f
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Ee Se SE
Bellefonte, Pa., Sep. 22,1893
SILVER SEAS.
Oh, moon, afloat in the Wind-tossed skies
A fairy k from an unknown shore;
Hiding thy light while the storm-rack flies—
While the darkness deepens and tempests
roar.
The white mists quiver, they break and shiver,
The winds go softly over the trees:
And I see thee hurrying forward ever!
Sailing down through the silver seas!
Oh, ship, afloat on the wandering wave!
The heavens are black andthe night is
dark ;
The stars are sleeping—no light to save
The weary, storm-driven, laboring bark !.
Yet the winds are shifting, the shadows lifting,
The dawn comes floating down on the breeze,
Onward, now, with the calm waves drifting,
Sailing down through the silver seas !
Oh, soul, afloat on life’s stormy tide!
The winds are high and the night is long.
Where is thy helper ? Who shall guide ?
The tempests beat, and thy foes are strong.
Heart, cease thine aching! The clonds are
breaking—
See, throug
ce!
n to the shore where the day is breaking,
Sailing down through the silver seas 1
the darkness, the dawn of
THE BRIERS JN BUD,
BY MARTHA MCCULLOCH WILLIAMS.
A glamor of gold and green lay over
the whole earth; new leaves dancing
out in the level early sunshine dripped
dew acd sweet odors upon all below.
Robins in full song made vocal the
budded hedge rows. From the matted
honeysuckle arch above the garden
gate a mockingbird sang clear, all his
notes as sweet, as the big vine’s rain of
blossom. Pinky, pendulous, the lav-
ish clusters made all the morning
a-faint with perfume. They had
opened as by magic in the dewy stirless
night. But yesterday you might have
searched the vine tangle through with-
out finding one blooming spray.
Miss Austin looked up to them with
shining eyes. “I thought you would
blossom for my birthday,” she said,
holding up her face to shake into it
reat Sant drops of dew. After a
ackward glance {o make sure she was
unobserved, she drew down a great
blossomy arm of the vine and kissed
softly its pink tips. For a halt-minute
she fingered the stem irresolute, then
let it sway lightly upward, saying:
“No, I'll not break you-—not even for
vanity.. You would look well at my
throat, but what is that beside going
away from light and sunshine!”
No wonder Miss Austin talked to
her birds and flowers. She lived in
her big whity gray house alone, save
for her deafold aunt and her small
black maidservant. Her nearest
neighbor was a mile away, and hardly
a visitor a month crossed the wide
clean threshold. That is, in the ordi-
nary course of events, Now for three
months one particular person had
been coming at will.
So often, indeed, at such odd and
unusual times, that the noise of hoofs
at the outer gate did not surprise Miss
Austin. She had stepped inside the
garden, and was looking with pure de-
light at its lusty thrift, its springicg
greenery. The straight walks, beset
either hand with tall lilacs, mock-
orange, rose-briers, flowering almond,
crape myrtle, now in spans of fine
shadow, a little later to be robed in
rainbows. Inone angle of them straw-
berries held up thick white blossom
clusters amid bush leaves gray with
dew. In another the asparagus bed
showed its multitude of fleshy purple-
pink stalks, peeping up amid crisp
green lettuce and scarlet radish roots.
The owner and mistress fitted well
into her background. Youth was past
but the charm of gracious maturity
lay in her clear uplifted glance, about
her softly emiling mouth. Tenderest
rose bloomed still in the smooth cheek ;
even the revealing of early sunshine
could show no wrinkle of the brow,
though it glinted white upon the thick
threaded silver of rippling hair above
it.
With her clean print gown daintily
upheld in one hand, she turned to
greet the approaching horseman, who
started ever so little at sight of her
thus framed in wreathen bloom. Not-
withstanding, he called out gayly :
“Good morning, Miss Catherine!
See what I have brought you for your
breakfast!” holding up as he spoke, a
nice string of silver perch.
“Ah! So you did go fishing last
night?”
