a AS SS
Bellefonte, Pa., Oct. 19, 1894.
ONLY A DREAM.
From an Unknown Exchange.
I was dhramin’ last noight, Dennis, dhramin’,
I dhreamt that two coal barons died ;
They died in the midst of their schamin’,
An’ divil a wan for them cried.
Idhreamt that they went to that farland,
From which no one ever returned ;
They wint to be crowned with a garland,
Or in brimstone and fire be burned,
They traveled on shoulder to shoulder
To the beautiful haven of rest,
The younger one urging the older
To be not dismayed at the test ;
That after all heavenly justice
Was only a matter of form ;
That God, like the State, could be purchased,
An’ so they need have uo alarm.
Bt. Peter, declinin’ to meet them,
A messenger sent to the twain,
Informin’ them hell was their station
If entrance therein they could gain,
They piteously begged an’ entreated
When told of their horrible fate,
“On earth we were coddled an’ feted,
Oh, sir, won’t the Lord arbitrate ?”
The messenger shook his head slowly
“There’s nothing to arbitrate here,
The laws of Almighty are just ones,
The punishment’s not too severe.
His every decision is final;
He never revokes one, and so
If you wish to receive arbitration,
ou had better apply down bellow.”
The messenger silently left them,
And they, giving way to despair,
Set out for the kingdom of Satan
An’ tremblirg wint down the stair;
An’ then, after some hesitation,
Knocked on the great iron door
That guarded the kingdom of Satan,
Wherein they must dwell e’ermore.
The door swung back on its hinges,
A voice asked, *Who be so bold ?”
One answered, *'King of the fields,
My name, sir, you need not be told.”
“Ah, yes! and whom has thou with thee?
His face seems familiar, indeed.”
“Why that’s my trusted lieutenant,
To name, I think, there’s no need.”
“We both served thee well, while on earth, sir,
But now of its troubles we're tired ;
And ask for a place in thy kingdom
Where union man never was hired;
A place where there's no Knights of Labor
And hungry mouths to be fed.”
The devil eyed them both sharply,
And said with a toss of his head:
“Ye shall not abide in my kingdom,
Your presence would bring it disgrace ;
You've each left a record behind you
Eternity cannot efface.
My subject are men of some honor,
f I take you they're sure to rebel ;
Besides, I myself have been thinkin’
Ye'd want to be bosses in hell.”
They cried : “If you give us admission
We're willing to serve you for’ er.”
But the devil, filled with suspicion,
An’ looked with disgust at the pair,
He turned with a laugh and a sneer,
And toddled off just as he came—
Wid that I awoke, Dennis, dear,
An’ found it was only a dhrame.
———
TWO WAYS,
BY FRANCES BACON PAYNE.
Douglas Ellis came in quietly with
his latch-key just as the tall clock was
striking eleven. He stood still a mo-
ment in the dimly lighted hall. A
faint odor of roses reached him from
a vase that held a cluster on the table,
There were always flowers in the
house. The palms at the foot of the
stairs were as carefully arranged as
the violets would be in Louise’s dress.
The colors of the draperies were as
carefully chosen as one of her dinner
gowns. :
Ellis sighed as he stepped over to the
table and laid down his hat and coat.
“It would never do not to have
flowers,” he murmured.
He pushed aside the heavy portiere
that hung in the parlor door, and
stood etill there, too, as though he
were looking at something new. The
room was lighted by the smoulder-
ing wood in the open fireplace and the
pink glow from under the shade of an
old silver lamp on the table. It was
full of a soft radiance of color and
charm that 'suggested Louise.
He sat down in front of the fire, and
piled up the two or three pieces that
remained. They gave a poor little
blaze for a moment, and then went out
That was discouraging, so he lita cig-
arette and threw himself down on the
sofa.
