Bellefonte, Pa., Jan. 18, 1895.
ee
THERE IS NO DEATH.
There is no death! The stars co down
To rise upon some fairer shore ;
And bright in heaven's jeweled crown
They shine forever more.
The dust we tread
beneath the summer
There is no death !
Shall change
showers
To golden grain or mellow fruit,
Or raintow tinted flowers.
The granite rocks disorganize
To feed the hungry moss they bear ;
The forest leaves drink daily life
From out the viewless air.
There is no death! The leaves may fall,
The flowers may fade and pass away ;
They only wait through wintry hours,
The coming of the May.
There is no death! An angel form
Walks o'er the earth with silent tread ;
He bears our best loved things away,
And then we call them *‘dead.”
He leaves our hearts all desolate—
He plucks our fairest, sweetest, flowers ;
Transplanted into bliss, they now.
Adcrn immortal bowers.
The bird-like voice, whose joyous tones
Made glad that scene of sin and strife,
Sings now an everlasting song
Amid the tree of life.
And where he sees a swile too bright,
Or he arts too pure for sin and vice,
He bears it to that world of 1ight
To dwell in Paradise.
Born io to that undying life,
They leave us but to come again ;
With joy we welcome them—the same;
Except in sin and pain,
And ever near us, though unseen,
The dear immortal spirits tread ;
For all the boundless universe
Is life—there are no dead.
ARE TT RETIS
THE FOOTBALL BOY.
Tt wae a great cross to Mr. and Mrs,
Bartlett that Roger was apparently
gnite devoid of any worthy ambition.
Their two older boys were so utterly
different. Fred had been graduated
from Yale with highest honors, and
Horace was making remarkable prog-
ress at the Scientific school. In fact,
they were both exceptionally fine
students, which made the contrast all
the more striking.
For Reger was eadly unlike his
broibers. He seemed to labor under
the impression that he had been sent
to college simply and solely for the
purpose of learning to play football.
Apparenily nothing else bad power to
kindle the slighiest enthusiasm in his
sluggish breast, and bis father and
mother argued, and expostulated with
him in vain.
“You are Irittering away your val-
aable time,” they argued again and
ggain, “and are letting slip golden op-
portunities, which, once goue, never
will come back to you, and what have
you to show for it all but a broken
nose and a tractured collar bone ?”
“[g there any prospective benefit to
be derived from these hours spent in
scrabbling after a football 2” his father
questioned severely, to which Roger
merely responded 1n his usual ofthand
style, “Who koows but I may be elect-
ed contain of the varsity team next
year ?"
“1 that the height of your ambi-
tion ?” his parent returned bitterly. “I
am terribly disappointed in you, sir.
Are you to go on playing football for-
ever and ever, or what do you propose
to make of your hte? Perhaps you
think that your reputation asa foot-
ball player will prove an ‘open sesame’
to all desirable positions. Do you sup-
pose that any one wants a fellow who
has willtully wasted his best opportu-
pities ? I had hoped to make a profes-
gional man of you—not a professional
athlete—and had even aspired to see-
ing you some day in our leading law
office with my old friend Wilkinson
Smalley, but” it's no use. Smalley
wants only young men of the highest
promise,” and Mr. Bartlett sighed
wearily.
“Tt does no good to talk to Roger,”
be confided to his wife afterward, ‘“‘for
hardly ten minutes had elapsed after I
bad been remomstrating with him
about the evils of football before he in-
quired if I wouldu’t bring you down to
gee the game on Saturday and inform:
ed methat he: had saved two tickets
for us.”
Mrs. Bartlett regarded her husband
helplessly. “What did you eay to bim
then ?” she queried.
“J told him ‘certainly not,’ ” Mr.
