Demoreatic aida, Bellefonte, Pa., April 5, 1895. THE DAYS THAT HAVE GONE BY. M. V. THOMAS, For the WarcHMAN. The days that have gone by—where are they now ? Deep, hidden, in the dim and shadowy past. So limited by rise and set of sun, Still driven on, those glad days could not last. On, on they drifted—drifted far away Borne onward on the rapid stream of time Which stops for none—. Alas! they could not stay. Still floating, are they, in the shadowy past. The days that have gone by. The days that have gone by—what are they now ? Bright sketches traced upon the memory’s page 7 And written in the volume of the heart. So deeply traced they cannot fade with age, Each scene is of the very life, a part. The time speeds on. We can no more recall The days, no longer ours, whate’er befall. So are they in the distance, far away, The days that have gone by. The days that have gone by—what hold they now ? Fond memories ot the joys that we have known ; Shadows of sorrows that have long passed by ’ Lost echoes of the songbirds that have flown ; : A soft, sweet whisper of some deep-drawn sigh, A tear that was not shed, a .gasp of pain, A chord that we shall never touch again. These treasures have we hidden deeply in The days that have gone by. These are not all they hold—these by-gone days. There are duties unperformed -and wasted hours, Thorns that have filled, with.psin, our weary ways, And some poor; faded, yet sweet-scented, flowers. Ah: There are some that weavould fain live o'er; And there are some we woud not live again. AAs in the past they float forevermore. On fancy’s wings we follow all fn vain, The days that have gone by. TERRIBLY TEMPTED. The Story of a Boy and Hew .He Found His Mother. BY HERBERT .B. \WARD. “But, mother, how ridiculous, I'm no longer a little boy.” (Sidney straight- ened himself up to the full height of five feet five, and looked at his mother with an insulted air. “Besides, I've never been to Boston in my life, and I want to go.” The bey pursed his lips -out petulantly. ~ Mrs. Dorris looked-at:her only child with a conflicting expression. Was it anger or embarrassment that made her sun-burnt face flush 7She cast a quick, appealing glance at:her sister, which Sidney did not notice. [He had moodily stooped to pick up the little King ‘Charles spaniel, and ‘was twisting its silken ear on his finger. , “I will not send wou :to boarding- -sehool, Sidney,” said his mother slow- ly and sternly, “unless you promise me not to go to Boston, except when I give you permiesion. Besides, [ think the rules of the school .do not allow you to go.” “Now, Aunt Lou, don’t you think it isrough on a fellow who has never been out of his own town? I'll bet you T'm the only boy in the city who has never been to Boston, and only forty miles away. I'm tired of it,” ‘Sidney turned pathetically to his middle-aged aunt, who stood looking from one to the other. She alternately wiped her eyes and her spectacles with her brown gingham apron. ‘Perhaps your mother willilet you go through Boston on your way to the school. ‘But it will be mare expessive than changing at Lowell .Junction.” The last clause was added .as a sort of :apolagy to the daring suggestion of the first. Auat Lou loved her nephew devotedly. All the long week they lived together in a little brick house.on a side-street in the busy City of Hills. For Mrs. Dorris and the beautiful white spaniel took, the first¢rain every Monday morning for Boston, and there they stayed watil the last train on Sat-| mrday might. Mrs. Dorris’ husband had.died when Sidney was a baby, and, the 17-year-old lad could not remember the time avhea his mother had not spent the six days of the week in Bos- ton, attending, 4s he supposed, to his father’s business. What that business ‘was, he never knew. It had been long accepted in the house as a sub- ject which should never be mentioned. Sidney had grown mp not to think of it at all. Thatit might be a mystery never entered his bead. The neigh- bors. did mot seem to know what the business was, either. In fact, they hardly knew that such a person as Mre. Dorris existed ; che came in so! iate and left eo early. ) Sidney had passed through the gram- mar school into the bigh school, and now, having graduated there, was about to spend a year in a famous boarding-school preparatory to going to college. Sidney had developed abili- ty as a student, and Mrs. Dorris had told him that she would furnish him with an education second to none, if he - wanted it. Mrs. Dorris gave mo evi- dence of being able to afford ¢his for her boy. She was a hard-working wo- man, and lived with economy. Her son was brought up to great plainness of living, but had every necessary com- fort. He did not know that it was ra- mored in the town that his mother had property. So when Sidney was told that