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Bellefonte, Pa., March |, 189%.
THE OLD OOUNTRY CIRCUS.
How dear tomy heart is the show of my child-
004,
The old country circus ‘my boyhood days
new!
In these days of three rings, of hippodromes,
railroads,
How fond recollection presents thee to view!
For weeks, while the posters on fences and
church sheds
Portrayed to my weung eyes the scenes that
should be, ’
No soft thrill of love, no throb _of ambition,
Has since equaled the bliss I gained dream-
ing of thee! :
The old country circus, the shabby old circus,
The wand’ring old eircus my boyhood days
knew. : a
How faithful I worked inthe ways that pre.
sented. .
To gain the few pennies my ticket should
buy!
No RL so sweetened—no reward so stu
ndous—
No miser e'er cherished his hoard as did I.
How fair shone the sun on the glad day ap-
pointed!
How rife with strange bustle the sleepy old
town!
And whep o'er the hill came the rumble of
wagons :
The bound of my heart said, “The circus has
come !
The old country eiseus, the faded old circus,
The one horse old cireus my boyhood days
new.
What pageant of now can that “grand oniry”
compass?
What wit of today like those jokes of the
ring?
And those divans of pine boards—such ease
oriental
No reserved, eushioned chairs of the present
can bring.
One elephant only, satisfying, majestic,
Not Jumbo nor sacred, neither painted nor
white— -
Take them all, and the whole dizzy, triple bill
program, : :
For a single return of that old time delight,
The old country eireus, the tawdry old circus,
The perfect old circus my boyhood days
knew.
— Philadelphia Call.
EA OD,
MANDANY'S FOOL.
“Ye ain’t got hungry for termaters,
be ye?”
Some one had knocked at the screen
door, and, as there was no response, a
man’s strident, good-humored voice
put the above question concerning
tomatoes. °
But somebody had heard.
A women had been sitting in the
kitchen with a pan of seek-no-further
apples in ber lap. She was paring and
quartering these, and then stabbing
the quarters through and stringing
them on yards of white twine, prepara-
tory to festooning them on the clothes
horse which stood in the yard. This
horse was already decorated profusely
in this way. A cloud of wasps had
flown from the drying fruit as the man
walked up the path. He swung oft
his hat and waved the insects away.
“I say, have ve got hungry for ter
maters ?"’ he repeated.
Then he rattled the screen, but it
was hooked on the inside.
He turned and surveyed the three
windows that were visible in the bit of
a house.
“They wouldn't both be gone, ’n’
left them apples out,” he said to him-
self. “I'm ’bout sure Ann's to home,
'n’ she’s the one I want to see.”
A woman in the bedroom which open-
ed from the kitchen was hurriedly
smoothing her hair and peering into
the glass. She was speaking aloud
with the air of one who constantly
talks to herself. :
“Just as sure a8 I don’t comb my
hair the first thing somebody comes.”
She gave a last pat and went to the
door. There was a faint smirk on her
lips and a flush on her face.
Her tall figure was swayed by a
slight, eager tremor as she saw who
was standing there, She exclaimed :
“Goodness me! ’'Tain’t you, Mr.
Baker, is it ? Won't ye walk right in?
But I don’t want no termarters: they
always go aginst me Aunt Mandany
ain’t to home.”
“Qh, ain’t she ?’ was the brisk re-
sponse. “Then I guest I will come
in.
The speaker pushed open the now
unfastened door and entered. He set
his baeket of tomatoes with a thump
on the rug, and wiped his broad, red
face.
“Fact is,” he said with a grin, “I
knew she was gone. I seen her goin’
crost the pastur’ That's why I come
now. lain’t got no longin’ to see
Aunt Mandany—no, siree, not a grain
of longin’ to see her. But I thought
't would be agreeable to me to clap my
eyes on you.”
The woman simpered and made an
articulate sound, and hurriedly resum-
ed her geat and her apple paring.
“Won't you se’ down, Mr- Baker ?”
she asked.
Her fingers trembled as she took the
darning needle and jabbed it through
an apple quarter. The needle went
into her flesh also. She gave a little
cry and thrust her finger into her
mouth. Her large, pale eyes turned
wistfully toward her companion. The
taded, already elderly mouth quivered.
“I’m jest as sear’t I ¢’'n be if I see
blood,” she whispered.
Mr. Baker's heavy under lip twitch-
ed, his face softened. But he spoke
roughly.
“You needn't mind that bitter
blood,” he said ; # that won't hurt
nothin’, I don’t careit I do se’ down;
I ain’t drove any this mornin’. Ic’'n
jest as well as not take hold ’n’ help
ye. Is8'pose Mandany left a thunder-
in’ lot for ye to do while she’s gone ?’
“Two bushels,” was the answer.
“The old cat! That's too much.
But 'twont be for both of us, will it,
Ann?”
The woman said : “No.”
She looked for an instant intently at
the man who had drawn his chair
directly opposite her. He was already
paring an apple.
“I'd know what to make of it,” she
said, still in a whisper.
“To make of what ?"’ briskly.
“Why, when folks areso good to
me’s you be.”
‘Ob, sho’, now! Everybody ain't
like your Aunt Mandany.”
“Sh | Don’t speak so loud ! Mebby
she'll be comin’ back,”
No matter if she
“No, she won't.
yi
is.
The loud confident tone rang cheeri-
ly in the room.
During the silence that followed Mr.
Baker watched Amn’s deft fingers.
“Everybody gays your're real capa-
ble,” he remarded.
A joyous red covered Ann's face.
“T jest about do all the work here.”
she said.
She looked at the man again.
There was something
sweet in the simple face. The patient
line at each side of the close, pale
mouth had a strange effect upon Mr.
Baker. :
He had been known to say violently
in conversation at the store that he
“peverseen Ann Tracy ’thout wantin’
to thrash her Aunt Mandany.”
“What in time be you dryin’ seek-
no-furthers for?’ he now exclaimed
with some fierceness. “They're the
flattest kind of apples I know of.”
“That's what aunt says they're most
as flat’s I be, 'n’ that’s flat 'nough.”
These words were pronounced as
though the speaker was merely stating
a well-known fact.
“Then what she do um for 2”
sisted Mr. Baker.
“She says they're good ’nough to
swop for groceries in the spring”
Mr. Baker make a deep gash in an
apple and held his tongue.
Apn continued her work, but she
took a great deal of seek no further
with the skin in a way that would have
shocked Aunt Mandany.
Suddenly she raised her eyes to the
sturdy face opposite her and said :
“I guess your wife had a real good
time, didn’t she, Mr. Baker, when she
was livin’ 2”
Mr. Baker dropped his knife. He
glanced up and met the wistful gaze
upon him.
Something that he had thought long
dead stirred in his conscience.
“I hope so,” he said, gently. “I do
declare I tried to make her have a
good time.”
“How long’s she be’n dead ?”
“Most ten years. We was livin’
down to Norris Corners then-”
The man picked up his knite and
absently tried the edge of it on the ball
of his thumb.
“[ g’pose,”’ said Ann, “folks are sor-
ry when their wives die ?”
Mr. Baker gave a short laugh.
“Wall, that depends.”
“Oh, does it ? I thought folks had
to love their wives 'c’ be sorry when
they died.”
Mr. Baker laughed again. He
made no other answer for several
minutes, At last he said :
“I was sorry enough when my wife
died.”
A great pile of quartered apples was
heaped up in the wooden bowl before
either spoke again.
Then Ann exclaimed with a piteous
intensity :
“Oh, I'm awful tired of bein’ Aunt
Mandany’s fool !”
Mr. Baker stamped his foot invol-
untarily.
“How jew know they call you
that ?” he cried, in a great voice.
“J heard Jane Littlefield tell Mis’
Monk che hoped nobody’d ask Man-
dany’s fool to the sociable. And Mr.