“I wonder how Louise will take it,”
he said, balfaloud. “I am glad I
have decided pretty much what to do
before I tell her. Iam afraid she will
be for giving everything up ; but that
18 entirely out of the question. Wom-
en always go to such extremes. I
wich they were more reasonable, I
wonder what Louise would have done
in my place to-day ? What a beastly
day it's been anyway!” He threw his
cigarette into the pile of wood ashes,
and then carefully lighted another.
Ellis had been feeling the hard times
for some months, but he had a san-
guine temperament. And when other
men had been running their mills on
halftime aod les:, he had kept his
running to their full capacity, looking
for a quick return of more prosperous
days, when from his accumulated
stock he could speedily supply the de-
mand that they would bring, and un-
dersell his more cautious rivals.
So long as his credit continued good,
“hard times’ was but an empty phrase
to him. But his diminished sales had
been followed by inperceptible collec
tions, and at last his paper had been
refused at every bank where he was
koown. To-day the crash had come.
For the first time in their history the
Lennox Mills had shut down.
“I thought I heard you come in,
Douglae. I was waiting for you up-
stairs in the sitting-room. But you
did not come, so I came down. You
are so late to-night.”
It was Louise who had come in soft-
ly, and stood before him in a loose
white gown that she held closely to
her with one hand, and in the other
was a folded copy of one of the even-
ing papers.
“I was coming up, dear, in a mo-
ment,” Ellis said, jumping up. “I
staid down here to think about some-
thing I had to tell you. I am afraid
it will worry you, but you mustn't let
it, you know, for—"
“You won't have to tell me, Doug-
las, for I know all about it. Didn't
you know it was in the evening pa-
per's? I have been waiting for you all
this time,
4d Louise put her arms around his
neck and cried out loud.
“My goodness I" he said. “I forgot
all about the papers. Why, of course
it must have been in all of them.
Bother them ! There! don’t cry ; it will
be all right.”
But at the tone of his voice Louise was
quiet. He did not understand her
tears. She had not cried because of
the news she had read, but because of
the relief she felt to have him home af-
ter her anxious hours of waiting for
him.
“Why didn’t you tell me all you
were going through, Douglas. It has
been such a shock. 1 could have
helped you, with sympathy at least,
even if my advice would not have been
very valuable.”
Her voice was steady now, and that
made her feel at ease with herself and
with him. They sat down together on
the sofa.
Then Douglas went over the situa
tion at the mills, and explained every-
thing to Louise that she did not under-
stand. That was coansiderable for
Louise had never bothered her head
about business, She learned a great
deal more during her talk with him
than he realized. Her mind was al-
Ways open 10 receive a new impression,
and if the impression was one of inter-
est to her it was sure to grow and de-
velop into thoughts. and generally into
action, if ehe was given the opportu-
nity.
She had led a simple happy protect-
ed life always. Her marriage had
been the logical outcome of her briag-
ing up. Her mother died when she
was twelve years old, and she and her
father had lived together for ten years.
Then she had married, and two years
later her father died, leaving her quite
alone. Her troubles so far had been
natural and healthy. Her nature had
not been called upon to assert itself be-
yond obeying her natural inclinations,
which were free and right, and she
had been as happy as she knew how.
“It is going to be so hard for the mill
hands, Douglas. I don’t see how it is
possible for poor people to economize.