Bartlett exclaimed warmly, “and I ex-
pressed my surprice at his daring to
suggest such a thing. “Show me
some lasting benefit, or any abiding
good, that is to be derived from this
ridiculous game,’ I told him, ‘and then
come to me to abet you in each folly,
but not till then.” ”’
And'so Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett failed
to witness that memorable game in
which their youngest son gained for
bimself such enviable laurels. Ounce
in the field, Roger was like one trans-
formed. Keen, alert, cool, rising
splendidly to every emergency, no one
would have known him for the same
slow, indifferent, easy going specimen
of humanity who grieved the ambitious
souls of his parents by his small apti-
tude for Greek.
Not that Roger was by any means a
-dunce, for his claes standing was fair-
ly good, but what pained bis father
and mother was the recoguitian of
what he might have accomplished
had it not been for that arch enemy,
football.
The great game was over, the vic
torious team hastened back to their
mnesium with all possible speed:
hey had some little distance to go, as
the gymnasium was not very uear the
wall grounds. so that in order to reach
it they were obliged to traverse the
sentre of the town and cross the rail- |
road tracks.
Roger, who had been detained a mo-
ment or 80 longer than the others, |
reached the station a short time after
they had crossed and found the plat
forms crowded with people who were |
returning from the game, mingled with
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those who were alighting from incom:
ing trains. As he stepped upon the
platform be became conscious that
something unusual was going on, and
he immediately preceived that the eyes
of the multitude were riveted upon a
figure balf way across the tracks, a
figure pausing there in bewilderment.
wThere's a train coming each way,”
somebody gasped. “Why doesn’t he
get oft the track ?”
The station agent and one or (wo
other officials were shouting loudly,
but the man, who was old and very
deaf, appeared thoroughly dazed. As
he prepared to step upon the track
nearest him he had caught sight of one
tran coming down upon bim, and he
now staggered back and was about to
plunge in front of the other down com:
ing express when suddenly something
very unexpected happened.
As the crowd of bystanders shrank
back with horror stricken faces, con-
vineed that they were about to witness
the terrible fate which must instantly
overtake the old man, a figure in a
much begrimed canvas jacket sprang
out from among them, aod clearing
the tracks at a bound alighted beside
the ewaying form of the other.
A shudder , and a wave of pitiful re-
gret swept over the motionless crowd.
“He can never drag him back in
time,” they breathed, “They will
both be kilied | On, the pity of it!”
But our football man had no
thought of dragging the unsteady fig-
ure in front of either approaching en-
gine. Inan instant he had tackled
the man and thrown him flat upon the
ground between the tracks, for all the
world quite as if he had been an oppo
nent on the football field. Then he
dropped lightly on top of him aod lay
there motionless, while the two trains
thundered past on each side of them,
and the crowd stood waiting spell-
bound.
In much less time than it takes to
describe the episode it was over, aod
what might have been a tragedy had
proved ouly a bit of melodrama after
all, yet as Roger jumped up and pulled
the old man tu his feet applause and
cheers louder than any that had greet.
ed him on the football field rang in
his ears.
Abashed and quite overwhelmed by
such an ovation, Roger make haste to
elbow his way through the crowd, and
in so doing uearly overthrew his own
brother Fred, who happened to be
gtanding directly in his path.
“For heaven’s sake, was that you
Roger 2" he cried, confronting him in
astonishment.
“Do let me get out of this,” his
brother responded impatiently. “They
need not make such a fuss because I
knocked the old duffer over,” and he
bolted in the direction of the gymoa-
sium.
Saturday nights generally brought
the scattered members of the Barilett
family together, as the collegians al
ways made & point of coming home to
spend Sunday under the parental roof
tree.
On this particular Saturday evening
all were assembled before Roger came
in. Fred was all agog to describe the
scene that he had witnessed, but he
unselfishly held his tongue. “I'll not
gpoil his story for bim, but will give
him a chance to do justice to it,”” he
mentally ejaculated as he watched his
brother swallowing his soup with un
ruffled composure.
But Roger said nothing upon the vi-
tal subject, and Fred looked at him
with increasing surprise as he judicial-
ly set forth the respective merits of the
opposing football team and called at-
“I'll turn in early tonight, I think,”
he yawned as he withdrew from the
dining room. “I put pretty solid work
into the last half of that game,” acd
he leisurely wended his way up stairs.