“Of couree I did; am on the way
home now. Equally, of course I
thought of you when we came to di-
vide the spoils.”
“Good boy; he does not lack rever-
ence for his elders, though he is too
delicate to remind me that this is my
birthday, knowing that I ought to be
sensitive on the score of age.”
“Indeed I knew nothing of the sort.
Why did you not tell me earlier that
you were ‘April's lady’? Then I
Bie have properly honored the
ay.”
%Qh, it was not woith while. A
birthday ceases to be an occasion
when one can look back at thirty-five
of them.”
“Yours must always be an occasion
—to me.”
The last words came barely above
the breath. If Miss Austin heard
them she made no sign. Instead she
called, clear and soft, “Milly I’
In answer a black girl darted out of
the unseen region back of the house,
took the fish from the horseman’s
hand, cryiog out, ‘Lordy, Marse Joe,
whar did you cotched dem big shin-
ers?’ then ran away chuckling cver
the weight and beauty of her prize.
For a minute Joe Armstrong looked
straight ahead of him, as though some-
thing of ‘vital import lay just betwixt
his horse's ears. Then his gaze
dropped to Miss Austin’s face and rest-
ed, as he said, with a quick red waver-
ing through his young tanned cheek,
“Please, may I come back to-night if
ou will be alone?”
“Why, certainly! When am 1 not
alone except for you? And when did
you ever fail to find a welcome?”
ies Austin said, raising ber eyes full
to his, but dropping them after the
briefest gaze. Spite of herself her col-
or deepened too. It was worse than
ridiculous, this embarassment before a
stripling, who doubtless meant nothing
more than to pass an empty hour in
telling over his youthful exuberant
hopes to a sympethetic listener. Mov-
ing a step within the vine covert, she
said, with a shadowy smile: “When
all my garden blooms I will requite
you as you deserve, Mary Carroll, 1
am sure, loves flowers ; she hersetf is
go flower-like.
“Perhaps; I have not studied her
tastes,” young Armstrong said, sitting
straighter in the saddle, his eyes shad-
owed with a half frown.
Miss Austin looked up at him cur
iously, then said : “I thought you were
very good friends. I scarcely know
her, though once [ knew her mother
very well indeed.”
The words were quietly spoken, but
something in them told the young fel-
low not to question what lay under the
broken friendship. Iastead he looked
full into Miss Austin’s face, urged his
horse close beside the gate, bent across
it, caught her slim hand in his own,
and said, holding it fast; “Good-bye
till to-night Miss Catherine. Please
try to think of me;-between. now and
then, not as a child to be teased and
humored, but a man who knows his
own—mind,” stopping a little before
the last word, as though wishing, yet
not daring to say something warmer.
As he galloped away, Miss Austin
looked after him with a curious flutter
of pulses, that lasted through break-
fast and well into the morning, deep-
ening the color in her cheeks, making
the lids droop heavily over her clear
eyes, checking the old, old songs that
most days welled perpetually over un-
thinking lips.
Presently she sat down by the big
fireplace, where a hickory log slowly
emouldered despite the warmth and
glow outside. It was just there the
crises of her life had come, upon a birth.
day, too, as full of growth, and shining
as this one. She remembered it all so
well—herself tresh, rosy as the morn-
ing, in a pink gown, with flowers on
her young breast, mirrored in her big
mantel-glass above the fire; with op-
posite her a tall dark figure whose face
‘was white and set, whose blue lips
said, as the hand held out to her a
broken golden coin, “Allow me, Miss
Austin, thus to decline the doubtful
honor of being longer one of your be-
trothed lovers.”
That was the end. She had sought
no explanation—ounly silently given
back his ring, his token, then walked
away with head upheld, dry-eyed, al-
most smiling, to face her world. Bred
to the nicest sense of honorable good
faith, the imputation seemed to her so
monstrous, so intolerable, as to estop
all further speech. No matter what
lay under it—what wrong, treachery,
deceit—it was equally beyond excuse
of pardon.