We are really better off than they are,
for there is something we can do, and
80 often doing something is the great
est help and the greatest good that can
come to us, especially when we are in
this kind of trouble. It wont take me
long to have everything ready and give
up the house. Of course we must do
it at once. If father had not left it in
trust for the children how easily we
could sell it | I wonder what we can
do? Do you know at all’”’—she looked
at him hesitatingly a moment—‘how
much we will have to live up-
on?” For some reason ehe felt shy
about asking him these qeustion. They
had never occurred to her before. The
large check he deposited for her every
mouth more than covered any ex-
penses she might have:
“We'll have plenty to live upon,
Louise. Things can’t last long this
way with me. In a couple of weeks
we may be running again. It would
never do in the world to give up the
house. It would look dreadfully, in
the first place, and in the second piace,
where couid we go ? Taking another
around the corner just like it would
not help us much, would it?” And I
don’t eee what else we could do,”
Louise's heart seemed to grow quite
cold as he was talkiug to her. How
inconsistent what he was saying to her
now seemed with what he had explain-
ed about the mills and the business
only a little while before! What did
he mean ? she looked at him wonder-
ingly:
“But the expense of this is tremen-
dous,’” she said. “We could live so
much more carefully in a little place—
in the country, perhaps. I don’t see
where all the money is coming from to
pay the bills, and the servants, and the
borses, and everything if the mills are
shut, Douglas ?”’
“You don’t understand, dear, that a
man can always get money. Why, it
is nothing to borrow an income for a
while when your own is tied up.”
“Do you mean that you would bor-
row the money from anyone that you
give to me for expenses ?"’ she said.
“Well, [ may not have to,” Douglas
said. “I can’t give up on account ot
this, though, Louise, and you must not
think about it any more. Wait and
see. We'll talk about it again. You
are tired to night, and so am I. Its
late, and time to go to bed. It has
been a pretty tough day.”
“I don’t feel a bit tired,” said Louise
getting up and walking over 10 the
lamp which she put out with a little
snap by pulling the tassel atthe side.
“I am only trying to understand but I
don’t seem to succeed very well. Per-
haps to-morrow will be better for both
of us. It has been a hard day, hasn't
it, Douglas ?”’ She did not want to for-
get how much harder it had been for
him than for her, and che leaned light-
ly against him as they went up the
stairs together. “I am glad the chil-
dren are s0 young ; they may never
know,” she went on. “Things will
surely be all right again before they
are old enough to understand, won't
they dear ? I am so anxious to help
to make them right. I would give up
anything, everything, rather than go
on when it is wrong. You must be
sure to remember that.”
He stooped at the head of the land-
ing and kissed. her good-night. “It
won't be necessary, so don’t worry any
more,” he said.
But that did not comfort her. She
went into her room with a great new
weight on her heart and in her mind.
It was the first time that anv serious
question bad come up between her hus-
band and herself, and the first time
that they had materially disagreed.
It opened up a new vista of life to her.
That, in conjunction with what she
bad read in the papers that evening,
and pondered over alone by herself un-
til she had had her not very satisfacto-
ry talk with him, made her feel, as she
slowly undressed, that her girlhood
was over’ She wished for a moment
that ehe had known what was coming
I thought you would never | to her, She would have planned ber
come. Oh, I am so sorry—so sorry—"" day so differently,
One thing, she
would have] staid longer at the Law-
rence’s reception. She was enjoying
herself so much, but she hurried home
80 as not to be Jate for dinner. Sh
might have had her tea with the chil
dren, instead of sitting through tae
long dinner by herself, with all of the
evening papers hidden in her lap, so
that the servants would not see them
Those were little things, after all, but
still she thought of them, Her hands
were 80 cold that she could not do her
hair, so she left it hanging, long and
wavy down her back. It was early in
the morning when she finally fell
asleep.
Louise learned a great deal during
the months that followed. Some of
her experiences she knew were good
for her ; others were not: She began
to wonder over things that never oc
curred to her before, and to lie awake
late at night thinking them out.
Her daily life was a continual battle
with herself, and one in which after
prised to find how strong she was, and
that nothing affected her health, tor
she was making a great call upon her
physical endurance.
There were many days when she
gave up the struggle, not because she
was a coward, but becanse she saw the
effect ber useless efforts to change
things had upon her. Her bright spir-
it was going, and her feelings about
people and things were changing. She
hoped that something either better or
worse would happen. but nothing hap-
pened.
