
specimens of the lovely silk ginghams—
which this column commended so high
ly in the spring—it would be difficult to
choose, except as the choice was guided
by the style of the individual. A Nile
green, with a very yellow tinge was
dotted and trimmed in white. A beau-
tiful blue, the tint of the wood violet,
was dotted in self color and had a double
berthe. The two rufiles were gathered
very full and set on with a mere edge
above the gathering, giving to them the
appearance of being corded on. The
third gown was of deep blue, with white
lace edging on the large derby collar-
ette. :
A bandsome green and white cloth
costume was lately made by Doucet for
watering-place wear. The white cloth
skirt, cut bell shape, was short enough
to walk in without piching it up. At
about half a yard from the belt there
were rows of thick white braid running
in festoons. The sea-green cloth Eton
jacket was made short enough to show a
white satin ribbon twisted around the
waist carelessly without regard to the
right or wrong side.
The jacket was very tight-fitting in
the back ; in the front were large point.
ed Empire revers, lined with white sat.
in ; the sides were trimmed with a row
of large mother of pearl buttons. The
coat sleeves were voluminous. This
jacket opened on a blouse made of tuck-
ed white Swiss muslin with coffee-color-
ed lace insertings. Over this a wide and
beautiful coffee-colored lace scarf was
tied around the neck ; this hung to the
waist and was looped with small jewel.
led pins. The coffee-colored rough and
ready hat with a high tulle veil had
edges bordered with very - narrow point.
ed straw and the crown had on the sides
two white mercury wings, and was trim.
med with white velvet rosettes topped
with cut jeterescents. The white parasol
had coffee colored inserting.