Boma Wiad,
Bellefonte, Pa., May 3I, 1895.
LITTLE BOY BLUE.
by Eugene Field.
The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and stanch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket molds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new
And the soldier was passing fair ;
And that was the time when Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.
“Now, don’t you go till I come,” he said,
“And don’t you make any noise !”
So. toddling off to his trundle-bed,
He dreamt of the pretty toys.
And as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue ;
Oh, the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true.
Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
"Each in the same old place,
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
The smile of a little face;
And they wondered, as waiting these long
years through,
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue,
Since he kissed them and put them there.
AT PINK HOUSE.
John Port held a subordinate post
on the Eastern Bengal State railway,
and the post carried with it, besides a
certain number of rupees per month, a
little pink house that sat very flat up-
on the ground near the railway line. It
was also near a tank and had in conse-
quence a green dank garden, where
marigolds and poppies eprawled to-
gether and big bushes, starred with
the scarlet shoe flower, grew in inhar-
monious fellowship with them agenta
masses of the bougainvillea. A decay-
ing tree trunk was glorified by the tan-
gled wreaths and orange trumpets of
the Bigoonia vernesta, and there
were many foliage plants, clumps of
brightly colored Teaves boasting long
Latin pames, but John Port called
them, one and all, “burning bushes.”
“ 'Tisn't what you’d call ’omelike,”
said John Port to his pipe as he paced
among these flowering splendors, “but
Ellen’ll make a difference, trust ’er.”
And Ellen was on her way out, and
every throb of the steamer’s screw
brought her nearer to the pink house
and the green garden and the expec-
tant man, to whom her coming was to
make such a difference. It was four
years since Ellen Gee had promised to
marry John Port, four years since he
bad gone to geek his fortune in India.
He was a steady, hardworking man,
and the fortune had not been long of
coming, the monthly salary, with good
prospects, and the pink house and the
green garden. In the pride of his
heart John Port sent home money, a
cruel sacrifice at a time when 16 rupees
barely equaled 20 shillings, for Ellen's
passage out.
“The idea !"’ aid Ellen when she re-
ceived the money, and she promptly
put it into the savings bank against a
rainy day. Ellen had made her ar-
rangements for the voyage. She
came out in attendance on a delicate
lady and two small children, and a sec-
ond class fare was gladly paid in ex-
change for her services.
“I only wish you could stay with
me,” said the lady, and she gave her
£5 at parting.
The marriage took place at Calcut-
ta. John Port was nervous and ex-
cited, and the best coat of four years
ago was already a little tight for him.
Ellen was very quiet and composed
and wore a gray woolen gown.
They went straight from the church
to the train, and as Ellen traveled with-
out a ticket she felt that she was in-
deed entering into ber kingdom. Six
hours of slow progress brought them
to the little pink house, which Port
had furnished as a man in his ignor-
ance furnishes. Ellen was impressed
by the four rooms and the veranda,
but her quick eyes took instant note
of the scaliness of the color washed
walls, the inferior woodwoork and the
clumsy doors that would not shut.
But the servants astonished her be-
yond all things.
“Whatever "ave got all these people
for?’ she asked, as a row of four stood
salaaming to her.
“Most men’s wives 'as more,” said
Port.
“The more shame to them, If I
couldn’t manage to do the work of my
own ’ouse, after all the time I've been
a ‘general,’ it would be a pity.”
“Some of ’em you must ’ave, and
you won't feel much like working
when the ot weather comes filled with
tender admiration.
“We ’ad it 'ot enough in the Red
ceas, I'm sure,” said Ellen, “and as
long as I was looking after Mrs. Nu-
gent or doing anything for the child-
ren I dide’t mind it, but when I sat
down with my 'ands in front of me it
was awful. Keep busy, and you'll be
all right, that’s what I say.”
She had already changed her wed-
ding drees for a eerviceable blue cotton
gown, and she was on her knees as she
spoke dusting the long neglected legs
of the big square table. Her sleeves
were turned up, and she wore a large
apron. John watched her in approv-
ing silence. She was certainly making
a difference already. She went into
the veranda to shake her duster, and
Mrs. Gasparez, the wife of a ticket col-
lector, watched her from across the
road.
“Qoh, the bride is veree grand,” she
said to her husband that evening.
**She has brought out an English maid
with ber. Onlee fancy, and makes
her work so hard alreadee !”
It never entered into the mind of
Mrs, Gasparez that any woman could
possibly use a duster on her wedding
day.
John and Ellen walked into their
garden when the sun was low, and El
len spied its flowery tangles with a
practical eye. “It'sa waste of land,”
she said. ‘“‘Couldn’t we manage some
greens instead of all that ’ighbiscus ?”
And Jobn marveled at her erudition.
She had once attended a series of bo-
tanical lectures at Kew, organized by
her Sunday school teacher.
“Things will look more 'omelike
presently,” eaid Ellen as she fastened
strings outside the veranda for scarlet
runners to be trained upon.
She was bending over the strings as
she spoke, and John stooped and kiss-
ed her smooth hair a little awkwardly.
“I knew you'd make it seem different
when you came, old girl,” he said
huskily. .
“Oh, it is nice to be "ere," said Ellen.
Three days later Mrs. Gasparez came
to call, picking her way through the
red dust of the road with little mincing
steps. She was quite young and very
stout, and her fat, brown face was
naively and thickly coated with pow-
der. She had abundant shiny black
hair and small, good natured eyes.
She.wore a bright blue merino dress
trimmed with thin satin that crackled
like paper. A cape on her shoulders
jangled with beads, and there were red
and yellow flowers in her bonnet. A
little observation had corrected her
mistake as to ‘thee bride’s English
maid,” ard, although she considered
Ellen a person of low ideas, there was
no one else to talk to; and she was pre-
pared to be kind to her. There was
no servant to be seen in the veranda,
and Mrs. Gasparez raised her shrill
voice in vain.
“Qoh, I hope this is not a veree
great libertee,”” said Mrs. Gasparez as,
tired of waiting, she stepped into the
little sitting room. But the room was
empty. She examined it critically.
“Veree neat,’ she said, “but not at all
smart! My, only two antimacass !”
She sat down, very genteelly, on the
edge of a chair. Her flounces crack-
led stiffly. Five minutes later the
bride appeared. She wore a big apron
and she was turning down her sleeves.
“Ooh, I am sorree to have disturbed
you, I see youhave been unpacking,”
said Mrs. Gasparez politely. *
“I'm very glad to see you and I 'ope
I ’aven’t kept you waiting long,” said
Ellen, “but I didn’t see you come, and
I couldn’t make out what that boy
Abdool was trying to tell me at first. I
was out in the kitchen. Don’t you
find it very tiresome 'aving your kitch-
en go far from the ’ouse ?”
“Ooh, yes, but you will grow used to
it presentlee. I am veree particular.
I go into the bawachi khana everee
morning to see what my bawachi, the
cook, you know, is doing, and some-
times in the afternoon also.”
Mrs. Gasparez's voice shrilled into
unexpected cadences, and she empha-
sized small words and laid great stress
on terminations with that Eurasian ac-
cent which is as indescriable as it is
nnmistakable. Ellen’s voice seemed
very full and deep as she replied.
“I 'aven’t got a cook. I don’t mean
to ‘ave one.”
“My, how will vou eat?” screamed
Mrs. Gasparez.
“Can’t you cook ?"’
“My, no! I can make lovelee ma-
tai, sweets, you know, but to cook thee
meate, and thee soups, and thee cur-
ries, ooh, no!”
“I don’t like curries,” said Ellen.
“They’re too spicy and all odds and
ends. You never know what you may
be eating. John says he likes my
cooking the best of any he ever ate.”
Ooh, but your hands!”
Ellen glanced from her own capable
fingers to the tightly stuffed yellow
gloves that lay on Mrs, Gesparez’s
blue lap. One of the seams had burst
and a ring with a vast red stone
gleamed through.
“Use comes before looks,” said El.
len.
“Ooh, yes!” said Mrs. Gasparez
doubtfully.
“Ave you been ’ere long? Do you
like it ?”” asked Ellen.
“Onlee six months. It is veree dull.
There ie no eocietee. I often say to
my husband, ‘I think I shall run
away.” You see, we came from up
countree, and there it was veree jollee,
go manee people. Here there are on-
lee four houses. 1 do not know what
to do with myself all day long.”
“I should think your children
would keep youn pretty. busy,” said El-
en.
“Ooh, yes, there are four, but they
are veree small. The babee is only 3
months old, and they have their ayah.
You see, they are so noisee, and I am
not strong.”
“T don’t fancy these natives,” said
Ellen. “I shouldn’t like to see their
black ’ands touching any child I was
fond of.” And then she remembered
the dark skin which so clearly pro-
claimed Mrs. Gasparez’s conuection
with the country and felt very uncom-
fortable, but unfortunately Mrs. Gas-
parez considered herself purely Euro-
pean and always spoke of the England
she had never seen as “home.”
“My, yes, they are fearful, you will
see. Your servants will always kikh
you, worree, you, you know.”
“I shall ’ave just as few as ever I
can do with. Wouldn't you like to
see my kitchen? You see,” she con-
tinued, leading the way into the next
room, I keep all the plates in ’ere and
hall do the pastry making and so on
‘ere, and [ wanted John to let me ’ave
a stove, but ’e says it won't do for the
‘ot weather.” :
They went out to the mud hut in the
garden, which served as a kitchen. It
had been newly witewashed within
and without, and at the freshly planed
table stood a depressed looking scul-
lion peeling potatoes. He had scram-
bled from his seat on the floor at the
sound of his mistress’ voice.
“That's the only servant I've got in
the 'ouse,’ said Ellen proudly.
#Qoh, thee hot weather will soon
make you lazee,” laughed Mrs. Gas-
parez.
“Well, I made bread enough for
three days yesterday and baked it in
that queer iron drum thing, John
doeen’t like the baker's bread ‘ere.
There was a beetle in the last we 'ad.”
“Qoh, you will soon grow lazee, we
shall see.”
In the course of the next few mouths
something very like a friendship grew
up between these two dissimilar wom- |
en. John Port was often away, up
and down the line, and Ellen became
a frequent visitor at the house oppo-
site. It was a larger house than her
own, but it always appeared hopeless-
ly crowded. The smell of savory
meats lingered in that house, and
odors of garlic, kerosene oil and bad to-
bacco, strangely blended, never left it.
The dogs and the children left bones
about, to be tumbled over and kicked
into corners. The clothes of the
household seemed to have the habit of
staying and were to be met in unexpec-
ted places. The boots and shirts of
Mr. Gasparez, the brilliant raiment of
his wife and the tattered little gar-
ment of the children had alike no
abiding city. Nothing, indeed, was in
its right place. The baby was lulled
to fitful slumber in an arm chair, while
a tailor hired for the day squatted
sewing on a child’s cot. Mrs, Gaspar-
ez's abundant hair was generally
brushed and oiled on the front veran-
da, and the three elder children ate
strange meals at odd hours sitting on
the floor of any room they happened
to be in, surrounded by servants, pup-
pies and tame birds. Presently Ellen
tried, both by precept and practice, to
instil a little order into the chaos, but
Mrs. Gasparez, stout in a white dress-
ing gown, only laughed at her efforts :
“Ooh, you are veree sillee! What
does it matter 2 Wait till the babies
come to your house, and then you will
not be so particularlee neat.
Although Ellen was too courageous
to make any confessions, the cruel heat
of a Bengal summer was a revelation
of terror to her. She fought the heat
with her favorite prescription of hard
work. Indeed her husband, who was
a great deal away, hardly realized
how much she did. She cooked and
cleaned, she mended and made clothes
she even washed clothes sometimes,
earning thereby bitter headaches and
the scorn of her neighbor, but a firm
sense of right sustained her.
“Just think of what I'd be doing at
‘ome John,” she pleaded when her
husband noticed that her fresh face had
grown white and her light step heavy.
“I don’t come out ’ere to spend all
your money, on living like a fine lady,
and yet 'ere I don’t need to wash my
own dishes, and that Abdool is learn-
ing to cook quite nice. 'E can do lots
of things already. And, as for wash-
ing, wouldn’t your sister think ’erself
in clover at ome with a sun like this
to dry and bleach her clothes? You
let me ’ave my own way, John. I can
sit idle and shall ’ave to be a do noth-
ing, for a bit when the New Yesr
comes.” And at the thought her nee-
dle sped more swiftly through the lit-
tle white garment she was making,
John thought her looking ill, but he
supposed it was natural and inevitable
and she never complained.
Then the rains came—at first a re-
spite from torment, presently torment
in themselves. A clinging, penetra-
ting damp infected everything, The
tank overflowed, and the green garden
became a dismal swamp, tenanted by
many frogs, whose barking kept Eilen
from sleeping. A broad dado of damp
showed itself on the walls of the little
pink house, and a thin film of blue
mold spread over their most cherished
treasures. Ellen tried stoves in vain;
nothing could get rid of what she
called “mushrooom smell.” John
Port had several attacks of fever—
sharp, short attacks such as he had
grown accustomed to and thought
very little of, but it was terrible to El
len to hear him raving in delirium.
She attached no importance to her own
sufferings from neuralgia, though a
spike of pain seemed to be piercing
through her left temple and was her
constant attendant all day long.
“I don’t believe in giving in,” said
Ellen when the autumn fever smote
ber in turn, and the ground seemed to
glide from her tired feet, and objects
were three times their right size to
weary eyes, whose very lids felt hot.
“Just think of the colds I should ’ave
been getting at ‘ome,’ she repeated,
with persistent cheerfulness. “The in-
fluenza again most likely, and don’t
you talk nonsense about this climate
being so bad for me,” said Ellen to her
husband.
After the first few months, after
health and high spirits had flagged,
came a terrible nostalgia. and that,
too, was hidden from John Port. He
never guessed the passion of longing
for her own people that filled his wife's
heart. and it was very rarely expressed
in her letters home ; but el less,
it was an ever present pain.
“My, you are looking seedee I" said
Mrs. Gasparez.
“I ’ave a little fever at night some-
times,” said Ellen, but it’s nothing,
and I suppose it will get cooler every
day now.”
“Ooh, yes, it will soon be ahlright.
and I have some news to tell you.
My sister is coming to stay with me—
my youungest sister, Miss de Cruz.”
“That will be pleasant for you,”
said Ellen heartily. “Is she a nice
girl 2?
“My, yes! Sheis a beautee! Eyes
that big, hair so long, and her figure,
ooh, so lovelee! She will have mon-
ee, too, come day, for my old grand-
mother is very fond of her and says
she will leave her ahl she has, ever
80 manee rupees |”
Miss de Cruz was brought to call a
few days later—a big girl plump and
shapely with magnificent eyes. She
yawned openly through Ellen’s at-
tempts to talk and brightened to co-
quettish liveliness when John Port
came into the room.
“That's a fine, handsome girl, a fine
strapping girl.” said John Port later.
Then, with a clumsy laugh, “You
aren’t much to look at now, old
woman.”
“True enough,” said Ellen, laughing
back, and then she went and looked at
herself in the glass with new eyes.
“I do wish it didn’t make one so plain
for so long’ she said to the worn face
and ungainly figure she saw reflected
there.
And all this while Ellen took no heed
of the new world around her. She
heard the wedding music from the
| surging ways of the native town, and
she said, “Well, they are making a
noise.” Sheesaw the dead slowly borne
past the pink little house to the funeral
pyre, and she said: “They're going to
‘gorgeous east’
burn 'im. Isn’t it ,orrid?”’ She lived
in India, save for the wide difference
of heat, discomfort and loneliness, ex-
actly as she would have lived in Eng-
land. The only native with whom she
held anything approaching to speech
was Abdool, a craven representative
indeed, and the conclusion she drew
from her study of his character was
that they were ‘‘a dirty lot.”” She took
no interest in her surroundings. The
little pink house in its wealth of strange
flowers was only pleasing to her be-
cause it had been allotted to her hus-
band, and she trusted the garden would
look more homelike when a child play-
ed there. She watched the long line
of rails down which John’s train would
come without a thought of what the
land had been before the wonderful iron
road traversed it. There was no ro-
mance for her in the widely varying
tracts that train came through, and she
had no desire to see more of the coun-
try in which her lot was cast. “The
held for her neither
glamour for glory. Her days were
passed in an endless succession of small
duties and in secretly hoping that she
would feel better to-morrow .
Toward the end of November Ab-
dool ran over to Mrs. Gasparez’s house
one morning with an urgent message.
“My,” said Mrs. Gasparez as she
caught up a solah topee, “‘onlee seven
months!’
That was at breakfast time, and Jonn
Port was away up the line and would
not return till the morning of the next
day.
“I am sorry to bother you,” said El-
len through her agony, ‘but I was that
bad all night, and I did want some one
to speak to.”
“Ooh, I will stay gladlee,” said Mrs.
Gagparez, “and I will send for the doc-
tor, and you will soon be ahl right.
The doctor came presently and went
and came again, Mrs. Gasnarez wept
fluent tears over the sufferings that
could not be allayed, even as she said,
“Ooh, you will be ahl right veree soon’
Ellen lay with clinched teeth, trying
not to writhe or cry out. “I do, ’ate to
give you all this trouble,” she said.
“But she was strong,” said Mrs. Gas-
parez to the doctor in the next room,
“She worked so hard, she did, ooh, ev-
erything! I am not strong, but I was
never like this, never”
“She has worn herself out,” said the
doctor. “The climate counts for some.
thing, and she has never considered it.”
Some time after midnight the child
was born—a dead child—and the doc-
tor went to Mrs. Gasparez's house for
alittle rest. Mrs. Gasparez sat nod-
ing ard blinking and drinking strong
tea, and Ellen seemed to be sleeping.
Juet before dawn Ellen roused her-
gelf and talked for a few minutes to
Mrs. Gaeparez. She had a message to
leave with her.
“Ooh, no ; you are not going to die!”
sobbed Mrs. Gasparez. “Go to sleep
again and do not be so silee, The next
babee will live, and it will be ahl jol-
lee.”
Ellen emiled faintly. “Don’t you
forget,” she whispered and turned her
head on the pillow‘ but instead of going
to sleep her face changed and worked
strangely, and Mrs. Gasparez ran out
calling wildly for the doctor. Ellen’s
last doleful scene was acted alone, but
it must of been a short one, for when
Mrs. Gasparez and the doctor came
back they found her dead.
John Port's train came in at 7 o'clock
The doctor met him and told him of his
wife's death, but he did not realize or
understand what had happened till he
came to the little pink house. Abdool
was on the veranda lamenting ostenta-
tiously, but Por: put him aside and
went into the bedroom. Itsmelt stuffy
and sickly after the fresh morning air,
and it was exceedingly untidy. A white
sheet was thrown over the bed and Mrs
Gasparez, her eyelids puffy with crying
came to meet him,
“I have a message for you,’ she said.
“I was to give you her love, and she
was veree sorree not to see you again,
and she hoped you would not mind that
the babe was dead, for it was reallee
much better and would leave you quite
free to marry again. Oh she did love
vou,”
John stood by the bed and laid his
hand on the brown hair, pushing aside
the scarlet flowers with which Mrs.
Gragparez had surrounded the still face.
“Never another wife for me,” he said,
“never another woman in your place,
all my life long.”
And through the window came the
sound of the high pitched voice of Miss
de Cruz. She was taking a morning
stroll with a devoted admirer.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Woods that is ahl
veree fine, veree pretty I dare say,onlee
you do not mean it.”
It was in the spring, five months lat-
er, that John Port married Miss de
Cruz, and Mrs. Gasparez explained to
her friends that ‘it was not such a very
bad match for Eulalee, for that nice
wife of Mr. Port's who died, poor thing,
was very thriftee, and she had saved,
oh, quite a great manee rupees!’—
Beatrice Kipling in Pall Mall Gazetie.
——*Gail Hamilton,” by which
name Miss Mary Abigail Dodge is best
known to the American people, is dy-
ing. She began to write more than a
generation ago, bright, lively articles,
afterwards taking quite an interest in
public affairs and developing a power
of sarcasm that made her an antagonist
of the most formidable sort. Her lat-
est public work was in connection with
the thus far unsuccessful effort to se-
cure the pardon of Mrs. Maybridge,
who 18 undergoing life imprisonment
in England for the murder of her hue-
band. Miss Dodge was one of the
most devoted admirers of the late
James G. Blaine, was his sister-in-law
and made her home in his family.
We suspect that a good deal of his ag- |
gressive Americanism was due to her
influence upon his life.
——The preacher was indulging in
rhapsodies over the glories of the new
Jerusalem. Littie Johnnie listened for
quite a while, He then whispered to
his mother, “Mamma, is he an advance '
agent 7?’
Birds Which Do Good.
Owls, Hawks, Crows, Cuckoos and Others Have
Been Much Maligned.—An Oficial Investiga-
tion.— Thousands Examined to Sec What Con-
stitutes Their Food.==Are Friends of the
Farmer.
Dr. C. Hart Merriam, chief of the di-
vision of ornithology of the agricultural
department, bas been for several years
engaged in examing and analyzing the
contents of the stomachs of hawks,
owls, crows, blackbirds, meadow larks
and other birds of North America which
are supposed to be strikingly beneficial
or injurious to the crops of farmers. The
stomachs of over 7,000 birds, taken at
different seasons of the year, have been
already analyzed, and the contents de-
termined, while some 12,000 arestill un-
examined.
The results in some cases have been
remarkable, showing in several notable
instances that popular ideas regarding
the injurious effects of certain birds
were wholly mistaken, and that they
have been the victims of an unjust per-
secution. This has been found to be es-
pecially the case with hawks and owls,
for the slaughter of which many states
give bounties. Pennsylvania in two
years gave over $100,000 in hawk and
owl bounties. Examinations of the
stomachs of these birds proved conclu-
sively that 95 per cent of their food was
field mice, grasshoppers, crickets, etc.,
which were infinitely more injurious to
farm crops thar they. It was found
that only five kinds of hawk and owls
ever touched poultry, and then only in
a very limited extent.
A bulletin now about going to press
on the crow also shows that bird not so
black as he has been painted by the
farmer. The charges against the crow
were that he ate corn and destroyed ezgs
and poultry, and wild birds. Examipa-
tions of their stomachsshowed that they
eat noxious insects and other animals,
and that although 25 per cent of their
food is corn, it is mostly waste corn,
picked up in the fall and winter. With
regard to eggs, it was found that the
shells were eaten to a very limited ex-
tent for the time. They eat ants, bee-
tles, caterpillars, bugs, flies, grubs, ete.,
which do much damage.
Bulletins are also being prepared on
the cuckoo and other blackbirds, king-
birds, meadowlarks, cedar birds, thrush-
es, catbirds, sparrows, etc. In .many
cases popular ideas are found to be un-
true. In the case of the kingbird, kill-
ed by the farmer under the impression
that he eats bees, it was found that he
ate only drones and robber flies, which
themselves feed on bees, and which de-
stroy more bees in a day than the king-
bird does in a year. The kingbird, there-
fore, is to be encouraged, rather than
slaughtered.
The cuckoos are also found to be very
useful birds in this country. Because
the European cuckoo robbed nests and
laid therein its own eggs, popular fancy
attributed the same vicious habit to our
own cuckoo, He is, however, not de-
praved, like his European namesake,
but a very decent fellow, who does
much good in the destruction of insects.
The result of this work, Dr. Merriam
says, will inure to the protection of ben-
eficial birds and the destruction of in-
jurious. It will also, he says, do mis-
sionary work in the matter of state
bounties, most of which are ill-directed,
and none of which, he thinks, have
good results. The crusade, for instance,
against the English sparrow, he said,
resulted in the destruction of many of
our native sparrows. Bounties on pan-
thers, wolves, etc., had in the past re-
sulted in the manufacture of bogus
scalps.
Dr. Merriam is also preparing a map,
showing the life zones of the United
States for. birds, mammals, reptiles and
plants, a work in which he has been en-
gaged for 16 years.
Respect Genearl Hancock's Wishes.
It does not appear by what right any-
body at Washington assumes to say
that General Hancock’s body shall be
removed from Norristown to Arlington.
Nobody at Washington has any such
authority. The War Department
doesn’t have it. The Second Corps So-
ciety doesn’t have it. The collateral
relatives of General Hancock do not
have it.
General Hancock himself desired to
be buried at Norristown. He had de-
cided upon this years before his death.
He was familiar with Arlington, and
the presumption is that he did not de-
sire to be buried there. He had a Penn-
sylvania’s love for the State of his na-
tivity and he desired that his ashes
should mingle with her soil. His wishes
should be respected, and if unauthoriz-
ed persons attempt to remove his body
they should be restrained by legal
authority.
There is an additional reason why
General Hancock should not be buried
at Arlington. No soldier fought the
Confederates harder than he, but none
respected their rights more. He did not
burn houses or barns, make war on wo-
men or seize private property. He
knew that Arlington was founded in
the hate of Secretary Stanton and, al-
though there is no record of the fact, it
is not improbable that, possessing ex-
alted notions of propriety, General Han-
cock would have bad serious objections
to being buried at Arlington. It the
North bad appropriated all the land of
the South this objection might not have
been applicable ; but when Secretary
Stanton seized General L2e’s home and
buried Union soldiers there so that it
could never be restored to its owners, he
committed an act which was not in ac-
cordance with Mr. Lincoln’s policy or
the policy of the nation.
The talk of the removal has grown
out of the condition of General Han-
cock’s tomb, Surgeon-General Reed, of
Norristown, has already undertaken to
repair it and the Pennsylvania Com-
mandery of the Loyal Legion have
been preparing to care for it hereafter.
The condition of the tomb was due
mostly to the materials used in its con-
struction, and for its degeneration the
elemente alone are responsible. There
is no occasion for removing General
| Hancock's body, and his wishes should
not be permitted to be violated.
The legislative resolutions con-
cerning Nicaragua and Cuba were pure
demagogism. We wonder that Gov-
ernor Hastings could bring himself to
affix his name to such balderdash—A4/-
toona Tribune.
For and About Women.
Mrs. Peary, wife of Lieutenant Peary
the well known Arctic explorer, is plan-
ning a series of lectures in Washington
and in Brooklyn. The proceeds are to
go to the relief of her husband, who is
now in the Arctic regions and unable to
get home on account of the want of nec-
essary funds. Mrs. Peary will, of course,
in her lectures give her own experiences
of life in Greenland, where she accom-
panied her husband on the Kite in ’91,
and again on his ’93 expedition. She
has been making her home in Washing-
ton this winter with her mother, and has
with her the little baby daughter who
was born in Greenland, as well as a lit-
tle Esquimaux girl, whom she brought
with her from the north. The baby is
a pretty little blue-eyed, fiaxen-haired
child. Mrs. Peary is a fine looking
young woman, with brown hair and
clear complexion.
That trinity of features, hair teeth and
skin, need a good bit of careful attention
during the summer months. A physi-
cian gives these useful hints for their
beauty and preservation: Powder is
not bad on warm days; get prepared
chalk and dust it over the face before
going out into the sun or wind. Never
bite the lips to keep them red, but bathe
them once in & while with alum dissolv-
ed 1n water, then apply glycerine with
& few drops of benzoine. Cologne di-
luted in water is an excellent wash for
the face when one has been in the dust
or heat for some time. Water, not even
when ’tis hot, takes the [dust and specks
from the pores of the skin. ‘Nothing
does this so well as oil : either vaseline,
glycerine or cold cream should be used.
Rub it thoroughly into the face, wipe
off with a soft towel and bathe in hot
water. It is wise to continue this care-
fully every night. For dust in the hair
that prevents its being soft and glossy
use a mixture of bay rum, glycerine and
quinine three times a week. It is an
excellent tonic.
For a little while you can use valen-
ciennes. Itis the tashionable lace at
the moment, but it is so cheap that noth
Ing is more certaln than that it won’t be
the fashion very long. While the fancy
lasts, however, it is lavished upon every
thing unsparingly. The summer blouse
is all valenciennes. I was looking yes-
terday at a white taffeta waist that be-
longs in the trousseau of a June bride.
The back of it was plain, but the front
was laid in tiny tucks, between which
were set rows of narrow iusertion, edged
with valenciennes that stood out in frills
The big sleeves were tucked and lace-
garnished in the same fashion, and there
was a white silk collar all a flutter with
with lace rufflings.
Black and white is again decidedly
fashionable in checks, stripes, small pat-
terns, fancy silks and satins,and in com-
bination, as, for instance, a black satin
gown with white satin vest, cape
collar, and puffed sleeves overlaid with
jetted lace or net. Striped silks of this
kind are also made the foundation for a
great display of colored floral patterns.
Usually the gay designs are blured,thus
toning down the brightness of the colors
used. This blurring of colors is almost
necessary when strong contrasts are ef-
fected, and such contrasts are now uni-
versally favored. A blouse waist will
perhaps be made of mauve silk with a
design of pink and crimson rosebuds.
One in blue is patterned with carnations
and an olive satin ground is brocaded
with tiny clusters of heliotrope and
hedge roses. Waists of this character
can only be worn with skirts af black in
silk or eatin. Only the best of satin
should be chosen for a skirt to do duty
as an accompaniment to various rich
waists. Nothing except cheap lace be-
trays its intrinsic poor value like cheap
satin. Choose instead a fine Chira silk
or a crepon. Either will wear and look
better than the other. Few things look
richer, however, than a Lyons satin in
black.
A white lawn dress is another summer
example. It has a skirt eight yards
round, with three lawn ruffles at the bot-
tom. The top ruffle is headed with val-
enciennes, and all three are footed with
it. The waist is trimmed in dainty fash-
ion. Two rows of valenciennes are run
together to make a tiny ruche, and five
rows of ruching are thrown over the
blouse, bretelle fashion. Little rosettes
of lace are perched upon the shoulders
like butterflies.
Small girls wear reefers of medium
weight checked cloth or traveling and
Continental hats trimmed with quills
and gros grain ribbon.
Not a sign is there of heavy stiff lin-
ing in any of the newest sleeves. The
full portions of the mutton leg or other
wide sleeves are merely stiffened either
by lawn, cheap taffeta, or an extra light
grade of crinoline.
Krinolina is the name of a new patent
dress band used as a substitute for hair
cloth and other heavy dress distenders.
It is durable and light, and well adapted
for pliable extensions, and folds and
curves of the silk.
Tailor made dresses will, if possible,
be made even simpler than they have
been heretofore, with nothing but two
rows of large buttons on the short hip
waist and large flaps reaching to the
hem of the skirt, and themselves also
adorned with buttons. With such a
costume will be worn a small girdle of
velvet or passementerie, closing at the
side with a single gigantic button.
Similar strips arealso applied on the
neck and sleeves. It is, of course, un—
derstood that these buttons must be as
elegant as possible. They are made of
oxidized metal, quite plain and flat or
plate shapped, and covered with chiseled
arabesques or even in open-work effect.
There are two far-famed violet farms
managed exclusively by women, who
are their respective owners. One is
Meadow Springs Farm, at Stamford,
Conn., belonging to Mrs. Ned Leavitt,
and the other 1s the Holmsdale Violet
Farm, at Madison, N. J., owned and
managed by Mrs. Robert B. Holms.
In the West also women are beginning
to make a specialty of these flowers.
The fashionable sleeve is either full,
drooping from the shoulder to the el-
bow, or it is made tight fitting to a
point halfway between the shoulder and
elbow, where it swells in an immense
puff, tightening to the arm again as far
as the wrist. Sometimes the sleeve is
trimmed with a cuff of embroidery or
lace and a jockey ot the same on the
shoulder.