Matters went on about the same
with Douglas. The mills did not open
again, though he told Ler each week
that they surely would. She kept up
the house very much as usual. She
had three servants, fewer than she had
ever had before, but no one realized
that. She economized as well as she
could, and as much as Doaglas would
let her. After the first few months
she stopped going to him for money :
she waited tor him to come to her. She
knew that he did not have it of his
own, 80 she decided to let that misera-
ble scene go by, She dreaded the first
of the month unspeakably ; there was
always the doubt about being able to
pay ber bills, the wondering of what
Douglas would do and say, and the
same hopeless pitiful appeal to him to
make some other arrangements of liy-
ing.
Just at this time some friends of his
came over from England. He was
trying to urge upon Louise the impor-
tance of entertaining them. They had
been to dinner, and Louise did her best
to have everything pleasant and like
the old days. She had spent the af-
ternoon arranging one of her last win.
ter dinner gowns so that it might look
quite up to the prevailing fashion. She
had not had much experience in sew-
ing, and for the first time in her life
was cocscious of an ill-fitting back.
It was at the dinner table that
Douglas proposed giving a reception
for them. Louice was enthusiastic
over the idea, and just for a brief mo:
ment she acted as she used to feel. It
was such a luxury to be the cordial
hostess once more. So the day was
settled upon for the tea.
After the Hollands left, Louise
thought of speaking to Douglas about
the inadvisability ot entertaining them
further, under all the circumstances,
but she realized it was too late, and let
the matter drop. She felt tired and
goon went up stairs. Lately she had
been sleeping in the spare room on
the same floor with the nursery, for
she hod developed a nervous feeling
about the children and liked to be
near them. Sometimes she]would beg
the little Midge (rom Jeanne, and take
her to sleep with her. That privilege
was against the rales of the well-order-
ed nursery, but Louise thought the
rules counted for little in comparison
with the present needs of her heart.
Aud how different it made her life to
wake up in the morning with the little
soft face nestled against hers! The
children occupied her thoughts more
than ever now. Her happy moments
were with them, and her sad moments,
too. She was haunted sometimes,
when she was depressed, by the idea
that something might happen to her,
and that Millicent would grow up and
feel as she did. An inheritance of
care was not what she wanted to leave
to her children.
She got up and dressed quickly de-
cided to talk to Douglas before he went
down town. But when she reached
the breakfast table, instead of being
able to speak of what was on her
mind, she bad to arrange about the
tea for the Holland’s, and dissuade
Douglas from having some expensive
professional musicians to play.
The day came and the house was
crowded. Everyone was glad to see
it thrown open again. Louise tried to
torget that it was all against her will
and her conscience. She wondered if
she looked as far away to the many
faces that crowded around her as they
did to her. Ouce she caught sight of
herself in the glass, and saw her flush-
ed excited face. She was looking well;
that reassused her, and the fragrance
from the violets in her dress that some
one had sent her was like a breath
from a happy world and she was gay
in spite of herself.
But it did not last long; for when
every one had gone, and she went up
stairs, the mail she found on her wri
ing desk brought back all the old
fhoughts. Why had she tried to be
happy ? She gathered the letters up
and went down stairs to the library.
Douglas looked up at her from the
evening paper a moment, and then for
a much longer moment his eyes rested
on the bundle of papers in her hand,
“Have you come to talk about the
people this afternoon, or the bills,” he
asked.
“I had almost forgotten about the
people ; and don't think I have come
| to ask you about money for these. I
know you haven't got it just now. But
I do want to ask you if you will not
| talk over with me some means of end-
ing all th’s—arranging things, I mean,
go that there will be no need of having
' the first, her heart and her understand- !
ing had no sympathy. She was sur- :
hese bills any more, and then tnere
need not be this miserable worry about
trying to pay them.”
“Arrange 80 a8 not to have any bills,
Louise ? Wno ever heard of such a
thing? The person who can do that |
nad better get a patent on it. His for-
tune is made.”