For love meant to her perfect trust,
faith in the beloved against all earth
or heaven, or even himself. Whoso
had dared traduce him would have
been concumed in the lightning of her
luminous scorn, yet won for him, her
lover, a tenderer devotion. If his love
left room for doubt, for jealous instinct,
then it was not love to live with, to
die for. Untaltering she let it go, the
while she had more than a suspicion
of the lips whose false speaking had
wrought her such woe.
It all came back to her as sharply
vivid as the lilting birds outside; so
vividly, indeed, that a woman; passing
in through the outer door brought with
her no sense of surprise, albeit it was
years and years since she had crossed
the Austin threshold.
She was tall, sharp-faced, with care-
worn blue eyes, and wispy sad-colored
hair. Black Milly, who had ushered
her in, set a big splint rocker exactly
facing her mistress’s chair, put the
new comer into it, stirred the fire to a
feeble blaze, then went away with
wide eyes, muttering to herself:
“«W.e.e-ll, sub! I wonder whut fotch
ole Mis’ Carroll here, talkin’ so hate-
ful, lek butter oon't melt in er mouf ?”
After this civil greeting, the two
women sat silently fronting each other.
Mrs. Carroll's eyes went restlessly
about the room, yet ever and anon fell
furtively upon the face opposite, as
though seeking to scan and measure
its every charm. After a little she
took a dainty parcel from the reticule
at her wrist, tossed it into the other’s
lap. and said, looking quite away as
she spoke: “See, Catherine! I ain't
forgot what day it is. Thirty-four
ain’t you, though I am sure you don’t
look it.”
“Thirty-six,” Miss Austin corrected
unfolding as she spoke a filmy hand-
kerchief, with her inititials dclicately
wrought in one corner. She spread it
wide over her two palms, and said in-
clining ber head : “This must be May's
work. Thank her forit, please, and
tell her it is most beautiful.”
“Ob’ it's nothin’—nothin' to speak
of,” the other said, sagerly} “but I'm
glad you take it friendly. I'vethought
of you a heap lately, and somehow it
seemed to me I couldn’t just let things
be any longer.”
Miss Austin smiled oddly. “We
never quarrelled,” she said, fixing her
eyes full upon her visitor.
“No, no! Why should we? It
was just a falling away from each oth-
er—us that used to be so near. I mar-
ried, and had my family to think of.
You—"
“I did not marry.” Miss Austin sup-
plemented, still with that curious
smile. .
The other hurried on, “Just be-
cause you wouldn't; everybody knows
that. You could pick and choose mongst
the best the country offers, I used to
believe you were engaged to that rich
young Clark ; indeed I told Dr. Bemis
80 the last time I ever saw him.”
A second Miss Austin’s heart stood
still, her frame grew rigid, her breath
came hard. Then she drew a little
further away, and said, indifferently :
“That was—while he was—attentive
to your sister—the one May is named
for.”
A swift whiteness settled about the
other womaa’s mouth. She said,
huskily : “Yes, you know he tended her
through that long spell of fever. She
fairly worshipped him. She never
held up her head after he went off so
sudden. When we heard, in the fall,
how he had gone to fight yellow fever,
and died just at the end, she lay down
and died too—died of a broken heart.”
“I envy people whose hearts can
break,” Miss Austin said, clutching
one hand hard about the other wrist,
A cold shuddering faintness possessed
her. All her wish was to creep away
from light, from speech, from prying
eyes, and lie dumb before this late
knowledge of what had spoiled her
life. All along she had expected this
sometime friend. Now she was
amazed to find herself so shaken by
this turning of belief into knowledge.
Under and through the pain of it
ran wonder over this late frankness.
What had Mrs. Carroll to gain by it?
She was of the women who mask in-
vulnerable selfishness with shallow
easy-flowing tears. Confession, re
pentance, reparation, were to her un-
meaning words: Her life was bound.
ed solely by the narrow round—her
own. For them she would do, dare all
things, regardless whose right was con-
travened.
