—
Bellefonte, Pa., Feb. 2, 1894,
WORK~—NOT ALMS.
What ! Charity? No, thank you, sir!
I haven't come to that!
I'm poor—in want—but I'm not here
A-holding out my hat,
I've too good arms, a willing strength—
I’m not the man to shirk.
I don’t ask alms, sir. All T want
Is just a chance to work.
I’m not a beggar, sir, thank God !
I only ask my right—
A chance to earn what I and mine
Require, and in the sight
Of fellow-men to be a man,
And hold my head up straight,
Whose child your child, sir, could not scorn
As an associate.
My wife and child need food and warmth—
And I can give them all
They need, with work—and help, as well,
At any neighbor’s eall,
But idle hands are helpless, sir,
And so I ask of yon
A chance to show what mine are worth—
Some honest work to do.
I'm only one of thousands—and
We are not beggars: sir !
We're just as willing now to work
As good men ever were,
Don’t treat us, sir, like mendicants
Whom you would fain avoid,
But give, for God’s sake, if you can,
Work for theu nemployed ! :
— William H. Hills in Harper's Weekly.
A ————————
IN THE APPLE ORCHARD.
The Philosopher Sat There and Read Ontology.
—And Was Asked a Question Which He
Answered to His Own Satisfaction, But Not
to That of His Questioner, But the Answer
Was Given and So the Matter Ended.
It was a charmingly mild and balmy
day. The sun shone beyond the
orchard, and the shade was cool inside.
A light breeze ctirred the boughs of the
old apple tree under which the phil-
osopher sat. None of these things did
the philosopher notice, unless it might
be when the wind blew about the
leavesof the large volume on his knees
and he had to find his place again.
Then he would exclaim against the
wind, shuffle the leaves till he got the
right page, and settle to his reading.
The book was a treatise on ontology ;
it was written by another philosopher,
a friend of this philosopher's it bristled
with fallacies, and this philosopher
was discovering them all, and noting
them on the fly-leaf at the end. He
was not going to review the book (as
some might have thought from his be-
havior,) or even to answer it in a work
of his own. It was just that he found
a pleasure in stripping any poor fallacy
naked and crucifying it.
Presently a girl in a white frock
came into the orchard. She picked up
an apple, bit it, and found it ripe.
Holding it in her hand she walked up
to where the philospher sat and looked
at him. He did not stir. She took a
bite out of the apple, munched it and
swallowed it. The philosopher cruci-
fied a fallacy ou the fly-leat. The girl
flung the apple away,
“Mr, Jerningham,” said she, “are
you very busy ?”
The philosohher, pencil in hand,
looked up.
‘No, Miss May.’ said he, ‘not very.’
‘Becauee I want your opinion.”
‘In one moment the,” said the phil-
osopher apologetically.
He turned back to the fly-leaf and
began to nail the last fallacy a little
tighter to the cross. The girl regarded
him, first with amused impatience,
then with a vexed frown, finally with a
wistful regret, He was so very old for
his age, she thought; he could not be
much beyond 30; his hair was thick
and tall of waves, his eyes bright and
clear, his complexion not yet divested
of all youth's relics.
“Now, Miss May, I'm at your ser-
vice,” said the philosopher with a lin-
gering look at his impaled fallacy.
And he closed the book, keeping it,
however on his knee.
The girl sat down just opposite to
him.
‘It’s a very important thing I want
to ask you,” she began, tugging at a
tuft of grass, and it’s veryv—difficult,
and you mustn't tell anyone I asked
you; at least, Id rather you
didn’t.
‘I ehall not speak of it; indeed, I
shall probably not remember it,’ said
the philosopher.
“And you mustuo’t look at me, please
while I'm agking you.”
‘I don’t think I was'looking at you,
but if I was I beg your pardon,’ said
the philosopher apologetically.
She pulled the tuft of grass right
out of the ground and flung it from her
with all her foree.
‘Suppose a man—' she began.
that’s not right.’
‘You can take any hypothesis you
please,” observed the philosopher, ‘but
you must verify it afterwards, of
course.’
‘Oh, do let me go on. Suppose a
girl, Mr. Jerningham—I wish you
would’nt nod.”
‘It was only to show that I followed
you.”
‘Oh, of course, you follow me, as you
call it. Suppose a girl had two lovers
—your nodding again I—or, I ought to
to say, suppose there were two men
who might be in love with a girl.”