“] wish that Roger would put a lit-
tlesolid work into something else.”
his father volunteered as he disappear-
ed from the room.
At this, Fred, who had in times past
repeatedly scoffed at his brother's ath-
letic proclivities, instantly fired up.
“Father,” be burst forth, ‘you're
making a big mistake about Roger.
He's got more genuine stuff in him
than all the rest of us put together,
and it it’s football that’s done it the
sooner that we all go in for the game
the better,” and then he proceeded to
give a graphic account of ‘the after-
noons experience, which caused his
father to blow his nose loudly and re-
peatedly, while his eyes glistened with
happy pride, and which sent his moth -
er weeping in search of the sleepy ath-
lete, who could not understand what
he had done that was worth making
such a fuss about.
A few days later Mr. Bartlett receiv-
ed a note from his old friend, Wilkin-
son Smalley, which ran somewhat as
follows :
Dear Bartierr—I hear that your Roger is
going in for the law, and if so I want him.
When he gets through with the law school,
you can hand him over to me, for he’s just
the material that I am on the lookout for, and
you may well be proud of him. He scared me
out of a year’s growth the other afternoon at
the station, the young rascal, but in spite of
that I wish you would tell him to come round
and take dinner with me some night, for I
want to talk to him. With kind regards to
Mrs. Bartlett, believe me ever your friend,
WILKINSON SMALLEY.
When Roger came home the follow-
ing Saturday, his father handed him
the note, remarking, “I'm afraid I
haven't appreciated your football, old
man, but I'm going to do better in the
future, snd by the way Roger, I hear
that you're to play in the game at
Springfield next week. Is that so?”
Roger nodded.
“Yery well, then,” Mr. Barilett con-
tinued, “your mother and I would like
to have you get usthe best seats that
can be bought, for we've set our hearts
upon going up to see you make the first
touchdown.” — Caroline Ticknor in
Boston Transcript.
BR,
With the orange crop of Florida
ruined and the facilities for gathering
the New Foundland codfish crop badly
impaired, the outlook for luxuries dar-
ing the year is narrowing down to clese
limits as a starter.
tention to their most vulnerable points. |
The Silence Cure.
A Physician Who Says
Nerves by Talking Too Much.
«T have two or three patients who
are ill with nervous prostration, and
who coula be cured 1f they would stop
talking,’’ said a nerve specialist the oth-
er day. “They waste their nerve tissue
as fast as I can supply it, and they are
on the verge of hysterics and acute
pervous pain all the time. A woman,
if she be inclined to talk too much,
should time herself just as she would
take medicine and allow herself only
just so many minutes of talk.
«Now, the other day a woman who
is troubled with insomnia came into
my office for treatment. She had been
taking drugs. She told me about her
troubles, and her tongue ran like the
clapper of a farmhouse bell at dinner
time. I thought she would never let
up. Finally I stopped her.
« «Do you talk as much as that very
often, madam ?’ I asked.
«She drew herself up and said in an
offended tome: ‘This is no laughing
matter, doctor, I assure you, I am
worn out for lack of eleep, and though
my family do all things possible to di-
vert my mind and I make calls and see
people all the time I get steadily worse.
I am worn to a shadow. Why, last
summer’—
“And so her tongue rattled on until
I again had to stop her.
« «Now, listen to my prescription,” I
said. ‘Go home and keep still. Don’t
talk. Time your tongue waggings. At
breakfast allow your husband to read
the newspaper without interruption.
After breakfast sew a little in your own
room. Read as much as you please.
Walk long distances if you are strong
enough. Do not make any calls. At
dinner talk all you please, but spend a
quiet evening. If you go to the thea-
tre, do not talk much during the play.
Exercise a little self denial. It
will be hard at first for you are a chat-
terer, but if you persevere you will suc-
ceed, and your nervous system will get
rest.’