She looked at Mies Austin with
streaming eyes. ‘Don’t say you envy
hearts that can break, Catherine.
Think of my poor May. She's her
Aunt May all over. I live in constant
dread that she'll go the same way.
That's why I'm so anxious to make
friende with you. It would do her a
world of good just to come about you;
she thinks you are such a grand wom-
an—so brave and strong and beautiful
—that’s her very word. Do let me
send her up now and then. Iam sure
you have heaps of young company.”
In spite of her pain, Miss Austin
smiled a little at the eager mother’s
transparent scheming. Evidently
word had somehow gone to the Carroll
household that Joe Armstrong fairly
haunted the Austin place, And in all
the countryside there was none so eli-
gible as he—so tall and straight, of
such good blood, good manners, good
brains, good fortune.’ Six months
back, when first he came to live with
his infirm grandfather, May Carroll's
flower face had for a brief space
chained his vagrant fancy. Before the
affair got beyond sighs and sentiment,
chance threw him in Catherine Aus
tin’s way.
That ought to have made no dif
ference in Joe's wooing. There could
be no thought of aught save good cam-
araderie betwixt him and a woman
older by ten years. But somehow,
geeing her daily, by sun and moon and
star shine. hearing her quaint merry
speech, her low delisciouslaughter, the
charm of her ripened beauty stole
through and possessed him, till beside
it May, for all her spring-tide freshness,
seemed crudely pale and faint.
Rejoicing, he said to himself that he
was free—free as air. No word had
ever crossed his lips that by any means
could be twisted into serious suit for
her love. And even as he go told him-
self there flashed through him a hot
consciousness that he was thrice con-
demned by such insistence. Betwixt
him and Miss Austin the girl's name
was seldom spoken. Always it fell
from Catherine's lips as one having
power over his fate. That of course
get him off into greater rebellion
against his earlier charmer. Miss
Austin could in no way have hit upon
a surer means of making absolute her
own domain,
Certainly that was far from her pur-
pose. She had the womanliest love of
love. And despite her years she was
mn many things as simple-hearted as a
child. It was her frank delight in com-
panionship, her subtly intelligent sym-
pathies, that made her most dangerous
to the young fellow, whose manhood
shelforgot in her joy in his humanity.
When at last she could not choose but
see love looking out from his eyes, a
spectre would have been no more un-
welcome.
Always, that is, until now, when
she had learned in the same hour the
wrong that had leit her a desolate soul,
the bitter revenge she might take for
it, she was noble beyond the common,
mild, tender, pitiful of heart, yet by
just so much more did a raging joy
possess her at the knowledge that she
had but to smile, to speak one little
word, and sackcloth and ashes would
be the enemy’s portion.
Love and lover had been slain.
Sweet youth wasted to long loveless
years by this woman's lie told in the
dark with the seeming verity of inti-
mate friendship. Now all came gray
and ghostly, clamoring for vengeance.
To refrain, she must be more or less
than human. In the lightning of
wrath she saw, too, the revelation’s
purpose. It was to bring back that
dead man to her heart, her memory ;
crowd away with his image the living
lover, coveted as he had been. A
fierce red burned in her cheek, her
mouth grew hard. She said, slowly,
dropping each word plummetwise :
“] have few visitors of any sort.
Not one, T am sure, with whom your
daughter has anything in common.”
Mrs. Carroll got up trembling all
over. “Then—you—won't let—her
come!” she wailed. ‘As pretty—as
good a child as ever—and all Ive got
alive. I thought you were a good
woman, Catherine Austin—too good
to rob a poor young thing of all the
sweetheart she ever cared for.”
Miss Austin lifted her head proudly,
saying : “We will not discuss that, if
you please. I respect your daughter's
feelings, even if yon do not. If, for
any reason, she wishes to see me, tell
her to come when she chooses; she
will be welcome. She has never
harmed me.”
“Nor ever will, poor angel,”’ her
mother said, sobbing and sighing her-
self out ot sight.