“Only two 7’ asked the philosopher.
‘You see, any number of men might
be in love with—"’
“Ob, we can leave ule rest out,”
said Miss May, with a sudden dimple;
‘they don’t matter.’
‘Very well, said the philosopher.
‘If they are irrelevant we will put them
aside.’
‘Suppose, then, that one of these men
was, oh, awfully ia love with the girl,
and—and proposed, you know—'
‘A moment !’ said the philosopher,
opening a note-book. “Let me take
down his proposition. What was it ?’
‘Why, proposed to her—asked her
to marry him,” said the girl with a
stare. :
‘Dear me I’ How stupid of me? I
forgot that special use of the word
Yes ?
‘The girl likes him pretty well, and
her people approve of him and all that,
you know.’
‘No,
‘That simplifies the problem,’ said
the philosopher, nodding again.
‘But she’s not in—in love with him,
you know. She doesn’t really care for
him—much. Do you understand ?"
“Perfectly. It is a most natural
state of mind.’
‘Well, then suppose that there's an-
other man—what are you wriiing ?’-
‘I only put down (B)—like that,
pleaded the philosopher, meekly ex-
hibiting his notebook.
She looked at him in a sort of help-
less exasperation, with just a emile
somewhere in the background of it.
‘Oh, you really are—,’ she exclaim-
ed. ‘Butlet me go on. The other
man is a friend of the gi1l’s, He's very
clever—oh, fearfully clever, and he’s
rather handsome. You needn’t put’
hat down.’
t ‘It is certainly not very material,
admitted the philosopher, and he cross-
ed out ‘handsome.’ ‘Clever he left.
‘And the girl is most awiully—she
admires him tremendously. She thinks
him just the greatest man that ever
lived, you know. And she—she—'
The girl paused. :
‘I’m following.’ said the philosopher
with pencil poised.
‘She'd think it better than the
whole world if—if she could be any-
thing to him, you know.’
“You mean become his wife ?’
‘Well, of course I do—at least I sup-
pose I do.’
‘You spoke rather vaguely, you
know.’
The girl cast one glance at the phil-
osopher as she replied :
‘Well, yes. I did mean become his
wife.’
‘Yes. Well
‘But,’ continued the girl, starting on
another tuft of grass, ‘he doesn’t think
much about those things. He likes
her. I think he likes her—’
“Well, doesn’t dislike her ?’ suggest-
ed the philosopher. ‘Shall we call
him indifferent ?’
‘I don’t know. Yes, rather indiffer-
ent. I don’t think he thinks about it.
you know. But she—she’s pretty,
You needn’t put that down.’
‘I was not about to do so,’ observed
the philosopher.
*She thinks life with him would be
just heaven; and—and she thinks she,
would make him awfully happy. She
would—would be go proud of him, you
see.’
‘I see. Yes!
‘And—I don’t know how to put it,
quite—she thinks that if he ever
thought about it at all, he might care
for her ; because he doesn’t care for
anybody else ; and she’s pretty—'
‘You said that before.’
‘Oh dear, I dare say I did. And
most men care for somebody, don’t
they ? some girl, I mean.’
‘Most men, no doubt,” conceded the
philosopher.
‘Well, then, what ought she to do?
It’s not a real thing, you know, Mr.
Jerningbam. It's in—in a novel I
was readiog.” She said this hastily,
and blushed as she spoke
‘Dear me ! And it's quite an interest-
ing case! Yes I see. The question is.
Will she act most wisely in accepting
the offer of the man who loves her ex-
ceedingly, but for whom she entertains
only a moderate aftection—’
‘Yes. Just a liking He's just a
friend.’
‘Exactly. Or in marrying the other
whom she loves ex—'
‘That's not it. How can she marry
him? He hasn’t—he hasn't asked her
you see.’
True. I forgot. Let us assume,
though tor the moment, that he has
asked her. She would then have to
consider which marriage would proba-
bly be productive of the greater sum
total of—'
Oh, but
that.’
‘But it seems the best logical order.
We can afterwards make allowance for
the element of uncertainty caused
by—'
‘Oh, no. don’t want it like that. I
know perfectly well which she'd do if
he—the other man, you know—asked
her.
“You apprehend that—’
‘Never mind what 1 ’apprehend.’
Take it just as 1 told you.’
‘Very good. A has asked her hand,
B has not.’
“Yes.