«What did she say to that? Well, I
do not think she liked it. But if she
took me seriously I think I can cure
her in a month.
«Do I have many such cases? Well,
I should say I did. Itis almost safe to
declare that there never is a case of real
acute nervousness unless the woman is
a talker. With a man it is different.
He may worry himself into insanity or
complete loss of brain power if his busi-
ness goes wrong. But the very nervous
woman is seldom a worrier. She is
the woman of leisure with a small
family —few in numbers, I mean—to
direct. She buys their food, their
clothing, hires the servants and ‘keeps
house.” She has no real worries. But
she think she has? Oh, dear, yes!
She thinks she has more to do than any
other woman of her acquaintance.
tt «Keep quiet a few hours every day,
and you will be a well woman,’ is what
I tell half my woman patients. When
I can persuade them to try it, they
come back and say, ‘Why doctor, I
haven’t been nervous enough to fly
since I began to try your prescription.’ ”
— New York Sun.
Text-Book Trust Profits.
The State Has Paid Over One Milion Dollars
Unnecessarily.
The profits of the Text Book Trust
have been handsomely enhanced by the
operations of the new Free School Book
law. Those who have made a study of
the subject sre convinced that the State
paid out during the year, perhaps, $1,-
000,000 more than necessary in the
shape of trust profits, and it is likely
that an investigation will be ordered by
the Legislature.
A number of the districts have not
reported the amount expended to the
State authorities. The total, as far as
heard from for the school year ending
June 4, 1894, for books and supplies is
$1,844,714.15. This, it is stated at the
Department of Public Instruction, is
considerably more than was anticipated.
The amount per capita, ranges from
as low as 83 cents in one country to as
much as $3 in others.
There is an entire absence of uni-
formity. Some districts expended more
than the State appropriation, and others
turned the new law into a money-mak-
ing scheme.
Pittsburg pays 95 cents for an algebra
which costs McKeesport $1. Belle-
fonte buys the same book for 93 cents.
Bellefonte also secures for 63 cents a
geometry which costs $1.05 in Pittsburg
and Allegheny, and for which McKees-
port is charged $1.13. Brownsville gets
this book for 68 cents. Homestead is
assessed 56 cents for an arithmetic
which costs Allegheny 652} cents, but
has a rate lower than Allegheny cn
geographies.
The first ward of Carnegie pays $1.50
for a geography which costs Oil City $1
and Pittsburg 96 cents. It pays $1.10
for a history which Beilefonte gets for
80 cents and Bellevernon for 95 cents.
A grammar which costs Pittsburg
and Williamsport 48 cents appears to
be worth 85 cents in Carnegie. The
second ward of the same town puts up
95 cents for an arithmetic sold to Pitts-
burg for 52 cents, and many of the oth-
er figures are in proportion.
——The Reading Herald is of the
opinion that the next city that will
have a big shaking up is Philadelphia.
It estimates that the combine in that
town has been carrying things with a
high band. The annual expenditures
have increased from $22,000,000 in a
few years to $33.000,000 in 1894, and
an organization similar to Tammany
Hall runs things in every department
of the city government with equal
pecuniary profit to the leaders. The
people of that tax-ridden municipality
are ripe for an uprising, and are ouly
awaiting proper leadership to make
| their power and purpose felt,
| Attoroev General,
EE ATS
——We have heard a great deal of
complaint from Republican papers of
the large fee that go to the Secre-
Gov. Pattison asks
the Legislature to repeal the law that
gives these officers the fees.
will see how promptly the Republican
Legislature will remec
Ii wakes & great deal
whose ox ia gored.
ly the matter.
| little whirl init, and the Last
‘ fluttered to the ground. That was
{ And it was cheerfully conscious o
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STIRS
Oliver Wendel) Holmes.
Autocrat.
One day a breeze sprang up, wi
i
Women Hurt Their An Appreciative Tribute to the Memory of the |
EH .,
A REFRESHING.