Mise Austin looked after her with a
spasm of disgust. Then got up slowly
laid the peace-oftering on the fre,
watched it flame away to white ashes,
went to her own chamber, there to
pace the morning through.
She came down from it to the early
dinner with her miud firmly made up.
She would marry young Armstrong,
and live bappy ever after, let the gos-
gips gabble as they might. Of course
it would be the talk of the country—a
more than nine days’ wonder— when
she, who had held twenty wooers so
aloof, let herself be won by one at first
blush so impossible. They would not
know—the wise gossips—her secret
springs of action. For her own sake,
no less than her daughter's, Mrs. Car-
roll must hold her peace. No other
would ever guess that all her heart
was not won by this gallant young
lover.
As to him, she had no ghost of scru-
ple. If he loved her already, in spite
of her best efforts at disenchantment,
could he fail to worship her when she
bent heart and soul to charming him ?
No doubt she would grow into love for
Lim—a tender, pensive, half maternal
sentiment, socthing, restful beyond
words. Indeed, she could not choose
but love him, her vengeance, love him
to her heart’s core, with fire and force,
that all his silken suppleness, his
youth, strength, courage, could never
have hoped to win.
In such mood roof and walls op-
pressed her. She went slowly through
the garden, across the meadow
ploughland, on to the woods, all be-
laced with small new leaves. Below
the gray-green boughs, hawthorn dog-
wood stood bridal, all in white ; Judas
trees flaunted their purply sprays;
swamp-maples upthrust stark gray
siems, some of all their length with
knobs and tassels of blood red fringe.
Down on the tace of earth, fern fronds
uncoiled slowly from out brown woolly
balls; wind flowers stood bravely up
to the light ; here, there, the harebell
rung faery chimes i’ the wind; sturdy
white flax opened wide its pale blue
eye ; flower-deluce upraised to sunshine
a heart as golden as its ray.
Slowly, slowly, with bent head, with
lagging foot, Miss Austin went through
it, and on to the bluff at whose foot
the creek ran, narrow, swift, sparkling
down to the mill stream a mile away.
As she walked, all insengibly the sole
of the sweet spring-time stole in and
calmed her own. By the time she was
snug in a sunny moss-cushioned niche
of rock, the fever, the fret, had van-
ished quite away. Sbe could look at
her purpose with sane, understanding
eyes.
So viewed, it did not seem utterly
bad. Only she must be wholly honest
with this brave young lover. Must
let him see clearly that her spring was
past, that he must do battle for her
love with that most dangerous of rivals
a memory. Somehow, at thought of
that, her heart gave a great pitiful
leap. They two were so far apart—he
standing, free and fearless at the be-
ginning of young manhood ; she look-
ing back across half her life to a brok-
en trothplight, an unmarked grave.
Down at the water's edge a voice be-
gan singing, clear and strong, that
floated up, the snatch of an old ballad.
“The brier’s in bud,
And the sun going down.”
Listening, Miss Austin smiled
through a mist of tears. She knew,
oh ! so well, the song, the singer, Joe
Aamstrong catching minnows for
another night's sport. Evidently if he
had not a mind at ease, apprehension
was not strong enough to take the
edge from ordidnary pursuits. The
knowledge, the sound of his singing,
made her heart strangely light. Some-
how the song seemed the voice of his
youth crying aloud, in vouth’s delight,
for life and love and length of days.
“She'd a rose in her bonnet,
And nh! she looked sweet
As Jhe little pink flower
That grows in the wheat.”
His hearer caught breath sharply
over the words. Do what she would
they brought to her the image of a
flower faced young creature, lim as a
lily stalk, with drooping, dusky-lashed
violet eyes, tender, fresh-hearted, inno-
cent—as innocent quite as the poor
young thing in pink who had smiled
at herself in the glass just ere the blow
fell that shattered her youth for all
time. Surely that was the proper mate
tor the tall young fellow carrolling
over and over,
“The lit-tle pink flow.er
That grows in the wheat,”
not this other with early ashes alike
on head and heart.