‘May I take it that, but for the dis-
turbing influence of B, A would be a
satisfactory—er—candidate ?’
‘Ye—es. I think so.’
‘She therefore enjoys a certainty of
considerable happiness if she marries
A?
‘Ye—es. Not perfect, because of—
B, you know.’
‘Quite so, quite so; but still a fair
amount of happiness. Is it not so?
‘I don’t—well, perhaps.’
‘On the other hand, if B did ask her,
we are to postulate a higher degree of
happiness for her? ;
‘Yes, please, Mr. Jenningham—
much higher.’
‘For both ot them ?’
‘For her. Never mind him.
‘Very well. That again simplifies
the problem. Buthis asking her isa
contingency only ?’
‘Yes, that’s all.”
you needn't consider
The philosopher spread out his
hands.
‘My dear young lady,’ he said, ‘it be-
comes a question of degree. How prob-
able or improbable is it?’
‘I don’t know. Not very probaple—
unless—unless—'
‘Well 27
“Unless he did happen to notice,
you know.’
‘Ab, yes. We supposed that if he
thought of it, he would probably take
the desired step-—at least, that he
might be led to do so. Could she not
—er—indicate her preference ?’
‘She might try—no she couldn’t do
much. You see, he—he doesn’t think
about such things.’
‘I understand precisely. And it
seems to me, Miss May, that in that
very fact we find our solution’
‘Do we?’ she asked.
‘I think so. He has evidently no
natural inclination towards her—per-
haps not towards marriage at all. Any
feeling aroused in him would be neces-
sarily shallow and in a measure artifi-
cial—aund in all likelihood purely tem-
porary. Moreover, if she took steps to
arouse his attention, one of two things
would be likely to happen. Are you
following me ?’
“Yes, Mr. Jerningham.’
‘Either he would be repelled by ber
overtures——which you must admit is
vot improbable and then the position
would be unpleasant, and even degrad-
ing, for her. Or on the other Land he
might, through a misplaced feeling of
gallantry—’
“Through what ?’
‘Through a mistaken idea of polite
ness, or a mistaken view of what was
kind, allow himself to be drawn into a
connection for which he had no gen-
uine liking. You agree with me that
one or other of these things would be
likely ?’
“Yes, I suppose they would, unless
he did come to care for her.’
‘Ah, you return to that hypothesis.
I think it’s an extremely fanciful one.
No She needrn’t marry A, but she must
let B alone.’
The philosopher closed his book,
took off his glasses, wiped them, re-
placed them, and leaned back against
the trunk of the apple tree. The girl
picked a dandelion in pieces. After a
long pause she asked :
‘You think B’s feeling wouldn't be at
all likely to—--to change ?’
‘That depends on the sort of man he
is. But if he is an able man, with in-
tellectual interests which engross him
---a man who has chosen his path in
life----a man to whom women’s society
is not a necessity----’
‘He's just like that,’ said the girl,
and she bit the head off a daisy.
‘Then,’ said the philosopher, |‘I see
not the least reason for supposing that
his feelings will change.’
‘And would you advise her to marry
the other--—-A ?’
‘Well, on the whole, I should. Ais
a good fellow (I think we made A a
good fellow.) He is a suitable . match.
His love for her is true and genuine----'
‘It’s tremendous !’
‘Yee--—-and --er---extreme. She likes
him. There is every reason to hope
that her liking will develop into a suf-
ficiently deep and stable affection. She
will get rid of her folly abont B and
make A a good wife. Yes, Miss May,
if I were the author of your novel, I
should make her marry A and 1
should call that a happy ending.’
A silence followed. It was broken
by the philosopher.
‘Is that all you wanted my opinion
about, Miss May ?”' he asked, with his
foger between the leaves of the treatise
on ontology,
‘Yes, I think so.
bored you ?'
‘I've enjoyed the discussion extreme-
ly. I had no idea that novels raised
points of such psychological interest.
I wust find time to read one.’ g
The girl had shifted her position till,
instead of her full face, her profile was
turned towards him. Looking away
towards the paddock that lay brilliant
in sunshine on the skirts of the apple
orchard, she asked, in low slow tones,
twisting her hands in her lap :
‘Don’t you think that perhaps if B
found out afterwards---when she had
married A, you know----that she had
cared for him so very, very much, he
might be a little sorry ?’
‘If he were a gentleman he would re-
gret it deeply.