Fletcher's boy told me that’s what
folk’s called me.”
per-
“Darn Jane Littlefield! Darn that
little devil of a boy!”
These dreadful words burst out
furiously.
Perhaps Ana
ed as she ought.
In a moment she smiled her im-
mature, simple smile that had a touch-
ing appeal in it.
“'Tain’t no use denyin’ it,” she
said ; “I ain’t jes’ like other folks, 'n’
that's a fact I can’t think stiddy more
'n’ a minute. Things 2ll run together,
somehow. 'N’ the back er my head's
odd’s it can be.” :
“Pooh | What of it? There can't
any of us think stiddy ; 'v’ if we could
what would it amount to, I should like
to know ? It wouldn’t amount to a row
of pins,”
Ann dropped her work and clasped
her hands. Mr. Baker saw that her
hands were hard, and stained almost
black on fingers and thumbs by much
cutting of apples.
“Ye see,” she said in a tremulous
voice, “sometimes I think if mother
had lived she’d er trested me so’t I
could think stiddier. I s’pose moth-
er’'d or loved me. They say mother’s
do. But Aunt Mandany told me
mother died the year I got my fall
from the cherry tree. I was8then. I
don’t remember nothin’ bout it, nor
’bout anything much, Mr. Baker, do
you remember your mother ?”
Mr. Baker said ‘‘yes,” abruptly.
Some thing made it impossible for him
to say more.
“I'd know how ’t is,” went on the
thin minor voice ; “but it always did
seem to me 's though if I could re-
member my mother, I could think
stiddier, somehow. Do you think I
could ?”
Mr. Baker started to his feet.
“I'll be durned ’f I ¢'n stan’ it’ he
shouted. “No, nor I won’t stan’ it,
nuther |” :
He walked noisily across the room.
He came back and stood ia front of
Ann, who had patiently resumed
work.
“Come,” he said, “I think a lot of
did not look so shock-
yer Let's git married.”
Ann looked up. She straightened
herself.
“Then 1 should live with you ?'" she |
asked.
“Of course.”
She laughed.
There was so much of confident hap-
piness in that laugh that the man’s
heart glowed youthfully.
“I shall be real glad to marry you,
Mr. Baker,” she said.
Then, with pride, “’N’ I can cook,
'n’ I know first rate how to do house:
work.”
She rose to her feet and flung up her
head.
Mr. Baker put his arm about her.
“Le's go right along now,” he said
curiously |
more quickly than he had yet spoken.
“We'll call to the ministers ‘n’ engage
him. You ¢'n stop there. “We'll be
married to-day.”
“Can’t ye wait till I ¢'n put on my
bunnit 'n’ shawl ?"" Ann asked.
She left the room. In a few mo-
ments she returned ready for going.
She had a sheet of note paper, a bottle
of ink and a pen in her hands.
“I ¢'n write,” she said confidently,
«wn? I call it fairer to leave word for
Aunt Mandany.”
“All right,” was the response ; “go
ahead.” :
Mr. Baker said afterward that he
never got much more nervous in his
life than while Ann was writing that
note. What if Mandany should ap-
pear ? He wasn’t going to back out,
but he didn’t want to see that woman.
The ink was thick, the pen was like
a pin, and Ann was a good while mak-
ing each letter, but the task was at last
accomplished.
She held out the sheet to her com-
panioa.
“Ain't that right ?”” she asked.
Mr. Baker drew his face down
solemnly as he read :
“Dere Ant Madanie: I'm so drettul
tired of beeing youre fool that ime go-
ing too be Mr. Bakers. He askt me.
: ANN.”
“That's jest the thing,” he said ex-
plosively. “Now, come on.”
_ As they walked along in the hot fall
sunshine, Mr. Baker said earnestly :
“I’m certain sure we sh’ll be ever so
much happier.” :
“So’m I,” Ann replied, with cheer-
ful confidence.
_ They were on a lonely road, and
they walked hand in hand.
“I’m goin’ to be good to ye,” said
the man with still more earnestness.