Here, face to face with sun and sky
and springtime, with laughing water
and whispering leaves, vengeance
seemed poor and tawdry, heart-break
the shadow of a dream. Clearer than
all came the knowledge that to take
love, giving less than love, is of all
robberies worst. Better, a hundred
times better, the bitter root of denial,
whence a little later there shall, may-
be, spring into flower the rare bloom,
contentment, not the deadly night
shade, strife.
Young Armstrong came at nightfall,
to find his lost love sitting silent, black
robed, with clasped hands, looking out
intently into the starlit dusk, He
made to sit at her feet, but she mo-
tioned him away, saying: ‘Sit there
where [ can see you, but not close. I
feel smothered to-night.”
“Are you ill?" he asked, anxiously.
She shook her head. ‘In body, no.
It is only that an old wound bas been
touched to-day, and has not done throb-
bing.”
He bent eolicitously across, and took
her hand betwixt his own--the slim
ringless hand he hoped soon to claim.
She let it lie in his xarm clasp,
dropped her head against the chair’s
high back and told him all her story.
Very simply, very briefly, very clearly
keeping back only the name of her
treacherous friend, the motive that
had led to the treachery’s uncovering.
His was a fine soul, full of the subtle
sympathies of silence. He asked
neither why nor wherefore of the tale,
the telling. Most like he understood
| the woman's impulse, to save him a
| bad half-hour in retrospect, whatever |
But he would oot !
. the pain to herself
be gainsaid, speech was imperative, he
but loved her the more for this con-
stant tenderness, this keeping faith
with uunfaith,
Very softly he raised the hand he
held, laid it against his cheek, and
said, looking full into her eyes, ‘Life
owes you a recompense, ‘April’s lady,’
will you let it be my heart?”
She got up unsteadily, without a
a word, leaned far out into the night,
letting her eyes range all the southern
sky. Beneath it far and dim, there
flickered a point of light, the window
where May Carroll sat watching her
heart break piecemeal. Young Arm-
strong, leaning out beside her, let his
gaze follow hers to the dusky lumi
nance athwart which, now aud again,
a shadow fell.
Feeling his heart leap at the sight,
ghe gaid, softly : “We have been cruel
—cruel. If your heart is truly mine,
henceforth I devote it to good works,
the chietest of which is faith.” i
Young Armstrong drew a hard
breath, straightened himself, and said,
turning upon his heel, “If you insist
strictly upon that, I should be there,
not here, so I wish you good-night."”
Miss Austin let him go in silence,
the silence of tears.— Harper's Bazar.
Azorean Traditions.
Stories Told of Columbus and His Adventures
on the Islands.
On Cervo, one of the most northern
of the Azorean Islands, is an interesting
freak of nature—a formation high upon
the lava cliff —representing & mounted
horseman pointing toward the west.
A cherished tradition among the
Azoreans to-day is that Columbus, quite
discouraged by the difficulties in his
voyage of discovery, was about to re-
turn to Spain when a severe storm
drove his vessel toward this island.
Seeing the horseman on the cliff with
his right arm pointing westward, he re-
garded it as a good omen, and so he con-
tinued his voyage until it resuited in the
diseovery of America.
On his return voyage, authentic his-
tory assures us that Columbus, in his
caraval, the Nina, was driven by anoth-
er severe storm under the lee of Santa
Maria, the most Southern of the Azore-
an Islands.
During this terrible storm Columbus |
and his crew made a vow that if they |
were saved they would, on reaching
land, walk barefoot and bareheaded to
offer thanksgiving at the nearest
shrine.
Accordingly, on entering the harbor
of Santa Maria on the 17th of February,
1493, Columbus sent one-half of the
ship’s company on shore, beaded by
their priest to tulfill the vow.
The Governor of Santa Maria, howev-
er claimed to besuspicious of the strange-
looking procession, fearful in fact, that
they might be pirates, and thereupon
ordered the whole band to be ar-
rested.
