Bellefonte, Pa., April 19, 1895.
A MAN'S SENTIMENTS.
Girls that are wanted are good girls—
Good from the heart to the lips ;
Pure as the lily is white and pure.
From its heart to its sweet leaf tips.
The girls that are wanted are home girls—
Girls that are mother’sright hand ;
That fathers and brothers can trast to,
And the little ones understand.
Giris that are fair on the hearthstone,
And pleasant when nobody sees
Kind and sweet to their own folks,
Ready and anxious to please. :
The girls that are wanted are wise girls,
That know what to do and say ;
That drive with a smile and soft word
The wrath of the household away.
The girls that are wanted are girls of sense,
Whom fashion can never deceive ;
Who can follow whatever is pretty,
And dare what is silly to leave. :
The girls that are wanted are careful girls,
Who count what a thing will cost:
Who use with a prudent generous hand,
But see that nothing is lost.
The girls that are wanted are girls with hearts
They are wanted for mothers and wives ;
Wanted to cradle in loving arms
The strongest and frailest lives.
The clever, the witty, the brilliant girl,
There's a constant, steady demand-
But, oh! for the wise, loving home girls,
There are few who can understand,
WHEN SHE WAS THIRTY.
BY LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON.
It. was Eleanor Gray’s thirtieth
birthday. Suddenly she awoke to the
knowledge that youth, with its vague
hopes and dreams, was over. She had
never quite understood how swiftly
the years were passing. One day was
so like another and the heart in her
was 80 young she half thought that
she herself was a young girl still, and
that love might be waiting round the
corner. Hitherto hope had held her
by the hand. But somebow there was
a cruel positiveness in the number 30.
So many years had che lived, the
years of charm and expectancy. What
could there be to come now? But
what bad there been even in the
past ?
She went back in her thoughts over
the life che had lived and regarded it
ag if it had been that of some other
person. She had been born in the
wrong family, she said to herselt—
that was the beginning. They loved
her well, the practical, unimaginative
parents whoee child ehe was, but they
had never understood what she meant.
Her ways were not as their ways, nor
her thoughts as their thoughts. They
had been proud of her in some uncom-
prehending fashion, but they had
smiled at her aspirations and ambi-
tions as at the amusing vagaries of a
petted infant- They gave her the
harp on which she wanted to play,
just as they had given ber the talking
doll ehe coveted and made friends
with when she was a child. They let
her buy herself poetry books, just as
they had let her buy sweetmeats.
They were good and dear—oh, so good
and dear !—she gaid to herselt on this
morning of her thirtieth birthday. But
they did not know her. No one had
ever known ber. Of that she felt cer-
tain,
She took a little hand mirror from
her dressing table and began to etudy
her face in it. The features had mot
changed very much since she was 20.
Perhaps the eyes were a little more
sad, and the cheeks had not quite the
wild rose bloom that belonged to them
ten years ago, but really there was not
so very much difference. Then she
held the glass nearer and looked in ita
little more closely. There were—jyes,
there were—wrinkles, slight, yet un-
mistakable, at the corners of her eyes.
They were big blue eyes, by the way,
with black lashes. The young gold of
her hair was turning to autumnal
brown. And the lips that had never
been warmed by kisses seemed to have
grown thinner.
“Yes,” she said, “ah, yes, I am old-
er! Icansee it in the glass. Iam
not so pretty as I was, but what good
did the prettiness do? Who ever loved
me really unless’”’— She did not finish
the sentecce. If she had, it would
have been ‘‘unless Tom did.”
Andthen she laid down the glass,
and her thoughts went on a long jour-
ney, back to the faraway days when
Tom Rhodes used to come home with
her from all sorts of places and look at
her with such eloquent eyes that she
had not forgotten their language even
yet. She had never let him go farther
than looking, however. The world—
her unconquered kingdom—was all be-
fore ber in those days, and she did not
mean to take Tom for prime minister.
He was a dear good fellow. She used
always to think that when she thought
about him at all. But there were
poets in the world, and painters and
statesmen, and Tom—was only Tom.