Then, in a challenging tone, as if ad-
dressing the world at large : “I guess
'taint nobody’s business but our’n.”
Ann looked at him, and smiled
trustfully.
After awhile he began to laugh.
“I’m thinkin’ of your Aunt Mandey
when she reads that letter,” he ex-
plained.
Woman Suffrage Down South.
“Speaking of this woman’s suffrage
convention,” said a prominent man
about town to an Atlanta “Constitution”
reporter, “I heard a very appropriate
toast to women, with special reference to
this movement, to-day. *
“Two fellows came in to get a drink,
and one of them had just been asking
the other for his views on the movement
for woman’s suffrage. ‘Here’s to wo-
man,’ said the,other, as he filled his
glass—,yes, to woman, once our superior
but now our equal.’
“They talk about letting women
vote,” continued the Atlantian—*‘why,
just think how it would be when a fel-
low’s wife got excited over an election,
as women always do get excited over
anything they undertake—she would
jerk the big black cook out of the kitch-
en and go and vote her against the op-
posing candidates, and the poor husband
who had been down town in his office
all day forgetful of ,the election, and
calm and serene, would find no dinner
at home when he went out at high noon
“I'm against the movement.”
ECC ——————
A Dream and Charity.
Impressions That Came in Sleep Probably Saved
Life.
BROOKVILLE, Pa., ‘Feb. 24,.—A few
days ago a few gentlemen were called
to the northern end of the country or
business, and one of the number was se
impressed with the appearances of pov-
erty and want at one of the homes where
he stopped that he dreamed of their con-
dition while asleep, and told his asso-
ciates of his convictions that dire distress
existed with the wife and babies. The
story aroused the humane impulses of a
number of the gentlemen, and the result
was a well-laden sleigh started on its
mission of mercy, and when it arrived
at their destination, with clothing for
the mother, shoes and stockings for the
children, and a good supply of whole-
some food, it was found that the charit-
able people were none too soon, as the
children’s feet were already frozen, and
they might have perished had relief not
come when it did.
No Doubt About It.
“Do you play by note?’’ inquired one
of the summer residents of Blueville of
the violinist of the ‘Berry Corners’ or-
chestra,” which had been discoursing
ear piercing strains at a lawn party.
“Nivver anote do Oi play by, sorr,”
replied Mr. Flaherty, mopping his
heated brow with a handkerchief of san-
guinary hue. :
“Ay, by ear, then ?” said the sum-
mer resident, with a smile of gracious
interest.
“Nivver an ear hilps me, yer honor,”
responded Mr. Flaherty, returning his
handkerchief to his capacious pocket.
“Indeed may I ask how you—what
yo do play by, them ?”’ persisted the 1n-,
quirer,
+By main strin’th, be jabbers,” said
Mr. Flaherty, with a weary air, ashe
plunged his ancient instrument into its
green bag. “An it’s moighty dry
wurrk, an that’s thruth, sorr.”
What Comes After Death.
A good thing is told in connection
with the lectures on theosophy in this
city. The lecturer, in the midst of a
learned discourse, asked in stentorian
tones :
“What comes after death ?”” No one
answered, and after waiting a moment
he repeated, with vehemence, ‘‘Agaip,
I say, what comes after death ?”
Just at that moment the door opened,
and in walked one of the leading under-
takers of the city and went demurely to
a seat. The coincidence was too much
for the audience.
——————————————
——Denver, great in everything she
undertakes, is already making prepara-
tions for the meeting of the National
Education association, to be held from
July 5 to 12. There will be the lowest
sort of railway fares from all parts of the
country and all sorts of excursions
through wonderful and picturesque
Colorado are to be arranged. It is ex-
pected that this will be the largest
meeting of the association ever held.
Fred. Douglass Dead.
The Maryland Slave Who Acquired World- Wide
Fame—Sketch of a Notable Career—He Drop-
ped wn the Hallway of His Home While Tell-
ing of a Visit to the Woman's Convention.
Frederick Douglass, the noted Freed-
man, dropped dead at his home in
Anacostia, a suburb of Washington last
Thursday.
During the afternoon he attended the
convention of the women of the United
States, in progress in thiscity, and chat-
ted with Susan B. Anthony and others
of the leading members, with whom he
had been on intimate terms for many
years. When he returned home, he had
no feeling of illness, but sat down and
chatted with his wife about the women
at the convention.
Suddenly he gasped, clapped his hand
to his heart and fell back unconscious.
A doctor was hastily summoned and ar-
rived within a very few moments, but
-his efforts to revive Mr. Douglass were
hopeless from the first. Within twenty
minutes after the attack, the faint mo-
tion of the heart ceased entirely and the
great ex-slave statesman wasdead. Mr.
Douglass leaves two sons and a daugh-
ter, the children of his first wife. His
second wife, who is a white woman,
survives him.
EVENTFUL LIFE OF THE EX-SLAVE.
Mr. Douglass had ‘just completed his
78th year. He was born a slave, near
Easton, Md., in February, 1817. His
mother was colored and his father a
white man. He lived on the plantation
of his owner, Colonel Edward Lloyd,
until he was ten years old.
Lucretia Auld, the daughter of his
master, was very kind to him, and trans-
ferred him to Baltimore to take care of
her little nephew. His new mistress,
Sophia Auld, taught him bis alphabet,
without the knowledge of her husband,
who promptly forbade it when he learn-
ed of it. The prohibition only whetted
the young slave’s desire for knowledge.
His reading lessons were then taken
from little school boys on the street and
in out-of-the-way places. The pave-
ment and fences became his copy-books
and blackboards. When 11 years old
he was put to work in his master’s ship-
yard. There he practiced writing by
imitating different letters on different
parts of the ships, and made surprising
progress.
FIRST THOUGHTS OF FREEDOM.
At the age of 16 he was taken from
this easy life and placed ona farm,
where he hadto work hard and was
often brutally punished. Roused to
desperation he successfully resisted his
master’s attempt to flog him. This dar-
ing resistance put a new life into him.
He was never again punished, but the
desire for liberty was unquenchable. He
planned an escape for himself and two
others, but the plot was discovered. and
he was thrown into prison and exposed
for sale. His master refused to sell him,
however, and sent him back to Balti-
more. There he learned to caulk ves-
sels,
ESCAPED FROM SLAVERY.
After 2} years’ service there he es-
caped from slavery on September 2,
1838. He married Anna Murray, a
free woman, and went to New Bedford,
Mass. He worked as a stévedore on
whalers and often spoke at public meet-
ings on matters touching his race. His
eloquence attracted the attention of
Abolitionists and he was induced to give
all his time to the cause of his people.
He was employed by various State so-
cieties until 1843, when he was sent by
the New England Anti-Slavery Society
to hold 100 anti-slavery conventions
from New Hampshire to Indiana. In
the last named State he was set upon
by a mob and had his right hand broken.
By mentioning his former master’s
name in a narrative of his life, he be-
came in 1844, liable to arrest as a run-
away, and had to go to England. He
was ransomed three years later by two
English women for $750, and then re-
turned to the United States.
For 16 years thereafter he published
s weekly paper in Rochester, N. Y.,
called first the North Star and later
Frederick Douglass’ Paper, and also
lectured all over the Northern States
until Lincoln’s emancipation proclama-
tion crowned the long fight.
INDICTED AS JOHN BROWN’S HELPER.
In 1859 he was indicted for connec-
tion with the John Brown raid, and for
a time took refuge in England. He
favored arming the slaves at the out-
break of the Civil War, and helped to
raise two colored regiments in Massa-
cHusetts, in which two of his sons were
non-commissioned officers.
The later incidents of his life, includ-
ing the official positions he held as
United States Marshal and afterward
Recorder of Deeds of this district, his
foreign missions to Hayti and San
Domingo, and his editorial labors
made him personally known to thou-
sands of citizens.