Meanwhile a high sea and a strong
wind had arisen and the Nina was
obliged to slip anchor. She is supposed
to have reached San Miguel and to have
been unable to find shelter there. At
any rate she returned to Santa Maria.
Here Columbus held a parley with the
Governor on shipboard, and exhibiting
his commissions be was able at last to
obtain the release of his seamen.
The tradition goes in the Azores
however, that the Goyernor of Santa |
Maria had previously received secret |
orders from his sovereign, the King of |
Portugal, to seize upon the person of |
i
Columbus should he by any chance |
land on the island, and to send him a |
prisoner to Lisbon, to be punished for |
transferring the services and discover- |
ies to the soverign of Spain; and that |
the far-seeing navigator suspected |
treachery and declined to trust himself
on shore.—E. FE, Brown.
EC RACE RTT.
|
Many cures have been recommended |
for stammering ; here is one so simple |
that even should it fail litile is lost by |
trying it. Ifyou area victim of this |
annoying malady, go into a room where |
you will be quiet and alone, get some
book that will interest but. not excite |
you and sit down and read two hours
aloud to yourself, keeping your teeth to |
gether. Do this every two or three |
days or once a week if very tiresome, al- |
ways taking care to read slowly and dis- |
tinctly, moving the lips but not the
teeth. Then, when conversing with oth- |
ers, try to speak as slowly and distinctly |
as possible. i
¢T tried this remedy,” said a sufferer, |
“not having much faith init, I must
confess, but willing to do almost Bay |
thing to cure myself of such an annoying
difficulty. I read for two hours aloud
with my teeth together. The first re- |
sult was to make my tongue and jaws
ache—thut is, while T was reading-—and
the next to make me teel as if something
had loosened my talking apparatus, for
I could speak with less difficulty immed-
iately. The change wasso great that
every one who knew me remarked it. I.
repeated this remedy every five or six
days for a month, and then at longer in- |
tervals until cured. i
CE —————————
When to Water Horses.
_——
Stammering.
We clip the following timely advice |
from the Sportsman, and recommend it |
to the attention of our farmer friends and |
all owners of horses : i
1 wonder how many farmers think of
watering their horses before feeding in
the morning, or how much they lose by |
not doing it. The horse comes from |
work at night, gets a drink, then is fed |
mostly dry grain, eats hay part of the
night, and ia the morning another dry !
feed, and by this time is very dry him- |
self, so that when he reaches the water
he fills his stomach so full that the undi-
gested food is forced out of the stomach
and is a damage, rather than a benefit |
to a horse. !
Now, friends, try watering your horse |
before feeding in the morning, thus’
slaking his thirst and at the same time |
washing his stomach ready to receive
the morning feed, when being properly |
moistened with saliva, it will remain un-
til thorcughly digested. |
Your horse can do more work on less
feed and will be healthy much longer ; |
besides humanity demands his thought. |
ful care. i
— Man is devotedto his hobby;
womay to her hubby. :
| velvet trimme
For and About Women.
Teques are te be one important fea-
ure of the autumn millinery. This is
welcome news to the average woroan
who bas worn a teque in the past, but
this year before she rejoices lev her be-
hold a new teque which has just reached
town from across the water. It is per-
fectly fiat, made of velvet and worn
very far back upon the head. A stand-
ing frill of lace and two spears of grass,
wheat or jet are its sole decoration. The
piece of velvel fits around the knot of
hair at the back in & manager to indicate
that holding the hair in place is what
the bonnet was made for. Really the
only excuse for its existence is that at the
theatre it would tend to make the man
who sat behind it happy.
The newest volume of the Census Re-
port contains some curious facts and
figures. We 2ll knew that woman is
not only the fairer and better sex, but,
also, so far as England is concerned, the
more numerous sex ; but probably
most of us did not expect to find that
there were 1,100,000 widows in this
country, against less than half that
number of widowers.
White stockings are on sale in Broad-
way. These are two kinds. One sells
at $4 a pais and the other at 25 cents.
The fashionable pays her money and
takes her choice. The milk-white and
cream-white hosiery is far too dainty to
wear out of doors.
