( JULES. |
Bellefonte, Pa., May 10, 1895.
THE TOME OF VOICE.
1t is not so much what you say,
As the manner in which you say it;
It is not so much the language you use,
As the tones in which you convey it.
“Come here!” I sharply said,
And the baby cowered and wept;
“Come here !” I cooed, and he looked and
smiled,
And straight to ay lap he crept.
The words may be mild and fair
And the tones may pierce like a dart ;
The words may be soft as a summer air,
And the tones may break the heart.
Few words but come from the mind,
_ And grow by study and ari;
But the tones leap forth from the inner self
And reveal the state of the heart.
Whether you know itor not,
Whether you mean or care,
Gentleness, kindness, love and hate,
Envy and anger are there.
Then would you quarrels avoid.
And in peace aed love rejoice,
Keep anger not only out of your words,
But keep it out of your voice.
— Youth's Companion.
————
THE WIT OF MAN.
Or One Fellow's Testimony ota Platonic Friend-
shipe
I met her at a garden party, not a
joyous gathering of tennis players and
girls laughing to the sun, but the
gloomy affair of the morbidly select.
In bright red she blossomed with all
the sweets of a woman magically fem:
inine. Her crisp, black hair seemed
ready to fly out against conventionali-
ties, against hats, particularly, and her
brown eyes were golden with the joy
of life ; wit hadjchiselled her features,
so excellently irregular in the round-
ness of their curves, to pointed nose
and chin. I could not but enjoy,
as a relief from all the elaborate an-
gles of her stiff surroundings, the rap-
id undulations of her lithe figure, her
expressive arms, her dancing little feet,
as she sat there, a wild |gypsy, fash-
ionable and polished, but still untamed
by society. Pouting like some play-
ful child over lessons, her mouth rigid-
ly set against the flickering dimples of
irrepressible laughter, she listened to
the pompous old Duc de Retz, or an-
swered his wise centence at random,
with a wave of her hand.
“Who is she?’ I inquired of M.
Pimodan de St. Ouen, a walking edi-
tion of “Le Tout Parie,” tightly bound
in frock coat.
“Why, that is la belle Comtesse de
Crequy de Canaples; a widow, mon
cher, young, rich. If you admire her,
here's your chance. The Duke is dy-
ing to talk politics with the Dowager
de Baudricourt. Forward, to the res-
cue!” And M. Pimodan emitted that
short, dry note which serves him as
laugh or cough, while I stepped up to
M. de Retz, who gracefully introduced
me. “Dear cousin! Mr, Castlehigh—
Comtesse de Canaples.”
And he retired as Mme. de Cana-
ples smiled up at me with her humor-
ous eyes. Her voice was fluently musi
cal as she gaily said: “We are not
quite strangers, for I have met your
charming sister at the Plot-Chandieus.”
Before I could frame ajcompliment,
she suddenly added: “Do you love
her?”
“Who?”
“Your sister, of course. I like every
man to love his sister.”
“Well, I hope I do.”
“You only hope! Are you an Eng
lishman 2?"
“More or less.”
“Tess, decidedly less. An English-
man with blue eyes like yours, should
not only be honest and brave, but sure,
gure of everything. Don’t you see.
Don’t you understand what strength,
what manliness there is in being ab-
solutely sure, even if you are quite
wrong? It is healthy ; everything
strong and abeolute is healthy. What
are you, then?"
“Well, a cosmopolitan.”
“Ab, bah!” she exclaimed with a
toss of her diminutive head. as she sur-
veyed me good-humoredly. ‘And that
means that you are not interested in
anything but the surface of things;
that your sentiments are paradoxes;
that your aspirations go no higher than
alift will carry you ; that your feelings,
philosophy, life, love, lounge in a men-
tal Hotel Metropole and never work at
home. Have you no preference for
any country ?"
“I think I prefer France.”
“For shame; you a Castlehigh, you
whose very name seems rooted in Sax-
on soil! Ah,” she added, with another
of her kindly smiles, “I see it all ; you
think to flatter. But why ebould you
not epeak the truth ? I adore the truth!