he could go to college if he desir- ed to, he was beside himself with joy. Sidvey and his mother loved each other devotedly. She could hardly bear to be separated from him on Sun- day. She never went out of the house on her home dayg, not even to church. She had no friends in the neighborhood, and would not have been recognized, probably, if her neighb:s had seen her. Ske said she was too tired to go out, and she looked it. It was Tues- day that day, and his mother was at home. It was a great concession ; but the boy's new clothes were to be tried on and folded, and his new trunk was to be packed on that mild September afternoon, and what mother would not give up the most engaging business one day in the year to see her only boy off in spick-and-span condition ? “Sidney will change at Lowell Junc- tion, and be a good boy,” said Mrs. Dorris after a lov pause. “I will see him that far on the train myself, and then go to the city. He will find his own way from there. He is old enough to look out for himself, but not old enough to be disobedient,” she added significantly. : Sidney gave Ermine’s tail a pull. The dog's little yelp muffled his own sigh. fan right,” he said philosophically, “I'll be a man soon, and then ['ll go where I please.” “When you get through college,” answered Mrs. Dorris snapping her eyes, “and earn enough to support yourself, then you can do as you please. My work will be done then.” “At least, I can go into father’s busi ness and help you.” Sidney looked up at his mother lovingly. All op- position to ber wish had faded from his face. The little dog barked glee- fully ; but Aunt Lou held her hand on the table to steady herselt. Mrs. Dorris stared at her son as if she had not understood his words. Then the color abruptly left her sun- burnt, parched skin. She looked twen- ty years older in that instant. Sidney was frightened at the change. “You shall never—'' Mrs, Dorris did not finish. “Mother !" cried Siduoey. ill. Dear mother 1” But she straightened herself up trom her habitual stoop, pushed him aside and left the room and shut the door behind her. Sidney started after her aghast, but made no effort to follow. A cordon of new thoughts seemed to surround and confuse him. But Er- mine went up to the door and whined for his mistress. Sidney Dorris entered the senior class of the great fitting school with no con- ditions. There were seventy more boys in the same class, yet Sidney felt as if he had been cast upon a desert coast. Although he had been used to asso- ciating with boys all his life, yet, as this was the first time that he had eyer been away ftom home by as much as a single night, the feeling of homesick- ness overpowed him, and it seemed to him at that time impossible ever to form acquaintances and friende. Sidney was a handsome boy. His hair was dark and curly; his eyes were straightforward and cléar hazel. His complexion was clear, and be looked to be of more aristocratic birth than he really was. He had a proud, high forehead and a modest, sensitive mouth. He was well dressed, a quick scholar and ready on the playground. There is a class of boys that is attrac- tive to men, another that attracts girls and a third that appeals to the boys themselves. Because of this fearless expression Sidney was a boys’ boy, and 80 it was most natural that one of the richest fellows in the class, a member of the most exclusive of the many secret societies in the school, should approach bim on the third day. It is a good thing that in our American schools there is no rank in school but that of good fellowship. So the recog- nition of Tem Devenant was enough to give Sidney a social position for the rest of his course. “You've just come into our class, and I'm Devenant—Tom, for short. I hope that we may see more of each other.” He held out his hand cordi- ally, It wasa fat hand and exquis- itely kept for a schoolboy’s. A gold snake ring with two good-sized rubies for eyes, glistened on his third finger. He wore a fine tennis suit, and his very presence exhalted luxury. Sid- ney had never been acquainted with a boy of Tom's .social position before, and he was fascinated by that gracieus- ness and perfect form. “Where do you room?” asked Tom, with a kindly pet indefinable tone of condescension. ‘At the Millstone House,” answered Sidney gaily ; then noticing a smile of superiority on his.companion’s face, he ‘hurried to say apologetically. “It was the only room I eould get, coming so late. Where do you room?” “At the Club ®Eouse, of course,” pointing to a large brick building on ihe bad recognized his spaniel’s deli: cately tinged ears, and the collar that he had himself put around its neck. He had not looked at the woman yet. But as he did so, a .chill struck his heart. The parched band that turned the worn crank had a ring upon it that he remembered too well. Oh, the fa- miliar stoop to those shoulders! The outline of her head suffocated him. In that instant’s shock the command of his mather flashed before his misd, 20d now he knew too well what that order meant, “Shell out, Sid !"’ The inexorable Tom gave him another shove. “I can’t,” stammered the uahappy lad. He stood trembling in every “You are sion. “Can’t? You've got to give to the poor. Haven’t youread your Bible? We've all done our duty, Come, shell out! Why | What's the matter, Sid? Are you sick? By Jove, I believe he has recognized the Duchess of York." With another loud laugh the boys turned from the beggar upon Sidney, who stood before them trembling pit- eously. He was staring at his mother with jaw dropped, with ashen face as if he had seen the dead. Ermine had been looking on as small dogs are apt to, with quick intelligence. He had | recognized his young master, and with one wriggle had leaped out of Mrs, | Dorris’ arms and was jumping up Sid- ney’s legs, barking at the top of his ‘lungs. Sidney’s classmates stared at him in amazement. What did this meeting mean ?"! limb, the picture of horror and confu.' “Give it to us, Sid?” asked one of the fellows with a rough sneer, “Who is she? Out with the mystery of the beggar dog.” In that moment Sid. ney saw his position in the great school ruined beyond retrieve. No more Bee- tle society. No more tennis. No more anything. Who would speak to the beggars son ? His soul, which had undergone a gradual descent since he had left home, had not touched its spiritual depth as yet. He gave Er- mine a brutal kick and took trom his pocket a few coppers and threw them into the cup with a defiant gesture. “How the Dickensdo I know?” He said this with an oath. It was his first. “Come on, won't vou ?”” Even now he might escape, although the boys were only half satisfied ; but the spaniel fol- lowed faithfully. He was confused and stunned by his rough reception. The beggar woman made no eftort to hold the dog back. She did not raise her eyes. She did not speak. She ground out “The Last Rose of Sum- mer’ as if her son had not denied her, “Here, Sid, here’s your dog follow- ing,” cried his school-mates mocking- ly. ‘He seems to know you.” But to Sidney the whole world bad been blotted out, and everything swam before his eyes. He dared not turn, but staggered on a few steps like a drunken man. His mother—a beggar-woman ! His heart was shriveled up within him. Then he saw the dog beside him and turned. “Go back!” he shouted with a mad- dened, gutteral voice. The beautiful dog stopped abashed, and turned in piteous doubt towards its mistress. At that moment the stolid figure, which had not moved from its granite position when the lad denied his mother, now lifted up its head and looked at him for the first time when he rebuffed the dog—and ob, what shame and disappointment and pride were in that glance. The perforated slip changed, and her right hand now mechanically ground out the latest popular melody, “Oh Promise Me—Oa Promise me !"”—Sid- ney had often sung this in chorus with the boys at school. The sound of the tune and its meaning brought his heart back to his mother. Oh, her sorrow- ful face ! Of what value to him was his position in school ? What was the petty opinion of his new mates? Here was his mother. With a bound he wae by her side; and he bent and put his strong arms around her as if to protect her from any further insult from his class-mates. For five terrible minutes he had denied her. But now, he saw things in a new light. His mother, no matter what she did, was more than Tom. Home was more than school. In that instant all that was noble in the lad leaped up like a spring whea a weight is removed from it. And Mrs. Dorris? The habit of years, even in this supreme moment, was strong with the street player. Her hand kept turning the hurdy-gurdy. The roll had changed to “The Old Folks at Home.” “All de world am sad and dreary, Eb'rywhere I roam ; Oh darkies, how my heart grows weary, Far from de old folks at home,” droned out the grotesque instrument ; but the tears were now streaming down the withered face of the head bowed in the shawls. “Well, Sid—who is your friend any- how ? She's a daisy.” Tom Deveaant spoke with his pertest air of sarcasm. Sidney raised himself to his height. His hand rested lovingly on his moth- er’s shoulder. His poor chin trembled, and his lips were pale and quivering. He gasped as it a glass of cold water had been suddenly dashed in his face. To his narrow vision life and all its possibilities seemed extinguished by this terrible discovery. But he faced his fate like a hero. His class-mates stood in a jeering crowd around him, A few others had gathered there too. And the organ droned the chorus: “How my heart grows