Mrs. Browning awoke with a feeling
of profound discouragement. There
th a seemed no reason in the world why |
Leaf ©be should get up except that she was!
all. | obliged to do so.
There was nothing
timely falling in the order of nature. shut her eyes and lie pertectly still for
For many years Doctor Holmes
been an interested and curious specta-
tor of the maturing and sundering
processes of his own personality. With
a professional interest and a calm phil-
osophy he had watched his own pro-
gress in old age, with no morbidness,
but with a certain humorous sense of
his advantage in this study owing to his
intimacy with himself. He bad the at-
titude of one standing outside of him-
self, and noting the physiological and
psychological changes from month to
month, the interacting of spirit and mat-
ter, the falling away of powers, and
their revival -in flashes of energy. It
seemed to bim such an excellent oppor-
tunity for the student of human nature,
and the charm of it was that he could
be quite honest with himself, and hurt
no one’s feelings by his inquisitiveness.
He seemed to have as keen an interest
in this study as ever he had in a “case”
in his most ardent professional life. The
phenmomena of the process of growing
old might be scientifically as fraitful as
those of the evolution of youth. There
was no egotism in this attitude towards
himself. To his friends who observed
him it was evident that he saw the real
Holmes as others saw him, and they
could see also the bright and lambent
spirit playing about his personality as
something almost distinct from it. That
spirit was always to the very end, alert
and one might also say independent of
what he would call the ‘decay of his
powers.” To the last it was to a sur-
prising degree, though of course less
than in his prime, vigorous and crea-
tive. Not only did his wits never de-
sert him, but his wit continued incisive
and brilliant. He continued to reveal
sharp and definite impressions, and in
the alembic of his brain to combine them
and give them expression with the happy
facility that always made him one of the
most charming of talkers. Only in the
matter of memory recent impressions
did the plate seem a little dim. And
this phenomenon interested him as
much as anything, this and the observa-
tion that the force in his personal bat-
tery did not hold out for a day’s work as
it formerly did, and that the machine
could only run a little while without
weariness. Dr. Holmes is called an
optimist. That was his temperament.
He regarded the future without anxiety
and the past without bitterness. He
had his share of grief and sorrcw and
bereavement, but these he had not the
egotism to inflict upon the world.
He was an optimist, but his
perceptions of life were perfectely clear,
wnd humorously true. He did not lack
at all the power of discernment neces-
sary to sharp criticism, but he liked to
think well of bis fellows, and he want-
ed their love. He hala ninble
enough sat rical wit and a sharp pen,
but he was exceedingly reluctant to
burt the feeling of any human being.
He enjoyed running his pen through
what was to him a hateful dogma, but
hedidn’t wish to stick it through any-
body’s heart. In his contemplation of
the past there was hardly a strain of
melancholy, rather a feeling of tender-
ness for what was still dear. “I have
this forenoon,’’he wrote not long before
his death, “answered a letter from the
grandson of a classmate, and received a
visit from the daughter of another
classmate, the ‘Sweet Singer’ of the class
of 29. So you see I have been con-
templating the leafless boughs and the
brown turf in the garden of my mem-
ory,”
To stand almost alone the last of one’s
generation, to see year by year the dear
comrades of one’s inner intellectual life,
the sharers of the ambitions of youth
and the honors of age, pass away, is an
experience that can only be endurable
with the soundest and most cheerful of
hearts. More than most authors Dr.
Holmes made warm friends day by day,
and 1n this constant renewel carried
with him the enthusiasm of youth and
the sympathy of humanity. But the
pathos of the situation was nevertheless
with him. A couple of weeks after his
85th birthday, in acknowledgment of
some welcomed words, he wrote : “They
do me good. Old age at best is lonely,
and the process of changing one’s whole
suit of friends and acquaintances has its
moments when one feels naked and
shivers.”
As one and arother of the ([riends
who began the race of life with him
dropped away, he was not left to feel
that he was alone or forgotten by a de-
voted world. He had opened his heart
to the world, and it gave him its love.