“I do not s=e what will become of
us" —she hesitated a moment—what
will become of me, Dyaglas, it we do
this sori of thing. You are so used to
having very large sums of money pa-s
through your hands that these seem
trivial to your I suppose they are in
a way. Bat I don’t seem to be able to
help the effect it has upon me—ine
wor.y of it, the deceit of it, for it 18 de-
ceit to pretend to have what we have
not. and the effort about it all.
You don’t know howZchanged I am.
I don’t seem to have any natural feel
ings any more. Everything is hushed
in my heart. You do not notice it.
And Donglas, it is just as much for
your good that I want to give it up.
How can you get on your feet again if
we do not begin by saving something.
It won't take so very long, and then
we can come back and enjoy it all so
much more and be happy again. I
have been thinking about a house in
the country—a little bit of a place that
won't be any care. I'm sure I could
find one. We could live there so econom-
ically, and rent this house. We
could get a big rent for it, you know.
What do you say, Douglas ?’
He bad been walking up and down
the length of the rug in front of the fire
place, and Louise was still leaning on
the back of a chair. She could talk
better standing.
Douglas had not recovered his ex-
pression of annoyance while she had
been talking to him. She had watch-
ed him closely, and had been disap-
pointed that he had not once met her
eyes. “I think you make a great deal
out of nothing, Louise. It would be
foolish to give up the house. It would
look very badly. People would talk
and wonder, and look upon us with
pity , perhaps. I coundn’t stand it.
You never would be happy in a little
bit of a house in a little bit of a place
in the country, It would be folly to
undertake it. I shall goon, in a few
days have things fixed in a fine style.
I am sure of a big sum of money this
week—"’
Louise's eyes flashed, and she said,
pluckily, “You told me that three
months ago, and you have given me
nothing—nothin—"’
“Bat I am going to, my dear, as
soon as I get it myself.”
Three months ago. - It seemed so lit
tle to him, bat it had been a long time
for her.
“Now make your plans for the sum-
mer, little girl,” he continued, brightly
coming up to her and putting his hand
on her shoulder, “and I will see that
everything is ready, and you shan’t be
bothered by all these little things any
more. You musin’t let them bother
your There is no good in it at all.”
Louise drew away from him. If
what hesaid were true, she felt she
would have cried one whole day on his
shoulder. But she knew it was not trae
She saw that she could gain nothing
with him, and that she must stand by
herself, without him.
Suddenly she grew cold. She wanted
to laugh, but she could not. It was a
comfort to feel she would not be able
to cry again, She could employ her
her time better now than by wasting it
in tears, She had a great deal to do.
How foolish she had been to cry so
often in the night through these long
months! They were over now. She
started for the door. Something seem-
ed to blind her ; her face was getting
hotter and hotter; the words were
straggling to come out.
“Douglas,” she said—her vice sound-
ed to her as though she was screaming
—*“I do not know what you mean by
speaking to me as though I were noth-
ing but a child. You did not used to.
You must think I have changed very
suddenly. But I have not changed. I
cannot discuss these matters with you
any more, Please let me pass, I wish
to go—up stairs —to the children—"
She threw her head back as though
to catch her breath, and Douglas, won-
dering and amazed at the strange tones
of her voice and the white look in her
face, moved to one side, and she passed
before him out of the room.
Louise lay awake late that night.
She had gained a great courage. She
realized how wavering she had been
the past months, and how much she
had given up of what she thought was
right.
In some ways it had seemed her on-
ly duty to do as Douglas said, because
she had no clearly defined alternative
to offer. She did not see that she had
had any duties lately that seemed to
her exactly right. There was a general
confusion about them in her mind.
But to-night it was all changed. There
would be no more discussions, She
closed her eyes a moment when she
thought of that. The time had come
for ber to act. She would go and find
the little house in the country, and
move down with the children and
Jeanne. Then she tell asleep.
The next few days were very busy.