You cannot possibly love anything
better than your birth-place, your
family, your home!
1 laughed. saying: “You see, my
mother was French.”
She seized my hand and shook it
irankly as she exclaimed: “Then you
really did love your mother? You love
her country? 'Tis well! All human
greatoess of man is in his devotion to
his mother. France then seems to en-
fold you in her arms the very air
caresses, soothes and nurses you! But
nevertheless, you are an Englishman.
This mixing of races and names breaks
araditions of bereditary faith. Man
must be steadfast, Only a woman may
capriciously adopt and passionately
“Never!”
“But I feel fiattered.”
“You should feel ashamed then, as
flattery commences where truth ceases.
Are you not clever, are you not brave?”
“T don’t think so.”
“Well, at any rate, you have enough
false modesty to please most people of
the world.”
I blushed.
“Have I hurt your feelings?” she
said, with her hand on my arm, in
soft, gentle tones. “Iam so sorry! I
only wished to spur you out of this
nonchalant attitude. I am sure ’tis
only a pose; that you reaily have
ideals. Come, now, don’t let me do
you an injustice; I hate misunder-
standings. Admit it, you are a work-
er, not simply a walking gentleman ;
you have something beneath the crown
of your hat. What do you do; tell
me?’ And she leaned forward, her
eyes intent on mine.
“Well, I write a little poetry,” I
stammered.
Her eyes sparkled, her lips smiled,
she clapped her hands in delight, ex-
claiming in a musical voice. “You
love your mother and you are a poet !
I know your English eyes expressed
ideals, strength and health. Poets
may be cosmopolitans; indeed, their
home is in all nations’ hearts. Have
you published ? Not yet? Oh, then do
bring your manuscripts to my house;
could you come to-morrow, Tuesday?
Yes? How good of you, when every
moment may be precious gold. Thank
you, and au revoir.”
And as I held that small hand in
mine I felt that I had made a friend.
When I called next day Mme. de
Canaples was in her boudoir. She
listened to my reading, silently, atten
tively, almost, it seemed, reverently,
and when I left the house after dinner,
I felt very great. The next morning
we met in the Bois and rode together ;
the same night we danced a cotillon at
Mme. de Plot-Chandieu’s Fate seemed
determined to make us meet, and, per-
haps, we helped her.
If a man and woman see much of
each other, they invariably talk of
themselves, wax sentimental by waltz
music and imagine themselves in love
after supper. But I am tired of flirta-
tions, sick of telling a woman whom I
only admire that I love her. So, one
evening, as we discussed sentiment over
pate-de-foie-gras, I told her how much
I regretted that two great minds should
glavishly follow the example of the
stupid. She agreed. “If we remain
on our present footing one of us may
fall'in love.” She opened her innocent
eyes, smiling, “Yes,” I continued, ‘in
love; what else can happen? Where
as, it we go off somewhere together
and live naturally, unconstrained by
the world, we shall know ourselves
truly and enjoy a few days of rest.”
“Oh, the wit of man!” she cried,
gayly clapping her hands, her whole
face beaming with delight,
The next evening we started by rail
for Fontainebleau. Soon we were both
fast asleep, only to wake at our desti-
nation. She took a room at one hotel,
I at another. The next day we drove
in the forest, silently watching the roy-
al trees, till our eyes grew tired and we
fell asleep. We stayed there a fort-
night, driving, sleeping, barely saving
a word, and yet quite happy.
When we were back in Paris she
asked : “And why did we go to Fon-
tainebleau for that?”