He taught school in the winter and
was busy on his widowed mother’s
small farm in the summer, and try how
you would you could not fancy him in
the aspect of a conquering hero. So
gbe bad kept Tom from speaking, and
finally his mother had died, and he
had eold the little farm, had gone
away to that vague part of the world
known in those days as “out west.”
What he had done there or what bad
become of him who knew? Not
Eleanor, at any rate.
She wondered if it were such keen
torture to other women to feel that
they had grown old. [teeemed to her,
just then, that youth was all—all. She
had quafied its wine, and now in the
cup were dregs only. And then she
sadly smiled. What wine had she
ever quafled, after all? People used
to call her beautiful—and surely she
must have been at least pretty—but
what good had it done her ? The right
suitor had never come. Of the few
who seemed to eare for her ehe thought
in this hour only of Tom. She re-
membered tones and looks. Shy flow-
ers, shyly given ; tender little cares for
her comfort in small things, But in
those old days her ambition soared far
beyond Tom. Would it have been far
better had she eared for him? Would
he have understood her? Would’
love have made that possible? For
she felt now that her deepest longing
had always been to be understood.
Love that was given to the external
Eleanor would nuever have been
enough. She must meet some one
who bad the key to her deepest soul,
must she live and die more solitary
than any monk of old in his hidden
hermitage.
Could it be that she had thrown
away what might have been life's full-
ness of joy ? Ah, well, it was of no
use to wonder now! Tom was far
away, and she was 30 years old. Just
then she saw the old village postman
coming slowly down the street. She
threw up the window and reached out
an impatient hand for the letters he
brought. They were all from school-
girl friends, she saw, as she glanced at
the handwriting on the envelopes. She
was not in the mood to care much for
them. “Drearily uninteresting,” she
said to herself as she opened one. A
slip of paper dropped from it unheed-
ed. Eleanor read on listlessly., Sud-
denly her eyes kindled. She had come
to this sentence : “I used to hear you
speak of Tom Rhodes—an aspirant of
yours, was he not? Can this marriage
notice I enclose be his ?”
Eleanor picked up the bit of paper
from the floor and studied. It was
cut from the Denver Times, and it
read :
Thomas J. Rhodes of Connecticut
to Margaret Eliza, daughter of John
Riding, Esq., president of the Wheel
of Fire Mining company.
So that was what had become of
Tom. She had not remembered the J.
in his name, but of course it must be
Tom. There could hardly be another
Tom Rhodes of Connecticut. Itsound-
ed prosperous—this marriage to the
daughter of the president of a mining
company. So this was the end of her
one true lover. She had never said
before, even to herself, that she knew
Tom loved her. But she acknowledg-
ed it to her own heart now. It was as
if a window had been opened into the
past and a great flood of light poured
from a day whose sun had long since
set.
Yes, Tom had loved her, and Tom
would have understood. He and she
might bave been one if only she had
known. Ifonly that weak ambition
she used to think so strong and fine
bad not held her heart in its thrall
She bad the New England conscience,
and it was borne in upon her mind
that she ought to wish Tom to be hap-
py in this new love, this new life. Did
she ? She tried to cheat herself into
thinking so, but ber soul defied her.
“You know well,” cried the voice of
conscience within her, “that you don’t
want him to be quite happy. You
wouldn't like him to be absolutely
miserable, but you want him to be
something short of satisfied, to say to
himself every day and every day; ‘Ah,
Eleanor would not have done this or
said that! Eleanor would have un-
derstood better.’
And then conscience cried aloud,
“Oh, you poor, small soul! Is that
the best of whieh you are capable ?
You would not care for him when he
might have been yours. He was not
grand enough for you then, and now
you would wish him something short
of life's best good I” And she listened
to the voice, and, afraid of herself, she
cried out for strength, and it was as if
her guardian angel leaned from the
heights of heaven and drew her quiv-
ering soul upward to a purer air. Then
the impulse came to her to write a let-
ter which should convey to Tom her
wishes for his happiness—wishes
wholly honest now.
She lingered over it for some time.
She began it “Dear Tom.” Then she
bethought herself of propriety and be-
gan over again and wrote :
Dear Mgr. Rnuopes—I have just
chanced to see in a Denver paper the
announcement of your marriage. Odd-
ly enough, just before it came to me, I
had been especially thinking about
you. I am 30 years old this day, and it
seems natural that my thoughts should
be busy with my youth, which I some-
how feel ends with to-day, and of
which, until you went away, you were
a part. For you a new life in just be-
ginning, Mineis but the same old
story, only it seems as if the rest of it
would be what they call in books an
“appendix.” I write this letter to
wish you joy and peace and all that
your heart most craves.
I think I know you well enough to
be sure that you would not have mar-
ried without love, and love is the great-
est thing in the world. May all its
fullness and blessedness be yours now
and in time to come, eo prays the
friend of your earlier years.
ELEANOR GRAY.
She addressed this letter to “Thomas
Rhodes, care of John Riding, Esq.,
Denver.” She sealed and posted it,
and then the 30-year-old young woman
telt that she had indeed turned the last
page of her youth and the “appendix”
of her life was already begun.
It was not long after this that a new-
comer to the quiet old town of Ryefisld
made Mies Gray’s acquaintance. Here
at last—so it seemed—came the verita-
ble knight of romance of whom
Eleanor had dreamed. Austin Bland
was poet and painter both, One glory
was not enough for him. He had
come to the little Connecticut town to
paint some of its beguiling bits of
stream and meadow land, some of its
famous old trees that seemed fairly hu-
man—they had lived so long and were
so full of wayward individuality. His
pictures, he said, were for sale. His
poems on the other hand, were not the
the property of the world. He sup-
posed it wae unfortunate, but the truth
was he was utterly subjective. His
verses, such as they were, were the
very cry ot his beart, and surely they
did not belong in the market place.
From the first Bland seemed to take
an especial interest in Eleanor. Nat-
urally this interest flattered her. It
had been many years since any man
had so persistently sought her society,
and now, here in her “appendix’ of
life, came the conquering hero,
ready to turn ber subject for her sake, ! little tired of trying.
eager to paint her charme and to sing !
her praises, Was it, ther, for him |
that she had unconsciously been wait.
ing, and was it when she was past 30
that she was really to begin to live ?
1t seemed so just at first. 3
Bland had brought one or two good
letters, for even in rural Ryefield let-
ters were necessary, and he had met
Eleanor at a high tea at. the rectory
the very first week after his arrival. It
was the glorious midsummer, the long
golden days when the sun seems so in
love with the earth that he set reluctant-
ly when all the world is atits best and-
the birds sing its praises and the but
terfles flutter lazily about as if to see
in what a beautiful sphere they are al-
lowed to pass their little day. There
were soft mists at evening in the val
ley of the Quienbaug, mists that fol-
lowed the splendor of the setting sun
and fled before the rising sun.
Austin Bland never tired of saying
bow indifinitely precious it all was.
Sometimes he studied the trees, and
sometimes he studied Eleanor. He
sketched her as Cleopatra, whom she
certainly did not resemble ; as Iseult,
whom she might have been; as fair
Rosamond, with the fatal cup in her
hand; as herselt, in a score of atti-
tudes. He wrote verses to her in
French meters—rondeaux, triolets and
ballades—and these, he told her, were
for her only, that cry of his heart
which none other than herself must
hear. It was all so delightfully ro-
mantic that Eleanor began to think she
was quite sufficiently in love with him,
though love was somehow a less stren-
uous and exciting emotion than she had
hitherto supposed. She was rather
glad sometimes to be left alone at the
close of an afternoon of art aad of ro-
mance. Of course this was because
she was 30. There could be no doubt
that it was the right thing—this high
bred passion that wooed her with all
the resources of art. Bland had not
spoken of the future, but that must be
because he was too delicately reserved
to approach her rashly.
At last there came a July twilight.
Bland and Eleanor had been watching
the sunset together. He had been
talking about his theories of sunset
effects. He was always talking about
about his theories. They were for him
the one significant and sufficient theme.
Then, when the sun had 1airly gone
out of sight, Bland got up to depart al-
go and stood for a moment looking
thoughtfully at Eleanor.
“I must see you to-morrow, he said
“Shall it be 4 o'clock? I have some-
thing to say to you.”
“Yes at 3, if you will,” she answer-
ed, and then he was gone, and she sat
musing in the waning light. Of course
he was coming to ask herto be his
wife. His whole manner had express-
ed his intention. She was as certain
of it as if he had already spoken. Why
was she not more exultant? Why did
she always feel just a little tired when
they had been for some hours together ?
Of course it would be a glorious des-
tiny to be what he had called her—the
queen of his art, to share his ambi-
tions, to be the confidant of his dreams.
She ought surely to be grateful to fate,
and surely she was. At 30 no doubt
the time for ecstasy is past. She look-
ed out into the vague distance and
saw some one walking toward her
under the trees that fringed the high-
way. There seemed something famil-
iar in the coming figure. She caught
her breath quickly. Were her eyes
deceiving her ? No, it was—it abso-
lutely was—Tom Rhodes. As one in
a dream she got up and moved for-
ward to meet him, for he had turned
in at the gate now.
She seemed hardly to know what
strange thing stirred in her 30-year-old
heart when he took her in a strong,
close clasp.
“You, Tom ?’ she cried. ‘“You?”
“Yes, Eleanor, the same old Tom.”
“And your wife? Where is she ?”
“Here, darling, if only I can win
her.”
“What |”
“Yes. Iam not Thomas J.Rhodes.
He is my second cousin, from Connect-
cut also, but from quite another part
of the state. I am Thomas Rhodes,
at your service, the same Tom who
loved you years ago and has never
thought of marrying any other woman.
You made me feel in the old days that
it would be of no use to speak to you,
and so I went away. But when I got
your letter and knew that you were
Eleanor Gray still I resolved that .if I
did not win you it should not be be-
cause I was too cowardly to ask. At
least you have a right to know how
how long and well I have loved you.
I have done no great things. I am
neither hero nor poet nor statesman,
but I have lived a clean, honest life,
and there is not one page of it I am
ashamed that you should read.”
“You loved me—me—all this time ?"’
she cried. And there was a little
choking quiver in her voice.
“Yes,” he answered solemnly, “I
loved you, and you only, then and now
and always, but you havenot answered
me yet, darling.”
“Oh, I forgot that, but you know,
don’t you?"
And indeed Tom knew, for the eyes
that looked into his lit the growing
dusk with their great joy, and the lips
that had been strangers hitherto to a
lover's kies yielded themselves to his
once and forever. Eleanor was won.
After all, 30 was not old age. These
two found that they were young
enough for ecstasy, The moon came
up in the east and looked at them cur-
iously. Yes, they were certainly
lovers. The moon has got used to
lovers, for she 1s nearly 6,000 years
old, and she is not likely to make a
mistake. Eleanor wondered that she
could ever have fancied herself too old
for joy. She wondered yet wore ‘that
she had not known from the very
first that it was Tom, and Tom only,
to whom she belonged.
At last she told him about Austin
Bland.
“I have been trying all summer to
love him,” she said frankly “I thought
it was the thing to do, but I had got a
Heis coming to
see me at 3 o'clock tomorrow because
he has something important to say to
me.”
Tom laughed, as a successful man
may. 5
yell, I shall be away just then, I
am going to Boston to get] a ring
wherewith to fetter you to good faith.
Deal gently with the erring. I shall
be back by the 7 o'clock train to con-
gole you for his loss.”
The next afternoon Austin Bland
was punctual. He came as one who
wears the willow. Sadness was in his
voice and on his brow. A weed on
his hat would not more clearly have
emphasized him for sorrow’s own.
“1. go,” he said, “I . go . this
night from you who are the queen very
of my art, and I must never see your
too fair face again.”
“What!” cried Eleanor, startled for
once from her stronghold of compos-
ure.
“No never! Iam to be married
next month to some one who loves me ;
but, ah, she is not you! I have let
myself forget all in the supreme joy of
your presence, but I must forget no
longer. Pity me! You can afford
me 80 much grace. Circe, I dare not
driok your cup.”
It was really quite a masterly exhi-'
bition of histrionic power. It was
hard-bearted and ungrateful of Eleanor
to smile at it, as I am afraid I am
bound to confess that she did.
“I am to be married almost as soon
as you are,” she said amiably, ‘to Mr.
Tom Rhodes one of the owners of the
Wheel of Fire mine. Bnt do not let
us lose sight of each other. Your
sketches ot Ryefield scenery are quite
too lovely. I should like to give you
an order for some of them, that in far
off Colorado, I may not altogether feel
bereaved of the old home.”
“You are only too good—too good
and kind,” Austin Bland said mourn-
fully ; “but, ah, I must really never
see you again. Goupil & Co. are my
agents Farewell, queen of my sum-
mer |"
And he made his exit, this knight of
the sorrowtul countenance, after the
most approved theories of romance.
At half past 7 o’clock Eleanor told her
little tale of the afternoon to Tom
Rhodes, and then ehe said, with a
laugh : “So you see, I couldn’t have
had him, after all. You are only Hob-
son’s choice.”
“No, thank God!
I am Eleanor’s.”’
Jingoism vs. Americanism.
Senator Frye, of Maine, has set him-
self forward as the representative of the
bullying and bragging idea in our for-
eign relations, and runs to all sorts of
rash and foolish extremes. It is nearer
idiocy than genuine Americanism. A
great nation, conscious of its strength
and of its adherence to honesty, modera-
tion and the basic principles of Chris-
tianity, doesn’t go swaggering up and
down creation blowing its own horn
and threatening the whole world.
That is precisely what Frye is doing.
‘His nonsense is getting too strong for
the Republican press, and the New
York Tribune rebukes his filibustering
swagger about Cuba, while the “Inde-
pendent’’ denounces him as little better
than a buccaneer. This has made Frye
mad, and he swaggers worse than ever.
For instance in his last interview he
SAYS :
I would annex the Hawaiian islands
at once, improve and fortify Pearl har-
bor, and lay a cable from there to the
Pacific coast. I would maintain our
coaling station in Pago-Pago against
the world. I would reach out to take
whatever in our opinion was, or might
be, necessary to our future commercial
supremacy. I regard the acquisition of
Cuba as imperatively demanded, com-
mercially and politically. I would ac-
cept Canada as soon as she was ready to
come to us, and if England forced us in-
to another declaration of war I would
promptly seize Canada and forever
make her a part of the United States.
And much more of the same sort. It
would seem to the average citizen in
possession of his faculties that this sort
of stuff is to curry favor with the un-
thinking, and so avoid meeting ques-
tions of statesmanship at home that de-
mand early settlement. In the -iast
number of the North American Review
Senator Gray, of Delaware, performs a
public service in vindicating the foreign
policy that President Cleveland has con-
sistently pursued, and in doing so aptly
describes the school of jingoes founded
by Mr. Blaine, and of which Senator
Frye is such a ferocious champion. He
says:
Its conscious advocates are, perhaps,
few, but there is reason to fear that its
dupes are many, and neither its advo-
cates nor its dupes are exclusively con-
fined to one party. But, unless the
glories of our past history are to be dis-
carded, it is not American diplomacy.
It is meddlesome and aggressive; it is
envious and suspicious; it is covetous
and not very scrupulous ; it exemplifies
the evil of power without self-control,
and of susceptibility to insult without a
due proportion of self-respect. Its spir-
it 1s that of conquest ; its first reason, as
well as its last, 1s force. It overthrows
by force a queen in Hawaii in the name
of liberty and annexation, and main-
tains by force a king in Samoa in the
name of independence and autonomy.
If this be Republican diplomacy, and
we are to have more of it, God help the
American republic !
No one disputes a genuine American
policy at home and abroad, which is to
do no wrong and to submit to noue.
That is very different from the Frye
bluster, to slosh around the world in
search of somebody to ficht and some-
thing to grab, and especially with a Bob
Acres sort of courage to light on some
weak power with all our might and
main. The Frye kind are sure to funk
in the hour of real danger.
I —C——————.
—Give us dear Lord, our daily food
Of pure, undoctored brand,
Bread without alum, milk ‘thout chalk,
And sugar minus sand !
“Let coffee be the ‘real old gov,’
Not ground Canadian pea,
Old-fashioned juice frou cows,
And heathen China tea.
“Have ‘boneless’ cod with bones left out,
Salt mack'rel void of rust,
And keep, oh keep, our victuals from
A speculative “trust?”
Potter Palmer Abolished Tips.
His Porter's Knowledge of Horseflesh Was the
Cause of the Action.
This is the narrative of Potier Pal-
mer and his chief porter, as told in a
Chicago paper :
Mr. Palmer has what he considers an
educated taste in horseflesh. He thinks
he knows a trotter when he sees him
and has little doubt of his ability to
judge of the aforesaid trotter when he
sits behind him with the ribbons in his
hands.
Mr. Palmer some time ago bought a
horse with an alleged ability to do a
mile in 2:50 that struck him as being ex-
tremely desirable. He paid a good deal
of money for the animal, and he was
filled with delight when he thought of
the easy and brash manner in which he
would pass the various turnouts on the
Lake Shore drive.
He asked Mrs. Palmer to come out
with him to try the new horse, and hav-
ing nothing better to do Mrs. Palmer
consented. The wagon was yoked up
and the driver attached.
One by one the speedy horses of the
neighboring Armours and Trees and
Healys were passed, and Mr. Palmer
was just beginning to rejoice in his pur-
chase when there came behind him the
clatter and rattle of a badly constructed
village cart.
“We will have to have one more run,
my dear,” said Potter Palmer.
“Just this once love,” said Mrs. Pot-
ter Palmer.
The clattering came nearer and pearer
and nearer and then presenter and pre-
senter and at last passinger and passinger
until it faded away in the distance far
beyond anything Potter Palmer and his
new horse could do, but as the vehicle
went by Mr. Palmer recognized the
driver.
It was his own head porter! The man
who had thus brought him to open
shame was the person who told the sla-
veys how to pile the trunks around in
the Palmer House.
He said nothing just then ; but, like
the parrot in the story, he thought a
heap. Mrs. Palmer made such conver-
sation as there was held in the rest of
the trip, and Mr. Palmer got back to
the hotel as soon as possible,
“How much does that head porter get
a month ?”’ he demanded.
“Fifty dollars,” replied the manager.
“How can he buy trotting stock on
$50 a month ?”’ demanded Mr. Palmer.
“Oh, you forget his fees.”
“What fees ?”’
“Why, his tips—the money people
give the head porter when their luggage
is brought to them.”
“Hereafter,” said Mr. Palmer, ‘no
porter is to be permitted to collect fees.
You see that he does what he is paid to
do for what he is paid for it. And. by
the way, find out what he will take for
that horse he had out to-day.”
Prevent Forest Fires.
Forest fires occur annually in some
parts of country, and, after long seasons
of drought, sometimes spread over wide
areas, but not since 1871, when there
was great destruction of Michigan pin-
eries, has there been a calamity like
this. Man is powerless to stay’ the flames
when they bave fairly started after weeks
of dry weather, for the fire spreads so
rapidly as often to outrun a horse. But
man can do much to prevent the break-
ing out of such fires, which are very
often caused by the carelessness of camp-
ing parties, says the Philadelphia Led-
ger. Maine has suffered little from for-
est fires since the appointment of fire
wardens and the training of lumbermen
and hunters to extreme care in extin-
guishing every spark of the fires they
may have kindled in the woods. In
view of the enormous losses that may be
occasioned by forest fires it would seem
to be the duty of the state to guard as
well as may be against their origin and
spread. It is not impossible to do
either. Hunters, lambermen and oth-
ers who frequent the woods can be
taught to be extremely careful in the
use of fire. Railroad companies can be
compelled to use efficient spark arresters
on their locomotives and in dry seasons
fire wardens may be authorized to ap-
point deputies to guard the forests by
night and day and give timely warning
of forest fires before they have gone be-
yond control.
What is needed is some one in au-
thority to command the services of the
able-bodied men of a neighborhood in
extinguishing small fires or preventing
their spread. When the farmers and
lumbermen are left to themselves they
do not unite their efforts until the dan-
ger becomes pressing and then it is too
late, unless rain should come to their
relief. Professor Hazen thinks that
federal and state authorities have duties
in this matter.
——The wandering Jew may at last
find a resting place for his weary feet.
Hived in Poland, persecuted in Russia
and baited in Germany, the Jewish peo-
ple of Europe have no doubt long
dreamed of a new Empire of Jerusalem
for the sons of Israel. The recent ad-
vent of the locomotive in ancient Pales-
tine seemed to be, indeed, the fulfill-
ment of Biblical prophecy and the fore-
shadowing of a new temporal sway over
the ruins of the old Temple of David
and Soloman. But Jerusalem, the
Weeping City, is not the site which
Baron Hirsch has chosen for the plant-
ing of a Jewish State. He would pur-
chase the Island of Cyprus in order to
create an asylum for the expelled Jews
of the Old World. He proposes to pay
the annual tribute due by England to
the Porte, and to create an independent
Jewish State under the protection of
the Powers. The crowned heads of
Europe ean scarcely refuse such a prop-
osition. and the spectacle of a Hebrew
Republic among the nations of the
world may be a triumphant climax of
the Nineteenth Century.
——Spreckles the sugar king
and his sons might as well have
their fight out about his mil-
lions, at one time as well as another.
The old man can enjoy it now ; he can’t
after he isdead. Then, the boys will
have all the fun to themselves.
——1In the country districts Japanese
women work in the fields like these of
continental Europe. This goes far to
account of their strength and good
health.
For and About Women.
Dr. Louise Fiske Bryson, one of the
best established and best known of New
York city’s women physicians read the
first paper ever kh or read upon
“La Grippe.” This was in 1890 at the
New York Academy of Medicine, and
it won its author much praise, both pro-
fessionally and publicly. Dr. Bryson’s
specialty as a physician is the treatment
of insanity and nervous diseases. Be-
sides a large and lucrative practice in
this direction she has published a num-
ber of papers and pamphlets upon such
snbjects.
Lavenders take the lead in the spring
colors. Every kind of costume makes
use of them, and they are effective in all.
They are positively beautiful in the
house, comparatively beautiful on the
street and superlatively so in evening
gowns. ‘The most charming evening
gowns that I have lately seen,” observ-
ed a woman of taste the other day,
‘were those of lavender.” The color,
by the way, is confined to no one shade,
but runs the gamut all the way from
imperial purple to the softest, rosiest
pearl. Frequently several shades are
combined In one costume with excel-
lent effect. Black and lavender make
another popular combination, which is
particularly suited to street wear.
The centre box plaits and epaulettes
of a French green woolen costume are
trimmed with steel buttons. The close
cuffs, from the wrist to the elbow, are
also studded. with buttons. This gown
has a smallround yoke of lace, with belt
and collar of deep green velvet. With it
is worn a sailor hat of yellow straw,
with black aigrette and flowers.
. Young matrons seem to incline to
black this season. At all events, fash-
ionable conturiers are making up num-
bers of black gowns. A handsome Eas-
ter costume is designed from a French
model. This gown of silk crepon and
jet is very effective. The skirt is of jet
black crepon in fancy weave, and is five
yards in width, well stiffened. Two
bands of jet, narrowing from the edge
of the skirt to the top, break the plain
appearance in front. The round waist,
having a centre box plait, is of change-
able blue and black taffeta, as are the
very full drooping leg-of-mutton sleeves.
The entire waist is covered with blue
spangles. Tiny jacket fronts of black
satin are turned back in revers, and the
latter are finished with jet figures and
edging. The stock collar and belt are
also of black satin. The large, straight
brimmed hat accompanying this gown
is of black Milan straw, faced with black
satin and trimmed with a wide white
lace bow and a panache of black plumes.
The gloves are white glace with heavy
black stitching.
The newest Summer pillows are
white, and the very sight of them is a
rest and refreshment. They are really
the first hint that has been given in
Summer furnishings, and they are dain-
tiness itself. The materials are varied,
from inexpensive cottons to Anatolian
curtains. Through all the range of Ori-
ental cloths the fancy is carried, but
there is no reason why the idea may not
be carried out in the same way in other
stuffs. The principle is that of perfect
simplicity, the pillow simply covered
with the deep frill for a finish.
They are made slip fashion with but-
tons and button holes at one end so
they can be easily removed and laun-.
dered, and so kept fresh and fair.
The first models of cotton gowns have
skirts that fit plainly in front and are
gathered full at the back. The waist is
round and full and is trimmed with
plenty of ribbon, embroidered nainsook,
lace, etc. Sleeves are enormous.
The Norfolk belted jacket with im-
mense sleeves is the most approved bas-
que for morning suits of duck. These
Soames have flaring, though not godet,
skirts.
To modernize hats and bonnets. trim
in front with wings and outspread bows
in wide effect. Spangled wings, in fact,
spangled trimming of all varieties, will
give a fashionable touch to headgear.
The ribbons used are in chine designs,
and are rather wide. The stiff taffeta
ribbon loops require no wiring. Small
bonnets should be trimmed so that they
appear wider. The broad Dutch bon-
net, which has been so fashionable all
winter, continues in favor, and the
Marie Stuart shape, which is almost uni-
versally becoming, is also very modish.
If you have any lace or jet trimming
laid away, by all means get it out and
use it on your Easter chapeau. Arrange
the lace in a sort of small curtain effect
in front, and catch it up in the middle
with a rhinestone or a few flowers ; lay
it in very fine plaits to fall on the hair
in back. If you exercise a little taste
you can combine all kinds and all colors
of flowers. Nowadays they are mingled
in all combinations. Violets are com-
bined with all sorts of roses, natural
and unnatural-looking ; yellow and
heliotrope, green and blue, pink and
yellow—all these color combinations are
seen. There is so much diver:ity in the
present millinery styles that you can
trim your hat in any way, according to |
your tancy. If your hendgear be be-
coming, you can feel serene, for becom-
ingness is the most important feature.
Dr. Simon Baruch, a noted physician
speaking of health for woman, says :
“More cold bathing, more fresh air,
less meat, tea and coffee, and more milk,
cream, cheese, bread, and butter, with
easy fitting clothing, will rejuvenate
and be the salvation of our working
women.”
Everything, skirts, basques, capes,
even hats and bonnets, has the godet
fullness. Skirts are from four to six
yards around the bottom for ordinary
wear ; sleeves do not puff out to such
extremes, but have as much goods as
can be plaited in and laid under, so as
to fall in heavy folds.
Cod liver oil and beauty. A doctor
is authority for the following state-
ment : He declares that he knew, once
upon a time a delicate woman who be-
gan rubbing her neck and chest with
cod liver oil for some weakness there,
and that she not only cured herself of
the trouble by the remedy, but that she
developed a beautiful round throat in-
stead of her old-time prominent collar
bone while doing it. It was not per-
manent, but it was so quickly accom-
plished that it shows the possibilities for
the woman who wants to, for instance,
wear an evening gown, if she begins
some weeks ahead.