Louise was possessed of a gladness of
heart and lightness of spirit that could
not be equalled by the May sunshine.
How nice it was to find in her dull
heavy-hearted self some one entirely
new | She was afraid something would
happen to ruin this new experience.
After two or three days’ search she
found the house she wanted—a quaint
little place an hour from the city, and
right on the road-side, but with an
apple orchard at the back in full blos-
som, and a broad porch covered with
vines, The rooms inside were small
and low, but there were enough of
them to make her family comfortable.
There was such sweelness in the
spring blossoms and the soft air, and
such peace and quiet in the green fields
and the trees, that Louise felt like a
different woman. If some of the peace
that was so genuine, and the freshness
and light that were so pure, could come |
into her lite and Douglas's life,for even |
a short time, it would be all that she
could a~k. It was that thought that
decided her to take the house, as she
stood leaning against the side of the
porch, with the light of the afternoon
sun falling at ber feet.
Douglas had gone out of town to at-
| tend to some business, and had been
away from home for two or three days.
Wien he retarned he found the out-
side doors closed. This was unusual,
for 11 was early in the afternoon. When
be went ins de the house there was an
unmistakable air of everything being
shut up. There was no one around ;
he called, but received no answer. A
sickening feeling came over him, and
he went into the darkened parlor and
sat down, He suddenly wished, as he
sat down. He nad done differently the
last six months. Louise had gone.
Certainly the house never looked this
way when she was in it. Could it be ?
He got up, and went oat into the hall
and up the long flight of stairs, two at
a time. The rooms were all empty
ani bare. Lonise had gone. The
children had gone. The servants had
goue,
He went down again, slowly this
time, feeling for each step. As he
reached the hall he heard a door close,
and started like a child.
“Is that you, Mr. Ellis?"
“Yes, Catharine, it is.”
“I have a letter for you here, sir.”
She had come up to him, trying not
to look at him, and handed him the
letter. He went into the parlor, and
pulled up the shade, and opened it.
His face was white,and his hands were
trembling, but no one was there to see.
“My pear Douveras [it read],—The
night that [ last talked with you I de-
cided to take this step. I hope that
you will forgive me, and try to under-
stand. We could not go on as we were,
and renting the house and coming to
the country seemed the only thing to
do. The circumstances have not
seemed very clear at any time, and
nothing has seemed right. That is
what has made it hard tor both of us.
I think down in this little place that
everything will be different,
“The children enjoy playing out so
much, and Jeanne has proved herself
an excellent cook. The house is an
old-fashioned little place. I put the
hammock out under the trees this af-
ternoon,and I am very anxious to have
you see how it all looks.
“The expenses are 80 small bere, and
everything so natural and simple, that
it makes me happy just to live.
“There is a rose-tree almost as tall
as Millicent in the garden. It will soon
be in bloom.
“I hope you will return by Saturday.
“Yours, Lovuisg,”
As Douglass folded the letter and put
it back, a scrap of paper fell on the
floor. He picked it up, and saw it was
the time table.
He held his watch a moment to cal-
culate the time, and then went quietly
out of the house.
The Cure ot Cancer an Easy Matter.
In the WATCHMAN of September
7th, appeared the following squib :
——Cancer killed 24 year old Eugene
Wensel, at Howard, on Thursday.
The announcement of the young
man’s death was evidently read some
days later, by Mr. J. P. Correll, pub-
lisher and printer, of the Easton Sentinel,
which paper the WATCHMAN numbers
among its best exchanges, for we receiv-
ed a letter from Mr. Correll, under date
of Sept. 15th, in which he enclosed a
clipping which we recognize to be from
the Sentinel. Under the caption ‘‘a
gratifying result” it goes on to tell of
the successful work of a local cancer
specialist as follows :
Mr. R. H, Steward, the cancer special-
ist, of Siegfried’s Bridge, last Monday
removed a cancer from the nose of Mrs.
Samuel Hahn of Scuth Easton. The
cancer which he had treated thirteen
days befors was of many years growth.
Some years ago an attempt was made to
remove it by a surgical operation, with
the knife, but it proved a failure. Re-
cently the cancer had grown quite large
and was very painful and annoying.
Mrs. Hahn is an old lady, eighty-six
years of age. She is very much pleased
at the result of Mr. Steward’s treatment
and finds words hardly adequate to ex-
press her thankfulness. She is now en-
tirely cured, and without pain.
Mr. Steward is at the Swan hotel in
Euston each Tuesday, for the treatment
of people who are afflicted with cancer,
angeiomu or similar growths. The op-
eration is guaranteed to be painless and
at the same time a cure is certain,
The letter which enclosed the clipping
deplores the fact that any one should
have to die from an external cancer and
it seems that Mr. Steward has justified
the faith the publisher of the Sentinel
has in him, for that paper published the
above notice, not as an advertisement,
but simply to let people know where a
man could bé found who could cure
cancer if they suffered from it. Mr.
Correll’s interest in the matter seems
very unselfish and solely for the sake of
humanity. He suggested that any one
in this community might be treated by
the specialist at slight cost and feels that
a cure will certainly be effected.
If any of our readers are or have
friends who are troubled with the malig-
nant growth it might be well for them
to take the advice given, for there could
be ro unpleasant result at least.
ATTRACTIVE RouTk.—The attention
of our patrons is called to the improved
facilities for travel offered by the Central
Railroad of Penn’a. Passengers for New
York city and Philadelphia taking the
8:30 P. M., train from Bellefonte can
board the buffet sleeping car at Mill
Hall which reaches Philadelphia at 7:12
A. M., and New York at 9:30 A. M.
This service is unsurpassed in point of
comfort and convenience and is sure to
win its way to favor with the travelling
public.
——The Salvation Army has taken
up “living pictures’’ asa means to an
end. In Cbieago they are presenting a
series at their meetings. The first one
is the drunkard’s home, called ‘Hell in
a Cottage” then follows one in which
the ‘army’ goas to the rescue, after
which is seen the happy home in which
is the drunkard reformed. The audi-
ence applauds each picture wildly.
For and About Women.
Harriet Hosmer, though a resident of
Rome for many years, 1s still a good
American she has recently given her
native land a valuable gift—her cast of
the clasped hands of Robert Browning
and his wife, which she has made in
1853. The Art Institute of Chicago is
the recipient of this work, for which
Miss Hosmer once refused an offer of
$5,000. St. Louis, where she studied
anatomy in preparation for her career,
has long owned her statue of Beatrice
Cenci, besides several minor works, in
cluding a statue of Thomas H. Ben-
ton.
To be without at least too little odd
neck arrangements this winter will be
to argue that you do not know the cor-
rect uhing. As they are so simply made
no one need feel that they cannot afford
the luxury of the new fad. Buy a band
of fur, stock height put a little head on
either side with a cluster of violets or
bluets and your work is done. If you
desire something a little more elaborate,
gather the fur into a fullness on either
side and set the flowers as sentinels
alongside the soft puff thus formed. It
doesn’t cost much, either in time or
money, to possess all the little up-to-
date trifles, and they add so much to a
womans dress that to be without them
is really a piece of unforgivable negli-
gence.
The only woman trainer of race horses
in this country, Mrs. Chalmers,
has five sons who are either trainers or
jockeys. And she bas taught them all
they know about horses and racing.
A trousseau recently finished includ-
ed one traveling dress, which, with its
accessories, may do duty as four distinet
gowns; the wedding gown, constructed
so thatit may meet ballroom require-
ments, if necessary ; a black silk with
accompaniments which may transform
the gown into somber church apparel or
a carriage or reception dress, a simple
rose-colored India silk for the theater or
dinner party, and a pretty tea gown for
the boudoir. The travel gown is of dark-
green cloth, just heavy enough to give
the idea of durability and richness. The
skirt is seven gored, and perfectly plain.