weary, far from de old folks at home.” “I must beg you to leave us alone.” Sidoey looked his class-mates straight in the eyes, and spoke with his grand- est air, “That lady is my mother.” The tension was too great for the sosiive lad. He swayed and swoon- ed. Tom caught him, and the boys, so easily turned from sarcasm to pity by the instinct of youth now seemed to understand their class-mate’s anguish and tried to minister to him. “He never knew I did this,’ said Mrs. Dorris in a low tone to Tom as they both tried to revive her son. “I told him not to come to Boston. I took to it when my husband died, six- een years ago, because there’s so much money in it. I’ve been an honest wo- ‘man and worked hard for my boy, I wanted to give him a good education—"" Here she sobbed. “Ab, young sir, he’s the same boy that he was before he saw me. Don’t blame Sidney. Don’t give him up |—T'll give it up.” Tom’s mouth twitched as he listened. Just as Sid opened his eyes his own soft hand stole around the knotted knuck- les of the organ womaa and he gave them a warm pressure. “You may trust me,” he said. *I’ll be his friend.” Then he looked seri the top of the hill—the most aristo- cratic Boarding house in town. “Do you plag tennis ? I've got a private eourt up there—laid it out myseif, I'll furnish racquet and balls and play you three sets and bet you soda’s I'll win. Isit a go?” “All right.” Sidney’s eyes spark- led. He loved tennis above all sports, and was a fine player, having taken the High School championship. “I'll run home and put on my things, I’ve got a racquet,” he said. He played and won, and Tom and he became fast friends. I do not mean fast in the literal sense. Tom Devan- ant was too well brought up to be dis- sipated, and Sidney could not be. But Tom was lax in regard to school rules and felt himself superior to them. He introduced Sidney into his own set, and before Sidney knew it, he was swagger- ing down street to the postoffice, play- ing tennis and whist—and chumming with boys who could afford to spend in one month what he could spendin a year. Nevertheless he did not allow his studious habits to wear off. He made a mark in the class room. Besides, he took his rank as a possible tennis champion ; this gave him quick pres- tige 1n his class ; and, at last, he was elected into the Beetle Society, of which Tom Devanant was the Patri- arch, and whose badge of membership consisted of an ivory beetle which was exhibited between members on various occasions in mysterious ways. On the whole, it is a wonder that Sidney's popularity, eo soon won, did not turn his head more than it did. But his companionship had the eftect of dull- ing his sense of duty. Sidney noticed this change in himself vaguely. Put only one drop of black into a can of white paint, and the original color is tainted forever. No amount of white added can restore the delicacy of the rimal shade. “Look here, Sid,” said Tom one No- vember morning after Greek com posi- tion, “all of us you know” (in a gut- tural whisper, exhibiting his ivory beetle after casting oblique glances in every direction) ‘‘are going to Boston on the 12.42. We're going to catch the train on the siding. The engineer always slows down for a good cigar. Crumpy” (referring to the principal) “woun’t be onto that, Hey? What's the matter ?”’ Sidney stammered and colored. His mother’s strict command inundated his mind. He had clean forgotten all about it. Then the vision of his rich, smiling, careless classmate drove his mother out. And then the foolishness of her request, and of the promise that he had made to her overcame him. But still the best in him asserted him- gelf for a moment. “I don’t think T ought to go; I can't get permission.” “Now Sid, look here. Don’t be a Gilly.” That was the worst reproach a boy could fling at another in that day. No dictionary has been able to define the meaning of the term as used by school boys in this satiric sense. “But I can’t afford—you know,” stammered the poor boy. “Bah | Nonsense ! This is my treat. As a member you have got to come.” And Sid went. A few hours later a group of seven boys emerged from an ice cream sa- loon upon Tremont street. They cross- ed over to the Common. They were in high spirits, and policemen and citizens smiled upon them indulgently. “Let's look at the sun,” suggested Sidney as they came near the time- honored telescope. They talked loud as school boys will, and skipped and played pretty pranks upon each other. Sidney looked about him with concealed interest. He pre- served the atoical countenance that the Zulu does when he sees London for the first time. Yet he envied the experi- enced airs of his companions, and in spite of himself, he kept wondering why on earth his mother forbade him this pleasant city. His first moral and intellectual shyness had already worn off, and as his conscience became dull- ed he began to enjoy his “lark” im- mensely. “Have you ever been on top of the State House ?”’ asked Tom, pointing at the gilded dome. Being the most self-conscious one in the crowd, Sidney thought the ques- tion meant for him. “I never thought that much abeut it,”” he answered quickly. “Are you allowed ?” “Of course,” answered Tom with a superior smile. “Let's go,” said another. And the seven boys, so easily wafted by a breath, turned to the right and walked up the hill. Sidney was ahead with Tom. After they crossed Beacon street Sidney lag- ged behind in order to steal a glance down the famous highway that repre-- sented the culture and wealth of the great Commonwealth. In the mean- while the boys had stopped at the iron gate that leads to the stone steps and the Capitol. They were laughing and chaffing, jingling pennies, surrounding an old woman. “Here, Sid, hurry up! You-ve got to chip in. Can’t let you off, old man.” It was one of these hurdy-gurdy players, whom the boys had stopped to tease with generous and careless nonchalance. She was bent, and evi- dently old. She was sitting on the sidewalk, huddled up against the gate, grinding her lugubrious instrument slowly and pathetically. The perfor- ated slip that inspired the wheezy strains seemed to catch and then jump ahead. The effect on the asthmatic music was ludicrous enough to draw pennies from a bootblack. The grind- er’s head and shoulders were enveloped in two shawls; her eyes kept watch upon the little tin cup, whose bottom was already hidden by the pennies that the thoughtless boys had dropped mn. One hand purple at the kuuckles, weatherbeaten and thin, ground out the hoarse tones, while the other fond- led a beautiful white King Charles spaniel, : “Can he bark? I'll give a cent to hear him bark,” cried Tom with a jia- gle of his right hand. “Here Sid—give vour superfluous cents to the poor— not that he has any sense to give,” he added with a vigorous attempt to be funny. The boys all laughed loudly. Before he knew it, Sidoey found him- self thrust almost at the beggar. He had to put his hands on the railing above her to keep from falling against her. He laughed joyously with the rest and said: “Oh, let up, fellows, can’t you?’ Then he looked down, and the color died from his face, as the cloud hides the sun. He beheld Ermine, his own little dog, to whom he had sent messages of love in every letter home, in the arm of that woman below him, impulse was to snatch the dog away from the thief and comfort it at his breast ; for in that instantaneous view ously at the mother and son with the experienced air of a man of the world : “I think you had better give it up His first now, for his sake,” he whispered as he helped Sidney to his feet. The street-player nodded silently. When Sidney had struggled to his feet and began to look for her in a dazed way his mother had disappeared in the crowd. That night there was a meeting of the celebrated Beetle Society. The members present were ag solemn as an easterly fog. Sidoey alone was not there. “It isn’t his fault,” eaid the Patri- arch. “What's the use of belonging to a society unless you stick to each other ? Tt isn’t to go back on one an- other. Gentlemen don’t do that.” He stopped and looked from one to an- other appealingly. “Do they?” “I move you,” said a member, ad- dressing Tom, “that any man who gives Sid away in this school or even after. and who doesn’t stand up for him like a brother, is a—a gilly, and shall be eternally disgraced, and— and—" “That's enough,” said Tom, with swimming eyes. “All in favor, hands up. Contrary minded—it is a unani- mous vote. The meeting is adjourn- ed. Let's all go and see Sid.” And to the honor of the boys and of the school, the vote was scrupulously carried out. ro——————— Uniform Divorce Laws, Divorce has grown to be one of the great evils of society in this country, Divorce in the abstract was intended to be a humane institution. It was de- vised to liberate unfortunate people from intolerable torment, to protect helpless women from brutal and ruffian- Jy husbands, to dissolve disgraced alli- ances. It is rapidly becoming some- thing difterent from what it was intend- ed to be. It is becoming an institution to encourage the abominable sins on ac- count of which it was devised to free in- nocent persons. A large share of the responsibility for this tendency lies with the want of un- iformity of the laws upon this subject and particularly with the enactment of laws in some of the Western States to make divorces easy to obtain. Some of the States have made divorce so easy a matter that it may be invoked for triv- ial reasons. That is obviously wrong. Divorce should never be granted except for most serious reasons, sufficiently