In 1872 he was elected Presidential
Elector-at-Large for the State of New
York, where he was then residing, and
was appointed to carry the vote of the
State to Washington. Of recent years
he had always been prominent in all
movements having in view the social
and political advancement of women.
Personally Mr. Douglass was a very
striking man. He was considerably over
six feet tall and broad shouldered, large
boned and long limbed. His complexion
was swarthy, not black, and as he re-
membered his mother, who was black,
the inference is that his father was
white. Mr. Douglass’ hair was white
and shining and stood out like a shock
of wheat—an immense shock. His fore-
head was narrow and low, but his head
very large. His cheek bones were high,
his nose wide at the base, his mouth
large, his teeth white and perfect and
his lower face full of strength and de-
termination. His voice was round and
full and his manners sympathetic. As
a speaker his characteristic was earnest-
ness. He was not a florid or excitable
speaker, but cultivated the quieter hab-
its—-making few gestures and indulging
in no verbal pyrotechnics.
MARRIED A WHITE WOMAN.
Mr. Douglass was married twice, his
second wife being Miss Pitts, a white
woman, who was a clerk in the Record-
er’s office, while he held that position.
For a time this lost him some caste
among the people of his own race, but
his personal standing and overpowering
intellectuality quickly dissipated the
sentiment that some sought to originate
to his discredit.
LE
| The Literary Landmarks of Jerusalem.
JERUSALEM.
The altitude of Jerusalem is alway®
a surprise to the visitor who comes
here for the first time. He knows, of
course, that it is a mountain city, and
that it was built upon Mount Zion and
Mount Moriah ; but he does not real-
ize, until he makes the gradual ascent,
that it is about twenty-gix hundred feet
above the level of the Mediterranean,
and nearly four thousand feet above
the surtace ot the Dead Sea. As high
on the one side as the Catskill Moun-
tain House ; as hig on the other as the
crater of Mount Vesuvius.
Jerusalem is a city of surprises. It is,
apart from its sacred associations, an
intensely interesting spot even to trav-
ellers who are already saturated with
the hitherto unfamiliar and surprising
charms of Cairo, Athens, and Constan-
tinople. Its size can best be expressed
by the statement that the journey
round about the out side of its walls
may be made by an ordinanly rapid
walker in the space of an hour. [ts
houses are small, irregular in shape,
squalid, and mean, Its streets, if
streets they can be called, are not
named or numbered ; they are steep,
crooked, narrow, roughly paved, never
cleaned, and in many instances they
are vaulted over by the buildings on
each side of them. Never a pair of
wheels traverse them, and rarely is a
horse or a donkey seen within the
walle. The halt, the maimed, and the
blind, the leprous and the wretchedly
poor, form the great bulk of the popu-
lation of Jerusalem, and, with the sin-
gle exception of the Hebrews, they are
persictent and clamorous beggars.
Trade and commerce seem to be con-
fined to the necessities of life, and to
dealers in beads and crucifixes. There
is but one hotel, and that not a good
hotel, within its walls ; and one Turk-
ish merchant, who displays in his lit-
tle windowless, doorless shop a small
assortment of silver charms, trinkets,
and bric-a-brac to the gaze of the pass-
er-by, 1s almost the only vender of any-
thing like luxuries in the place. His
customers, of course, are pilgrims who
come to see and not to worship.
Jerusalem is unique as a city in
which everything is serious and sol-
emn and severe. It has no clubs, no
bar-rooms, no beer-gardens, no concert-
halls, no theatres, no lecture-rooms, no
places ot amusement of any kind, no
street bands, no wandering minstrels,
no wealthy or upper classes, no mayor,
no aldermen, no newspapers, no print-
ing presses, no book stores-—except
one outside the walls, for the sale of
Bibles—no cheerfulness. no life. No
one sings, no one dances, no one
laughs in Jerusalem ; even the child-
ren do not play. :
The Jews, itis said, form almost
two-thirds of the population of the city.
They occupy a section which covers
the greater part of the eastward slope
of Zion, and the Jewish Quarter is the
most wretched in the whole wretched
town. Its inhabitants are quiet and
subdued in bearing ; they make no
claims to their hereditary rights in the
Royal City of their kings ; they sim-
ply and silently and patiently wait.
The Wailing Wall of the Jews, so
wonderfully painted by Verestchagin,
is, perhaps, the most realistic sight in
Jerusalem to-day. In a small, paved,
oblong, unroofed enclosure, some sev-
enty-five feet by twenty feet in extent,
and in a most inactive portion of the
town, is the mass of ancient masonry
which is generally accepted as having
been a portion of the outside of the act-
ual wall of the Temple itself.
Against these rough stones, every day
of the week, but especially on Friday,
and at all times of the day, are seen
Hebrews of all countries, and of all
ages, of both sexes, rich and poor alike,
weeping and bewailing the desolation
which has come upon them, and upon
the city of their former glory. What-
ever may be their faith, itis beautiful
and sincere ; and their grief is actual
and without dissimulation. They kiss
the walls, and beat their breasts, and
tear their hair, and rend their gar-
ments ; and the real tears they shed
come from their hearts and their souls,
as well as from their eyes. They ask
tor no backsheesh ; they pay no atten-
tion to the curious and inquisitive here-
tics and Gentiles who pity while they
wonder at them. They read the La-
mentations of Jeremiah and the
mournful words of Isaiah ; they wail
for the days that are gone; and they
pray to the God of Abraham, the God
ofiIsaac and the God of Jacob, that they
may get their own again.—From “The
Literary Landmarks of Jerusalem,”
by Laurence Hutton in Harpers Maga-
zine for March.
——The president Saturday ap-
pointed Senator Ransom, of North
Carolina, whose term expires with this
congress, as minister to Mexico, in
place of the late Governor Gray. The
Indiana Democrats made a strong ap-
peal for the appointment of Editor
Shanklin, of Evansville, but & petition
signed by nearly all the senators for
Mr. Ransom’s appointment had the
right of way. Mr. Ransom has
been in public life since 1852, when he
was elected attorney-general of his
state. He went into the Confederate
army as a lieutenant. and when he
surrendered at Appomattox he was a
full fledged major-general. Mr. Raun-
som has been a member of the senate
for 23 years. He is a capable man,
and personally very popular. He wag
promptly confirmed by the unanimous
vote of the senate.
——Next Monday at noon the Fifty-
third congress will adjourn sine die,
It has been a notable body and it will
be remembered both for what it has
done and what it has left undone.
Just now it is not as popular with the
people as when its sessions begun and
the reason is that important matters
that should have been attended to have
been quite neglected. All this is .un-
fortunate and the Democratic majority
which is not responsible, will be
blamed.
For and About Women.
Miss Susan B. Anthony, who at 75,
an age when most women are hobbling
about with a cane and mourning over
their rheumatism, lithe graceful and
active, ascribes her health to her regu-
lar habits. She has eschewed late sup-
pers, rich food and overwork. After her
day’s work she goes straight to her
rooms takes a bath, drinks a cup of
hot milk and eats a cracker. Then she
sleeps nine hours and arises refreshed.
Rough affects promise to prevail this
spring. Boucle and bonnette effects
rank next to crepon in favor, and in
these two or three shades are com-
bined. :
With loops of ribbon up to her ears
and streamers flying the girl will go
forth to conquer this spring. When
her fur boa is put aside she will wear in
its place an affair of bows and flowers.
It is a sort of a fantastic ruff, very fetch-
ing in effect and varying in design.
Bunches of violets interspersed with
loops of blue satin ribbon and fastened
in front with a big blue bow is one of
the news ruffs to be worn in the spring.
Others are just a series of loops of rib-
bon arranged to give a full effect, and
to be worn in connection with a lace
bertha scattered with flowers. Any of
the new fancy neck adornments may be
easily made at home, and it is wise to
own one or two of these flowery. trifles,
for much good do they doto a somber
gown.
Hat trimmings are spreading out
right and left in the most extraordinary
and alarming manner, and were it not
for the protection afforded by the wide-
spreading sleeves it is more than proba-
ble that oculists would have their
hands full, with patients suffering from
eye disease, the result of wounds
from fashionable and ill-disposed hat
trimmings. In tailor built skirts there
is little change ; they rewain rather full
round the sides and back, but charm-
ingly plain in front. The seams are
strapped and more often with satin
than not. Quite a pretty tailor gown
seen recently at a leading establishment
had a full skirt of black amazone cloth,
the same strapped narrowly with simi-
lar material, there was a chemisette and
turn down collar of cream satin, the
former finely plaited, and a perfectly
fitting double-breasted waistcoat of
black cloth, with narrow shawl revers
of cloth, fastened with small black silk
canvass buttons. A black satin cravat
was tied under the cream satin shirt
collar, while a feature of the costume
was the bolero jacket, admirably cut
and fitting and entirely built of black
satin, with broadly thrown back revers
of same material.
The Woman’s Home Missionary So-
ciety of the Methodist Episcopal Church
has sixteen industrial schools and homes
established in various localities ; in the
South, eighteen among Indians, Mor-
mons and New Mexicans, and twenty
in our cities, including deaconess
homes. Some of those on the frontier
are very simple in their appointments,
but the comfort and order found in
them are great incentives to the
poor people to better their own
homes.
Grass linen—or linen grenadine, as it
is sometimes called—will be a favorite
fabric for wash dresses. It is not easily
mussed, is of such consistency that it
falls gracefully without clinging, and,
keeping its fresh appearance, will not
require to be laundered more than once
a season. The old-time plain surface of
unbleached linen is now relieved by
narrow satin stripes of bluet, cerise, leaf
green or wood brown, and when trim-
med with ribbon matching that of the
stripe, makes a very natty little cos-
tume. It is also most serviceable for
traveling gowns and is then made sim-
(or one-buttoned coat) worn over a shirt
of linen or chambray.
It is one of the compensations of pre-
sent extravagances in fashion that it
makes not a particle of difference how
many varied and motley materials you
can combine in the same gown. It is
taken for granted that the sleeves are
different from the rest of the dress.
They are usually velvet, but any kind
of faney silk will do as well. Then if
there is any spot in the gown which is
lacking in any way, a piece of lace can
be used to fill in, and with a bit of rib-
bon to conceal the joining places the ef-
fect is good. Thus a whole dress, or, at
any rate, a whole waist, can be made
from a few pieces like a patchwork
quilt, and it’s all right because it’s fash-
icnable.
Nothing is more useful to cover up a
soiled place than a little lace, an entire-
ly new waist made out of an old soiled
blue and white silk one. A patch of
blue crepe de-chine formed the yoke,
and some wide lace fell from here to
the waist line, concealing many an ugly
spot, but not obscuring the lines of the
figure. Blue crepe de chine formed
lower sleeves in place of the oil-soniced
ones, and the whole looked like a new
waist.
The newest fashion in bonnets show
us at this season of the year dainty little
structures, which are called spring bon-
nets, but which, in reality, are better
suited to theatre wear than anything
else, and she is clever who now pur-
chases one and is seen in something
very new and chic. The style is to
wear these bonnets far back on the
head, to show the hair in front, with
the pert and smoothly-brushed locks
which are absolutely ordered. By the
way, no bonnet thatis not worn far
back on the head ever is becoming to
smooth hair brushed off the face, and
that women are rapidly discovering,
after baving wrestled for some months
with the depressing fact that what was
once so well suited to the faces is with
the present arrangement of the hair most
hideous and trying.
Many housekeepers use the tea
| leaves which are left after making tea
| to scatter over carpets when they are
| swept, but the leaves will stain very
delicate carpets, Wet newspapers
wrung nearly dry and torn in pieces
collect the dust and lint and do not soil
the carpets.
ply with a plain skirt and Eton jacket