A jaunty tight-fitting coat, fastened
over to the left side by four handsome
green enameled, filigree buttons, forms
the waist, and a vest of dark green
plaid silk completes the costume. As
it thus appears, the dress is suitable for
all ordinary cool weather. For the
stormy and windy days, the big" com-
fortable golf cape is added. This is
fashioned of the same material, reaches
down over the dress, is and lined with
dark green plaid silk. The deep hood is
also lined with the same, and two
straps of plaid hold the cape in
place. For the hotel dinner, the more
conspicuous drive or the unexpected,
the plaid silk vest of the suit gives way
t0 a dainty front of pale blue crepe and
siik, collar high and finished with a ros-
ette at each side, or to another front,
gold embroidery on white cloth, either
of which completely transform the
gown. Then for warm days, when the
golf cape is thrown aside und even the
jaunty coat is a trifle too heavy, there is
the picturesque blouse waist of dark
green plaid, the dark belt and its silver
buckle, and the costume is still appro-
priate and complete. All these acces-
sions which will provide for any emer-
gency the bride will carry in her own
hand valise.
The wedding gown is at once elabor-
ate and yet simple. The elaborate effect
lies in the material. This is of ivory-
colored oriental crepe, and was one of
the purchases made in the Turkish
booth at the World’s Fair. The crepe
is crinkled in effect and is satin striped.
The skirt is slightly draped. tucked up
here and there with ivory satin ribbons,
demi-train, and simply finished about
the bottom with knotted festoons of
white chiffon. The same idea is carried
out in the finish of the gigot sleeves,
and also about the bottom of the bodice.
' The bodice is constructed with the high
Worth collar. For the wedding a deep
double bertha of white chiffon will
completely hide the bodice, and a veil
will be worn. The costume is rich
enough, and dainty enough to appear in
any elaborate court affair abroad. The
black satin with a dash of blue in the bro-
caded over drapery and big sleeves, will
be subdued by the big black lace square
of the bodice finished with a broad bow
across the chest of black satin ribbon, or
will become festive by the bodice square
of blue puffed crepe, held in place by a
cut jet passementerie and the addition
of a beautiful girdle of cut jet.
The home dinner dress of rose-colored
india, simply fashioned with round
waist and with garniture of velvet rib-
bon by the addition of white lace, be-
comes & dress of more elaborate preten-
sions. The tea gown is of blue serge,
lightweight trimmed with velvet rib-
bons of a darker tint. The neck and
sleeves are finished with deep ruffles of
blue embroidered chiffon the same tint
as the body of the dress.
The simple fall cape, of but
few pretensions, worn with the neat
walking costume, is very smart. It
consists of three round tailor-made
capes, of cloth, trimmed with the flat,
stitched bands that figure so prominent-
ly on the tailor gowns. These bands
are at the edge, orelse form a zig-zag
trimming. They are of the bright cloth
shades—green, tan, bluet, et al. They
have a turned-down velvet collar to
match. These capes are very short, and
deserve no more imposing name than
that of collet. he
Mrs. Potter Palmer, Mrs. Charles
Henrotin and other influential women
led a feminine uprising that has result-
ed in the ciosing of Chicago's gambling
establishments. If they can make these-
places stay closed, it will be more than
the local police could or would do.
The dress capes are of all shapes,
sizes and varieties. Some hang from
yokes ; others from the neck. They are
all richly, almost lavishly trimmed. One:
dainty “affair’’ is in black velvet. Its
back is covered with a light, open pat-.
tern of black jet and green beading and
embroidery. At the waist line stands
out a small organ back so small and so-
stiff that it is almost at right angles
| with the waist. Itis edged with feath-
er trimming. A little twisted roll de-
fines the belt at the back, finished at.
each end with a chou.