serious to inspire the applicant to under- go difficulties and delay. Homes should not be broken lightly. The indirect effect of the system is to cause young people to rush into matri- mony without proper consideration or deliberation. They act upon the prin- ciple that if the marriage does not suit them they can easily have it annulled. Nothing could be more debasing than that to the highest relation in life. No greater calamity can be visited upon de- fenseless children, except the death of both their parents. The death of one parent is no greater loss to a child than the loss of that parent by ‘legal’ sepa- ration, and is far less demoralizing. In death they may yet be loved and re- vered in memory. When lost through divorce that memory is usually poisoned by venemous recitals. Attentian has been newly drawn to this subject by the sickening accounts of the divorce colonies in the Dakotas, where this '‘legal” crime has culminat- ed in laws passed for the special purpose of fttracting people who want their marriage bonds broken. The whole country has been shocked. It is a dis- grace to civilization, and it is time Con- gress was forced to recognize the evil and enact a uniform divorce law to abate it. It is the time the moral standard was raised. Doom of Small Towns. The fact that the country is not keep- ing pace with the towns and cities in growth, but rather falling behind, is a trite subject of discussion in American magazines and reviews. In the “For- um’ for April Mr. H.-J: Fletcher shows how the small town is passing away, by going into the census statistics for the states of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Michi- gan and Iowa, rich empires in them- selves, yet with forces at work that are stifling the growth of nearly half their townships. In these five states there are 6,261 townships, and of this number in the decade between 1880 and 1890 144 remained stationary as to popula- tion, 8,003 gained, and 3,144 lost in population. This is an astonishing ex- hibit. And itis made the more remark- able by the fact that during the decade each of the five states gained in popula- tion, ranging from 10 per cent in Indi- ana to 24 per cent in Illinois. The gain, however, has been in the cities and towns. Many of the counties in these states show an aggregate gain in popu- lation, although nearly every township, except those containing the chief towns, sustained a loss. Nothing could show in stronger colors the drift of population away from the country to the towns and cities than these facts. Most of the older states of the east and south show the same tendency in even a more mark- ed degree, but the fivestates cited by the “Forum’ writer, by reason of their natural advantages for a large rural population, offer a more striking illustra- tion of the influences at work.—Pitts- burg Post. There are four new-county pro- jects now struggling at Harrisburg, and for the most part—aund probably there is no exception—they represent county seat boomers. The seat of Quay county will be Hazelton ; that of Grow the mining town of Schickshinny, which is intensely poetical ; that of Anthracite county, the growing city of Carbondale ; and tor the county seat of Monongahela there will be a lively contest between Charleroi and Monon- gahela. The counties of Anthracite and Monongahela are well named, but with 320,000 worde in the standard dictionary, the christening of “Quay” and “Grow” counties is hardly a hap- py thought. ——She—“No, Mr. Poppin, I can never be your wife ; but I’ll be a sister to you.” He—.“T don’t understand ?" She—!I'm engaged to marry your brother George.” For and About Women. Governor Budd of California has de- cided to appoint a woman as his private secretary, to the infinite disgust of the professional politicians. She is Miss Josephine Tohman, a graduate of the the Hastings Law College, formerly a clerk in Budd’s office and latterly assis- tant to the Governor's private secre- tary. Many of the “smart” women are wearing very high turned-over collars of white duck or white serge with their tailor-made costumes, the severity of the lines being softened by the collar opening both in front and at the back with a bow on each side. When it comes to the shaping of piques, drills and ducks it is easy to be seen that the convenient skirt and jacket is to be a favorite model for piques and stuffs of a like ilk. The En- glish box coat that falls loose over a waist of silk or muslin, is a becoming design for the jacket. Short cut-away shapes, with frilled tails and Etons, however, will be worn. Skirts of these gowns are smartly flared with godet backs and lapped seams ; if the gown is trimmed, the skirt seams may be com- pletely out-lined with braid. Sleeves are large, drooping muttonlegs. Fragile textures, such as