‘I mean----sorry on his own account ;
that----that he had thrown away all that
you know ?”’
The professor looked meditative.
‘I think,” he pronounced,’ ‘that it is
very possible he would. I can well
imagine it.’
‘He might never find anybody to love
bim like that again,’ she said, gazing
on the gleaming paddock.
‘He probably would not,” agreed the
philosopher.
‘And--and most people like being
loved, don’t they ?’
‘To crave for love is an almost uni
versal instinct, Miss May.’
‘Yes, almost,’ she said, with a
dreary little smile. ‘You see, he'll get
old and----and have no one to look after
him.
‘He will.’
‘And no home.’
‘Well, in asense, none,’ corrected the
philosopher, smiling, ‘But really
you'll frighten me. I'm a bachelor
myself, you know, Miss May."
‘Yes,’ she whispered just audibly.
‘And all your terrors are before me.’
‘Well, unless----’
‘Oh, we needn't have that ‘unless
laughed the philosopher cheerfully.
“There’s no ’unless’ about it Miss May.’
The girl jumped to her feet; for an
instant she looked at the philosopher.
She opened her lips as if to speak, and,
at the thought of what lay at her
tongue’s tip, her face grew red. Bat
the philosopher was gazing past her,
and his eyes rested in calm contempla-
tion on the gleaming paddock.
I hope I haven't
‘A beaut ful thing, sunshine, to be
sure,’ said he.
Her blush faded away into paleness;
her lips closed. Without speaking she
turned and walked slowly away, her
head drooping. The philosopher
heard the rustle of her skirt in the
long grass ot the orchard ; he watched
her for a few moments.
‘A pretty, graceful creature,’ said he
with a smile. Then he opened hie
book, took his pencil in his hand, and
slipped in a careful forefinger to mark
the fiy leaf.
The sun had passed mid-heaven, and
began to decline westwards betore he
finished the book. Then he stretched
himeelf and looked at his watch.
‘Good gracious, 2 o'clock ! I shall be
late for lunch !' and he hurried to his
feet.
He was very late for lunch.
‘Everythin’s cold,’ wailed his hostess.
‘Where have you been, Mr. Jerning-
ham?’
‘Only in the orchard- --reading.’
‘And you've misced May !’
‘Missed Miss May? How do you |
mean ? I bad a long talk with her!
this morning-- -a most interesting talk.’ |
‘But you weren't here to say good-
bye. Now, you don’t mean to say
that you forgot that she was leaving
by the 2 o'clock train? What a man
you are!’
‘Dear me ! To think of my forget-
ting it!’ said the philosopher shame-
tacedly.
‘She told me to say good-bye to you
for her.’ :
‘She was very kind.
myself.
His hostess looked at him for a
moment ; then she sighed, and smiled
again,
‘Have you everything you want ?’
she asked.
“Everything, thank you,’ said he,
eitting down opposite the cheese, and
propping his book (he thought he would
just run through the last chapter again)
I can't forgive
i against the loaf; everything in the
! world that I want thanks.”
His hostess did not tell him that the
girl had come in from the apple or-
chard and run hastily upstairs lest her
friend should see what her friend did
gee in her eyes. So that he had no
suspicion at all that he had received
an offer of marriage---and refused it.
And he did not refer to anything of
that sort, when he paused once in his
reading and exclaimed :
‘I'm really sorry I missed Miss May.
That was an interesting case of hers.
But I gave the right answer. The
girl ought to marry A.’
And so the girl did.
.
Miss Merrifield’s Mistake.
Miss Merrifield accepted the offer of
Mr. Brook’s escort from Mrs, Sym-
ond’s reception. Miss Merrifield adored
Mr. Brooks, and more than half sus-
pected that Mr. Brooks adored her. In
fact, she hoped for a declaration that
very night.
Just as the pair stepped on the porch,
Mr. Brooks was called back by the
hostess. A moment later Mr. Enfield
passed through the door, and seeing
Miss Merrifield apparently unattended,
silently offered his arm. She, suppos-
ing him to be Mr. Brooks, took 1t
eagerly and started up the street to-
gether. Mr. Brooks followed, mutter-
ing curses on the fickleness of woman.
A moment before reaching the house
of Miss Merrifield, Mr. Brook, still
walking behind, saw the young lady
break away from ber escort, rush fran-
ticlly up the steps, and disappear
within-doors, and his soul rejoiced at
these signs of a quarrel.
Somehow the whole thing leaked
out the next morning, and before night
the friends of all the parties knew ex-
actly what had happened.
~ It seems that Mr. Enfield, piqued at
being called Mr. Brooks by his absent-
minded companion, had said, “Please,
Miss Merrifield, don’t call me Mr.
Brooks.” At which she, confident the
declaration had arrived at last, had
murmured, “What shall I call you,
dear?” and then the cruel disillusion
had come: “Why call me Mr. Enfield,
of coure.”
Miss Merrifield is reported to bave
gone South for the winter.--From the
“Editor's Draw,” in Harper's for Feb-
ruary.
Their Spinal Staircase.
A most estimable and well-known
West End lady has been madethe butt
in times past of numerous well-known
but not estimable stories touching her
unfamiliarity with the Queen's En-
glish., She is reported to have spoken
of an invalid daughter as indelicate,
and of another, upon whose education
much money had been lavished, asthe
most costive of all her children. It
has also been related that most of the
members of her family have beea ac-
customed to ride to Baltimore on com-
munion tickets. I have steadily refus-
ed to chronicle any of these yarns, be-
cause they have oot really related to
this good lady. They have been pure
inventions, fastened upon her by mali-
cious scandal-mongers. Nor does [the
following relate to her:
A well-known society woman of the
West End, similarly unfamiliar with
the niceties of the English language,
spoke, at one of those delightful teas
which characterize this delightful sea-
son of the year, of a spinal staircase of
great beauty which had been construct-
ed in the house of a neighbor. There
was a bright girl near by who heard
this architectural - -or anatomical----re-
ference. She said, aside, and it was
very mean of her: ’
“Perhaps the lady refers
neighbor's back stairs.”
to her
A River of Ink.
Two Algerian Streams that Meet and. Make
Writing Fluid.
“The only natural ink in the world is
found in Algeria,” said KE. C. Neb-
recht, a “globe-trotter,” from London.
“I thick that I would be disposed to
look upon it as a fairy tale if I had not
seen 1t, but having tested the ink, I
know it to be true. There are two
small rivulets which join together and
make a little stream about 15 or 20 feet
wide and possibly 3 feet deep on an
average. One of these rivulets comes
from the iron district, and is itself heav-
ily impregnated with that ore. The
otherjrivuletjpasses through peat marshes
and in its journey has become
impregnated with gallic acid. When |
they come together there is at oace a
chemical combination formed which, of
course, makes ink. I had heard that it
was better than the manufactured fluid.
Thisis not true, but it will last, and,
while it gums to some extent and does
not flow as freely from the pen as might
be desired, it, will nevertheless, answer
all of the purposes of ink, and letters
written with 1t keep as well as those
written with the best writing fluids. I
have used it, and, while as a discovery
ot ink it is not a complete success, 48 a
natural curiosity it is one of the won-
dertul things in the world.”’-—St. Louis
Globe Democrat.
SD
Venus Very Brilliant Now.
It Is Visible by Day in a Clear Sky to Per-
sons Who Know Where to Look.
The twilight sky affords an unnsual
spectacle now, owing to the exceeding
brightness of Jupiter and Venus.
“The phenomenon occurs at inter-
vals of eight years, whenever the planet
is at or near its greatest north latitude
and about four or five weeks before in-
ferior conjunction, at which Venus is
between us and the sun. Venus is now
33,000,000 miles distant from the earth,
buton Feb. 16, at ioterior conjunction,
will have diminished to 25,440,000.
Venus will now present to us a face
entirely unillaminated and will be lost
in the bright rays ot the sun, Even
now in the telescope it is seen to ex-
hibit the form of a delicate crescent,
like the new moon, with one quarter of
its disk in the shadow, so that the
brightness .seems the more wonderful.
After Feb. 16, it will pass to the outer
side of the sun, being visible 1n the
early dawn as the morning star, and
by Nov. 29 its distance will have in-
creased to 159,000,000 miles, when its
brightness will be five times less than
it is now.
“At present it is our nearest neigh-
bor among the planets, and its nearness
and high reflecting powers combine to
make it most conspicuons. In fact, it
is so brilliant it may be seen in a clear
sky with the naked eye throughout the
entire day by any one who knows just
where to look for 1t.
“It is a little more than two hours
behind the sun and a few degrees high-
er, and therefore may be found at any
time at little above the place the sun
occupied in the sky two hours before.
A few moments after 2 o'clock every
day this week it will be on the meridi-
an, half way up the sky, between the
zenith and the south point of the hori-
zou- In the morning hours, from 10 to
12, it is in the southeast, at an altitude
of from 35 to 40 degrees.
It is related by Arago that Napo-
leon Bonaparte, upon repairing to the
Luxembourg, when the Directory was
about to give him a feste, was very
much surprised at seeing the multitude
which was collected in the Rue de
Touron pay more attention to the re-
gion of the heavens situaied above the
palace than to his person or the bril-
liant staff which accompanied him.
He inquired the cause, and learned that
the curious persons were observing
with astonishment, although it was
noon, a star, which they supposed to
an be that of Conqueror ot Italy,
allosion to which the illus-
trious General did not seem indifferent
when he himself remarked the radiant
body. The star was Venus. Other
instances of its observation in the day-
time are recorded, some at very early
periods, in 398, 984, 1008, 1014, 1715,
1750.”
How the Worid Will End.
Our Planet Will Die, Not by Accident, but a
Natural Death.
According to all probability, not
withstanding at the circustances which
threaten it, our planet will die, not of
an accident, but a natural death. That
death will be the consequence of the
extinction of the sun, in 20,000,000
years or more—perbaps 30,000,000---
gince its condensation at a relatively
moderate rate will give it, on one hand
17,000,000 vears of existence, while on
the other hand, the inevitable fall of
meteors into the sun may double this
number. Even if vou suppose the
duration of the sun be prolongued to
40,000,000 years, it is still incontesta-
ble that the radiation from the sun
cools it, and that the temperature of all
bodies tends to an equilibrium. The
day will come when the sun will be
extinct. Then the earth and all the
other planets of our system will cease
to be the abode of life. They will be
eraced from the great book and will
revolve black cemeteries around an ex:
tinguished sun.
Will these planets continue to exist
even then? Yes, probably in the case
ot Jupiter and perhaps Saturn. No,
beyond a doubt, tor the small bodies,
such as the Earth, Venus, Mars, Mer-
cury and the moon. Already the moon
appears to have preceeded us toward
the final desert. Mars is much further
advanced than the earth toward the
same destiny. Venus, younger than
us will doubtless survive us. These
little worlds lose their elements of vi-
tality much faster than the sun loses
its heat. From century to ceatury,
from year to year, from day to day,
from hour to hour, the surtace of the
earth is transformed. Oa the one hand
the continents are crumbling away and
becoming covered by the sea, which
insensibly and by elow degrees tends
to invade and submerge the entire
globe; on the other hand the amount
of water on the surface of the globe is
diminishing. A careful and reasona-
ble calculation shows that by the ac-
tion of erosure alone all the land on
our planet will be covered by water in
10,000,000 years.---Camille Flammarion
mn I’ Astronomie.
——Miss Mary Proctor, daughter of
the late Richard A. Proctor, is a deep
student of the science of astronomy.
She recently delivered a lecture in
Brooklyn on “The Giant Sun and His
Family,” which, though prepared for
children, proved instructive and enter-
taining to adults.
——A New York electrician is build-
ing an air-ship which he claims will
solve the problem of aerial navigation
beyond a doabt.
Cornelius Vanderbilt, it is said,
has given a million dollars to religious
work in the past two years.
——The hunting season in the Un-
ited States and Canada is now open.
——The total mileage of railways
now open to trafficin Japan is 1,717.
——Barley water and linseed tea are
said to be excellent for the voice.
~
For and About Women.
A pretty bolero or fichu gives fashion-
able touch to a matinee gown. These
Marie Antionette fichus are easily niade
and are very inexpensive. The bolero.
can be made of lace insertion over satin
and is, of ¢ -urse, adjustable. A stylish
gown recently seen at a matinee was
made of “tobacco brown’ hopsacking,
with a full front of blue and brown
changeable silk. With this was worn a
bolero of blue satin, covered with deep
ecru lace inserting, with a crush collar
and girdle of the same materials. The
bolero and collar were edged with nar
rowjet, and the effect was immensely
fetching.
A new trimming for a low or bigh-
necked dress is the Anne of Austria col
lar. This: is constructed of duchesse
lace cut in Vandyke points, and is worn
alone or over velvet of the same shape,
but of iarge size. The velvet points are
lined with silk and the iace collar fastens.
in front with two rosettes and drops of
jet.