SWEEPING IN AND SWEEPING OUT.
Wite—*Did you notice, dear, at the
party last evening how .grandly our
daughter Clara swept into the room ?”’
Husband (witha grunt)—“0O, Yes!
Clara can sweep into the room grandly
cnough, but when it comes to sweeping
out the room she isn’t there.”
Under the Leading. “A Room in
Denim,” a writerin the “Upholsterer’”
says : Denim comes in red as well as
blue this season, and both colors are of
a good tone. As it is lighter on the
wrong side, but still a pleasing color
many of the cushions are made up with
the wrong side of the goods for the bot-
tom half, but the cushions are much
handsomer with both sides alike and
both ornamented. The decorative pat-
tern chosen ix generally outlined in nar-
row white linen braids or cotton cords.
Very bandsome screens are mounted
with denims ; the two outer panels of
blue, red forming the central one, while
arabesques of white cord run over all
three.
Denim makes good portieres, tor it
shakes off the dust and can be easily
washed ; in the portiere a broad design
is used, a satisfactory one being a
Greek border done with an inch wide
Hercules braid in white, and the lower
edges .finished off with white ball
fringe.
Even chairs are beginning to be up-
holstered with denim a dark red es-
pecially giving a fine tone to cherry. A
dining room has been done in denims,
and the carrying out of all color effects
was pleasing when taken in conjunction
with the cosy, “liveable’’ look which it
is now the style as far as possible to give
to all rooms.
The wall paper was of a broad, bold
pattern in white and blue, the mantels
were of cherry, the frieze of blue enam-
eled wood, the chandeliers and cornice
poles a dull silver and the pictures sim-
ple etchings and engravings in narrow
white frames and wide white margins.
At each doorway hung a portiere of
the same shade, with the Greek border
in broad, white braid ; over the plain
white shades were draped lambrequins
of the blue without ornament. All the
cherry chairs were upholstered in the
darker side of the blue, table cover was
in the same shade, with Greek border in
white ; the divan had cushions of both
| red and blue, across one corner was
artistically swung a hammock, in which
great cushions of thedemin rested, while a
three-paneled screen in red and blue
with the Greek pattern in white stood
in a corner framed in cherry.
In one window stood a round Japa-
nese jardiniere in blue and white por-
celzain, and here and there on the wall
was fastened an old Dutch tile with its
wonderful harmony of blue shades.
The winter bonnets are of small close
shapes, with crowns that touch the
head and add nothing to the size there-
Velvet crowns are of delightful me-
tallic colors wrought in silk stitches
that may be very rich and glowing or in
dark tones to suit the most refined taste.
Among the trimmings for bonnets,
and for round hats also, are wide black
velvet ribbons edged with white
duchesse luce. and to these are added
the accordion pleatings of black satin-
| antique with borders of jet or colored
spangles.
The so called gold bonnets, with
crowns of bullion embroidery, are very
effective with pleated brims of brown
with parrots’ wings
standing out from ehoux of white chif-
fon edged with gold picot loops.
White satin ribbon strings two inches
wide start from the back, and are tied
' under the chin in a stiff bow.
Charming capotes of jetted net bave
for their trimming a scarf of the glossy
satin-antique in ruby, Jacqueminot, or
magenta red.
Cut steel and jet together are very
effective, and are fashionably combined
for winter bonnets.
Velvet roses with each petal stand-
ing out separately are almost the only
flowers shown for winter bonnets.
Silver embroidery is in charmingly
delicate taste of velvets on very light
colors for evening and dress bonnets.
Miss Dudley, an English bicyclist,
holds the record for long-distance-riding
by women. She made the distance of
100 miles between Hitchin and Lincoln,
in little more than seven hours, or at
an average speed of nearly 14 miles an
hour. This, too, in regulation petti-
coats, not the new style of trousers.
One may wear anything from a
50-cent muslin to a $50 gauze, provided
it is pretty and stylishly made.
—— Subscribe for the WATCHMAN.