muslins, or- gandies and Swisses, are made with bouffant effects, waists round and sleeves puffed and short. Skirts are trimmed, and an easy and becoming mode! for any of these dainty textiles is a deep Spanish flounce that is put on full and headed by a rose quilling in taffeta ribbon. Check ginghams and grass linens, which last are now shown in weights and designs never seen be- fore, have a leaning to plainness. A smart little summer morning gown, is of dark blue and white check gingham. The bag vest, under the little Eton, with its pointed revers and dashing sleeves in double puffs, is white mull ; the plain skirt, in five gores, is stiffened at the inside bottom with heavy lin- en. ! A most pleasing dress displaying a front of white tucked lawn was recently seen. The coat and skirt and sleeves of black crepon and the collar of the coat was faced with white satin, with the border trimmed with two straps of black. The skirt, which was very fully gored, showed strappings of white cloth and white cuffs turned back on the sleeves, while round the neck was a ruffle of black roses with cream-colored lace ends. The spring bonnet is worn far back on the head. This is not for the bon- net’s sake, nor for the head’s sake, but to show the fine straight parting of the hair. You have to show your hair. You are only half woman without it. When there were curls down upon the fore- head the bonnet could come forward. Now that the satin locks are brushed back from the face the bon net has to re- cede to give the satin locks fair play. We are going to wear Leghorns again and a gigantic round hat or this straw on the crown and frills of butter-colored lace on the brim. A good way to modernize a plain belted waist of last summer is to give it a blouse effect by trimming the front with three lengthwise bands of ribbon two inches wide overlaid with white gulpure or with open embroidered in- sertion. Start-the longest band at the throat, letting it hide the fastening of the waist and make it droop two inches below the the top of the belt, then be brought back and inside the belt. The two other bands start near the top of the shoulder seam and go into the belt with- out drooping so much as that in the middle. These represent box plaits very prettily. In all its victorious progress crinoline has reached capes, and small ones of shoulder length that are stiff with it will soon abound. Some of them are plain and others fluted, but all are capa- ‘ble of standing alone and nearly all are topped by fanciful chiffon collars. As capes were worn generally during the past winter, the pioneer of fashion— those women who always regard novel styles as something that must be attain- ed at any cost—are going in for unusual wraps. A new one of odd cut and in dark brown cloth is noticeable. It con- sists of a fitted jacket, fastening invisbly to which a basque is attached, the edges very wide apart in front. An odd effect is attained by a fichu, which fastens at the sidesin front and leaves the top of the jacket free like a yoke. The novel sleeves have a fitted cloth foundation, and the edges of these and the fichu are finished with silk ball pas- sementerie. Rev. Lila Frost Sprague is the assis- tant pastor of the Second Uritarian Church, of San Francisco, of which her husband is the pastor. She is possessed ot a winning personality and is very popular. Green and black will be very popular and just the right shade of green, one that is rich and clear, whether light or dark, combines well with black. Par- ticularly green velvet, with which a narrow edging of jet is quite popular, when the velvet is used in bands. For the dainty lawns and wash silks, a light yellowish green and white is to be much in vogue. With the early Easter gowns. Eton jackets of black velvet lined with bright silk and edged with a narrow frill of lace will be worn. They will have leg-o-mutton sleeves and loads of jet and iridescent edgings, from under which the lace will fall. That they will be very handsome goes without saying, but they will never attain the popular- ity of the cape, which will rival every- thing else im the “covering” line, while the big sleeves with their preposterous stiffening are worn. New jackets are short, extending on- ly eight or ten inches below the waist. Some are made very full in the back. flaring in godet pleats, while others are flatly pressed, like the back of men’s morning coats. The sleeves are huge at the top, and in many cases seem very incongrous for such short garments. Reefer fronts are again in great favor, the straight double breast being usually faced to turn buck as revers and allow the garment to be worn open in warm | weather, and show a shirt-waist he- | neath. has a long, curling, white ostrich plume '
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers