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 '