sa
Bellefonte, Pa., June 29,1894.
—-——
GOOD-NIGHT.
Pale in the amber-flooded
A horned moon dips low:;
And soft through silver silenees
The rose-winds faintly blow.
Yet still the horned moon shall lend
A lance of lingering light,
To cross the wind to erossithe dusk,
And give my love good-nigiet.
west,
The long lake, rippling through its reeds,
Hath filies alla 3
At fall of dew each sleepy “flower
Folds up her leaves of snew,
Yet one fair lily-bad shallwake,
To smile all virgin-white,
Across the dark, =eross the dew,
And give my lowe goof-night.
The light may fall, the ‘lily fade,
The Tightn ng's lurid glow
Flame in the sky—the rose-winds rise
To storms that rudely ‘slow.
Yet constant still as roseto June,
This Rear 2h take delight, i
Across the dark, across'the world,
To give the world good-night.— Marthe |
Mec Culiook Williams in June*&odey’s,
TRAITS
ALICE'S MISTAKE.
Her Basty Words That Cowezd Months of Mis- |
ery.
I had thought I loved him had been |
very happy ae his affianced bride, and
whispered with a strange pride his
name, remembering that some day it
would be my-own as well. But mine
was not the nature to. work control. It
was rather an early «date, I thought,
when an engagement was 80 new a
thing, not quite three months old, to
be called to account for my actions.
and what had I done wrong ? My be-
trothed, Clarence Withers, had been
absent for a week, and during his ab-
gence Will Maynard had been my es-
.cort wherever I had chanced to go. I
would not have my engagement an-
nounced, although it was currently
suspected ; there were many kind
friends to whisper the fact of my so-cal-
led flirtation to Clarence upon his re-
turn. And so my first meeting was
not, alas, what [ had painted it to my-
self. When I went forward to meet
him glad, ob, so glad, to see him home
again, and ready to tell him so, if he
needed telling other than the story he
could read in my eyes and outstretched
hands of welcome, he only took my
hands in his and held me off rather
than drew me to his heart, where my
head had so often lain, and said, in
cold, strange tones, so unlike the lov-
ing words of welcome I was waiting
for;
“Alice, what is this I hear about my
wife 2" .
“Your wife, Mr. Withers ? During
which of my sleeping moments have I
been dignified to that title, or you as-
pired to the authority of a husband ?”
“To me, Alice, a promise made is a
promise kept, and from the day you
gave yourself to mel have looked up-
on you as my wife as solemnly as
though a priest had already blessed
our union. You keow full well my
opinion of Mr. Maynard. He is 2 man
I would not permit:te cross my thres-
hold ; yet during my short absence he
oat ne an bd e. —— ~bliaalle re
yout snrer~1H1ack: 685 Sow Foil, 5
“Mr. Maynard is a particular friend
of mine,” I exclaimed, with flashing
eyes, slipping my hands from his clasp
“and permit me to say I willno longer
listen to this haravgue. No right to
receive ordinary courteous, attentions
from a gentleman!! You strangely for-
get the fact that you call yourself such
when you dare address me thus. Good
morning, Mr. Withers.”
“Stay, Alice ! If I spoke quickly,
forgive me. Butit was so hard to
hear all this just as ¥ arrived home
hungry for your welcome. You know
dear, there were so many aspirants for
this little hand I sometimes can scarce
believe in my own rare fortune. Are
you not glad to see me Alice?’
“Glad ? No. When I was glad you
sent all my happiness ‘back into my
own beart, and made your first words
words of reproach and blame. I have
done nothing to deserve either, and I
would do the same again.”
“Not if you knew it gave me pain.”
‘“Yes ; because you have no right to
feel pain. If you have no trust in me,
let us part.”
“It is not a question of trust, my
Alice. But come, be my own sweet
girl again and promise ‘me to announce
-our engagement, and thus put a stop to
‘Mr. Maynard's useless devotion.”