“Because,” I replied, at Fontaine:
bleau we kept regular hours, allowed
ourselves no cerebral excitement, drank
no champagne, heard no one whisper,
‘Little Castlehigh is awfully in love
with Mme. de Canaples, or ‘The
Countess is decidedly sweet on ce cher
garcon I" I have simply proved, dear
lady, that society was forcing us, with
its champagne and talk, to think of
each other, whereas nature lettus to
follow our own individual and separate
thoughts. Oh, that fortnight in Fon-
tainebleau! We scarcely spoke twice
a day. Silence is repose, and repose is
bliss. To think that we might have
been vulgar lovers! A few more days
Paris. and my fate, at least, was seal-
ed. But I understood the dangers of
our situation. Could anything be more
paradoxical and modern than our
elopement to Fontainebleau? Carry
off 2 woman mysteriously at night two
hours by rail to a strange town, remain
there a fortnight en tete-a-tete! And
all that not to become lovers, but, on
the contrary, to escape the necessary,
the historical developmentof a situa-
without issue. Don’t you think that
our late adventure gives us incontest-
able superiority over the greatest wits
of our age ?”’
She seized both my hands and fixed
my eyes. It wasa rapid, searching,
wondrous look ; only her irregular and
mobile face could have such expres-
sion; and for half a second she seem-
ed to tear open my soul, take a peep,
at it all and shut it up. Then she sat
down on a sofa and gazed meditatively
at me. Humor and disappointment
were blended in her dimpled smile.
She crossed her arms nodded her head,
examined her little feet slowly one af-
ter the other, and sighed, “The wit of
man!” She shrugged her shoulders
most charmingly, as she reiterated,
each time with a quite new and singu-
lar intonation, “The wit of man, the
wit of man!”
Most people would have been put
out by the obvious double meaning of
this remark, but I am a psychologist ;
in fact, I pride myselt not a little on
tollow ber love across the seas, may be
irresponsible, except to God, herself |
and her husband. Man must be the |
rock to which we cling. He is our!
country, our name, our heart. Re-|
member that song of your people : !
In apite of all temptations
To belong to other nations
He remains an Englishman.
How nice of him! You know there |
are temptations, for England means |
duty=—but I am preaching, excuse me!
You have such a real honest, British |
face that I cannot help feeling disap- |
pointed at finding you a mere cosmo-
politan. Go back to England. There |
is the place for the clever and the
brave.”
“You flatter |"
my penetration. I understand that
she smiled at my wit, compared me to |
others, and sighed as she regretfully
reflected how few men are really capa-
ble of such subtle conduct with women.
! They are few, indeed !
Then she buried her face in her
hands to think. And with equal un-
expectedness, came softly to me and
kissed my cheek. “Thank you,” she
said, in a strangely far-off voice;
“though a youth, you are a great phil- |
osopher. Henceforth we are friends ;
we will never allow society to make us |
pose one to the other, but meet some-
times and rest together.”
She tripped away out of the room.
But the door suddenly reopened and
she leaned forward, offering her ex- |
quisite figure to my view like a bou- |
quet, as she smiled with her sweet red
lips. “The wit of man, ha! ha!” she
laughed as she ran down the stairs.
i
Nearly every day Mme. de Canaples
comes to sit in my study. Her work
basket and favorite books are in a cor-
ner : even when absent the atmosphere
of her pervades the room like a spirit
and soothes me. We are usually
quite silent, as she did when I first
read my poems to her, and the flicker-
ing gold in her brown eyes seems to
light my memory and color my expres
sion. The other day she said: “I
know exactly the position which I oc-
cupy between your books and cigar
ettes.” Her tone was somewhat bitter.
But I proved to her that she is my
most precious friend ; for she never
bores me, following all my moods and
indulging them in a manner most sur-
prising when I think of it. Really I
am so thankful that for once I resisted
the temptation of flirting. Love
would have spoiled our friendship, as
it does everything. Even Mm. de
Canaples torments her lover. For she
is going to marry Jacques de Chan-
dieu ; at least she tells me so, But on
this subject she lavishes all the caprice
and childishness which friendship
seems to have drowned in her with
me. Sometimes she speaks passsion-
ately of le beau Jacques, who is a
dashing officer of Chasseurs, somewhat
brainless, very handsome and quite
spoiled by Mme. de Plot-Chandieu.
At other times Mme. de Canaples says
that she hates him ; and her sudden
reversions of feeling are really begin-
ning to torment him into a man of
thought. He obeys| her like a faithful
dog ; she snubs him, as a woman does
a man who loves her. Whereas with
me she is unfailing in her gentle con-
sideration, ceaseless in her delicate at-
tentions. And the moral of all this is :
If you like a woman don’t make love
to her ; if you love her don’t marry her.
I told her the other day, she blushed
and laughed till the tears rolled down
ber cheeks, saying as usual. “The
wit of man!” as she wiped her eyes
and composed herself back to the let-
ter which I was dictating to my Lon-
don tailor,
But I do wish she would marry
Jacques and be done with it. Her ca-
pricious treatment of him and appeals
to my sympathy are rather teasing.
She always wants to know what I
think. Now that is just what I don’t
do when she is by me; I then simply
take repose in her society from all
mental exertion. It has become a
habit, and these constant demands on
my reasoning faculties, though flatter-
ing bore me. Can no woman ever
leave well alone ?
When she came in this afternoon, I
saw by the way she hovered about my
chair before sitting down, that some-
thing was on her mind. She wore a
red dress very like that which she had
on the day I first met her at Mme de
Retz's garden party. She struck me
as prettier than ever, and her charm
ing figure was a joy to my eyes as she
lay on the sota or leaned over to read
my last poem. There is about her
something suavely womanly which
acts like a charm on a man. She has
that fragrance of body and soul which
makes me feel as though life is really
worth living when she is at my side.
“I am decided to marry Jacques,”
she said as she poured me out a cup of
tea.
“At last! Allow me to congratu-
late you,” I remarked with a vast as-
sumption of interest.
“No! Iam very miserable,” she
sighed as she passed me the cup.
“Why 7”?
“Because I don’t love him enough.”
“Why marry him, then 2”
“Because, because I am lonely, Reg-
inald!” and her expression was pite-
ous as she repeated, “Oh, so lonely!”
“Did you love Monsieur de Cana-
ples?”
“No ; I was too young.”
“Have you ever loved any one?” I
inquired airily, after a pause.
She jumped to her feet like a siart-
led deer and counfrzged me with burn-
ing eyes. “Yes,” she said fiercely.
“Yes Lid :
“Was he married !"”
She shook her head.
“Dead 7?"
“No.”
“Why don’t you take him then ?”
She slowly answered with downcast
eyes : “He doesn’t love me.”
‘Are you sure ?"
She looked up at me.
said. “I am quite sure.”
“Well, then, try and make him.”
“I have !"” she retorted sharply.
“Without success? You astonish
me! I was only just thinking how
fascinating vou are.” She blushed.
“There is something about you which
particularly appeals to man. We are
allsuch vain creatures that any woman,
particularly you, with a few smiles
might reduce the most indifferent of
us to a desperate condition.” She
ghrugged her shoulders. - “Have you
tried everything with him ?”
She turned on me curiously- ‘Now
really what do you suppose I have
been doing? Does a woman ever give
up anything but a losing game?” She
laughed a trifle sardonically and re-
peated wearily, as she let herself fall
back on the sofa. “Yes, I have tried
everything, Reginald dear, every-
thing!”
| “You have even told him you love
him ?"
| “Certainly not.”
{ Try that
| “But,” she answered, turning round
i on me, “I have insinuated it. And if
i he won't see it, 'tis because he can’t
love me, and doesn't wish to trifle with
| my affections by raisiug false hopes.”
| “A rare gentleman, if such is the
| case.”
“You approve of him then ?”
“Don’t we agree in everything?’
“Yes,” she answered sadly. And
. then she began to cry like a child, vio-
' lent, hot tears of rage and grief. My
whole soul swelled to sympathy. T
“Yes!” she
Perhaps I am a little in love with her;
at least I thought so at the time ; but
then I know women’s sensitiveness too
well to allow my love to burst on their
unhappiness. Perhaps my kisses
were a trifle passionate, for she turaed
pale and pushed me away, her eyes
brilliant and gigantic, as she looked at
me astonished, “Don’t, please don’t,
Reginald! she pleaded.
“I beg your pardon.”
and I continued eloquently. “I wish
that man was not such a fool. If he
only knew what a fine creature you
are ; if he only understood you as I do!
Tell me his name ? I will become his
most intimate friend for your sake,
And you know between men, we have
go many means of conveying an im-
pression, exciting a curiosity about
some woman. I am sure that I could
make him fall in love with you, my
dear, without his guessing that I even
knew you, except as a casual acquaint
ance.’
With both hands upraised to the
ceiling she laughed outright, as she
flung herself out of the room, exclaim:
ing in a voice that I shall remember
to my dying day : “The stupidity of
man !" :
I am afraid that her verdict on my
gex is just, though I may flatter my-
gelf that there are a few exceptions—
Mec Millan's Magazine.
She smiled
Markets in Jamaica.
Mrs. Julian Hawthorne's Experience in Bar-
gaining for Yams. Curious Systems of Tra-
ding— Mangoes, Plantains and Tropical Fruits
Spread in Great Heaps. Scenes of Brightness
and Beauty.
Every Saturday at 9 in the morning
two horses hitched to a covered buggy
are brought to our door. Big baskets
are crowded in behind and a small bag
containing a handful of small (very
small) change hangs at my belt. A
large sun umbrella and a wrap are put
in, and off we go followed by shouts
from the children hanging over the
veranda rail to remember the cakes, the
candy, theslate pencils or the tennis
shoes they have been wanting since last
last week.
The market house proper is a large
roof on pillars, rising from a high stone
foundation , in ranks on its cement
floor are the booths or stalls where meat
bread, ginger ale and the like are on
sale. This covered place is seldom
crowded, but adjoining it on the right
is a walled inclosure for the accommo-
dation of ‘‘bread-kind,” the name given
to yams, potatoes, fruits, and all green
stuff. We ure the only white folks
who come to market. The others send
servants, but we like the drive and the
humors of the scene. The ‘‘quality’’ in
Jamaica will do nothing for themselves
that they can get done for them.
Needing nothing in the “house,” we
pass through, with a glance at the gin-
ger bread, the pretty white bread loaves
and the various dough preparations,
some of which we know by experience
to be not half bad. Now we emerge
from the cool shadow into the ardent
sunshine of the outer enclosure.
A BEWILDERING PLACE.
This is as bewildering a place as ever
mortal stepped into. Crowds of women
in bright pink dresses, the effect of
which at a little distance is white in the
sunlight, many children and a few men,
throng the space till movement becomes
difficult. A policeman, with a smiling
black face and spotless white jacket,
stands about wherever he can find room.
Here and there a donkey is being drawn
through the press by its owner, two
heavily loaded panniers on its stout lit-
tle back. Everybody is chatting in a
high key, laughing, pushing, gesticula-
ting ; many of the women bear on their
heads huge wooden trays heaped with
produce for sale or just purchased.
Out of sight until you stumble over
them are the venders squatting on the
ground amidst heaps of yams, sweet
potatoes, plantains, cocos, cocoanuts,
chochos, cabbages and such fruits as
are in season, mangoes, genips, cheri-
moyas, oranges, pomegranates, sweet-
sops, bananas. he yams are great
dark brown roots eight inches in di-
ameter and two or three feet long ; the
hairy cocos are also dark brown roots,
but more like sweet potatoes. These
are usually sold by men. The chocho
is a pretty vegetable of light green or
cream white hue, as big as two fists.
pear-shaped, but ribbed like a musk-
melon and hairy. They are of the
squash and cucumber family, and taste
like vegetable marrow.
DISTINGUISHED BY INSTINCT.
Plantains are larger than the average |
banana and of slightly different tinge of
yellow ; but so much like them in ap-
pearance that you know the two apart
rather by instinct than specification.
Plantains cannot be eaten raw like
bananas, but are firmer and better than
the latter when cooked. They cost five
times what bananas do, and are rather
scarce here ; we usually buy out the
whole supply in the market; and all
the eggs go into our basket also.
Heaps of mangoes, brilliant yellow
red end green, are here ; small, but ex-
cellent pineapples, genips — small
branches tipped with a round green
fruit with a skin that cracks when you
bite it and comes off revealing a soft,
orange- colored pulk clinging to & large
stone, and tasting something like
grapes. Otaheite apples, pear-shaped.
bright yellow and red with a clear,
white pulp, crisp, sweet and delicious ;
ackees, used as a vegetable, also bright
red and yellow, opening on the tree to
show the big, black seed within, which
is poisonous. Salt fish and ackees are a
favorite dish with the peasantry.
BARGAINING FOR YAMS,
We examine critically the piles of
yam, select the best, and say to the
dealer, “Three shillings’ worth —make
them up.”
is to make them up 1n shilling piles,
four or five pieces, according to size, in
a heap. This having been done, we re-
gard the heaps disapprovingly, pick out
The phrase means that he |
goes, genips or chochos ; the price is
constant—only the quantity varies.
Another measure of price is the gill—
three farthings, and you have to make
your own additions : “That's a quatty |!
and a gill, Missy,” and, there being no
such coins, you pay two pence farthing. |
Six pence and a quatty is, of course, |
seven pence ha’ penny. A bit’ is |
another imaginary coin, and represents
four pence ha’ penny ; while a ‘tup”
means not two pence but two gills. No
coin larger than a shilling is ever seen
in the market, and change is hard to
find.
HONEY SOLD IN BOTTLES.
Honey is for sale in bottles ; beeswax
in flat, round cakes a pound in weight.
Raw brown sugar is brought in tin oil
cans which are also in use all over the
island for carrying water. Cocao, made
up in sticks, and called chocolate, sells
at a quatty a stick ; it is oily, and flav- |
ored with cinnamon. Cocoanut oil for
cooking is sold in bottles, Green cocoa-
nuts are always in market, and men and
women are grouped around the vender,
who, with his machete, strikes a slice
off the top, leaying a hole, to which the
buyer’s lips glue themselves. Hard co-
coanuts, such as we are familiar with in
the States, are used only for grating and
oil making.
But it ic time to go home. The horses
are watered, and the horse-boy fed,
our market woman gets her six pence,
our purchases are loaded into the buggy,
and we set off up the long hill in the
brilliant sunshine. Looking back and
down upon the market as we draw
away, we see a seething, gay-colored
mass of women, donkeys, vegetables,
fruits, spread out in the sunshine, and
shadow ; and the laughter, the buzz,
and the shrill cries follow our ears in
the soft diapason as we surmount the
rise and trundle eastward.
MRs. JULIAN HAWTHORNE.
The State's Crops.
Secretary Edge Reports Upon the Condition of
Wheat and Grass.
Secretary Edge, of the department of
agriculture, has received reports in re-
lation to the crops of 1895, which war-
rant the following :
“Wheat—Winter wheat has come
through the winter shortin leaf and
stalk, but with plenty of roots to en-
sure 8 good crop with favorable weath-
er; the east sides of fences running
north and south, especially in the
southeastern part of the state, show
the bad effects of heavy drifts which
accumulated there during the blizzard,
and in many cases the grain has been
emotbered out entirely giving that por-
tion of the fields a spotted appearance.
In low, wet places and on fields hav-
ing & bad natural drainage the melted
snow, by running into the low places
and freezing there, has killed the
wheat and made a cut in the yield of
the crop. The acreage is slightly de-
creased ; the larger portion of this de-
crease is due to the low price of the
grain. In many localities where wheat
is sown twice in succession a portion
of one of the fields has been reserved
for corn or other spring crops, and a
portion of this area will be devoted to
ensilage and fodder corn, with which
to bridge over a season similar to that
of 1894.
“Mowing fields—Owing to the ab-
gence of the usual amount of thawing
and freezing during the past winter
the wheat stubbles of 1894 have come
through in very good condition, and
there is every probability that with
fair growing weather before harvest an
excellent swath of clover hay will be
cut, which, taking the State as a whole
will probably be above the average.