«Dear Doctor Holmes,” is what it said
and never once “poor Holmes,” a term
with which it is often obliged to qualify
its admiration of men of genius. In
this sunshine of popular love he passed
serenely his last days, tasting to the last
the flavor of life, and keeping alive the
flame of wit which good fairy lit at his
cradle. We have seen him depart as
peacefully and calmly as he came, we
are putting in order his books on our
sheelves, we are even beginning to se-
lect and reject, but the charm of his per-
sonality remains with us—From the
Charles Dudley Warner, in Harper's
Magazine for January.
ee ———-——————————
His First Snow.
A little Italian who came to Rock-
land last Summer bad never seen snow,
and a recent storm was 8 great surprise.
Looking out of his window and notic-
ing some of the snow on the walk, he
cried out :
«I guess one of the lime kilns is bust-
ed.”
And then, seeing some everywhere,
he continued
«All the lime kilns must have bust-
ed.”’— Kennebec Journal.
A ——————
The New Czar.
The czar keeps on surprising the
world by unexpected manifestations of a
. | desire to begin his reign with a more
tary of the Commonwealth and the | iperal policy than his father ventured
Now We | more or less over acts of
of difference see how long the melting mood
to adopt. He has now pardoned many
of the Poles who were condemned for
rebellion
against the majesty of the government
at St. Petersburg. It will be cugious to
and what effect it will have,
|
f its that she cared to do, or be, or say. To
i
h 1d be so delicious, it seemed |
pad lous won ‘9 © ? | short full fur cape will be pressed into
to her. |
Though in happier moods she could |
| remember much in her life that was |
bright and joyous, and was ready to |
admit that she had her fair share of
good times ; yet depressed as she was
dreary, uphill road, and the future
held no hope bright enough to tempt
her on.
“How do men and women keep go-
ing till they are 90 ?"” she asked her-
self.
Mrs: Browning was bare 37, but che
felt very old and worn just and then
she thodght with curiosity of her
aged neighbor, Aunt Thankful, who
she, Mrs. Browning, travel the same
old stupid road for fitty years more—
dress and undress, eat and sleep, talk
nothings with people tor whom she did
not care, wash dishes, cook and sweep
buy gowns and boots and bonnets, aud
wear them out? Ob, the sickening
mounotony of it ail !
But was there not some way oul?
What was the meaning of the com
mand to live in the world and not of
it? Did it mean that while the bands
and the feet, the various physical or-
gans, performed the duties for which
they were needed and to which they
were adapted, the part that loves and
hates, rejoices and grieves, the sensi
tive part, the soul, should live in a
realm for which it was adapted ?
From this point Mrs. Browing went
on to ask ; “What am I, body or soul?
If I am a sonl, ehall I be fettered by
the house I live in, or shall I take
the power and the privilege of souls
while using this wonderful houses of
the body 2’ Mrs. Browning arose
and dressed berself, Tom. the hired
boy, was building the kitchen fire.
There was a sound of childrens’ voices
in the room above. The sunshine
flashed cheerily in throngh the wion-
dowpanes, A songeparrow was sing-
ing his good morning to the world.
¢ Has not a woman as good a right
to he glad as a bird?” asked Mrs.
Browning of herself. ‘Have I not
enough for today, even strengih
enough ? Why ¢hould I look beyond ?
I will do what I can. I will rest all I
can. I will live a real life, and not a
life that is halt death. Bat that I
may live in very truth, I will come to
mine own aid. I, the woman that can
rightfully claim beirship in all that
God has made, will not cringe to petty
circumstances. I am notthe servant
oi these things about me. 1 am the
child that is being educated by work,
by disappointment, by rial.”
Mrs. Browing was making the
breakfast rolls as these thoughts filled
her mind. The oven was hot on time
The rolls arose to the desired point of
oightness, and the children appeared
su the scene. Mrs. Browning had
lnatched a moment to pat on a fresh
ight wrapper to do honor to the break-
fast table.
Mamma looked so bright and
pretty that little May toddled to her
side fora kiss. Mr. Browning thought
in his partially dessicated heart that he
guessed he would ask Mary to go
along to the village with him when Ire
carried the grist that afternoon. She
looked so like old times that he really
felt as if he would like to have her
company. All the tears in the world
would not have brought him to that
conclusion.
Mrs. Browning had come to her
own aid in a very practical way. She
was no longer in her work, she was
above it, guiding it, controlllng it,
from the vantage point of spirit. Her
soul sang while her hands worked.
She was no longer her servant, the
drudge, but the child in her Father's
world. Since she was in her Father's
house, what matter in what room she
worked ?
The ride to the mill filled a happy
afternoon: The husband was cheered
and uplifted. When the two returned
in the cool, fragrant gloaming the
sight of the home, the voices ot the
children, the noisy greeting of the deg,
the faces of the friendly cows pressed
agaiost the bars, all gave them a keen
pleasure. They had come to life from
apathy and desolateness, because a few
drops trom the divine overflowiog bad
fallen upon their opened hearts,
“Come to thine own aid.—Mary F.
Butts, in Unim Signal.
His Sam.
Kate Sanborn tells, a story of a big
boy in a country school, who was clever
enough in some studies, but hopelessly
deficient in mathematics. The teacher
a man who had little mercy for a stupid
pupil, one day lost patience with him
entirely.
The boy bad failed to do u simple
sum in subtraction, and the teacher rub-
bed out the figures on his slate, put
down six ciphers, and six more under
them. He drew a line, banded the
slate back to the dullard and said
gravely :
“There! See if you can subtract
that.” :
The poor boy gazad stolidy at the
new sum. It looked queer and bard.
He tackled it alond, making hideous
grimaces as he progressed.
«Nawthin’ from nathin’ leaves—
nawthin’. Nathin’ from nawthin’ leaves
nawthin’. Nawthin’. from—nathin’—
| —leaves nawthin’. Nawthin’ from
nawthin’ leaves—nawthin’. Nawthin’
| from nawthin’ leaves--nawthin’l”
There he paused, confused ; but,
rallying all his brain power, he ex-
claimed :
«If I'm ever going to carry, I've got
carry now! “Nawthin’—from—
nawthin’ leaves one!”
a. ——————
The Usual Way.
i to
was as cheery as the sunshine. Would |
ACE eA
For and Aboat Women.
One of the winter tricks to make the
always-popular tailor gown comfortable
on bitter days 1s to interline the jacket
throughout with chamoeis. Again,where /
this ¢. zy pretention is only desired on
occasions, an entire snugly -fitting jacket
of chamois will be worn under the out-
side one. Sometimes, over the coat, a
service, but the very up-to-date tailor
girl prefers the leather interlining, with
a muff and tippet by way of additional
wrappings. ln this way the very
fiercest winds can be braved and the un-
| ity of the tailor gown preserved.
at that moment, the past seemed a | ye g pr
A captivating English model, a short-
ish box coat and flared gkirt ot liquor
brown corduroy has a lining of bright
orange silk ; a delicate mouse colored
cloth is made over white, or if more
wear is desired than this fashionable but
easily damaged foundation will afford,
the lining may be of cornflower blue.
To initated eyes the wearer of the dar-
ling rig may seem a sombre creature.
But that proper black brown or blue
gown has chameleon possibilities. A
moment before a demure deer or inky
crow maybe, let there come a gust of
wind to rattle frock tails and jacket ends,
and lo | the tailor girl is transformed
into » Paradise bird of the highest
order,
! A good model for these street skirts
| is the one that has a front and two side
| gores, and from three to seven godet
| plaits at the back. These open and
shut with movement like a fan, and
{ from hem to belt the entire skirt is still
| stiffened with haircloth. Nowhere
{ should it touch the ground, and 1f so
| desired a wire braid under the inside
| foot facing will increase the stand-off
effect at the bottom.
| A pretty costume wasseen ata concert
i this week of cloth, just the tone of
| Parma violets, the skirt being quite
plain except for a band of velvet in the
[Sn shade just above the hem. The
I coat-bodice had full, draped revers of the
cloth, and was relieved in front by a
sort of pointed waistcoat or chemisette
of eream-tinted accordion plaited chiffon
the shape outlined with black satin rib-
bons. With this was worn a very full,
waist-deep cape of the violet velvet,
lined with cream colored moire and fin-
ished atthe neck with a broad * Pier-
rot” frill of black satin ribbons. A
quaint hat, that seemed all ‘‘corners’
had a sottly wrinkled crown of violet
velvet, and a big bunch of purple and
white violets at one side.
The face should be thoroughly wash-
ed twice a day. This is especially im-
portant when the skin is inclined to be
oily. The real secret of blackheads is
that the face is not washed frequently
enough with soap and water.
There is an art about washing the
face. Use cold or tepid water, never
not water ; the iatter causes contraction
of the skin, which is invaribly followed
by reaction. The constant use of hot
water causes wrinkles, flabbiness and
other things to be avoided.
Filtered rain water or water which
has been softened by chemical process is
absolutely necessary if you would keep
your complexion clear. The face should
be covered with a lather made from a
good soap, which should be well rubbed
in with the bands. Then wash the face
in pertectly clear water until every
trace of the soap is removed. Afterward
dry gently with a soft towel Rough
friction should never be used. If the
skin is inclined to be dry or harsh a lit-
tle emollient cream may then be gently
rubbed in. An excellent cream is made
from the following : Mix together an
ounce of spermacetti, half an ounce of
pure white wax and a quarter of a pint
of pure almond oil. These should be
melted together in an earthen pot by a
gentle heat, adding six drops of attar of
roses and one and a half ounces of
glycerine. Stir all together until near-
ly cold.
Allow the cream to remain on the
face a few moments, then carefully wipe
off with a soft cloth. A little powder
may then be dusted over the face. Pure
rice powder is perfectly harmless and
tends to preserve the skin. Great care
should be taken to avoid all powders
containing metalic substances, as these
are exceedingly injurious.
Miss Lenora F. O'Connor, of Louis-
ville, Ky., has been admitted to prac-
tice in the Police Courts of that city.
Nearly all belts are commonplace and
ugly. They contradict all graceful
curves and expression of the body.
Wide crumpled scarf belts are good, but
girdles are better. In artistic dress
every perpendicular line helps, every
horizonal line hurts.
A woman who adores onions and says
she would eat them anyhow because of
their salutary effect on her complexion,
avers that the scent can be entirely re-
moved, no matter how they have been
served, if you drink a cup a black coffee
immediately after eating them. She
says, also, that a clove or wintergreen
cream will remove the smell of wine
from the breath, and that she uses a
gargle of campher and myrrh if she
gets that idea that her breath is the
least bit tainted.
Irish frieze is quite a fashionable ma-
terial just now. I saw such a pretty
gown made of it the other day. The
color was a pale shade of gray, and the
skirt was beautifully cut and hung with
a pleasantly rustling silk lning. The
bodice had a small shaped basque not
coming quite to the front, and large
sleeves with a deep collar forming also
reveres, which were boardered with sil-
ver and opened from a beautifully fitting
waistcoat of white cloth, with three
lines of jet and steel passementerie upon
it and having the collar also bordered
with passementerie. The frieze was
outlined with a little steel edging and
the cut and fit were inimitable.
Lace ruflles around beaded crowns
form the new theatre bonnet, for it tru-
ly looks like euch an arrangement. One
in the shop window attracted much at-
tention. The lace was white, the crown
that min-
{
|
|
|
“How did you come out in
lasts, ing deal?”
“Minus.”
of steel and the roses a deep cruched
pink. It was called a chic bit of head-
gear.