“No Mr. Withers. {I have seen
enough to know that with such a na-
ture as I have this ‘morning learned
yours to be I never could be happy. I
will return you your letters and your
gifts, and you will send me my letters
and picture, Hereafter we meet sim-
ply as friends.”
And so we parted. He grew very
pale when I said it was all over—
white to the very lips with anmger, I
‘suppose. What a fiendish temper he
must possess, and what an incorrigible
tyrant of a husband he would have
made! Well, it is all over now, I
thought, I am very glad, although I
wished the strange pain would go
away from my heart, and could not
think what had caused it.
It was two weeks since Clarance
Withers and I bad met and parted,
and I did not see him until the night
of Mrs. Strather’s party, He was
looking ob, so handsome—evidently
not pining in secret, for, as usual he
was the life of the party, and devoted
himeelf to that pretty Irene Brooks.
Well, I did not wear the willow either
for that matter. Mr. Maynard was
very devoted, and my old friends ral-
lied to my standard in all their torce.
He asked me once to dance with him
~—a square dance—but I declined, and
he laughed indifferently relieved
and once when I was laughing and
talking with Mr. Maynard, I felt his
eye on me, and threw additional em-
pression into the nothings I was say-
ing. Yet I was tired and bored. Why
was it Mr. Maynards society had ceas-
ed to attract me?
icy coldness and a courteous bow of.
formal greeting and feel that all was
over. 1 don’t think I guite realized it)
votil the day Mr. Mayoand told me
his engagement to Irene Brooks was a!
positive fact: . I did not think he
could have forgotten in ‘three short
mouths. He always admired her, T
knew, and as she is meek and amiable,
she is just suited to such a bear. For!
my part, [ bate married men and mar-
ried life, and thought, with inward
congratulations, of the many years ‘ere,
I should take the fatal plunge. Y
But my congratulations vanished:
when I awoke, one morning, with ‘the’
leaden consciousnese that T'had given,
the might before, a favorable answer'to
Will Maynard's woeing. I did net
| mean to say “Yes.” [I did not care
tor him when he was away from ‘me:;
but he was so earnest so ‘determinet, T
| scarcely kuew I had consented until I
felt his lips press mine and he has
slipped a glittering stonewpon my ‘fin-
ger. [twas there, as I awakened, so
that I koew it was no dream. Allday
I caught ite sparkle; all day it served
| as witness to my- folly.
But whem, that night, entered irs.
Somer’s drawing-rooms, leaning on bis
arm, he locking down-on me with a
sort of possession-look, TI fancy, II
caught Clarence Withers’ eye, full of
scorn and full of anger. [I think mine
flashed back equal contempt. <I am
sure I felt it. Had he not first set me
the example? I was only following in
his footsteps, carrying out his pet theo-
ry, that the man should precede the
woman and she bend to his lordly
will.
At last the summer came. What a
long long winter it had been, and how
glad I was to see once more the birds
aud flowers, I thought as I wandered
one lovely morning in June away ‘from
the gay party who were spending the
day among the woods and trees, revel-
ing in a picnic of the good, old-fashion-
ed sort. I bate pienies and always did
and I was glad to escape them all. So
I wandered on, stooping now and then
to pluck a wild flower or an exquisite
fern, until, on the verge of a steep rock
my eye caught sight of a bunch of the
loveliest anemones. I sprang forward
eager to grasp it—too eager, alas:;—for
my foot tripped and I fell forward up-
on the sharp stone, cutting an ugly
gash in my forhead. Ithink it stun-
ned me for the moment. I must have
fainted ; but surely, ere I opened my
eyes, I caught the sound of breathless
tones exclaiming : “My God, my .dar-
ling I” and felt bot kisses rain on
cheek and lip. :
Slowly I unclosed the sealed lids
and gazed into the pallid face of Clar-
ence Withers. My strength came back
with my pride and, drawing myself
away, I said:
“Do not be alarmed, Mr. Withers, it
is all rightnow. Did you imagine you
held Miss Brooks? Allow me to re-
lieve you.”
place of safety.
accident was so trivial.
ing.”
And so he left me. Were those cold
indifferent tones the warm, loving ones
forve-argtenad too on divining 3 wes;
Raat ad fed with my "hand
kerchief which still flowed freely, I
walked on and soon stumbled on Mr.
Maynard, hastening to find me.
Oh, how his words of pity and dis-
tress grated on my ear. I answered
him petulantly, and begged to be taken
home: My head ached. He ordered
the carriage at once. I would not al-
low him to accompany me and, with
anxious solicitation, he tenderly gbade
me good-by, closed the door upon we
and I was again alone.
All night I lay and tossed upon my
bed, and morning found me feverish
and restless, but with a new, undaunt-
ed resolution, that ere I slept again I
should have returned Will Maynard’s
ring, and asked him to give me back
my plighted troth.
Yet the words came with a hard
struggle, and the tell-tale blood crim-
soned my cheek and brow as I stood
before him and acknowledged I could
not marry him.
“Do you not love me, Alice 2?”
said.
“No, Mr. Maynard. You have been
very good, very kind, but I cannot love
ou.
“Why, then, did you consent to be
my wife ?”’
His tones were calm now, with the
calmness which precedes the moun-
tain storm, when all nature is hushed,
and not a leaflet stirs, not even a blade
of grass trembles, until with a mighty
roar heaven discharges Its artillery
and the hills quake.
“Oh, do not ack me. I do not know.
I cannot tell you.”
“Do you mean that these few months
have been a farce in which you and I
were the chief actors 7 Who amongst
your friends have been the audience to
watch this poor puppet-show, in which
your experienced hands have pulled
the strings ? Do not look indignant.
You have no right to indignation.
Have you never loved me 7”
“Never, Mr, Maynard, as I should
have loved you. You came to me at a
time when my heart was hungry. Your
words fascinated me, and I hoped and
believed I would find the happiness I
sought. Oh, forgive me! I know how
wrong I have been. Indeed you can-
not be more sorry than am I, for you
have not the added sting of remorse.
Think of me as you will, but forgive
Good morn-
he
forget me.”
But no forgiving glance
my appeal. Pitilessly and coldly the
man spoke, in cutting tones.
Doubtless there has been a power be.
hind the scenes. Perhaps Mr. With-
ers has regained ascendancy over your
heart. Heart, did I say ? Excuse me,
Miss Ellis I did not mean to do you
such injustice as to mention what you
do not possess. I wish Mr. Withers
every joy.”
But yet it seemed so strange to meet
“No, Miss Brooks is fortunately in a
I am glad to see your:
blows; lees, indeed, for it brings re
freshing airand fragrance from wmy-
riads of flower. I hope never to see
his face again, since his name has on
ly brought me fresh 10sult, but he at
best is a man, and would scorn to
strike a womaa to the core who plead-
ed to him for forgiveness. = Go, Mr.
Maynard. We are quits now. I
trust in time. may forgive you.”
It was all over then—all over. And
for my wicked folly I was punished.
Even Clarance, I thought, with curling
lip, would have been satisfied. I trust
his wooing with Mise Brooks was some
what smoother than had been this of
mine. 'Why did 1 think of him?
‘What cared I whether it were smooth
‘or rough ?' Qur paths lay widely apart.
The world was broad enough for both.
‘Was it’? Ah, tell-tale heart that
with -sach strange, choking, throbs,
‘then stood still for a moment, whilst
the blood receded from its channels,
leaving me icy as death when they
told me, two short weeks after, Clar-
ence ‘Withers was not expected to hive.
He had been stricken with a fever
then prevalent in our midst, and on ac-
count of which only thatday I was to
have gone into purer air. And now
‘the physicians said there was no hope
of his recovery. Ill, dying— Well,
what did it matter to me ? Did I not
gay the world was broad enough for
both, and, if our paths diverged so
widely, what was death bat the me.
dium which severed them still further
apart ? ;
Ah, no! Atleast I knew he lived.
At least] sometimes caught the music
of his voice, the sunshine of his smile,
but where was his betrothed ? By his
side ? No; she had gone, too, leaving
a kindly message, That was all. Sure
ly she could not have been his promis-
ed wife, else she would have stayed.
Oh, my poor heart! At last I knew
the truth, and scarce knowing what I
did I drew a sheet of paper toward me
and with blinding tears wrote :
“Before you die, Clarance—before you leave
me desolate—at least-send me one little word
—one token of forgiveness. My pride has all
gone dear. I knew how wrong I was with you.
Butiyou will forgive me, will you not? And
though in Heaven you mustremember anoth-
er as your betrothed, you will sometimes
think lovingly, if you can think there, of
ALICE.”
There came no answer to my note,
and when I heard Clarence Withers
was not going to die, that hopes of his
recovery were entertained, and slowly
hope gave place to certainty, my first
glad immeasurable happiness was suc-
ceeded by agony of shame and by the
‘breathless query :: “What have I done?
‘Oh, if I could bury myself anywhere
go that I might never see bis look of
| withering scorn! Oh, I wish I had
died!” was my thought one afternoon
afew weeks later as I sat alooe, and,
burying my head in my hands, the
tears, which had for so long refused to
come, burst forth in bitter, chok-
ing sobs. I had not heard a
sound until a hand was laid upon my
shoulder, a tender, pitying voice said :
“Poor little girl have you really
grieved so, Alice ?” ; 1 ‘
Springing to my feet, I confro=* 2
fi sae of whom T had beep winking
if 80d R MF Be oorudears
“Have you .come to triumph over
my weakness, Mr. Withers? I have
suffered sufficiently, I can assure you,
over my poor folly, without you adding
to my misery. I wish, I wish that
you had died.
“Listen, Alice ! Be calm, darling !”
he said, as he drew me down in the old
tender, willful way, which made his
very mastery sweet. ‘I wanted to die,
too, until, one day, a little, white-wing-
ed messenger of peace and hope came
and nestled in my breast. I was too
ill to answerit, but I kept it there ;
and when the fever raged its highest
and { almost let go my bold of life, it
whispered of the sweetness the fu-
ture held for me. Andso I'battled on.
And when I grew stronger and knew I
should once more look into your eyes,
I would not let impatience master me
I feared to trust my own great joy, and
waited darling, until, face to face, I
could tell youthie. All has been a
mistake between us. No other woman
has ever touched my heart. Ireneand
I were only friends, aud I told her of
all my troubles in all that dreary time.
Alice, have I found my wife at last 7”
i could not answer, but be kissed
away the tears, and I sobbed out my
confession on his breast; but when I
had finished he only drew me closer,
whispering sweet words of glad, forgiv-
ing love, while I was well content to
lie nestled in the strong arms of “my
bear.'—JeNNY WeEN, in N. Y. ZLed-
ger.
The Logie of a Lender.
The young Detroit man had borrow-
ed $10 from the rich old man, promis-
ing to bring it back one week from
date. The millionaire let him have it,
and on time the borrower brought it
back,
“Now, Mr. Bullion,” said the young
man, “I've been square with you in
this matter. and I want to borrow $50
for two weeks.”
The old man shook his head.
“Sorry,” said he, *‘but can’t let you
have it.”
“Why not?’ aod the young maa
was greatly astonished.
“Because you have disappointed me,
and I don’t want to be disappointed
again.”
The borrower was more surprised
the pain I have caused you and try to than ever.
“What do you mean by being disap-
answered | pointed 7” he asked.
“This,” explained the money man.
“I let you have that $10, not expect:
“I said we were the chief actors. ing ever to get it back again, but I did.
Now, it Ilet you have $50, 1 would
expect to get it again, and 1 never
would. No, sir,” he added conclusive:
ly, “one disappointment is enough.
: Good day,” and that ended it.— Clica-
go Tribune.
—— Chicago’s school census gives the
everywhere : to exchange a smile of is no more to we than the wind that safe lead in population.
Some National Flowers.
Those of European Countries, Japar and Eqypt—
Why America Has None.
The question of a “national flower”
for the United States is being pressed by
the Society of the National Floral Em-
blem, organized at Chicago during the
Fair ; and & good deal of interest has
been created in the decision which the
society hopes 1n time to obtain. Com-
paratively few countries, however, have
national flowers ; what are called na-
tional flowers in almost every case are
floral badges” of sovereigns, adopted
without reference to the choice -of the
people of the countries. Sometimes,
however, these family badges have been |
accepted by the people, and thus become |
really national flowers. Such, for in-
stance, ore the rose of England and the
thistle of Scotland. The shamrock of
Ireland was never afamily badge, and
is probably tbe oldest really national
flower in existence.
Roses, even apart from their historical
significance. have always been popular
flowers in England, and when it was
proposed by some English Tories to per-
petuate the memory of Lord Beacon-
field, his favorite flower, the primrose.
was adopted as the typical emblem of
the Troy or Primrose League, which
has spread throughout England, more
especially in the eountry districts. Prim-
rose day is regularly observed as a po-
litical ‘holiday by many thousands of
English Tories.
Every country has some characteristic
preference for some flower which either
recalls past memories or isin general
favor among the inhabitants. There is,
indeed, no nation which is without a
typical flower of some kind, though ia
countries having extensive territory the
preference of the people varies some-
what in accordance with the geograph-
ical divisions which exist.
Under the Bourbon monarchy and
later on, under the collateral Bourbons
of the house of Orleans, the lily was the
typical lower of France and it had a
place on the French flag. The original
Bourbon flag was of white with three
golden flours-de-lis on & blue shield. It
was not until the breaking out of the
revolution that the tricolor made its
appearance, the red and blue represent-
ing the colors of the city of Paris and
the white the prewious traditions of
French government
On the aceession of Napoleon, the
tricoler was modified by the addition of
an eagle and several golden bees, which
were simply modified lilies. Under the
Second Empire the violet was substitu-
ted for the lily, it being the favorite
flower of the Empress Eugenie.
As a hardy substitute for a national
flower, the stalwart Welshmen chose
the leek, and those familiar with the
lay of “Henry V.” and the character
in it of Fluellen, the testy Welsman,
do not need to be told how general is
the acknowledgement of the leek as an
emblematic product of Wales. The
leek flower, which every second year
under cultivation, is of white streaked
with purple.
The lotus is the typical flower of
Egypt, just as the tulip is the typical
flower of Holland. It has long been
cultivated in thc X.etherlands, and from
Holland and Belgium other are supplied
with the varietintsof thify Spscalation
in Dutch tulips, and it was deemed nec-
essary to limit the price of bulbs by law.
Gardening of all kinds flourishes in Hol-
land on account of the adaptability of
the soil to cultivation, but no flower has
superseded the tulip in popular regard
either in Holland or in any of the
Dutch colonies.
The national flower of Greece is the
violet and the chief favorite of Germany
the cornflower. The cornflower of
Germany is blue with small purple
streaks, and is one of the prettiest of
flowers. It was the favorite flower of
the Old Kaiser. In no country is the
affection for flowers and flowering
plants, and more especially those of a
simple character, more general than in
Germany, and in any portion of an
American city where Germans are nu-
merous the fact is revealed by the profu-
sion of flowers on window sills, roofs,
curbs or in gardens. Another favorite
flower among the Germans is the gera-
ninm,
The national flower of Finland, and
indeed of all that part of northwestern
Russia and Prussia where German cus-
toms or traditions prevail, is the cream
colored linden. The typical flower of
Saxony is the mignonette, and of Spain
the pomegranate.
Japan has a real national flower, the
chrysanthemum, and at successive flow-
ershows there has been a constant in-
creuse in the popularity of this beautiful
product of the Mikado’s dominions.
The national flower of Italy is the lily,
which appears on certain Italian coins
and gains acceptance too, as significant
of royalty, there baving been an Italian
branch of the Bourbon family, and the
lily having been taken up as a favorite
in Italy when it was abandoned in
France at the overthrow of the Bourbon
monarch in 1830. The national flower
of Switzerland 1s the edel weiss.
There is no national flower in the Uni-
ted States, and the diversity of land and
climate is such thatin all probability
there never will be one, each State hav-
ing its own favorite. In New York a
determination of the relative popularity
of the various flowers grown was had
on Arbor Day, 1890, the children at
tending the public schools voting under
the direction of the Department of Pub-
lic Instruction. The golden rod stood
at the head of the popular flowers with
a total of 81,000 votes. And then fol-
lowed the varieties of roses with 79,000
| the daisy with 38,000, the violet with
81,000, the pansy with 22,000, and the
lily with 16.000 votes. Following came
the buttercup, lilac, forget-me-not, sun-
flower, pink, snowball, morning-glory
and helivtrope.
| ——There are more working days in
| the year of the American workman than
i of any other save the Hungarian. The
latter works 811 days in the year, and
thus has almost no holiday save Sunday.
{ The number of working days in the
American year is 308, This is the same
as the Dutch : it 18 30 days more than
the HKnglish. 41 days more than the
! Russian, and from 6 to 18 days more
, than the working year of any other Eu-
“Stop | You are unjust, indeed--nay! city a population of 1,562,769. New | ropean country. It is noteworthy that
more— cruel, unmanly | Mr, Withers * York will have to hustle to maintain 8 ' even newly arrived immigrants keep
American holidays,
The Black Death in China.
Fears That It Will Sweep Over Eastern Asia
Before It Disappears.
——
«Black death,’’ that mysterious dis-
seas which has been creating such
havoe among the natives at Canton,
seems destined to sweap -over Eastern
Asia. Hong Kong has been attacked
by this insidious and fatal enemy, and
already hundreds have succumbed to it.
The colony is almost shut off from com-
munication, save by telegraph with
other Asiatic ports, add every effort is
being made to check thespread have
been made and outgoing steamers on
Oriental lines carry neither freight nor
passengers,
But the germs of the disease seem to
be in the air, for latest news is that
death by the plague have already oc-
curred in Japan. The natives are panic-
stricken.
The plague made its appearance in
Hong Kong about May 10, when many
dead rats were found in the streets.
This is the first sign the disease makes.
Usually other animals are stricken be-
tore human beings are affected. The
spread of the disease was most rapid. In
a few days the victims claimed number-
ed nearly fifty daily. It was even more
fatal there than in Canton, fully 60 per
cent. of those seized dying in about
forty-eight hours.
One cause that led to this result was
that there had been no rainfall for a
long period and all streams and sources
of drainage were foul. Vigorous steps
were taken to secure artificial flushing
of all drains and a thorough cleansing
of the ectire city was had, but there
was no decrease until about the 20th,
when several heavy rain storms oc-
curred.
Health officers made a house to house
canvass of the district of the city where
the disease seemed to centre, and all
sick persons were removed to the Hygeia
the hospital ship in the harbor. The
dead were taken in charge by thesame
officials and buried at once in a place
especially selected.
When the disease was at its worst the
deaths in the hospitals numbered about
thirty daily. In some cases whole fam-
ilies were exterminated in a few days.
Eurpoeans seem to be almost proof
against the disease, although in some
cases their surroundings were the same
as those of the Chinese. An exception
to this is the death of several Portuguese
in Hong Kong.
The cause of the strange malady is a
mystery, but it is undoubtedly a filth
disease.
experience with the black plague in
Pakhol some years ago said in an inter-
view that it was dueto foul smells.
The plague’s symptoms, as described
already are as follows : With or with-
out premonition, warning in the shape of
chill, there is a sudden fever rising to
105 degrees or over. There is much
headache and cerebral disturbance, ac-
companied by stupor.
to twenty-four hours a glandular swell-
ing occurs in the neck, armpit, or groin,
rapidly enlarging to the size of a fowl’s
egg ; it is hard and exceedingly tender.
With or without a decline of the fever,
the patient sinks deeper into a condition
of coma and dies usually at the end of
He declar-
LER tgs Bt
the grou nd.
forty-eight hours or sooner.
adhd oi mn Senet EE nid
Cause the germs were near
Native reports from Canton say that
the epidemic is somewhat decreasing
there, but many new cases are still re-
ported. It is said that flsh are also
stricken, and fishermen in some districts
have been forced to cease operations.
The Egyptian Styles of Writing.
The Egyptians had four separate
and distinct styles or forms of writing
—the hieroglyphic, the hieratic, the
enchorial and the Coptic. The hiero-
plyphic was probably in use as early
as the year 4000 B, C. and at first was
made up entirely of pictures. About
the year 2000 B. C. the hieratic form
or style was introduced. In this the
picture hierogly phics were greatly sim-
plified, finally developing into forms
purely linear. The eachorial form of
writing was in use among the Egyp-
tians from about the year 700 B. C.
until about the year 200 A. D., and
was still a further simplification of the
earlier forms, which finally developed
into the alphabetic form known as the
Coptic.— St. Louis Republic.
Soap Stilled the Stormy Seas.
During the storm in the Adriatic
Captain Gall ot the steamship Senegal
Messageries Francaises, made an ex-
periment of the effect of soapy water
in arresting the fury of the waves, He
dissolved «ix pounds of soap in T0
quarts of water and poured the mix-
tare on some uaraveled ropes, down
which it ran slowly into the sea. In
this way a zone of smooth soapy water
was formed around the steamer of
about 40, feetin extent, against which
the waves broke without being able to
reach the steamer. This was while
the vessel was lying to, but when she
began to move the zoue of quiet water
moved with her until the engines had
made 45 revolations.-— London News.
The Chinese Pink.
The Chinese pink was first sent from
China to Paris by missionaries in 1705.
The double ones were first noted
among seedlings in 1719 in Paris gar-
dens, Of late years the improvement
has been rapid, and today there are
few more satisfactory or beautiful
plants in garden borders than the im-
proved China pink.— Meechar's Month-
ly.
THE WAY OF IT.
This was the way her youth went:
Care and lcve for a motherless brood
Drained her heart of its fiery blood ;
Small denials, unfinished things,
Blunted ardor and clipped her wings.
That is the way her youth went.
This is the way her love went:
Then came the hope which maidens prize,
A woman's longing for closer ties
Than love adopted, though close it be;
Bui duty spoke, and she made no plea.
That is the way her love went,
After a season of pain, 'twas done,
The calm, pale face in its coffin lay ;
But far and wide in the realms of day
The angels shouted to greet her home,
And Heaven was happier now she had come.
That is the way her life went.
— Florence E. Prattin Good Housekeeping.
A physician who bad large
In from twelve
? For and About Women.
No woman in America, whether
beauty or belle, enjoys more distinction
or widespread popularity than Miss
Frances E. Willard, who, after a resi-
dence of two years abroad, is now on
the ocean and expected to arrive in
a few days in New York, where
she will be given a reception.
Not only in the religious world, but
wherever interests is taken in the ad-
vancement and elevation of woman,
Miss Willard is recognized as one of the
foremost leaders and champions of her
sex,
Vests of duck, moires satin and chif-
fon accompany ladies’ Prince Albert
and tailor-made suits. ;
The saucy little empire knot is deemed
by the American woman the most fash-
! ionable style of coiffure. It is worn
! quite low or in the middle of the head
during the day, and hich on the head
during the evening. Where the hair is
naturally wavy, this knotis exceedingly
becoming. However, curling irons are
here to perform their important mission
and the maiden with obstinately
straight strands of hair can manipulate
the irons until her locks are as curly
and wavy as those bestowed by nature
on her more fortunate sister. The hair
should be waved and parted before mak-
ing the knot. Only the sides are waved
the rest being drawn up closely to the
centre of the head. There itis firmly
grasped by the right band, while the
left winds it into a coil straight out from
the ead. This rope, when tight, is
brought forward and twisted into an up-
standing loop. At this point the first
hairpin is put in, to secure the loop at
the top. While the left hand still holds
the strand in place, two pins are put in
to secure the bottom of the loop. Then
the rope of hair is wound the entire
length about the loop. If there be
short hair on the side and back, it is
waved and brought up loosely into the
knot, its ends being pinned away out of
sight. All this accomplished, a long
comb, pin or dagger is then lightly run
through.
The gown that is worn for traveling
and for general outing, is of course, a
tailor-made costume. One of the pretti-
est models is of fine black serge, and
shows a four yard gored skirt with three
rows of stitching four inches above the
edge. To the round waist is added a
circular coat piece. Then there are col-
lar and sleeves of black moire, with wide
revers of the same. A masculine cut
vest of white duck with tiny black pin
dots, a white linen collar and chimisette
and a broche four-in-hand tie complete
this toilet.
A very dressy tailor gown is a golden
brown vignone. The skirt has a nar-
row panel of white novelty moire, with
each edge covered with a narrow band
of jet spangles. The frock coat has a
full back, and the front is added on
with seams, like a man’s frock coat. It
is double-breasted, with jet buttons,
spangled wrist-bands reveres and turn-
over collar of the material, and a chemi-
vvo ravi wewotr -COIlar of moire. The
skirt of this gown pan be ~vew tu suo
house with a waist of white accordion
pleted chiffon, trimmed with jet spang-
led bands or with a blouse of golden
brown and old rose taffeta; with belt
and collar of jet and epaulet ruffles of
white guipure lace.
For afternoon wear on a warm day,
however, nothing exceeds in beauty or
comfort the dainty cotton frock,
srimmed with lace and ribbon. India
muslin, plumetis, organdies, dimities
embroidered batistes, lace mulls, ete.,
are lovely materials for the afternoon
seashore frock. Beautiful effects, how-
ever. can be obtained with fine ging-
hams, especially with the small checked
designs, and with the swivel and satin- -
striped zephyr ginghams in delicate
shades. :
- An exquisite gown, is of pale green
zepbry gingham with an embroidery in
white lace effects haltway up the skirt,
gathered to a deep yoke nearly covered
with round rows of inch-wide white
lace insertion. The round waist of the
gingham has epaulet frills which end as
bretelles at the waist line, where they
are edged with insertion. The wrists of
the leg-o-mutton sleeves (which, like
the waist, are unlined) are trimmed with
three rows of insertion. On the belt
and shoulders are bows of green satin
ribbon.
The girls are all wearing “dickies,”
or “dickeys,” I'm sure I don’t know
which isright. Itis a caution which
wears the insidious seeming of economy,
to mask quite other qualities. Over a
plain bodice or over—well, over next to
nothing, if the day is warm—one wears
a simple front of China silk, belted
down at the bottom: to the skirt and fit-
ted at the top with a collar fastening in
the back. Such a dickey, of course, in-
volves demands a long jacket which you
can’t shake off. On the whole, the
complete waist or blouse has every ad-
vantage over the dickey, except econo-
my. The dotted Swiss fronts are fresh
and lovely, finished with gathered col--
lar, and a full Swiss bow at tke-
front of the neck. An entire bodice of
this material is the most delightful thing
imaginable on a warm day, and makes
those about you even cooler than you
feel yourself. One of them worn with
a crisp mobair skirt, and belted in with
one of the dainty white moire belts, is a
neat and faultless toilet. The belts
have beautiful silver and enamel clasps.
A pretty summer dress that has been
much admired is a pale beliotrope and -
white striped muslin made with im-
mense shoulder rufiies that narrowed
down over a tucked front beautified
with lace insertion. The ruflles were
edged with narrow lace and the collar
and sash were of white satin. These
features were distinctly novel. The col- -
lar was gathered into two full knots on
either side of the front and back and the
sash went around the waist from two
rosettes set in front and terminated in
two rosettes and ends in the back. A
pretty idea was in having the ruffle
pieces elongated so that the tabs are
tied in a bow knot in front.