Mowing fields which were cut over the
first time last year will not yield their
usual percentage of clover, it having
from some unexplained cause been
killed beyond the usual extent.
“Farm work—Farm work of all
kinds, except fencing and stone-pick-
ing, is in a backward condition. The
cold condition of the soil and the back-
wardness of the season have deterred
many who are usually noted for early
seeding from planting. On low ground
much of the oats is yet unsown, and
unless we have a season of more than
average growth will probably be short
in the straw.
“The indications are that more than
the average acreage of potatoes will be
planted and some of our prophets are
already predicting low prices for this
crop.”
EG I STU TRB
The President’s Sister.
How She Did a Kindness to the Tired Sales-
woman.
Several years ago, says the Chicago
Tribune, a lady entered one of the large
dry goods stores in Washington, and
the tired saleswoman coming forward
to wait on her, involuntarily said :
“Qh, the violets !”
The lady who bad forgotten she was
| wearing a bunch of the spring’s beau-
| ties, as~ she took them off and handed
them across the counter, said :
“Yes, did you know they are in bloom
in the park ?”’
The other woman’s eyes filled with
tears as she said *
«Q, I never see the park now. Iam
too tired when Sunday comes to go out
there.”
| said, “I will
an inferior piece that he bas slipped in, |
and replace it by a better, shake our
head and look discontented ; he adds
another piece, perhaps, and finally, af-
ter much hesitation, we take or reject |
the bargain as the case may be. Every
thing is bought in this way, though
yams are only sold by the shilling’s
worth.
took her hands and softly kissed them.
ny) is the usual price of a pile of man-
|
|
“But you surely can go some half-
holiday.”
“Perhaps, and I thank you so much
for these.”
As she was leaving, after making her
purchases, the lady said :
“If TI call for you Saturday afternoon
can you drive out to the park with me?’
Then seeing the gladness in the other's
eyes, without waiting for an answer,
be here at 1 o'clock for
you,” and handing her card, left the
store.
As she passed through the door the
saleswoman looked at the card in her
hand—it was the presidents sister.
ETS
Willie's Joke.
“Just see that baby
little iron car in his mouth.
you suppose he thinks it is?”
visitor.
“Guess he’s
putting that
What do
heard it's a chew-chew
| car,” said Willie.
A quatty (8 penny—ha’ pen-
A ——T————
i
|
|
4
1
|
|
For and About Women.
There are now two women acting as
School Inspectors in New York, and
Mavor Strong is so satisfied with their
work that he will not be unwilling to
increase the number.
Women who sleep a great deal and
comfortably, who are addicted to cat
naps and regarded nine hours of whole-
some rest as absolutely requisite of their
physical well-being are the women who
defy the frosting hand of time. These
are the women whose wrinkles are few
| and far between, and whose eyes remain
| the brightest and cheeks the rosiest for
the longest period after the bloom of
youth has fled. No less notable a beauty
than Diane de Poictiers, who retained
her irresistible loveliness until her 70th
year, recognized the value of sleep as a
preventive of wrinkles. Indeed, so
fearful was she of losing a moment of
perfect rest that, mistrusting the beds of
her friends, she carried her own with its
splendid fittings on all her journeys.
Along with the box-pleated style of
waist, suspenders and bretelles will
again be used on toilets and costumes
designed both for young ladies and
slender matrons. Some of these are
made of the dress goods when of a rich
quality, others of embroidered surah,
net, etc. On some of the French gowns
they are made of corded silk or velvet
wrought with fine cut jet. In suspender
shape they are of even width their entire
length, and black velvet ribbon, plain
or edged with a line of jet, is much us-
ed for this purpose. A pretty dress of
lilac taffeta has a gored skirt very fall
in the back. The silk suspenders are
embroidered with shaded silk violets,
and pass over a fitted blouse waist of
cream colored silk, likewise embroidered
on collar, front and sleeves.
With all the variations in draping of
cloth from the shoulder to the elbow,
there are really but t wo sleeves now in
vogue. One isa puff and the other a
leg-o’-mutton.
Puffed sleeves admit of more fanciful
decoration, and are, therefore. most in
favor fur dressy gowns.
For tailor built ones nothing but reg-
ulation sleeves are allowable; that is,
fectly plain, long and tight-fitting over
the wrist. A row of small buttons out-
lining the inside seam from wrist to el-
bow is not unusual, but itis not strict-
ly “smart,” Make them as large as
cloth and the streets allow above the el-
bow, but after reaching that point take
in every reef in the sail, fitting them to
the arm as you would a glove. One or
two women cling to the white linen cuff,
but it 1s actually shelved by popular
vote, with the exception of those attach-
ed to a linen shirt worn undera jack-
et.
For carriage and afternoon receptions
elbow sleeves are in vogue. They are
more elaborately trimmed than those for
street. In truth therein comes exag-
geration of style. Everything that can
be consistently placed there, figures
on some stylish dress sleeves. Bunches
of flowers, loops of ribbon, strips of vel-
vet, cascades of lace, jabots of scallops
are separately and collectively seen.
Don’t make the mistake of using
wide extenders. The new sleeves are
not proper if they assert themselves on
an equality with the shoulder seam,
By some order of fashion’s ruling they
have been put into a lower scale, and
now droop away until their widest ecir-
cumference is reached at the elbow.
This change does not relieve the owner
from luxurious expenditure of money on
crinoline, but it brings pon her the du-
ty of pulling her sleeves constantly
ly down from the shoulder that they
may droop in the new style.
We have had light waists and black
skirts until we are positively tired of
them. Now we are to have black waists
and light skirts. This later combination
is of great advantage to women who are
inclined to be a little stout. A perfect-
ly fitted black waist is the most becom-
ing thing a woman with a full figure
can wear ; and with light colored flow-
ing draperies, especially with the wide-
flaring skirts now approved, costumes
of this sort are in every way satisfactory,
It is true that a toilette of a light waist
and black skirt is bewitching, but then
it is growing common and when a fancy
reaches that stage it is dropped. Black
brocaded silks will be made into skirts
to wear with light waists.
There is no room for discussion of the
point—every woman who goes any-
where simply must have a cape. There
seems to be some difference of opinion as
to the length which is correct. The
really chic shape dips slightly back and
front, and is quite short on the should
ders, describing a perfect curve from-
one shoulder to the other. In front
and back they reach the waist, and the
sides stand out and up so as to show the
sleeves and waist of vhe bodice beneath.
This is the only style worn by younger
woman.
Miss Jane Addams, of Hull House,
has been appointed one of the garbage
inspectors of Chicago. She has devoted
her life and means to the moral and
material betterment of those too poor
and too ignorant to help themselves,
and she had done a noble work in a
modest; womanly way.
The cultivation of manners” should
be followed out in all departments of life.
First, see that children be taught to be
uniformly polite—ceremoniously 8o—
whether strangers be present, or they
are only en famille. The bays should
also be trained to exhibit the same
chivalrous deference to, and care of,
their sisters, of whatever age, that they
show to their mothers.
Scrupulous courtesy in speech should
be insisted on, and modern slang inno-
vations prohibited or discouraged.
The good old Saxon housewords,
‘father’ and “mother,” are infinitely to
be preferred to boys speaking of the
“governor” or girls of the ‘mater.”
Gentlemen and ladies say “Thank
you.” Vulgar and underbred people
cut down the phrase to ¢Thanks.”
There are few portions of household
training that are more neglected by all
classes, except the upper ones, than the
education of children in good habits of
eating and table etiquette.
The latest importations of gowns
show very conclusively that the abun-
asked the | dance of stiff interlining is going out of
fashion, in Paris at least.
——Friend—¢Well, Tommy, now
that you have started to school, what
——Cupid is the only genuine opti- | do you like best ?”’
mist.
Tommy—*‘‘Recess.”’