Overskirts, coat-tail basques and
slight trains are the innovations noted,
on the late winter costumes, wnd un-
doubtedly these three features will be
carried to completeness on the spring
gowns. The overskirts, as seen at pres-
ent, are suggestions rather than real
shapes, yet once in a while. we come
across the genuine article. Pannier et-
fects are in vogue and vnslender figures
are rather pretty, but the dame who in-
clines to rounded curves or who is of
the fai,r fat and forty order had better
eschew them and cling with dogged
persistency to plainer styles.
Colored shoes are in good taste only:
in the house, or for reception wear, and
are suitable for only very dainty feet.
Another rich costume which the.
wearer revealed when she laid aside her
long military cape of ‘baby astrach-
kan’ consisted of a skirt of magenta
cloth in the new shade called ‘bet
terave'’ in French and “beet root” in
English. The gored skirt was untrim-
med save for a band of dark mink at the
foot. The round waist was of ‘‘bet-
trave’’ satin completely covered with a
heavy yellow-tinted guipure through
which the satin showed. There was a
soft belt and collar of crimson satin, and
bratelles from the back of black velvet
ending in rosettes on the bust.
Should the skin be muddy or oily, or
those disfiguring little nuisances, black
heads, appear, your physician, if he be
conscientious, will ad vise Turkish baths,
and hot, not luke warm or cold water,
will give the face, at least, all the turk-
ish bath it needs. The skin needs to be
kept perfectly cleaned and stimulated.
There is a constant attack upon the ex-
posed portions of the skin by dust and
powders, and unless the pores are kept
open the result must be blackheads and
pimples, or even worse disfigurements.
And this is the way it can be done. Fill
a basin with boiling water. Over this
fix a canopy affair which covers the
head and basin at the same time. Sup
ported on four little posts with an open«
ing to put your bead in. For five min<
utes remain in that dense vapor bath,
and then emerge with the perspiration
rushing from every pore and your face
as red as a lobster. The next thing is to
wipe it gently with a soft towel. Then
the rubbing begins up from the chin,
from the temples to the eyes and rub.
bing and pinching the cheeks in a ro
tary motion. After this a thorough rub.
bing in of askin food, then a nap with
a soft cloth laid uver the face and then a
sponge bath for the face of lukewarm
water, and when it was over your face
will put to shame the most perfect pink
and white baby’s ever raved about by
an adoring mother.
Puffness under the eyes and dark cir
cles can be removed by persistent mas.
sage and the application of certain pre-
pared creams. The wrinkles about the
eyes are simple foes to vanquish, bat
the lines around the mouth require a
harder fizht. It must not be expected
that the disfiguring lines that have been
so long in coming will hie themselves
away in a night, but perseverance in
massaga, hot water treatment and oc-
casional steamings will work wonders.
Mrs. Elizabeth G. Custer, the widow
of the famous soldier, is an accomplish
ed billiard player. She grew skiiful at
the game during her long residence on
the plains.
When pretty things are brought into
the home, the stairway is too often
everlooked. Not one house out of 10
has an ornament or beautifier in the
view of the chance caller, until they go
into the drawing room, where pretty
things are so crowded that one or two
might be spared to cover up the bare
spaces in the hall and on the stairs.
The owner of the pretty arrangement
had a narrow dark hall, and a long
staircase to confront her desires for cosi-
ness, and she carried out her plans with
a very few articles. An oak bracket
was placed about halfway up the stairs,
holding a vase or two, and a picture
was hung lower, with a plaque ora
medallion further up the wall, Below
the bannister brackets were placed
which held vases, a bust or two, and a
curious lamp. The effect was pretty in
the extreme, and fully rewarded her for
her trouble.
There is what is known as a ‘‘reign of
the red.” Magenta is all the rage for
ponnets. Ladies are wearing collars,
cuffs and flounces and rosettes of petu-.
nia, and the very latest bang-up house
decoration in Paris, London and New
York is the poinsetta red named after
the famous General Poinsett, one of the.
most patriotic Americans who ever lived
and who was Minister of War under Van
Buren.
Miss Herbert, who is ‘‘the cabinet
lady” of the household of the secretary
of the navy, is fond of wearing pale
shades of lavender, pink and blue, com-
bined with white. She wears the last
color so frequently that she might als
most be called “the woman in white.’
She designs many of her costumes.
——Colorado is first in silver.